Diary

I’ve always lived in a town where everything was small, the houses, the streets, and the people.  No one really had huge ambitions, give or take one or two town favourites who dared defy the unspoken creed to become heroes in their own right, and go off into the limelight usually as hockey players, or baseball players.  They were proud to call Miller Creek home, and equally as glad to leave it behind. 

            Not so with me, or most of my friends, we were happy and young and believed that the borders of our little, Canadian town were the very edges of the world.  I guess I wouldn’t say that I was popular, but who would? When famous people recount the moving stories of their childhood, they usually mention that they too, were far from popular.  But, in a small high school, cliques form like the military alliances we learned about in History class, and you stick within them for survival.  I was happy where I had fallen – I wasn’t the geekiest in the group or the neediest, I wasn’t the prettiest or ugliest and so held to the social order and did what was necessary to live to tell the tale.  Though, in the summer of our grade 12 year, the very last thing on our minds was survival.  I can tell you what the first was, the mystery of the male gender, also known as boys.  Surprising that I graduated high school at all, really; my pre-occupation with the enigmatic sex only rarely recognized the validity of trivial matters such as chemistry, biology and of course, math.  But, boys, now there was a topic of study; they could come in any shape or size, or smell for that matter and my friends and I could chart them up on  a complicated formulaic scale it could make a chemistry professor scratch his head in wonder.  We loved it.  Not that the boys paid us too much mind.  Particularly me.  It wasn’t that I wasn’t worth the brief and minor previous romantic entanglements I had, but I was ready for more than just some simple hallway romance where “the man of my dreams” was too frightened to actually talk to me in public.  I wanted a man, and I suppose I was on the lookout for one.  My friends were too, though some would never admit it, and only feign their disinterest in the fleeting romantic entanglements, real or imagined, that graced our little group.  Truth be told, we were happy.  We hoped it would last forever, and in the same breath prayed that it never would.  That was when I met him.  Jack Stanton Greer, and my hopes of finally meeting a real man were confirmed. 

            “Charlotte, you still have my black sweater.” Riley Morgan poked her head up at me from the book she was buried behind. I returned her gaze through my wide lens sunglasses.

            “You don’t need it.” I answered, turning away. “It’s the middle of the hottest summer on the planet.  What do you need it for?”

            “That’s not the point.  I said you could borrow it, not keep it.  Plus, my Mom had a fit when she found out it was missing.  She said I was super irresponsible or something like that, because she buys me nice things and I can never keep track of my clothes.  Blah, blah, blah, whatever.  I just want her off my back.” Riley flipped from her back to her stomach, and balanced the heavy classic novel on the beach towel she’d brought.  She was short, and not as thin as I, but she had a pretty rounded face with large blue eyes and perpetually rosy cheeks.  I had always somewhat envied her short, manageable golden hair next to my heavy, auburn curls, but she said it gave the pair of us character.  No one needed clones for friends.  Studying her, I didn’t know if she was actually reading it or not.  Riley sometimes liked to pretend she was smarter than the rest of us by reading pretentious books, spouting off random Shakespearian quotes, or speaking common phrases in French. 

            I wrinkled my nose.  I liked the smell of warm sunscreen, and beneath my wide brimmed hat, I reeked of it. The beach was emptier today, but it was still early, and the deep, green lake waters were calm.  In a small town where there was nothing-to-do, the thing-to-do, was to go up to the lake for the day with friends and just hang out on the beach, doing what we did best; nothing.  I leaned back on my arms and let my eyes run the distant perimeter of the lake, peeking into the trees that edged their way up right to the water line.  Riley had begged her parents to borrow the car, and after a great deal of pleading and some good old fashioned bargaining we had been released to come to the lake.   It was a warm day, and the water’s edge would be filling up quickly with children digging sand castles, and splashing in the water; parents hovering nearby or sleeping on some distant blanket.  The smell of roasting hotdogs would drift over the lake like a welcoming mist, and somewhere over on the other side, a group would start up their boom box, the music would caress the lake waters and it would feel like a summer party.  The lake was too small for motor boats, which gave the secluded area the sense of something old fashioned, not shattered by the rumble and roar of technology.  I loved coming here, especially on days like today, where the people were plentiful and the mosquitoes were scarce.  Turning my head toward the beach entrance I noticed a large group and recognized them from school. 

