Picturesque

Chapter 13: Hermosa Beach

"Hey, guys," she said, throwing the bag down and getting out a towel, laying it down beside these people.

One of the people, a black girl who was laying on her stomach, looked up at me through her sunglasses. "Who's this?"

"This is Becca. She's teaching my sister and brother French this summer." Jo pointed to the girl who spoke. "This is Delores." She pointed to a skinny guy with greasy black hair. "That's Johnny." Johnny grinned at me as Jo pointed to another white boy who was blonde and very buff. "That's Bobby." She then pointed to a black boy who was laying on his side. "And that's Tony."

"Hiya," Tony greeted me.

"Hi," I said, looking at the four who all were just staring at me.

"Oh, I didn't bring another towel," Jo said as she scrummaged through her bag before standing up and looking at the one towel she had laid down on the ground beside Tony. "We can share this one."

"Okay," I said with a nervous laugh as Jo sat down on one edge of the towel. Carefully, I sat down beside her, accidentally brushing my hip against hers before I quickly scooted away, feeling the other side of my butt touch the sand.

"Where you from, Becca?" the one named Johnny asked. "You have a Southern accent."

"New Orleans."

"Damn," Delores remarked. "That's a way away."

"She's a college girl," Jo told them. "Just graduated."

"Good for you," Bobby said, sitting up and holding his buff arms over his knees. "Nowhere would let me in."

"You barely passed high school, Bobby," Delores argued, causing them all to laugh.

They started talking about things I was not a part of, so I just sat and quietly listened. They were all such beautiful people that I felt like an ugly duckling sitting there, constantly adjusting Jo's blouse to make sure it covered me.

At one point, Jo reached behind me to grab her bag that was sitting beside me. Her arm touched my lower back, and I could feel her hair tickling my shoulder. I stared down at the sand, feeling her arm nudge my back as she pulled something out of the bag before finally moving away. I watched as she pulled out a little baby blue and white transistor radio, jerking the silver antenna out of it before tucking it in the sand in front of her, turning the knob until some staticky pop music started playing.

For a while, we just lounged around and talked—well, they talked. I just sat and listened, laughing along occasionally. They were roughhousers—the boys kept punching and wrestling each other, and Jo was spitting curse words like a sailor. At one point, they all lit some cigarettes, and when the one called Johnny offered me one to which I politely declined, Jo called me a prude.

"Let's get our feet wet," Jo suggested and jumped up all at once, and the others all clambered up and started jogging down towards the water. Jo looked down at where I was seated. "C'mon." She held her hand down to me.

"I don't know how to swim," I murmured.

"We won't go that far," she insisted, but I was reluctant in getting in the turbulent water.

After a beat of silence, she clicked her tongue and then suddenly reached down to me, grabbing me by the upper arms.

"Wait, no," I defied as she started pulling me up off the ground.

"Get off your ass, old lady," she said as she yanked me to my feet and snatched my hand in hers so that I wouldn't go anywhere. "If you're gonna explore California, you gotta feel the Pacific Ocean. It's like a rite of passage."