Kristen Page 2

  He smacked his board, inviting Kristen to join him. She glided over, lifted herself up, and in one smooth motion straddle-sat behind him. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she slipped them under her neoprene-covered butt, which felt like a cold seal.

  Dune flipped around and faced her. “You might want to take that off.”

  “What?” Kristen squeaked. She was excited times ten that her crush was obviously crushing back, but come awn! Taking things off was moving a little fast, even for a pro surfer. She squint-glanced back up at the boat, wondering if Brice could hear his son’s advances. But he was ten feet away, eating a jelly donut and flipping though a copy of Surfer’s Journal, totally unaware.

  “Your necklace.” He wrinkled his sunburned nose disapprovingly. “It could break.”

  Kristen gripped the gold heart-shaped locket around her neck. “Oh.” She smile-sighed with relief, while flipping the Coach logo to the back. “I can’t. It was a gift from Massie. I pinky-swore I’d keep it on all summer.”

  “Massie?” Dune narrowed his light brown eyes. “The same Massie who turned my used-to-be-cool sister into a deck dork?” He chin-pointed at Ripple, who was sitting on her blue-and-white–striped towel trying to rub suntan oil on her lower back. She looked like an angry ape swatting at a mosquito.

  Ooops.

  Kristen ran her pale fingers through the dark, lapping water to avoid his disapproving gaze. He booger-flicked a piece of sea grass off his board. “A promise is a promise.”

  “I like that.” Dune pinched the shark tooth strung around his neck on what looked like the thick leather lace of an old Topsider. “I made this at surf camp in Cali when I was ten, with my best buddy, Reid. I’ve never taken it off.”

  Awwww. Kristen touched her rubber-covered heart. If there was something higher than a hang-ten, he was it. Cute, loyal, athletic, and middle class. Dune was a total CLAM.

  “Just make sure it’s on tight.” He winked and then gazed beyond her shoulder toward the barge.

  Afraid of losing his attention to a passing bird or sailboat, Kristen quickly lured him back. “Why do you like surfing so much?” she asked, knowing he would spend hours on the topic if she’d let him.

  Dune returned, his eyes darting across her wet cheeks like he was reading her freckles. “For me …” He paused thoughtfully. “Surfing is about truth. It’s pure. When you’re faced with a wave, you can’t pretend to be something you’re not. Either you can ride it or you can’t. There’s no faking. It’s honest.”

  Kristen’s lips twitched. Her belly bubbled. And the Long Island Sound blurred like it was coated in Vaseline Lip Therapy. Kristen’s central nervous system was sending an urgent message: Dune had just received an upgrade. Infatuation just got bumped up to luh-uv. This was serious.

  “Look!” he shout-pointed at the barge as it carved through the blue water and tooted toward them.

  Kristen began searching her mind for ways to stay in Dune’s good graces without risking her life—and pride—riding the wave of a floating garbage truck. But all that came to mind was how much his skin was the color of caramel. And how much she loved caramel.

  The barge turned left and began carving out the first set.

  “Last one standing has to paint Ripple’s toenails!” Brice shouted, leaping up from his perch on Old Man. He tossed his burnt orange longboard over the rope rails, then stride-jumped in behind it, landing a couple inches from Kristen and Dune.

  “Can you keep treading?” Dune practically shoved Kristen off the board before she had time to answer. He lay flat on his belly and began butterflying his arms toward the swell. “First watch how I do it,” he called over the hum of the barge. “Then I’ll be back to teach you.”

  Suddenly, something squirmed inside Kristen’s stomach. She ran her hand along the belly of her wet suit, wondering if maybe a sea creature had wiggled its way inside. But there was nothing there. Just the sickening feeling of abandonment.

  What now? Her heart began to thump like the techno beat in the Spanish pop songs Alicia kept e-mailing the Pretty Committee. There she was in the middle of the Long Island Sound without a board, a crush, or a clue.

  Thankfully, the water remained relatively flat. In fact, Dylan could fart bigger waves in the Blocks’ Jacuzzi. Maybe they got bigger as they got closer? Kristen took a few strokes toward Dune and Brice, hoping for some insight.

  TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT.

  “Dad, are you serious?” Dune asked as his father paddled up beside him. His board barely bobbed as the first set passed underneath. “It’s completely dead out here.”

