and lean, with black hair and a constant smirk on his face. He’s a year older than Colby and me, since he failed junior year. Sometimes I’m not sure why Colby and I still hang out with the guy, and then I realize it’s because we can’t get rid of him. He’s a good friend, but kind of a shitty person.
“Sure thing,” I say, climbing into my truck. “Did you get a job or something? You’re not normally up this early.”
“It’s even better than a job, bro.” Bryce rolls down the passenger window and lets his hand hang out the side of the vehicle. “I went to this bonfire last night and had a blast. It’s some college group thing, I dunno. But I met a few hot chicks and they’re all going to be there today too.”
“That bonfire thing lasts a few weeks,” I say.
He nods. “You think I could get a bathroom key, man?”
I groan. “You going to take care of it?”
He holds up three fingers even though he’s never been a boy scout in his whole life. “Totally.”
At the Flying Mermaid, we have these outdoor bathrooms and showers on the back of the store that connects to the beach. They require a key to get in when the store is closed, and Bryce likes using them for when he sleeps on the beach. So far he hasn’t betrayed my trust and ruined the bathrooms or anything, but it’s still scary trusting him with something important. My parents would probably kill me if they knew I had spare keys I loaned out on occasion.
At the beach, the smell of salt water fills my lungs, reminding me that it’s summer. And summer is always a good thing, even if my dating life sucks.
Bryce joins me in the store to grab a cup of coffee from the break room. My dad is hanging up a new delivery of shirts, so I bypass the coffee to go help him.
“Dude, you should come to the bonfire tonight,” Bryce says.
“It must be nice to have zero responsibilities,” I say, ripping open another box of shirts. My dad snorts.
Bryce scoffs. “Dude, I have responsibilities. I make sure everyone’s having a good time at parties. You coming to the bonfire or not?”
I shrug. “I might stop by after work.”
Bryce slaps me on the shoulder as he walks by. “You better be there. You can’t get a summer girlfriend without actually going places.” With that, he gives me this stupid wink and then disappears out the door.
“That kid is such an idiot,” Dad says.
I laugh. “Tell me about it.”
***
By noon, the shop has had a ton of customers, which is looking good for summer business. I’ve sold two surfboards and a ton of beach wear. Dad decides to get us tacos from a few shops down, so when the door opens a few minutes later, my stomach grumbles.
“That was fast,” I say, looking up.
When I see who’s actually standing there, my blood runs cold. It’s not my dad. It’s Jenny.
She’s wearing a pink mini skirt that shows off her knobby knees, and a black swimsuit top, her arms folded over her chest. “There you are,” she says, walking to the register.
We don’t have one of those red panic buttons under the counter that you see on TV, but I really wish we did.
“Uh, hey,” I say, trying to smile. “What’s up?”
“Let me see your hands.”
I lift an eyebrow and show her my hands. She purses her lips. “That’s what I thought. You’re not missing your fingers . . . you didn’t break your wrist . . . so why can’t you text me?”
“I texted you this morning,” I say, standing taller. I am not in the mood for drama of this magnitude.
“Once.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I figured once was all I needed.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I keep it on silent at work, and since I’ve been so busy with customers, I haven’t bothered checking it.
There’s forty-six new messages.
“Holy shit,” I say, looking at her. Two more customers walk into the store, but they turn toward the shoe section, so they don’t see this exchange. “Did you send me all these messages?”
She
“Sure thing,” I say, climbing into my truck. “Did you get a job or something? You’re not normally up this early.”
“It’s even better than a job, bro.” Bryce rolls down the passenger window and lets his hand hang out the side of the vehicle. “I went to this bonfire last night and had a blast. It’s some college group thing, I dunno. But I met a few hot chicks and they’re all going to be there today too.”
“That bonfire thing lasts a few weeks,” I say.
He nods. “You think I could get a bathroom key, man?”
I groan. “You going to take care of it?”
He holds up three fingers even though he’s never been a boy scout in his whole life. “Totally.”
At the Flying Mermaid, we have these outdoor bathrooms and showers on the back of the store that connects to the beach. They require a key to get in when the store is closed, and Bryce likes using them for when he sleeps on the beach. So far he hasn’t betrayed my trust and ruined the bathrooms or anything, but it’s still scary trusting him with something important. My parents would probably kill me if they knew I had spare keys I loaned out on occasion.
At the beach, the smell of salt water fills my lungs, reminding me that it’s summer. And summer is always a good thing, even if my dating life sucks.
Bryce joins me in the store to grab a cup of coffee from the break room. My dad is hanging up a new delivery of shirts, so I bypass the coffee to go help him.
“Dude, you should come to the bonfire tonight,” Bryce says.
“It must be nice to have zero responsibilities,” I say, ripping open another box of shirts. My dad snorts.
Bryce scoffs. “Dude, I have responsibilities. I make sure everyone’s having a good time at parties. You coming to the bonfire or not?”
I shrug. “I might stop by after work.”
Bryce slaps me on the shoulder as he walks by. “You better be there. You can’t get a summer girlfriend without actually going places.” With that, he gives me this stupid wink and then disappears out the door.
“That kid is such an idiot,” Dad says.
I laugh. “Tell me about it.”
***
By noon, the shop has had a ton of customers, which is looking good for summer business. I’ve sold two surfboards and a ton of beach wear. Dad decides to get us tacos from a few shops down, so when the door opens a few minutes later, my stomach grumbles.
“That was fast,” I say, looking up.
When I see who’s actually standing there, my blood runs cold. It’s not my dad. It’s Jenny.
She’s wearing a pink mini skirt that shows off her knobby knees, and a black swimsuit top, her arms folded over her chest. “There you are,” she says, walking to the register.
We don’t have one of those red panic buttons under the counter that you see on TV, but I really wish we did.
“Uh, hey,” I say, trying to smile. “What’s up?”
“Let me see your hands.”
I lift an eyebrow and show her my hands. She purses her lips. “That’s what I thought. You’re not missing your fingers . . . you didn’t break your wrist . . . so why can’t you text me?”
“I texted you this morning,” I say, standing taller. I am not in the mood for drama of this magnitude.
“Once.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I figured once was all I needed.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I keep it on silent at work, and since I’ve been so busy with customers, I haven’t bothered checking it.
There’s forty-six new messages.
“Holy shit,” I say, looking at her. Two more customers walk into the store, but they turn toward the shoe section, so they don’t see this exchange. “Did you send me all these messages?”
She
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