It Comes In Waves by Erika Marks Page B

“Do they make
you
cry?”
    â€œEvery time.” He rushed around the front of the car and opened her side before she could. If only her father had been there to see what a gentleman he was. Loafing little shits, huh?
    Foster led them through the front door and into the heady scent of fried seafood. Canopies of fishing nets hung from the ceiling; Jimmy Buffett sang through the speakers, barely audible over the din of customers and clinking silverware. Claire felt sure she’d be swallowed up; then Foster’s hand slid around hers and squeezed.
    â€œShep said he’d be here.” Foster stretched to scan past the bar to the restaurant beyond. “Wait, I see him.” He led them to the very last booth, where his redheaded friend sat in front of a plate of fried oysters and clams. Seeing them approach, Shep greeted them with a smile.
    Claire thought he was one of the most handsome boys she’d ever seen. Movie-star handsome.
    Foster offered her the bench and slid in after her.
    â€œI saw you ride earlier,” Shep said to Claire. “You killed it.”
    Foster nudged Claire gently with his shoulder. “Told you,” he said, picking out a fried oyster and plunging it into a pile of tartar sauce. A waitress arrived and took their order for two Cokes and two fried flounder sandwiches.
    â€œYou’ll love ’em,” Foster assured Claire, scooping up another oyster. “Hey, did Jill come?”
    â€œShe just went up to get us more napkins,” said Shep. “You know how she is about napkins.” He gestured behind them. “Here she comes.”
    There had been only a handful of times in Claire’s life when she was disappointed in her lack of exotic beauty, when she wished she’d been blessed with long legs and perfect skin. With her shiny, pumpkin blond hair, her thin nose and full lips, Jill Weber was the sort of beautiful that made being good on a board seem totally worthless.
    She slipped in beside Shep and smiled at Claire as she set down a pile of napkins between them.
    This time, Shep made the introductions. “Jill, this is Claire.”
    â€œNice to meet you, Claire.” Claire had been so sure the girl would be aloof, disapproving, the way remarkably pretty girls tended to be toward other girls, especially around their equally remarkably good-looking boyfriends. But Jill’s face was warm and open.
    The waitress returned with their drinks.
    â€œClaire is an amazing surfer,” said Foster. “We just met today. She’s from Charleston, but I’m going to convince her to move to Folly next summer so I can get her to compete in the Classic with me and Shep.”
    â€œDude, that reminds me—I saw Biff by the bar,” Shep said to Foster. “Maybe we should go talk to him about the house?”
    â€œLet’s do it,” Foster agreed, giving Claire a quick squeeze on her shoulder and sliding out. “Be right back, Pepper.”
    â€œIn case you’re wondering,” Jill said when the boys had gone, “Biff organizes all the surfing competitions on this part of the coast. Foster thinks he walks on water. Biff and Foster’s mom were together for a while.”
    â€œI met Ivy,” Claire said. “She seems really cool.”
    Jill grinned. “I’ll bet she
loved
you.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œBecause you’re a real surfer. The first time Ivy met me and I told her I didn’t like to surf, I swear she looked at me like I’d sprouted a third eye.”
    Claire laughed. “I could see that.”
    â€œSo why does he call you Pepper?”
    â€œApparently because I wore a red suit today.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
    â€œI think it’s sweet,” said Jill. Claire did, too. She liked the name, but even more, she liked that Foster had given her one.
    â€œYou
should
spend next summer here,” Jill