  “SUCKER PUNCH!” Brice shouted. He stopped paddling, leaned over, and playfully cuffed his son on the back of his leg. “I can’t believe you fell for barge surfing.”

  Dune’s mouth hung open, somewhere between embarrassment and amusement. “I can’t believe you lied to me!”

  “It got your mind off the tour, didn’t it?” he chuckled.

  Dune slowly turned and glanced back at Kristen. “Yeah, I guess.” He smiled. The sun kissed his full lips, and the warm breeze blew it straight to her cheek.

  She lifted her face to the cloudless sky and grinned peacefully, as if treading water in the Long Island Sound was the new yoga. It didn’t matter that Kristen had been the first one in the water—she still peed her wet suit.

  THE BAXTERS’ CHEVY

  BACKSEAT, SANDWICHED BETWEEN RIPPLE AND DUNE

  Friday, July 17

  4:07 P.M.

  Ahhhhhhhh.

  Kristen pressed a cold can of Diet Coke against her sun-fried cheeks, even though her left knee was burning up. It had been pressed against Dune’s leg for the entire drive back to Westchester and was IM’ing severe crush warnings to every other part of her body.

  “Dad! Stop the truck!” Dune slapped his hand against the Chevy’s back window and unsnapped his seat belt. “Drop me here.” He pulled his knee away and Kristen instantly lost her heat, like an unplugged flatiron.

  The sprawling green grounds of the Westchester Country Club were just ahead. As always, the majestic stone clubhouse seemed to glare at her with condescension, reminding Kristen that even though she had eaten in the Blocks’ formal dining room with Massie—twice—she definitely did not belong.

  It was shocking that Dune wanted to stop within a mile of the ultra-exclusive club. From what Kristen knew, it seemed like the kind of place that would make his down-to-earth CLAM blood boil. But as the truck slowed to a stop, it all became clear—the grinding sound of wheels zipping across the pavement, the clusters of helmet-wearing kids addicted to Red Bull and bruises, the rolling asphalt hills. They had arrived at Gray Acres Skate Park, or GAS Park as it was fondly called.

  “Anyone else coming?” Dune grabbed his yellow, purple, and green striped Element skateboard out from under his seat, opened the car door, and jumped onto the sidewalk. He balanced his board on the curb like a seesaw and then popped an ollie.

  “Not, not, not a chance,” Ripple muttered, flipping through the pages of Teen Vogue. She drew a lopsided heart around a turquoise pair of Diane von Furstenberg shorts she’d never be able to afford.

  “Why not?” Kristen asked, surveying the crowd. All the super-size clothing and Billabong hats made it impossible to tell whether they were girls or boys.

  “I can’t, Ms. Gregory! Look at me!” Ripple screeched at her reflection in the rearview mirror and then turned to her brother. “My hair is all frizzy and my makeup washed off, thanks to you and Dad,” she practically spat.

  “Who cares, Rassie?” Dune joked, kick-flipping the board off the ground and into his hand.

  “Since when do you care what you look like at the GAS?” Brice turned around to face his daughter. It was the first time his expression had been somewhat serious. Now that his face was relaxed, thin white lines of untanned skin were suddenly visible at the corners of his eyes—proving that whenever Brice was in the sun, he was smiling.

  “Um, did you ever happen to notice the country club
on the other side of the fence?” Ripple slid down on the tan leather interior to avoid being spotted.

  “Unfortunately, yes, but I never thought you did.” Dune shook his head in disgust. “Jeez, Rassie. If you ever run into my cool sister, Ripple, tell her I say hi. I’m outie like a belly button.”

  “Who cares? I still have math homework. Right, Ms. G?”

  “Nope.” Kristen placed her hand on Ripple’s muscular, damp linen–covered shoulder. “We’re done for the day.” She added pressure, hoping her student would get the hint.

  “Baxter?” a white-blond boy called loudly from the top of the half-pipe.

  “Heyyyyy!” Dune tucked his skateboard under his arm and jogged away.

  “Buzz me if you need a ride home,” Brice called after him.

  Dune signaled “okay” with a backhanded wave just as Ripple turned down the corner of a page showing a gold Juicy charm bracelet.

  “Let’s go!” Kristen insisted to Ripple through gritted teeth.