            “Hey Riley, there’s Brennan Hodges.” I gestured toward the group.  Riley peered up over her book, slowly pulling her sunglasses down over her nose, picking the lanky brunette out of the crowd.  He glanced in our direction, and I practically heard the breath catch in her throat, but as he turned away again without so much as a wave, she harrumphed, and pulled her book back into her line of vision. 

            “So what?” She snapped.  “Who cares.” I smiled, looking away.  Hoping she wouldn’t catch the laugh in my voice.  She’d been head over heels in love with Brennan Hodges since seventh grade.  He was a nice guy, as guys go, somewhat athletic but could hold an intelligible conversation.  He seemed to enjoy how hot-under-the-collar he could make Riley, and so was her biggest source of torment.  Her secret love.

            “You know, statistically speaking its more likely we end up married to someone we knew in high school.” I quipped.

            “Statistically speaking? What do you mean, statistically speaking? You made that up.” She grumbled.

            “It’s true.  Statistically speaking, you have no hope.  You’re gonna end up with Brennan Hodges so you may as well just face up to it, and go over there and ask him out.  Get the awkward stuff over with.” She glared at me, as if I had actually interrupted her reading; then punched me hard in my arm.

            “Statistically speaking, you have more of a chance of getting struck by lightning before we get to the car.” She muttered. “Aren’t Hope and Amara supposed to be here?” She attempted to distract me and change the subject.  I let it go, really there was only so much I could put her through before she snapped, and I didn’t want to have to walk home. 

            “Oh, they’ll show sooner or later.  I happen to know how much they enjoy grand entrances.”  As if my very words ushered them in, I caught sight of Hope and Amara walking on to the far side of the beach; I could hear the theme music in my head, a mixture of Mission Impossible and Gilmore Girls.  It was like the whole world should have known that they had finally arrived, but forgot to pay attention.  At least neither Hope nor Amara seemed to notice.  In their minds the world had stopped and stared, and that was more than enough.

            “Hey girls!” Amara greeted them excitedly, looking for the ideal spot to settle herself and small armament of beach accessories down.  “Did you see all the guys that are here? I didn’t think there would be so many.  I saw Douglas Barns.  He is so cute, seriously.” She waggled her eyebrows over the rims of her sunglasses as if the rest of us might not catch her mature insinuations.  Douglas Barns was only one in a long line of crushes for Amara.  Crushes changed weekly, if not daily, and we were expected to expect it and go with the flow. 

            “You only think he’s cute because he sat beside you in History.” Hope intoned, laying out her one beach towel and setting aside the lone, simple bag she was carrying.

            “His gaze was electric, he practically asked me out when he asked to share my history book. He actually put his hand on mine and...”

            “For crying out loud, Amara.  It was the only seat left.” Hope rolled her eyes.

            “It was not!” Amara protested, pushing her sunglasses up her long, thin nose, and settling back on her hands to absorb the sun from the cloud speckled sky.

            “It was! He was late again to Folkart’s history class, and he knew that old Folksy would beat him to death with his meter stick if he asked to go to his locker to get his text book.” Hope rolled her eyes as Amara stuck out her tongue.

            “You know nothing about romance.”

            “And you are vacationing from reality.” Hope insisted, eager to get the last word in.  I refrained from diving in to the fray of conversation; these two claimed to be best friends, as did we all, but I knew better than to be caught in between them.  Besides it would only appear to the pair that I had taken the other’s side.  I pushed my fingers into the sand.  I loved the way it was hot on the surface but so smooth and cool beneath.  I was just entertaining broaching a new subject when a beach volleyball bounced through the confines of our tiny enclosure. The ball upset Amara’s bottle of ice water splashing it over Riley’s back, who shrieked in protest, jumping to her feet wiping desperately at the offending spray.  There was a cackle of victory from the group of boys who had been playing nearby.  It was Brennan, and another boy I didn’t recognize who came over to apologize.
            “Sorry Riley.” Brennan said after coming to a halt beside our outstretched beach towels.  I squinted up at him in the sun, he was wearing white runners without socks, and sticking up like two trees were his legs ending in some long grey and white board shorts.  He was bare-chested, like most of the boys around the volleyball net, and his dark, spiked hair contrasted his already summer golden skin.  Amara and Hope twittered behind their sunglasses, but Riley gave him a death glare.

