Chapter Nine
Jake and I fly on our bikes to the beach, the wind whipping our jackets, making them flap like wings. My cheeks hurt from smiling and my gums are dry. I may not swim tonight, but this is worth waiting another twenty-nine days.
We lock our bikes next to a beach trash can and stuff our cell phones into our shoes. Jake jogs toward the shoreline, and I follow. When we get close, I hold out an arm, stopping him.
And I point.
The churning crash of the white water fills the silence while we gaze at the moons: the bulbous one in the sky, and the other one, clear and bright, reflecting off the dark water a pathway directly to us.
He finally murmurs, “Two moons.”
“Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea—the LORD on high is mighty.”
The Bible verse pops into my head, and although this is my space—where I go to be alone with God—it feels okay that Jake’s here sharing it. No, it feels more than okay. It feels right.
That has to be wrong.
“So you have a girlfriend,” I blurt out.
“Well, that’s random.” His voice is tight. He draws circles in the sand with his big toe and digs his hands into his jeans pockets. Something about the moment’s lost. “Had. We broke up the day before I left.”
Why did I ask that?
“Distance is hard,” he continues. “You know, we literally have an ocean between us.”
“You still talk?”
He looks out like he can see her across the Pacific. “Every day.”
“Good,” I say, overly cheerful. “That’s good.”
He rolls his eyes. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You have a bad breakup or something?”
“No, why?”
“Your ‘no dating’ rule. Strict parents?”
Heat floods my face. “Oh. No, nothing like that.” I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. How do I explain this to someone who wasn’t there? “Back when all the stuff went down with my brother, God picked up the slack in a lot of ways.” Understatement of the year. Jake eyes me curiously, but it’s too personal to elaborate. “So I made this promise to Him as a thank you.”
“You couldn’t just pray with five people? Or, like, read the Book of Leviticus?”
“I wanted it to be bigger.”
“So you became a nun.”
I laugh, and it bounces against the crashing tide in the quiet night. “No, gosh no. I just wanted to wait and push the dating thing for later. When I’m ready to get married, you know, since, like, marriage is His thing.”
“You know there’s other ways to thank God. Probably better ways.”
I feel him pushing back a little, and it makes me feel defensive. “Maybe. But when I was twelve, that was the biggest thing I could think of. Everyone was getting boyfriends that year.”
“Is that why you got rid of your other boyfriend?”
My eyebrows crease.
“Surfing,” he clarifies. “I mean, closest thing to a boyfriend you’ve had, right? You surfed every day in sixth grade. So what, you broke up because of God?”
“No.” There’s so much emotion still attached to that memory. I feel the sadness, the frustration, the loneliness—even the anger—but I know it’s not for Jake. I swallow it down and mutter, “My brother almost died doing it.”
“So now you’re afraid of surfing?”
“No.” Why’s he digging so much? “How would you know I surfed every day? We never talked.”
“I listened.”
“I didn’t surf at youth group.” It comes out snappier than I mean.
“No, but people talked about you.”
I put my hand on my hip. “Really.”
“Fearless,” he adds. “That’s what I remember.” Something stirs in me, and it makes me want to cry, but I don’t. “And I remember you always showed up with your hair wet, and people would whisper about how you could out-surf the guys, and you always won the group games, and you’d volunteer to pray, which nobody did in sixth grade. Every kid wanted to be on your team or sit next to you in worship. Of course I remembered you. Anyone would’ve. But now. I dunno. You don’t dance. You don’t date. You don’t surf. You don’t talk much at school.”
“So?”
“So it’s just a lot of don’ts.” I haven’t been angry in so long, but he’s kindled a fire in me by bringing up so much at once. How would he know, anyway? He’s been here a week!
“I’m not allowed to, okay?”
“Surf?”
“Anything!” I kick the sand. “And why’s it your business suddenly? I’m not allowed to go into the water. My parents told me no ocean. Period. No way they’re going through hell again.”
I’m immediately embarrassed that I said so much. The waves crash and pound and make up for the silence. His shoulders and head drop a notch, but he reaches out and rubs my arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. That was out of line. I don’t know what that was like for your family. I think I was just pissed you brought up Hannah.”
I blink.
“My ex. Her name’s Hannah. I didn’t choose to move, ya know. And”—he sits on the sand, facing the waves—“my mom didn’t come with us.”
The last part hangs in the air. Oh, man.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
He pats the sand next to him. When I hesitate, he adds, “Promise I’ll get you home in time.”
I sit down and feel the cold sand through my jeans. “You don’t have a curfew?”
“Sort of. My aunt—who I live with on the weekdays—she’s a flight attendant and gone most weekends. That’s when I see my dad. I actually should be back at the base tonight, but I couldn’t pass up the offer—washing dishes.” He bumps my shoulder and I smile. “I’ll drive down tomorrow morning. Dad’ll get over it.” He says the last bit all grumpy, like he’s already in a fight with his dad about it, even though it’s the night before.
“Sorry I was snappy.”
He shrugs. “Wanna make up like Lydia and Kaj?”
He gives me a sly grin, and we both erupt in laughter. It gets quiet again. I don’t think he tells many people about his home life, and that makes me feel close to him, even though we only re-met three days ago. I dig my hands through the cold sand, burying them to my wrists. “I do swim,” I whisper, and I feel his gaze turn toward me. “Every night, if I can.” I lift my chin at the waves. “Out there. They have no idea, my parents. They’d kill me . . . twice. No one knows, actually.” I glance up at him, then back down to my buried hands. “Well, Old Man Mike knows.”