Island Girls (and Boys) (9 page)

T
he rain stopped and the sun came out just a little after one. Everyone evacuated the campground like we�d announced that seashells were turning into money. Chelsea and I were in the cooler, restocking the almost empty metal shelves�people had been in the store buying things like crazy all morning.

�Zach was in here earlier,� she said, stopping for a minute to rub her nose with a gloved hand. �He said we�re all going to a party tonight.�

�On the beach.�

�Sounds like fun.�

�I think it will be.�

�Noah really likes Zach and Dylan. I think he�s going to hang out with them today.�

�Doing what?�

�I don�t know. Exploring the island. Playing in the surf.� She sighed. �I so do not want to be here.�

�We�ll get out of the cooler faster if we keep working,� I said, as I continued to put cans on the shelves.

�I�m not talking about the cooler. I�m talking about working, period. It�s a total bummer, completely lame when everyone else can play and we have to work.�

�If we don�t work, we don�t get paid, and if we don�t get paid, how can we afford to live in the beach house?�

�I don�t know.� She started stacking cans on the shelves again. �It just seems so unfair. I mean, it�s summer! We should be out soaking up the rays, lying on the sand, playing in the surf, not being a slave to the dollar.�

Not being a slave to the dollar?
A bit melodramatic. Besides, did she truly not get that without income, we had absolutely nothing? It wasn�t as if Noah was chipping in anything toward our expenses.

It was like she was seeking some sort of Utopia that didn�t exist. She wanted a world of
her and Noah. No work, no cleaning, no cooking, no responsibilities. I was getting tired of arguing with her.

�So quit,� I said, half-jokingly.

�I think I�m going to.�

I stared at her. �You can�t quit.�

�Why not? It�s a free country.�

�Mrs. P hired you because I promised her you were dependable. Besides, it�ll leave us short an employee, and you can see how busy we are.�

�I
hate
it, Jen. Hate, hate, hate it. I hate the fishermen who smell like they�re storing bait in their pockets. I hate the girls who come in here wearing their bathing suits, smelling like coconut oil, reminding me that they�re in the sun while I�m under fluorescent lights. I hate the guys who remind me how much I miss Noah. I hate freezing my butt off, stocking the cooler, knowing that in an hour I�m going to have to stock it again. I absolutely hate every second of every minute that I�m here!�

Then she sat down on a case of root beer, buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears.

I couldn�t believe this. One of the cooler doors opened, warm air rushed in, a hand grabbed a drink, the door closed. Okay. So all the campers hadn�t left, or maybe a fisherman had come in. Not that it mattered. I stared at Chelsea. Her shoulders were bouncing up and down. She didn�t seem to have noticed that someone had come in and taken a drink.

I knelt in front of her. �Chels, don�t cry. Your tears will freeze.�

�It�s not that cold in here.�

�You just said your butt was freezing.�

She looked up, sniffed, rubbed her nose. �I miss Noah.�

�You�ll see him in a couple of hours.�

�I don�t like not being with him. He�s alone all day. And I�m alone here.�

�How can you feel alone with two hundred campers around?�

�I can�t explain it. And I know you can�t understand��

�Because I don�t have a boyfriend,� I finished for her.

She nodded. �I�m afraid that if I�m not with him, he�ll stop loving me.�

I felt like she�d punched me. She was my best friend. I didn�t want to see her hurting, didn�t want her to have doubts about herself.

�Oh, Chels. He�s not going to stop loving you. And you can�t be with him
all
the time.� And it occurred to me that if she was,
then
he might stop loving her, because she might get on his nerves as much as she was getting on mine. I was beginning to think that Chelsea was best taken in small doses.

�What if he goes out on the beach and meets someone he likes better?�

�He won�t.�

�How do you know?�

�Because you�re so wonderful. How could he possibly meet anyone he liked better than you?�

�You�re just saying that because you�re my best friend.�

�No, I�m not. I�m saying it so you�ll stop crying and we can get out of the cooler. More than that I�m saying it because now
my
butt is freezing.�

She laughed.

�Noah isn�t going to find anyone better, Chels,
because there isn�t anyone better. I mean that.�

She hugged me. �I�m being silly, I know I am. Let�s finish up so we can get out of here.�

Abruptly she stood and went back to work.

