sucks on the water bottle in an entirely inappropriate manner.
"Hey," one of the guys says with a swift man-nod. "What's up?" Frankie shrugs and waves, inviting them over to our previously undisturbed patch of sand.
They exchange glances like hungry lions that have just been invited into the zebra den for dinner and jog over to our blanket, introducing themselves as Warren and Todd (or is it Rod? I've forgotten already). After thirty seconds of conversation, I can summarize their entire raisons d'être.
Drink beer. Meet chicks. Get tan.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
At Frankie's insistence, they shake out their blanket and camp next to us, thankfully on her side. Rod or Todd or whatever is the loud one, unable to be serious, unable to focus on one subject for more than a minute. He's a freshman at Berkeley, studying marine biology, and what his on-campus girlfriend doesn't know won't hurt her, wink wink.
Do guys really think this crap works on girls?
Frankie giggles. I guess it works on some girls.
Warren isn't exactly the quiet one, but the fact that I'm pretending to be asleep while Frankie and RodTodd laugh at each other's banter and trade cell phone numbers doesn't leave him an entry.
"Dude," Warren says after about fifteen minutes of staring at the ocean. "I gotta jet. See you later." I open my eyes when he stands, his shadow falling on my face. Frankie is doing some sort of half-kiss thing with RodTodd -- more than friends, but not quite a full-on lip-lock. I expect this sort of gratuitous behavior with foreign exchange students, but total strangers? Annoying strangers, at that? The whole scene is more than I can stomach.
"Frank, I think I see your parents."
"That's my cue," RodTodd says. "Call me later, sexy."
Call me later, sexy? I'm going to be ill. Frankie, on the other hand, is practically ready to move in with him.
The boys take off down the beach and Frankie scans the opposite shoreline for Red and Jayne.
"Where are they?" she asks. "I don't see them, Anna."
"I guess I was wrong. Can we go in the water now?" I'm hot, bored, and quickly getting cranky.
"Anna, that was two out of twenty already scratched off the list. Why didn't you talk to Warren?"
"He has backne, Frank. Not to mention he's about as interesting as wet sea kelp."
Frankie laughs. "All right. But I'm still counting them as two. With them and the boys checking us out at Caroline's yesterday, that makes four."
"Yesterday doesn't count," I say.
"Well, it would have, if my parents hadn't shown up." She digs her camera from her bag and zooms in on my face. "So, Miss Reiley, will you or will you not admit specimens A and B from Caroline's into the official count of the summer of twenty boys, per the original contract terms of the Absolute Best Summer Ever?"
I crinkle my forehead to appear serious. "After careful consideration, the court hereby consents to a compromise. We shall count yesterday's platonic and lackluster ice-cream duo as a single boy."
She agrees, holding up three fingers in front of the camera before turning it on herself. "Three down. Seventeen to go. Not bad for our first twenty-four hours."
I roll my eyes and untie my sarong, ready to get into the water. If reaching our twenty-boy goal takes precedence over the high standards of good hygiene, interesting personality, and a minimum sixth-grade IQ, I'm dropping out right now.
"Can we please go swimming?" I ask.
"Oh, all right." Frankie stashes the camera in her bag and follows me into the water, splashing and giggling in the sharkless waves near the shore.
We go in up to our shoulders, waiting to catch the stronger waves and ride them up to the shore. The water and air above it taste equally salty, stinging my eyes and coating my skin, just like Matt said in his postcards.
When you taste the water on your lips, it feels like you've been eating potato chips. But there's nothing else like it, Anna.
"Ready for lunch?" Frankie asks after two hours of wave jumping. "I'm
"Hey," one of the guys says with a swift man-nod. "What's up?" Frankie shrugs and waves, inviting them over to our previously undisturbed patch of sand.
They exchange glances like hungry lions that have just been invited into the zebra den for dinner and jog over to our blanket, introducing themselves as Warren and Todd (or is it Rod? I've forgotten already). After thirty seconds of conversation, I can summarize their entire raisons d'être.
Drink beer. Meet chicks. Get tan.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
At Frankie's insistence, they shake out their blanket and camp next to us, thankfully on her side. Rod or Todd or whatever is the loud one, unable to be serious, unable to focus on one subject for more than a minute. He's a freshman at Berkeley, studying marine biology, and what his on-campus girlfriend doesn't know won't hurt her, wink wink.
Do guys really think this crap works on girls?
Frankie giggles. I guess it works on some girls.
Warren isn't exactly the quiet one, but the fact that I'm pretending to be asleep while Frankie and RodTodd laugh at each other's banter and trade cell phone numbers doesn't leave him an entry.
"Dude," Warren says after about fifteen minutes of staring at the ocean. "I gotta jet. See you later." I open my eyes when he stands, his shadow falling on my face. Frankie is doing some sort of half-kiss thing with RodTodd -- more than friends, but not quite a full-on lip-lock. I expect this sort of gratuitous behavior with foreign exchange students, but total strangers? Annoying strangers, at that? The whole scene is more than I can stomach.
"Frank, I think I see your parents."
"That's my cue," RodTodd says. "Call me later, sexy."
Call me later, sexy? I'm going to be ill. Frankie, on the other hand, is practically ready to move in with him.
The boys take off down the beach and Frankie scans the opposite shoreline for Red and Jayne.
"Where are they?" she asks. "I don't see them, Anna."
"I guess I was wrong. Can we go in the water now?" I'm hot, bored, and quickly getting cranky.
"Anna, that was two out of twenty already scratched off the list. Why didn't you talk to Warren?"
"He has backne, Frank. Not to mention he's about as interesting as wet sea kelp."
Frankie laughs. "All right. But I'm still counting them as two. With them and the boys checking us out at Caroline's yesterday, that makes four."
"Yesterday doesn't count," I say.
"Well, it would have, if my parents hadn't shown up." She digs her camera from her bag and zooms in on my face. "So, Miss Reiley, will you or will you not admit specimens A and B from Caroline's into the official count of the summer of twenty boys, per the original contract terms of the Absolute Best Summer Ever?"
I crinkle my forehead to appear serious. "After careful consideration, the court hereby consents to a compromise. We shall count yesterday's platonic and lackluster ice-cream duo as a single boy."
She agrees, holding up three fingers in front of the camera before turning it on herself. "Three down. Seventeen to go. Not bad for our first twenty-four hours."
I roll my eyes and untie my sarong, ready to get into the water. If reaching our twenty-boy goal takes precedence over the high standards of good hygiene, interesting personality, and a minimum sixth-grade IQ, I'm dropping out right now.
"Can we please go swimming?" I ask.
"Oh, all right." Frankie stashes the camera in her bag and follows me into the water, splashing and giggling in the sharkless waves near the shore.
We go in up to our shoulders, waiting to catch the stronger waves and ride them up to the shore. The water and air above it taste equally salty, stinging my eyes and coating my skin, just like Matt said in his postcards.
When you taste the water on your lips, it feels like you've been eating potato chips. But there's nothing else like it, Anna.
"Ready for lunch?" Frankie asks after two hours of wave jumping. "I'm
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