Summer Love (2 page)

AS
cute as Dex has become, you can't stop thinking about the time he peed in his pants the summer he turned seven because he didn't want to run to the bathroom in the middle of the Fourth of July fireworks. And how he once gave himself a hickey on his arm just to see if he could. And the way he used to tease you because you didn't like swimming in the ocean. There was just too much history here. Kissing Dex would be like kissing your cousin. Besides, you're feeling kind of grimy from your train ride and wouldn't mind washing your face and unpacking for the weekend before starting on your flirt hunt.

“I think maybe a trip back to the house would be best,” you tell Tasha, “as long as you really don't mind.”

“Not at all,” she says. And then turns to Dex, “To the house, sir!”

Jade laughs. “Dex getting his license is the best thing that ever happened to me. Now I have a chauffeur to take me everywhere!”

“Hey, watch it, or I'll leave you all on the side of the road,” Dex says, staring straight ahead.

“Do that, and I'm sure we'll find some cute boys to take us where we want to go, right, girls?” Jade turns around to wink at you and Tasha.

“Absolutely!” Tasha says.

YOU
drop your stuff in the yellow room, change into your skimpiest bikini for maximum tanning potential, and head out to the pool, carrying a stash of magazines, a bottle of water, and a cover-up in a tote. Tasha's already there in her teeniest suit with a
Teen Vogue
balanced in just the right way so it won't give her a weird magazine-shaped tan line.

“I've got the perfect quiz for you,” Tasha says. It's ‘What Literary Leading Man Is Your True Love?'”

You know this is just going to lead to her bugging you about finding a guy cuter than Tyler Grant this weekend, so instead of playing along, you say, “How about you take the quiz?”

Tasha shakes her head. “It's for you! It's your birthday weekend!”

“How about you go first, then me?” you ask her, already plotting to distract her with something else after she's done with the quiz.

She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” she says, holding the magazine out to you. “Ask me.”

“Okay,” you say, reading from the quiz. “Is a man's most important quality his: (a) intelligence, (b) loyalty, (c) sexiness, or (d) passion.”

“Hmm,” Tasha says, closing her eyes and thinking. “Can I say all of the above?”

You shake your head. “No, you cannot say all of the above! Then all the Literary Leading Men will be your true love, and you can only have one!”

Tasha opens her eyes and sits up. “Do you really think so? Do you think there's just one?”

“For this quiz there is,” you tell her, laughing. But you realize she's not laughing with you.

“I'm serious,” she says. “I mean, it's fun to flirt and kiss and dance at parties and go out for coffee after school and stuff, but do you think there's just one perfect match for all of us?”

You chew your lip as you think. It's not something you've really considered before. Finally, you give her your most honest answer, which is, “I don't know.”

Tasha lies back in the chaise lounge. “Yeah,” she
says. “I don't know, either.” She looks down at her fingers. “Do you want to give me a manicure?” she asks. “And when mine dries, I'll give you one.”

“Sure,” you tell her. “What color do you want?”

She leans over and rummages around in the tote bag on the right side of her chair. “Yellow,” she says, handing you a bottle of metallic polish. “Perfect for summer.”

You scooch your chaise lounge closer to hers and start carefully polishing Tasha's nails. Her eyes are closed again, and her chin is tipped up so she won't get a neck-crease tan line.

“I think tonight we should go somewhere to find boys,” she says sleepily. “Maybe they'll be intelligent and loyal and . . . what where the other ones?”

“Sexy and passionate,” you tell her.

“Yeah, those.”

“Are you falling asleep?” you ask her, as you finish polishing her pinky.

“Mm, maybe,” she says.

“I'm not polishing your nails if you're sleeping,” you tell her. “That's too weird.”

Tasha's eyes snap open. “I'm up!” she says. “But I'm tired.” She looks at her nails. You've done one coat of yellow on all of them. “Maybe stop there,”
she says, sheepishly. “I can do a second coat later. We got up really early this morning. Would it be all right if I took a nap?”

You smile at your cousin. “Go for it,” you say. “I'll wake you if anything superexciting happens.”

You shove your chaise lounge back to its original position and start to read the rest of Tasha's
Teen Vogue
. You haven't gotten all that far, though, when you hear a dog barking. At first you ignore it, but the dog won't stop. And it sounds as if it's getting closer. Could the dog have run away? Does it need rescuing? You decide to investigate, so you get up off your chair, pull on your cover-up, and walk down the path along the side of the house until you reach the gate that separates the front yard of the house from the road beyond it. And then you see him.

There's a dog, sure, a supercute Dalmatian who's barking his head off. But also a tall, broad-shouldered guy with dark wavy hair and sideburns. He's wearing a white V-neck T-shirt and plaid shorts that are half cool and half dorky. And he's got leather flip-flops on his feet.

You clear your throat, and he looks at you. “Is everything okay?” you ask. “I mean, with your dog?”

Sideburns smiles and looks a little embarrassed.
“Sorry. Gonzo's a little crazy. He barks at cars. Always. It makes walking him a huge pain in the butt. But I love him anyway.”

He bends down and rubs Gonzo's head. “Don't I love you, boy?” he asks. The dog barks in response.

“Barking at cars,” you say. “That's some talent.”

Sideburns laughs. “Seems like he's got another one, too.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask. “What's that?”

He scratches the back of his head, and you think maybe his cheeks are turning a little pink, but it's hard to tell. “Finding pretty girls?” he says, almost as if it's a question.

You can't help but laugh.

“Lame line,” he says, definitely blushing this time. “I know.”

Somehow the lame pickup line has made him even more endearing. You stick your hand through the wide space between the rails of the gate and introduce yourself.

He slides his hand into yours and shakes it. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “I'm Nikhil. But most people call me Nik.”

