I glanced at Oliver and wondered whose parents we were discussing now.
“Agreed,” I said, then decided to take a risk. “I’m sorry people are being such creeps at school. It sucks. And that milk carton shit was stupid.”
“Yeah, well, what are you gonna do?” Oliver shrugged. “I’m the star of the month, I guess. My mom and the principal had a meeting about it, which was totally helpful.” The sarcasm practically dripped off his teeth. “Don’t tell anyone about that, okay? It won’t help.”
“No worries,” I said. “What’d they say, though?”
“That I should see the guidance counselor in addition to a therapist.” Oliver sighed a little, his breath disappearing into the wind as I turned a corner. “Don’t tell anyone about that, either.”
“Well, lucky for you, you are in the perfect car for keeping secrets.” I gestured to the surfboards in the back. “And therapists are the worst,” I added. “If you wanted to talk about things, you’d talk about them, right?”
“You’ve been?”
I realized my mistake too late. “Yeah, well, after you . . . you know.”
“After my dad kidnapped me. You can say it.”
“After your dad kidnapped you,” I echoed, but the words sounded a lot sadder coming out of his mouth than they did coming out of mine. “Me and Caro and Drew, we all went, but then one of them made Drew cry—I don’t remember what he said, exactly, but he said something—and so Caro kicked the therapist and then I kicked him and we didn’t have to go anymore.”
“Why’d you kick him?”
“Because I,” I said, placing my hand over my heart, “am a very loyal friend, Oliver.”
He startled a little again, even as he laughed. “Good to know. So you’re saying I should kick my therapist?”
“You have a real gift for reading between the lines,” I said, then pulled the car into a parking space and clapped my hands down on top of the steering wheel. “Now then. Are you ready for the best surfing lesson of your life?”
“You mean first and maybe only surfing lesson?”
“Possibly.”
“Absolutely,” he said, and we climbed out of the car.
CHAPTER NINE
Oliver was terrible. I mean, I thought Caro was bad when Kane first taught us that day on the beach, but Oliver made her look like Laird Hamilton.
“Okay,” I said when we carried our boards down to the beach, trying not to trip on the steep wooden steps. “First, suit up.” I pointed at Drew’s wet suit. “Zipper goes in the back. You want it to be tight but not so tight that you can’t move your arms or legs. You don’t want to look like a penguin.”
“I didn’t think the first rule in a surfing lesson would be ‘don’t look like a penguin,’” Oliver said, trying not to fall as he stepped into the legs of the suit.
“Hey.” I shrugged. “You get what you pay for.” I had never taught anyone how to surf, but I remembered my first lesson with Kane like it had just happened a few hours earlier, rather than three years ago. What could go wrong?
Oliver stumbled a little and I moved so he could hold on to my shoulder. I still hadn’t taken off my dress and I realized that I was about to be standing in front of my childhood friend in a bathing suit for the first time in ten years.
Real smart, Emmy. You’re a genius. Definitely apply for that Fulbright scholarship as soon as you get a chance.
I waited until Oliver was busy trying to pull up the zipper on the back of his suit, then turned around and quickly slipped my dress over my head before stepping into the wet suit. I always felt better when I had my wet suit on, like all the feelings and thoughts I had could be contained, like they had a safe place to be. “It’s your second skin,” Caro had once laughed, but she was right. It was. I just wished it fit better. It was secondhand from Craigslist. It sagged in the legs and arms, and I fantasized about buying a brand-new one that fit perfectly, but babysitting money only went so far.
“Okay, lie flat on the board,” I said once we were outfitted and I checked to make sure that the neck closure on Oliver’s suit was Velcroed into place. “Palms on the front of the board. You want to be right in the middle so you don’t lose your balance on the water.”
“Got it,” he said, grunting a little as he got into position. He was squinting against the afternoon sun’s rays reflecting on the water, tiny little diamond glints of light. “Am I surfing now?”
“Not quite.” I laughed and then moved his hands a little bit. They were warmer than mine. “Did you ever see the movie Point Break?”
“About a million times. It was on cable a lot when I was home alone.”
“Well, I’m Patrick Swayze and you’re Keanu Reeves.”
“Righteous,” Oliver said, and we grinned at each other. “When do we rob the banks?”
We practiced popping up for a few minutes. He was pretty good at this part, but everyone is. Surfing is a lot easier when you’re not in the water.
After I thought he was ready (which, it turned out, was a slight miscalculation on my part), we walked down to the water, dragging our boards behind us in the sand, the leashes attached to our ankles. “You ready?” I asked him, wishing I had remembered to wear sunscreen. The sun was hot and it always feels warmer when you’re encased in a rubber suit.