Sorry.”
He tilted his head. “You know, I don’t get the way you talk about yourself, Summer. Not at all. You’d think you were Quasimodo or something.”
“Ugh,” I said as I shook my head and motioned at myself. “That’s not it. It’s just that, like, I know I’m not pretty, and I have this scar, and sometimes it gets awkward. I’m not trying to get all Debbie Downer on you, but, like, I have some issues, and I’m not attractive. I get that.”
“I know you’re not attractive,” he said. “You’re above that: you’re hot. You’ve got that whole hazel-eyed, dark-blonde, freckled, beachy girl thing going on. I’m into it.”
“What? I-”
I paused. I had never been called “hot” by a boy before, and especially not one that I would call hot, too. Was it crazy that I didn’t hate it?
…And that I actually kind of loved it?
“Thanks,” I said. “But it’s fine. I get the whole ‘scar’ thing. It’s just weird sometimes. You’re probably used to the platinum blonde Jax Beach bimbos. Girls that…I don’t know, girls that glow ,” I said as I impersonated their prissy little arm movements.
“Is that right?” Cooper asked, looking amused for some reason. “Girls that glow?”
“Yeah, and it’s no big deal, but, like…”
“Come on,” he said as he headed for the door. “I already paid for the drinks.”
“What? Wha – where are we going?”
He turned around with some weird smile on his face. “Do you trust me?
“I mean, yeah, I guess?”
As much as I can trust a total stranger I just met on some dating app , I added to myself.
“Come, then.”
“But why ? What is with you and your physical inability to stay in one place for longer than five minutes?”
He smiled down at me just as You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse started thumping from the DJ booth. “I’m gonna make you glow.”
~
We walked down to the boardwalk along the beach and then turned south. It was super dark, the surf shops and touristy restaurants mostly closed up for the night, but I felt pretty safe. Outside the only crowded bar, a group of Jesus people yelled stuff at the partiers on the porch and waved signs reading “GOD FORGIVES – REPENT NOW, SINNERS” and “EVEN THE WICKED LIKE YOU CAN FIND REST IN HEAVEN.” Hailing from a shadowy corner of Christianity, the group came to Jax Beach to scream and hand out Jesus pamphlets about one night a month, and their habit of attempting to recruit people to join God’s ranks at a bar of all places struck me as equal parts bizarre and hilarious. Cooper and I exchanged knowing glances as we passed them, and I giggled despite myself, wondering if he knew how badly I wanted him to take my hand. We finally turned at the entrance to the fishing pier that jutted out a quarter of a mile into the waves of the Atlantic.
“We’re going fishing?” I asked.
“Shh,” he said. “Brenda,” he nodded as we passed the large security guard, who sat on a flimsy chair reading some sort of romance novel. She looked up, smiled, nodded, and waved us in.
“Cooper, the pier is closed, and it’s really dark,” I said. Somehow his name felt well-worn in my mouth already, like a sweet old lady’s hands or a cruise ship comedian’s jokes. “What are we doing?”
“Just wait and see. Walk with me.”
There was a jump in his step, and it was cute. We walked out into the night, and the sounds of town faded away. Halfway out I looked back and gasped a little: the view was beautiful. The towering condo buildings piled up against the shore like runners at a starting line, their lights blazing white and yellow, as the waves shined a silvery blue in the moonlight.
“Wow,” I said as we walked.
“What?”
“The view. Haven’t you seen it?”
He turned around and looked at me. Really looked at me. I felt even more exposed than when you have to stand in those X-Ray machines at the airport and hold your hands up and try to act like a group of
He tilted his head. “You know, I don’t get the way you talk about yourself, Summer. Not at all. You’d think you were Quasimodo or something.”
“Ugh,” I said as I shook my head and motioned at myself. “That’s not it. It’s just that, like, I know I’m not pretty, and I have this scar, and sometimes it gets awkward. I’m not trying to get all Debbie Downer on you, but, like, I have some issues, and I’m not attractive. I get that.”
“I know you’re not attractive,” he said. “You’re above that: you’re hot. You’ve got that whole hazel-eyed, dark-blonde, freckled, beachy girl thing going on. I’m into it.”
“What? I-”
I paused. I had never been called “hot” by a boy before, and especially not one that I would call hot, too. Was it crazy that I didn’t hate it?
…And that I actually kind of loved it?
“Thanks,” I said. “But it’s fine. I get the whole ‘scar’ thing. It’s just weird sometimes. You’re probably used to the platinum blonde Jax Beach bimbos. Girls that…I don’t know, girls that glow ,” I said as I impersonated their prissy little arm movements.
“Is that right?” Cooper asked, looking amused for some reason. “Girls that glow?”
“Yeah, and it’s no big deal, but, like…”
“Come on,” he said as he headed for the door. “I already paid for the drinks.”
“What? Wha – where are we going?”
He turned around with some weird smile on his face. “Do you trust me?
“I mean, yeah, I guess?”
As much as I can trust a total stranger I just met on some dating app , I added to myself.
“Come, then.”
“But why ? What is with you and your physical inability to stay in one place for longer than five minutes?”
He smiled down at me just as You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse started thumping from the DJ booth. “I’m gonna make you glow.”
~
We walked down to the boardwalk along the beach and then turned south. It was super dark, the surf shops and touristy restaurants mostly closed up for the night, but I felt pretty safe. Outside the only crowded bar, a group of Jesus people yelled stuff at the partiers on the porch and waved signs reading “GOD FORGIVES – REPENT NOW, SINNERS” and “EVEN THE WICKED LIKE YOU CAN FIND REST IN HEAVEN.” Hailing from a shadowy corner of Christianity, the group came to Jax Beach to scream and hand out Jesus pamphlets about one night a month, and their habit of attempting to recruit people to join God’s ranks at a bar of all places struck me as equal parts bizarre and hilarious. Cooper and I exchanged knowing glances as we passed them, and I giggled despite myself, wondering if he knew how badly I wanted him to take my hand. We finally turned at the entrance to the fishing pier that jutted out a quarter of a mile into the waves of the Atlantic.
“We’re going fishing?” I asked.
“Shh,” he said. “Brenda,” he nodded as we passed the large security guard, who sat on a flimsy chair reading some sort of romance novel. She looked up, smiled, nodded, and waved us in.
“Cooper, the pier is closed, and it’s really dark,” I said. Somehow his name felt well-worn in my mouth already, like a sweet old lady’s hands or a cruise ship comedian’s jokes. “What are we doing?”
“Just wait and see. Walk with me.”
There was a jump in his step, and it was cute. We walked out into the night, and the sounds of town faded away. Halfway out I looked back and gasped a little: the view was beautiful. The towering condo buildings piled up against the shore like runners at a starting line, their lights blazing white and yellow, as the waves shined a silvery blue in the moonlight.
“Wow,” I said as we walked.
“What?”
“The view. Haven’t you seen it?”
He turned around and looked at me. Really looked at me. I felt even more exposed than when you have to stand in those X-Ray machines at the airport and hold your hands up and try to act like a group of
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