Chelsea, Amy, and I had always shared our fears and doubts. But this was something different, and I wasn�t exactly sure what was going on. Noah seemed to be crazy in love with Chelsea. Why was she worried?

B
y the time we got to the house, Dylan and Zach were already there, in the living room, drinking beer, watching one of the
Sopranos
DVDs with Noah. Chelsea plopped down on the couch beside him. He swung his arm around her, drew her up close, and started kissing her like they�d never stopped.

Yeah, right, Chels. He�s going to find someone he likes better.

�Sorry we�re late,� I announced.

Dylan stood. It always made my heart thud when I saw all of him. He was so in shape. He grinned.

�We have a surprise for you.�

I followed him into the kitchen. Holding
Tiny, Amy was standing beside a large bucket, looking inside.

�There are crabs in here,� she said.

�Yeah, Zach and I caught them this afternoon. We were hoping for fish, but they weren�t biting. Lots of crabs, though, stealing the bait off our hooks, so we decided that we�d show them.�

I glanced in the bucket. The crabs were huge, with blue backs and giant claws. I couldn�t see exactly how many there were because they were piled on top of each other, making little hissing noises.

�Do you know how to cook them?� Dylan asked.

�Sure,� I said, smiling. �Just boil some water, season it, and toss them in.�

�But they�re alive,� Amy said.

�Well, yeah, that�s how you have to cook them. Like lobsters.�

�It seems mean.�

�They�re crabs, Amy.�

She held up a hand and began to back away. �I don�t want to have anything to do with cooking something that�s alive.�

�Fine, I�ll do it.� Alone, since Chelsea was still busy on the couch.

�I�m not going to eat them,� Amy said. �I�m sorry. I just can�t. I�ve looked into their eyes.�

�You can barely see their eyes.�

�We connected.�

I couldn�t believe this. �Fine, fine, fine.�

I opened a lower cabinet and pulled out the large pot that I�d seen my grandma use to cook the crabs that Granddad caught. It clanked when I dropped it into the sink. I turned on the water.

�I�m going to go take a shower. I smell like hot dogs,� Amy said. �I�ll fix a salad when I�m done.�

�Okay.�

I turned off the water, went to grab the pot handles, and found other hands there, arms that had reached across in front of me. I went completely still, barely breathing. Dylan was so close that I could smell the cologne he was wearing, something spicy and rich.

�I�ll get it,� he said.

I looked up into his eyes, and my heart
started hammering. �It was really sweet of you and Zach to catch us some supper.�

�We drank your beer and used your shower. Noah said it was okay, since we were already over here, dropping off the crabs. The using-the-shower part.�

He�d been in my shower? That seemed so intimate.

�Yeah, that�s cool. Not a problem.�

I stepped back, and he lifted the pot out of the sink. The muscles in his forearms flexed. It was a huge pot and with all the water I�d put in it, it was heavy. I�m not sure why I�d thought I could lift and carry it to the stove.

We were the only two in the kitchen now. Suddenly I felt self-conscious. I rubbed my hands on my shorts. �I think I saw some crab boil in the pantry.� Another inane thing to say�I was on quite a roll.

I opened the pantry door and looked inside. Yep, crab boil all right. About a dozen boxes. Gran must have gotten them on sale.

They say that a watched pot never boils, and ours was certainly being watched. After I put
the packet of crab boil in, Dylan and I stood guard over the pot like we expected it to try to escape. I could hear the crabs moving around in the bucket. They probably did want to escape.

It wouldn�t be dark for a couple of hours. Then I figured we�d go find that party on the beach.

�Is it okay that we�re here?� Dylan asked.

I snapped my head around and looked at him. �Yeah, sure.�

�What�s bothering you?�

I shook my head. �I don�t know.�

He studied me. �Is it because I kissed you last night?�

�A little�I think. You�re just passing through. I mean, you�re going to meet lots of girls on lots of beaches�And I have no right to even care, and I don�t know why I do�and you were in my shower�and I�m rambling like an idiot.�

He cocked his head to the side. �So you want me to leave?�

�No. God, no.� I so didn�t want that. But I didn�t know what I did want. I was afraid that I wanted what I couldn�t have. And that was
insane because I�d known this guy for only a few days. But it seemed so much longer. Like forever. The way I�d felt when I first met Chelsea and Amy�that in an instant we were part of something special.

