Dawn by McKayla Box

Chapter 10

As much as I want to spend the night, I can’t do that the first night at home, and definitely not without letting my dad know. So after awhile, I force myself to get dressed and Trevor drives me home. We kiss for a few minutes in his truck, soft kisses that still give me butterflies, before I finally get out. I watch him drive away, his taillights glowing red in the night, before I finally head inside. I can see the light in my dad’s room is on, but I don’t knock and I don’t open the door, just tiptoe to my own room and quietly shut the door.

I pass out nearly immediately and sleep until nearly noon the next day. I don’t remember the last time I’ve slept this late. I made the rookie mistake of scheduling morning classes for the fall quarter, so the only times I had to sleep in late were on the weekends, but those were the mornings I usually tried to surf. I think my body recognizes that I’m home in my own bed and just gives in to the familiar and the comfortable.

I find a text on my phone from my dad, letting me know there’s food in the fridge and he’ll be at work all day and probably past dinner, so don’t wait for him. I stumble out into the kitchen, eat a quick bowl of cereal, then shower and throw my laundry in the washer. Then I sit on the couch.

Because I don’t know what to do with myself.

It feels like forever since I haven’t had something to do. From my classes to homework to working part-time in the library to doing things with friends at school, it never felt like I had a lot of free time over the last few months. That wasn’t a bad thing, but I always felt busy and it’s probably why the quarter flew by. But now, I’m sitting on the couch after a good night’s sleep and I have literally nothing on my schedule.

I text Trevor, but after thirty minutes of no response, I’m irritated and right back to where I was before he showed up last night. Something is gnawing in my gut. Something is wrong, and I let it go last night, but I probably shouldn’t have. I can feel it.

But I’m also not going to sit around and waste my vacation waiting on him.

I go into my room and change into my swimsuit and pull on a T-shirt over it, then head to the garage. My wetsuit is hanging up just where I left it from Thanksgiving and my surfboard is in the corner. I toss the wetsuit and towel into the backseat of my car, then strap the board onto the roof. I run back into the house and grab my wallet, phone, and keys, then head to the beach.

It's overcast and gray, and the ocean looks dark and ragged when I pull into the lot. The mostly full lot, though, tells me that the waves are good. I find a parking spot and get out. The wind isn’t too bad and the air is cool, but I don’t mind. I take off my T-shirt and pull the wetsuit on over my swimsuit. I unstrap the board from the roof, grab my towel and wallet, and head down to the sand.

I drop the towel down and tuck the car keys and wallet inside. I strap the leash of the board to my ankle and walk down to the water. I flinch when I first step in, the cold temperature reminding me yet again that this is the Pacific and not the Atlantic. But I walk slowly out, then drop the board onto the water and let the ocean wash over the top of it. I drop onto my stomach and paddle out, duck diving under the first wave, the frigid water shocking my face and ears as I come up from beneath the surface.

But I pop up smiling.

The cold water reminds me that I’m alive, reminds me how much I love the ocean, and reminds me of how important this beach and this break has been to my life.

I paddle out to the break and find my spot in the lineup. When it’s my turn, I paddle in front of the wave, feel it lift me up, and bounce to my feet. I cut hard to my left, diagonal across the face of the wave, and race across the water. I bounce a little, wait for the wave to fold in, then kick out of it, and fall backward into the ocean. I crawl back onto the board and paddle back out.

And it’s like that for an hour. I’m not thinking about Trevor or school or anything else. It’s just me and the water. There is nothing that clears my head and forces me to focus on a single thing like surfing.

When my legs are like jelly and my arms feel heavy and clumsy, I let the waves carry me into shore. I shake the excess water from my head, unstrap the leash from my ankle, and trudge up the sand. I set the board down, grab my towel, and dry my face, then wrap it around me. The air is still cool and there’s not a ray of sun in sight.

I’m using a corner of the towel to wipe water from my face when I see the truck.

Not Trevor’s, but Brett’s.

It’s smaller than Trevor’s, older, and the red paint is faded from the sun. I’ve never ridden in it, but I’ve seen it a hundred times because it was always parked next to Trevor’s in the school parking lot, and I’ve seen it in the lot here at the beach just as often. I think he’s going to park, but instead, he drives the length of the lot to the far side and idles at the curb.

I find it odd that there isn’t a board in the back.

I stand there for a minute, watching the truck, unsure what to do. Which is weird. Brett is Trevor’s best friend. Brett is my friend. I’m not sure why I’m so hesitant

When I finally make up my mind to walk up and say hi, another car pulls in. It’s some little sports car that I don’t know the name of, but it’s bright blue with tinted-out windows and I swear there’s glitter in the paint. It pulls up right next to his truck and the driver’s door open.

The girl that gets out is about my age, maybe a year or two older. Jet-black hair down to the middle of her back, white denim shorts plastered to her ass, a purple top that showcases every single curve above her waist, and silver, thick-heeled sandals. Sunglasses the color of her hair hide her eyes and she stands next to her car, looking at Brett’s truck.

The driver’s door to Brett’s truck swings open.

And Trevor gets out.

I blink once, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me.

But they aren’t.

He’s wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He has his sunglasses on even though there is no sun. He leaves the truck door open and steps closer to the girl.

What.

The.

Fuck.

He pulls an envelope from the pocket of his shorts and hands it to her. She takes it, places a hand on his chest, and smiles at him. Trevor turns, gets back in Brett’s truck, and drives off. The girl stands there, watching the truck leave, then smiles again, and gets back into her car. She drives off.

The entire interaction is probably less than thirty seconds.

I play it back in my head, though, so many times that it seems like it was thirty minutes.

The girl getting out of the car.

Trevor getting out of Brett’s truck.

Handing her an envelope.

Her hand on his chest.

I have no idea what I’ve just seen, but I know I’ve seen something.

And my entire body is shaking as I stand there on the sand, thinking maybe I don’t know anything.