  Ripple snapped her head up from the magazine. “Why? Is Massie into skating?” Once again her light brown eyes filled with hope.

  “She’s got a board in her closet.” Kristen tugged her arm. “Now come awn!”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Really.” It happened to be an emery board, but why get technical?

  “Then let’s go, go, go!” Ripple crawled over her tutor-sitter and jumped onto the curb. “Bye, Dad! We’ll call when we’re done.”

  Just before slamming the door shut, Kristen took off her green Chanel logo bucket hat and tossed it onto the seat. Dune’s disapproving glare had burned her more than the sun’s rays. And its effects were more lasting too.

  “You’re not wearing it?”

  Before Kristen could answer, Ripple scooped the hat off the seat and forced it over her fried blond hair.

  With renewed confidence, she led the way around a drained three-leaf clover pool, past the mini jungle gym in the kiddie section, and straight to the half-pipe, where Dune was knuckle-bashing his buddies. Along the way, they passed clusters of skinny, wool cap–wearing boys. Ripple lifted her long horse nose a little higher each time one of them waved hello.

  “You know all these guys?” Kristen asked, feeling somewhat impressed by her otherwise unimpressive student.

  “I used to skate with them,” Ripple muttered, lifting her nose once again. Kristen could see straight into her nostrils. “But that was before I …” She paused as they reached Dune and his friends—three boys whose bare chests peeked out over varying shades of skinny jeans.

  “Whad’up, Rip?” A thin blonde with narrow green eyes, a light smattering of freckles, and a black arm cast lifted his free palm.

  Ripple waved away his attempted high five as if it had been double-dipped in puke. “Ew, Tyler, there’s, like, dirt on your hand.”

  He took a close look, shrugged, and then licked it clean.

  “Gah-rosss!” Ripple screeched, covering her eyes with Teen Vogue. Kristen crinkled her sunburned nose in disgust, just like Massie would have done.

  But Dune and the other boys burst out laughing. And while it was tempting to join in the hysterics because his response was funny, it was too late. She had already nose-crinkled. And there was no coming back from that.

  “Kristen.” Dune reached out and pulled her deeper into their circle. “These are my boys, Tyler, Jax, and Scooter.”

  “Hey.” Kristen beamed, having no idea who was who and not caring one bit. How could she? Dune had touched her … in public … in front of his friends. There wasn’t enough room in her brain for anything other than those three things to register.

  They greeted her with lifted hands. Then, without another word, the one with the curly blond hair and bulging blue eyes—Scooter?—slammed down his board, pushed off, and teetered onto the half-pipe. His wheels rumbled each time he rose and fell in the giant plywood smile. Kristen wondered how long it would be before Dune left to join him. The thought of losing him made her stomach dip like she was the one skating down the U.

  “Hey, Rip, where’dya get that lid?” asked the guy she’d decided must be Jax, a boy with limp brown hair that covered his dark eyes. It hung like the sleepy branches of the weeping willow on the other side of the tall wood fence—the country club side.

  Ripple swayed from side to side like a shy little girl. “Paris,” she lied, avoiding Kristen’s eyes.

  “Paris Hilton, maybe!” Jax blurted. “SUCKER PUNCH!” He leaned over and knocked Ripple on the side of her arm.

  “Ow-ie.” She rubbed it like it hurt, but blushed like she enjoyed it.

  “Oooof!” Scooter grunted from the half-pipe. “My coccyx!” He lay splayed on the bottom of the half-pipe, grabbing his bum, completely oblivious to the other riders zipping by.

  “Get up before someone grinds you into a smoothie!” Jax called.

  Tyler and Dune snickered. Their camaraderie made Kristen long for the familiarity of the Pretty Committee, but at the same time, she was thankful they were miles away. If they knew she was hanging at GAS—voluntarily—she’d be teased more than Amy Winehouse’s hair. According to them, her world was on the other side of the fence … or at least, it used to be. Now she had no idea what side she belonged on—the one she could afford, or the one she wanted to afford? Before she’d met Dune, that answer had been easy.

  “So, do you guys go to Briarwood?” Kristen blurted, showing Dune she would become buds with his friends. She’d never be the kind of girl who would make him choose.

  At first no one responded. They were too busy laughing at Scooter, who was now on all fours struggling to stand. Except Ripple. She was busy fussing with the Chanel cap, turning the logo to face the back.