�Look, maybe I better clear things up,� he said. �The army isn�t prison, but it�s not a summer spent on the beach either. I just want to have a good time while I can. And while I�m on this island, I�d like that good time to be with you. But no strings. Nothing permanent. If you�re cool with that��

�I am,� I said hastily. I didn�t want to know what the alternative was if I wasn�t cool with it. Because I did like him. I liked him a lot. So I forced myself to say, �Besides, when you leave, other guys will come along. And I�ll move on.�

He furrowed his brow. �Yeah, that�s what you should do�move on to other guys.�

�Because you�re so right. This is summer, we�re both going places at the end of it, and we need to make the most of these months, have fun, meet people.�

�Exactly.�

�So you�re my now guy.�

�I just want to be clear on where I�m coming from and why, because if this wasn�t my last chance��

Whatever he was going to say went unsaid as a sizzling sound made us both jump to attention. We�d been watching each other instead of the pot, and the water had boiled over. I lowered the flame, and the water settled into a rolling simmer.

I looked over at him, wondering if he was going to finish whatever it was he was about to say, but he was staring at the pot like it contained answers.

�You okay?� I asked.

He glanced over at me and grinned. �Yeah. Let�s get these crabs cooked. Any idea how we go about it without getting pinched?�

�We have some long tongs, or you could try dumping them in.�

�Dumping sounds like it�ll work.�

�And is more manly?�

�You bet.�

He picked up the bucket holding the crabs. I could hear their claws and legs scratching against the metal. It seemed like their hissing got
louder. I knew there was no way that they could know what awaited them. Still, I felt a little guilty, found myself wishing that Amy hadn�t connected with them.

Dylan held the bucket over the pot. He angled it down. The crabs started to slide out. The first crab hit the water with a splash. The others quickly followed. Except for one. I don�t know how, but suddenly it was jumping free, scrambling away.

�Shit!� Dylan yelled as it hit the edge of the stove, claws snapping, then dropped to the floor.

I screeched and hurried out of the way, as it skittered across the tile.

�Hey, what�s going on?� Chelsea yelled.

�Nothing! We�ve got it under control!� Or at least I thought we would in time.

I was reminded of a scene out of
The Little Mermaid
. I expected to see Dylan brandishing a huge knife.

Instead he was looking around frantically, still holding the bucket. �You got a broom?�

�Yeah,� I answered, unable to figure out why he wanted to clean the kitchen now.

�I�ll hold the bucket, you sweep him in.�

�Sweep a crab?�

�Better than trying to pick it up with our hands or a pair of tongs, �cuz I don�t think it�s going to be real cooperative.�

He had a point. I walked to the pantry, heard the scratching of hard legs over the floor, turned, saw the crab backing toward a corner.
Don�t look in his eyes,
I told myself.
Don�t let him do to you what he did to Amy.

I opened the pantry door and grabbed the broom.

�Okay, how do we do this?� I asked.

�I�ll hold the bucket on the floor, like a dust-pan, you sweep him in.�

Right. Sounded simple enough.

But the crab was having nothing to do with our brilliant plan. He skittered one way and when I went after him, he skittered the other. Then he grabbed the edge of the broom. Gosh, he had huge claws. They looked like they could do some real damage.

�Your mistake, buddy,� I said through gritted teeth.

Dylan was crouched down, holding the
bucket in place on the floor. I pushed the crab into the bucket, but when I brought the broom out, he came back out right along with it. I put the broom and him back into the bucket, then banged the crab again the side. But the tenacious creature held on tight.

�He won�t let go!�

�Try carrying him to the pot.�

�I don�t think I can do that.�

�Why not? He�s holding on tight enough.�

�I mean it seems�cruel. To carry him to his death.�

�He�s a crab, Jennifer.�

Okay. Hadn�t I said the same thing to Amy? �I know, but��

Dylan stood up and took the broom. He lifted it and the crab, carrying them both to the stove. As he started lowering the crab into the pot, I almost shouted at the silly thing to let go.

�He fought the brave fight. Maybe we should give him his freedom,� I announced�but too late.

The crab was in the water. And suddenly I wasn�t hungry anymore.