Max checked the gas and opened the compartments under the seat while I folded the tarp, cleaned off life jackets, and knocked away cobwebs.
These Jet Skis were old friends. I’d loved zooming over uncountable waves with Gray riding behind me, the wind whistling in our ears, wrapping around us like a blanket. Hell, the four of us lost whole days tooling around the bay, exploring, telling our parents we were going only a few miles, then ending up halfway to Panama City. Trent and I were the ones who pushed the other two out into the Gulf; there were too many no-wake zones in the bay. The ocean was a backyard for our inner daredevils, and we let them play.
Max zipped our paintball guns into his backpack and when he looked up, said, “You’re smiling.”
“I like to Jet Ski,” I said, as if I were discovering it for the first time.
He looked as if he were discovering me for the first time.
“I remember.”
We spent the rest of the morning on necessary tasks, like brushing our teeth and eating waffles. At eight forty-five, fifteen minutes before we were scheduled to leave, I found another envelope on top of my bag. In my tent.
Gina and I won Pirates and Paintball today. We sort of cheated.
That note was from three years ago.
Damn. Whoever did this, if it wasn’t Gina, took a huge risk of being caught. I peeked my head through the zipper and surveyed the group. Everyone was chatting it up by the shore. No one appeared to be the least bit curious that I was in our tent.
If they were going to play it cool, so would I.
“You coming?” Gina yelled.
“On my way.”
I placed the envelope in the bottom of my bag, re-zipped the tent, and ran toward my friends.
The sun boiled us as we prepped the Jet Skis. We didn’t discuss riding arrangements, and that was a relief. Gina crawled on behind Gray, and Max held up the keys as an offer.
“I’ll drive,” I said.
Dust flew off my words.
We slid the Ski off the slip, climbed on, and Max settled his hands on my hips, his thighs next to mine. Before I turned the key, I put my hands on his knee. He leaned in close enough to make me shiver.
“You thinking about winning?” he asked. His hands inched up my back and his breath touched my ear.
Damn. “Not anymore.”
“Drive, Kingston,” he instructed.
I took a deep breath as the engine roared and vibrated beneath us.
“Y’all have fun,” Sonia called.
“Take care,” my mom added. She used her patented Mom look to give me something extra.
“We will,” I promised.
The rest of the parents waved and wished us luck.
The little island was only a few minutes’ ride. It was the perfect location for Pirates and Paintball, and I had to admit to myself, I felt a little trigger-happy.
The sun played peek-a-boo with a cloud, but the winds felt as if they were straight out of Kansas. I handled the Jet Ski like an expert, and Max squeezed his legs against mine and tightened his arms around my waist. Good job, winds. I leaned into his chest until our life jackets touched. Windblown hair, oversize sunglasses, and a handsome pirate boy next to me: crowds be damned, today was fantastic.
That’s what I told myself, and for once, I listened.
The closer we drove to the island, the more traffic we saw. Pirates and Paintball had a large following this year, larger than any of the previous years. There must have been over a hundred people on the shore gearing up and registering.
We ran the Ski up on the sand and crawled off the seat, stretching. Last summer, we’d ridden from fill-up to fill-up without getting sore, but this was my first ride of the season. And Max’s, too.
“Look at all this,” Max said.