            “Oh, I’m so sure that was an accident.” Riley thrust the volleyball back at him.  He caught the ball easily.

            “Do you want to play with us? We could use a few more.” Brennan nodded toward his waiting comrades. 

            “Who’s your friend?” Amara batted her eyelashes indicating the quiet boy behind Brennan.  She twirled the ear piece of her sunglasses between her teeth.  That was when I noticed him for the first time.  He was taller than Brennan by nearly two inches, was wider built across the chest but nearly as lean.  His hair was lighter brown, and slightly longer, bangs hanging down over his handsome features.  He was staring at me, and I felt my face blush crimson. 

            “Oh, this is Jack.  His family just moved to the area.” Brennan pointed a finger of each of us in turn. “First, may I introduce the lovely Riley Morgan,” He expertly dodged the clump of sand that flew toward him with a laugh. “Amara Stack, Hope Torrence, and Charlotte Finn.”  I smiled in greeting.  I noted that his eyes never rested on any of the other girls for more than a second or two, before stopping back at me. 

            “You girls ought to come join us.” Jack invited, his voice warm and rich.  It made me melt inside, stranger than that, it made me brave, like I was accepting a challenge that he’d set before me. 

            “I’m game.” I got to my feet, reaching for my sandals.  I pulled my long hair back and twisted it into a messy knot at the back of my head and moved to join the game. I wasn’t a paragon of athleticism, but I believed in seizing every opportunity.  Amara followed, eager to tap into some of the flirtatious energy that the idea of a volleyball game put forward.  She followed Jack like a whipped puppy, and so I automatically joined the opposing team feeling just more than a twinge of frustrated jealousy.  Amara could never let another girl land a man before she had her fair shot at it.  I could see Riley glancing up from her book from time to time to acknowledge the whole affair with disdain, and Hope, contrasted happily by her side, a fan on the sidelines. 

            The game was an exhilarating standoff between well matched teams that likely shouldn’t pin any hopes on professional beach volleyball.  The game ended and the restarted, and ended and restarted again several times. Jack was amazing, he was gracious to the other players, and everyone seemed to like him.  He was a good sport and tried not to exaggerate his talents too much.  He even paused now and then to send a wink in my direction.  The energy he put forward made the games pass quickly. The group was eager for one last round when Riley approached.

            “Charlie,” She called, using a pet name we’d coined somewhere around the third grade when she’d been distressed that her own name sounded too much like a boys.  “I’ve gotta get going.  My parents need the car our family thing tonight.”  She was already carrying her rolled towel under her arm, and her skin was showing signs of lobstering from the day in the sun.

            “Oh,” I conceded slowly, disappointed. “Right.” As soon as I was out of the picture, my dear friend Amara would be free to sink her adorable meat-hooks into the handsome backside of Jack, the only contender on the field of beach-volleyball battle, as far as I was concerned.   I silently bemoaned the fact that my own parents hadn’t let me borrow the car.  I slogged over to where my things were laid and began to pick them up.  I considered briefly asking Amara for a ride back, but after seeing the collection of stuff she brought along it was a wonder that both she and Hope could fit into that tiny jeep she’d brought, not to mention a whole other body plus gear.  Suddenly, he was beside me, handing me my beach bag.

            “You have to go?” Jack asked.

            “Yeah, Riley has this family thing tonight.  They need the car.” I offered a small, regret-filled smile. He caught my gaze with his cobalt eyes.

            “I can bring you home.” He returned the smile, but his was warm and inviting.  I bit my lip, trying to hold back the grin he’d brought out of me.

            “I...” The idea filled me with temptation.  My parents had this rule about not accepting rides from strangers.  Something about leaving with who I’d arrived with.  But, what could it hurt? He was handsome and sweet and generous.  He was a fantastic volley-ball player, which could only speak to the integrity of his character.  I paused in my thoughts.  Somehow I doubted my father would see it that way. “No, thanks.  I would love to, but my parents made me promise to come back with Riley.” I declined, desperately hoping he understood the true depth of the regret in my voice. 

            “Ok.  Next time then, Charlie.  Charlotte.” He gave a small wave before sprinting back to the others preparing for yet another round.  I suppressed another grin, unsuccessfully tried to look cool and collected behind my over-large sunglasses as I joined Riley in our walk back to the car.

            Jack Stanton Greer was the main topic of conversation that entire ride home.  We did not discuss Brennan Hodges.