Hilltop House

Cora, Eleven

"This is called Singing Beach."

Cora narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you joking?"

"No. Not at all. The sand makes noise."

"You're messing with me."

"No! Just, go on! Try it."

She gave him another dubious look before walking the short distance to the sand. Standing boulders separated the parking lot from the beach. To the right a small brown-grassy hill rose, stone steps embedded into it, leading up to a footpath and benches that moved off toward the rocky treeline. At the moment, nobody was nearby; as Cora descended warily onto the sand, she did catch sight of some people walking their dogs a ways off, though.

Taking a few gingerly steps in her boots, the girl waited for something to happen, something to sing, as Brian had said. When she got nothing, she took larger steps, spun in a circle or two, jumped up and down. Still not a note. She turned to look at Brian. He was sitting on a boulder about the size of a large cannonball, watching her in amusement.

Her shoulders fell. "You were messing with me, weren't you?"

"No! It's best if you're barefoot. Or use your hands. Here, I'll show you." He moved down onto the sand, passed Cora, moved a little closer toward the water but stayed where it was dry. Then he got down on his knees. "Listen," he said, glancing up at her to make sure she was paying attention before laying his palms onto the sand and beginning to move them in swirly back-and-forth motions. And his movements did assuredly produce noise, though it wasn't anything that sounded like singing. It was more squeaks and short yelps, like two rubber erasers being grated against one another.

Brian smiled up at her. Cora could only raise an eyebrow. "You're serious? That's it?"

"Yeah! You try." He stood up and shook the sand off his hands.

Cora found herself reaching toward him, brushing the extra off his sleeves to help, then realized what she was doing and abruptly stopped.

For a very brief moment, a strange expression flickered across Brian's face, but it was gone before Cora could understand it, and he said, "If you kind of slide along the sand, you know, don't take steps, but kind of like you're ice skating, that makes the sound, too."

"Should I take off my shoes?"

"If you want to be cold."

Cora sat down and unlaced her boots, removed them and her fuzzy purple socks. The sand was definitely chilly as she stood back up on it, but Brian was right--it was better barefoot. She'd been unimpressed with the sound at first, but the more she slid around on the sand, the more she actually began to enjoy the noise. It really wasn't anything phenomenal, but there was something about it, a certain satisfaction in knowing she could make those squeaks just by shuffling her feet along. She laughed at her own enjoyment, tried to make Brian join in, and, though he was difficult to persuade, she managed to get him to take off his shoes and slide around on the cold sand with her for a few minutes before they were sure their toes were beginning to freeze and hurried to bundle them back up.

Brian suggested they go closer to the water, so they did, he mock-threatening to push her in and she pretending to be worried. They must've spent an hour messing around, climbing on the rocks and building a terrible sandcastle (pile of sand, really) and taking videos of one another's hair being whipped around by the wind. A few other people came and went, but Cora didn't even see them; she was too wrapped up in her own happiness. She couldn't recall the last time she'd been so comfortable in someone's presence. Everything came so easy with Brian. She hadn't had a friend like him ever, really. And that's how her mind categorized him: friend. If she actually thought about it, the only other person she'd felt herself around was her Grandmother Luce. She pictured the woman for a moment, fleetingly, wondered how she was doing, before being distracted again by Brian.