  Jax finally spoke up. “We’re at Abner Double Day. Us ADD boys aren’t good enough for those fancy private schools.” He middle-parted his long brown hair into an upside-down V—it looked like he was peeking through tent flaps.

  “Oh, I only go to one because I’m on scholarship.” Kristen rolled her eyes, like attending OCD was more embarrassing than period-stained jeans. She quickly turned to Tyler. “So, what’s with the cast?”

  Tyler lifted his elbow and checked his arm like he had just noticed it was covered in black plaster.

  “Incoming!” Out of nowhere, Jax shoved Tyler, Kristen, Dune, and Ripple three feet to the left as a white golf ball careened through the blue sky. It landed with a thud on the beige wood beside them, then rolled down into the half-pipe.

  “Fire in the hole!” shouted a green-haired skater, who managed to turn his deck seconds before the speeding orb would have lodged under his wheels and sent him flying.

  The rest of the riders jumped off their boards and knee-slid to the flat part of the pipe.

  “Learn how to hit a ball, Nantucket Red!” yelled someone wearing a red helmet covered in cartoon rats.

  When the ball finally settled on the plywood, Scooter grabbed it, covered his left nostril, and blew hard through his right. Once the ball was fully covered in snot, he whipped it back over the fence with a grunt.

  Everyone at the park applauded, except for Kristen, whose hands were being used to block her mouth from projectiling. And Ripple. She’d laced her fingers behind her back when she realized Massie’s BFF found the whole display nauseating times ten.

  “That’s what happened,” Tyler spat. “Freaking CC, man. I rode over one of their balls and ate it.”

  Dune immediately burst out laughing. At first Tyler looked at him in confusion but then something clearly clicked inside his mind and he began cracking up. The part of Kristen that belonged on the GAS side of the fence wanted to crack up too. But the side of her that had been a guest at the CC told her it was best not to. Unsure of what to do, she let out a half laugh that sounded more like a half sneeze.

  “Did you hear what he just said?” Dune slapped Jax on his bare back. But Jax was focusing on a group of preppy girls ew-ing at what had just come flying over the fence. He shook his head, se
nding his hair tent-flapping back over his face. He hopped on his board and dropped into the half-pipe. “Whooooooooo!” he shouted, obviously wanting to be noticed.

  “Is he still sweating those OCDivas?” Dune furrowed his tan forehead.

  Tyler nodded yes, picking at his cast.

  “Why?”

  Tyler shook his head like he had no idea.

  “How lame,” Kristen insisted. “Can’t they make a rule? Something that would keep the balls away from GAS?”

  They all burst out laughing again, except Ripple, who was now checking her gloss in a black Sephora compact—the one that came free with a purchase of Jessica Simpson’s body cream.

  “The country club is pissed that we board so close to their property. They think we’re loud and ugly,” Tyler answered. “So they started letting the beginners tee off from the fourth green, which is right over there.” He pointed over the fence to a group of knock-kneed, madras shorts–wearing wannabes working on their swings.

  “Gawd.” Kristen crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that she hoped conveyed disgust and contempt for the rich.

  “Tons of skaters have gone down.” Dune looked Kristen right in the eye. His commitment to her in that moment made her sunburned cheeks overheat.

  “But there’s an upside.” Tyler grabbed a pack of chocolate-flavored Bubblicious out of his back pocket and popped a piece in his mouth without offering any to his friends. “The trust fund skaters have been scared off, like the Briarwood Academy soccer boys. Now those cleat-feet hang out at Andy Ryan’s house, cuz he has a half-pipe.”

  “And that hot sister, Olivia,” Jax added, suddenly appearing behind them.

  “Olivia’s not, not, not that pretty,” Ripple pout-mumbled.

  And there’s nothing wrong with cleat-feet! Kristen wanted to shout. But she decided to save her outbursts for later—when she and Dune were a couple and she didn’t have to worry about impressing his friends.

  “Hey, got any more gum?” Jax held out his dirty palm.

  Tyler dug around the inside of his pocket and pulled out the pack. Jax, Dune, and Ripple all grabbed pieces. Kristen extended her arm, but Tyler casually pulled the pack away, leaving her to chew on the bitter taste of not being accepted.