He smells like soap and ocean, and I kiss him slowly, drawing out the moment as long as I can. But eventually I feel the buzz of his phone once again and pull back. I have to go.
“I’ll see you tonight?” Ezra asks, kissing me quickly before backing away. I hear a bus pull up behind us, a loud whoosh of air breaking through the otherwise quiet morning. Ezra holds up his hand, and I watch as he turns to head in the direction of his house a few blocks away.
“Excuse me.”
Startled, I turn to find a girl standing next to me. She’s model tall (at least compared to me), with porcelain skin and black hair in a sideswept pixie cut. Her long black dress and eyebrow ring make her look completely out of place in our laid-back beach town.
“Sorry if I scared you,” she says, looking around helplessly. “I’m pretty lost.”
“Are you sure you’re in the right town?” I ask with a smile. A stranger in Deseo is pretty rare; this isn’t Southern California—or even northern. The last person to move here was Francesca Roberts in the third grade, and we still call her the new girl.
The stranger looks me over, chewing on her bottom lip. “Yep,” she says, returning my smile. “Middle of nowhere, California, right?”
“Officially. It’s on our welcome sign. So where are you headed?”
The girl glances down at a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “The Cordova Apartments? I don’t think I got off at the right stop.”
“It’s across town but too far to walk. Do you want a ride? I’m headed in that direction anyway.”
“Seriously? That would be awesome. I didn’t think it would be so hot near the ocean. I’m Lucy, by the way.” I notice her glance at my wet suit.
“I’m Claire,” I say, starting around the Jeep. “And in case you’re wondering, I’m not actually a surfer.”
She laughs. “Interesting choice in apparel, then.”
I like Lucy already. To be honest, I’m surprised by our instant rapport, but then again, it’s not like I’ve had a lot of experience meeting new people. I’ve had the same best friend since kindergarten.
“I’m trying to win a bet,” I explain to Lucy as we climb into the car. “Last year my friend and I wagered a latte on whether I could get up on the board for one full ride. Haven’t gotten there yet, but I will. The fact that we’ve bought each other coffee a . . . a million times since the bet was made isn’t the point. I hate to lose.”
“That reminds me of something my little sister would do”—she smiles to herself—“although most of her bets are wagered on pizza.” Lucy turns to me. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I do,” I say, starting the car and then crossing the parking lot to the street. “Three brothers—although two of them are away at college. Now it’s just me and River.”
Lucy’s eyes are a cloudy shade of midnight blue, but as the corner of her mouth lifts in a grin, the color seems to deepen. “There’s nothing like family,” she says softly. “Blood’s thicker than water and all that.”
“My mom likes to say that blood is thicker than cream cheese because, although inaccurate, that expression fits in better with our lifestyle. My parents own a bakery.”
She laughs. “Nice. Free pastries for life, right?”
“Almost. We earn the free food. All the Becks kids have to work at the Costas Bakery for a while. My dad says it builds character.” I look over at Lucy. “You should come by one morning. I’ll hook you up with a latte. No bet required.”
Lucy smiles broadly. “That sounds great.”
I hit the blinker with my thumb, turning into the roundabout of the apartment complex. When I stop in front of the adobe-style office, I glance at the time, and my leg begins to bob with impatience. I hate being late for class.
“Thanks so much for this, Claire,” Lucy says, unbuckling her seat belt. Her voice is velvety and deep, endearing. I feel a sudden burst of nostalgia, although I can’t quite place why. Either way, I’m honest when I tell Lucy it was my pleasure and that I hope to see her later.
She climbs out of the Jeep, pausing to look around at the buildings. The Cordova Apartments are a bit run-down, and Lucy hesitates a moment before pulling open the office door and walking inside.
When she’s gone, I drive through the roundabout, struck again by a sense of familiarity—and maybe a bit of loss. It’s so odd. I check my rearview mirror, watching the yellow building get smaller, and it isn’t until it’s out of my view altogether that the feelings fade.
“Ah, Miss Becks,” Professor Roth says when I walk into the small lecture hall. “I’m sorry if my class interrupted your . . . surfing?”
The room erupts in giggles, and I hold up my hand in acknowledgment before slipping into my seat in the back of the room next to Soleil. I’m still in my wet suit, and it squeaks against the hard plastic of my chair. Although there’s a duffel bag of clothes in the Jeep, I didn’t want to change and risk being even later for class. In hindsight, I’m not sure five more minutes would have made a difference.
My professor is barely out of college himself, and his suit and tie make him look like he’s playing dress-up. He’s easily my and Soleil’s favorite teacher. “We’re on page ninety-four,” he calls, pointing to the text on his podium. I nod, pulling the philosophy book from my backpack, and glance sideways at Soleil.
Her brown hair is braided and woven into a bun, her dark skin slightly pink on her cheekbones and nose. Soleil spends half her life surfing, and even now her red bathing suit strings are tied behind her neck, hidden beneath an oversize T-shirt. She bites on the end of her pen, hiding her smile, and Professor Roth continues his discussion on metaphysics—a subject I normally find riveting—but my attention falters when I notice a new student sitting across the room. The second stranger I’ve seen today.
There’s a small spike in my heart rate, and I have to admit, I’m a fan of the disheveled look he’s got going on. His brown hair is too long, tucked behind his ears; his chin scruffy and unshaven; his jaw sharp and strong. His Nirvana T-shirt looks worn and soft, stretched over his impressive biceps. I could probably stare at him all morning, but I’m interrupted by Soleil bumping her shoulder into mine.
“Told you there was something you had to see,” she whispered. “He’s just my type, isn’t he? Looks like a real troublemaker. I talked to him earlier.” She shoots a cautious glance at our teacher before going on. “I’ll tell you the rest after class.”