His hand is warm and soft—big, too.

“Are you here for the summer?” he asks.

He lets go of your hand, and you shake your head. “Just for the weekend,” you tell him. “My cousin Tasha's going to be here all summer, though. This is her parents' house. She's asleep back there by the pool.”

“Ah,” he answers. Then a car drives by, and Gonzo starts barking like a lunatic again.

“Listen,” Nik says. “I should probably keep walking Gonzo. But, um, if you want, you can come with us. I mean, if your cousin is sleeping and all, and you want some company. I mean, I wouldn't mind the company. Because Gonzo, well, he's kind of nuts.”

You smile at Nik and his invite. Then you look back at the house, where Tasha is asleep by the pool.

YOU
look out at the pool in the backyard. It's surrounded by a brick patio and tons of shrubs and flowers and one medium-tall fig tree. Your uncle Ted is very into figs. But what you don't see out there are boys. Not even half a boy. Not even a quarter.

“How about I wash my face and brush my hair and we head to the beach?” you say to Tasha.

She squeezes your shoulder. “I was hoping that's what you were going to say.”

You put on your red polka-dot bikini, wash your face, reapply waterproof mascara, and brush your hair into a sleek ponytail. Then you walk over to Tasha's room with a tube of sunscreen in your hand.

“Can you help?” you ask her.

She nods, tying the final string of her bright yellow bikini. “Then you'll do me?”

“Sure,” you say, handing over the lotion.

She slathers it all over your back and you do the same for her. Then you both make sure your arms and legs and stomachs and faces are covered.

“Don't forget your ears,” Tasha says. “Or the tops of your feet. No one wants a flip-flop tan.”

You think that you actually might like a flip-flop tan, but you follow her advice and rub some lotion on your feet, too.

YOU
take your bag to the changing room, put on your bathing suit, and grab a chaise lounge next to Tasha. Jade is on her other side, looking through her bag for something.

“So,” Tasha says to you, “Jade and I need some help. What's your opinion on posters?”

“Posters?” you ask.

Tasha nods. “You know, things some people hang on their walls to decorate them.”

Oh no. They've roped you into their dorm room decorating debate now, and you're not sure what the right answer is here. “I know what a poster is,” you tell Tasha. “Is there an opinion to have about them? I mean, they're posters.”

Tasha puts her hand to her heart as if you've mortally wounded her. “Are you sure we're related?” she asks.

“Found it!” Jade says, pulling a catalog from her bag. “This one has some great decorating ideas.”

“What does our being related have to do with posters?” you ask Tasha, genuinely curious now.

“I hate them,” Tasha says. “I think they're a sad imitation of art.”

You never thought of a poster that way before, but, come to think of it, maybe she's right. . . .

“Of course they are,” Jade says. “But it's not like we're going to bring your parents' Kandinsky with us to college. If you want art on the wall, it has to be posters. Otherwise, the place won't have any personality.”

“What about photographs?” you offer. “Maybe you could do something with those? Frame them?”

“We're related after all!” Tasha says triumphantly. “That's just what I suggested!”

Jade rubs her forehead. “But how do we choose the photographs? And what if some of the people we end up posting pictures of turn into doinks in college and then we're stuck with framed pictures of them on our wall?”

Before Tasha can respond in what you're pretty certain is a rehash of a conversation they've had a million times already, you ask Jade something you've
been wondering about since lunch. “What's a doink, exactly?”

Jade looks at you, at a loss for words. “I'm, um, it's a doink, you know? Just what it sounds like.”

It doesn't really sound like much to you.

“It's, like, someone who's kind of nuts,” Tasha says.

“Like someone who's nuts, but also kind of dorky,” Jade clarifies. “A nutty dork is a doink.”

“Got it,” you tell them. You wonder how many other words they've created. And you wonder if they're all as lame as
doink
.

Jade opens up the catalog she found in her bag and spreads it out on Tasha's chair. There's a page showing bedding with a maroon, navy, and hunter green pattern on it. “What do you think?” she asks Tasha. “I thought maybe this would go with our color scheme. We can figure out wall hangings later.”

Tasha starts to respond, and you stop paying attention. If they want your opinion again, you know they'll ask. Besides, there might be some cute boys up here at the pool for you to flirt with.

You check out the other chaise lounges, but most of the people on them look as if they're about your parents' age. There are a few kids, too. And maybe
some grandparents. No one flirt-age-appropriate. You check out the two lifeguards on duty who are both very cute, but decide to pass because they seem to be eyeing each other and smiling when they're not watching the pool. You wouldn't be surprised if they were dating.

Then you spot him. A guy who looks to be about your age, wrangling a set of triplets and having a hard time of it. He's got his shirt off, and his abs are kind of incredible, but the killer abs don't seem to be helping him with the triplets.

“Come on, Sloanie,” he's saying to the girl who's wrapped around his leg. “You love swimming lessons!”

“No,
I hate
them,” she responds, sliding down so she's sitting on his foot, making it impossible for him to move.

“Remember how much fun you had last time?” he pleads. “You blew bubbles!”

“I blew bubbles, too,” one of the boys says.

“And me,” says the other boy.

“You totally did, guys,” Abs tells them. “You were awesome. Just like Sloane.”

“I was awesomer than Sloane,” the first boy declares, “because she didn't put her head under.”

“I put my head under for longer than you,” the second boy tells the first.

You've done your fair share of neighborhood babysitting and can see this turning into a complete toddler meltdown in approximately ten seconds. You figure this guy can handle it, if he's been watching these kids for a while, but you wonder for a moment if you should offer to help. If you were in his situation, you would absolutely welcome some assistance, but it's hard to know about other people. Sometimes folks get a little touchy about help.