hours, and Jen couldn’t call her own mom, who was at work.
“You guys are such assholes,” Leesa yelled. “We’ll call the cops if you don’t leave us alone.” She dragged out her cell phone and waved it in what might have been a threatening way if the phone wasn’t pink and bejeweled. It was obviously a hollow threat which only earned more jeers from the Tapper brothers.
Jen remained silent, hunkered down to earth like a small animal. She surreptitiously studied the group of invaders over the crook of her elbow and noticed one of the boys wasn’t joining in on the insults. That kid, Drake had spread a towel on the sand and sat, staring at the waves lapping the shore. He didn’t look at all like his red-headed, doughy-skinned Tapper cousins. The boy was greyhound-thin with a shock of crow-black hair that hung to his shoulders. His skin was tan except for where pale scars interrupted the brown; a pink patch on one leg that looked like maybe he’d scraped off skin in a bike or skateboard accident, jagged scratches and cuts in other places.
Just then Drake turned his head and looked at Jen between Leesa and Tara’s bodies. She felt a sharp stab of embarrassment at being caught staring and started to look away, but his gaze snagged hers like a thorn bush and wouldn’t let go. His eyes were as black and shiny as two ripe olives, their expression unreadable.
Jen stared at him past the curve of Tara’s breasts—bright red in her new bikini.
She suddenly realized he probably wasn’t looking at her at all but at Tara’s chest. Jen felt like an idiot for misinterpreting his interest, and surprisingly disappointed, until Tara turned her body and Drake continued staring past her right at Jen.
The link between them only lasted a moment, but it seemed like minutes that they remained silently locked together while the noise and confusion of their fighting friends swirled around them. Jen didn’t know what it meant. Probably it didn’t mean anything.
He’d just happened to see her lying there like a soldier in a foxhole and wondered what was wrong with her.
After a moment his gaze returned to the lake and hers dropped to the sand. But she still felt weird inside, unsettled and a little shaky.
Jen sat up and dusted the sand off her body. She leaned over and nudged Ania, the only one of her friends who still connected her to this group. “Hey, why don’t you call your mom and tell her to come get us early. This isn’t any fun.” Ania shook her head. “She’s busy. I’m not going to bother her. Besides, we shouldn’t have to run away like scared little kids. These guys are bullies. We don’t have to put up with their bullshit.”
“Crawford, you’re such a fucking loser. I’m going to tell my boyfriend what you said about my boobs and he’s going to kick your ass.” Tara put her boyfriend, Scott Auburn’s neck on the line to defend her honor, but Jen doubted he’d bother. The last she’d heard, Scott and Tara were off again in their constantly revolving merry-go-round of a relationship. Still, the threat sounded good.
Crawford just laughed as he reached into the cooler, pulled out a beer and popped the top. He took a long swallow then pulled out another can and held it toward Tara with a questioning tilt of his eyebrows.
She shrugged. He tossed it across the space between them. She caught it, opened it and took a swig.
Only then did Jen realize that all the yelling and posturing meant no more than a pair of cats yowling at each other to claim dominance. Tara and creepy Crawford had been sizing each other up and basically flirting in a noisy, mean way.
Jen didn’t get it. She didn’t like the way the whole scene made her feel. There was a sort of tension swirling in the air that made her uncomfortable. She’d once overheard her mom calling her a late bloomer and Jen knew she meant more than her daughter’s slow-to-develop body. She simply wasn’t ready for the weird head games that went
“You guys are such assholes,” Leesa yelled. “We’ll call the cops if you don’t leave us alone.” She dragged out her cell phone and waved it in what might have been a threatening way if the phone wasn’t pink and bejeweled. It was obviously a hollow threat which only earned more jeers from the Tapper brothers.
Jen remained silent, hunkered down to earth like a small animal. She surreptitiously studied the group of invaders over the crook of her elbow and noticed one of the boys wasn’t joining in on the insults. That kid, Drake had spread a towel on the sand and sat, staring at the waves lapping the shore. He didn’t look at all like his red-headed, doughy-skinned Tapper cousins. The boy was greyhound-thin with a shock of crow-black hair that hung to his shoulders. His skin was tan except for where pale scars interrupted the brown; a pink patch on one leg that looked like maybe he’d scraped off skin in a bike or skateboard accident, jagged scratches and cuts in other places.
Just then Drake turned his head and looked at Jen between Leesa and Tara’s bodies. She felt a sharp stab of embarrassment at being caught staring and started to look away, but his gaze snagged hers like a thorn bush and wouldn’t let go. His eyes were as black and shiny as two ripe olives, their expression unreadable.
Jen stared at him past the curve of Tara’s breasts—bright red in her new bikini.
She suddenly realized he probably wasn’t looking at her at all but at Tara’s chest. Jen felt like an idiot for misinterpreting his interest, and surprisingly disappointed, until Tara turned her body and Drake continued staring past her right at Jen.
The link between them only lasted a moment, but it seemed like minutes that they remained silently locked together while the noise and confusion of their fighting friends swirled around them. Jen didn’t know what it meant. Probably it didn’t mean anything.
He’d just happened to see her lying there like a soldier in a foxhole and wondered what was wrong with her.
After a moment his gaze returned to the lake and hers dropped to the sand. But she still felt weird inside, unsettled and a little shaky.
Jen sat up and dusted the sand off her body. She leaned over and nudged Ania, the only one of her friends who still connected her to this group. “Hey, why don’t you call your mom and tell her to come get us early. This isn’t any fun.” Ania shook her head. “She’s busy. I’m not going to bother her. Besides, we shouldn’t have to run away like scared little kids. These guys are bullies. We don’t have to put up with their bullshit.”
“Crawford, you’re such a fucking loser. I’m going to tell my boyfriend what you said about my boobs and he’s going to kick your ass.” Tara put her boyfriend, Scott Auburn’s neck on the line to defend her honor, but Jen doubted he’d bother. The last she’d heard, Scott and Tara were off again in their constantly revolving merry-go-round of a relationship. Still, the threat sounded good.
Crawford just laughed as he reached into the cooler, pulled out a beer and popped the top. He took a long swallow then pulled out another can and held it toward Tara with a questioning tilt of his eyebrows.
She shrugged. He tossed it across the space between them. She caught it, opened it and took a swig.
Only then did Jen realize that all the yelling and posturing meant no more than a pair of cats yowling at each other to claim dominance. Tara and creepy Crawford had been sizing each other up and basically flirting in a noisy, mean way.
Jen didn’t get it. She didn’t like the way the whole scene made her feel. There was a sort of tension swirling in the air that made her uncomfortable. She’d once overheard her mom calling her a late bloomer and Jen knew she meant more than her daughter’s slow-to-develop body. She simply wasn’t ready for the weird head games that went
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