"Whoa, what happened? And where's mine?" Rob asks when I hand Rachel her melting strawberry ice cream.
"Probably in a seagull's stomach by now since I um... fell. The others didn't make it."
His sunglasses slide down the bridge of his crooked nose, a trail of sweat marking their path. Rob broke his nose in an ice hockey game when he was ten. A doctor had to set it in place, but it never quite got back to its former shape. We shared a room at the time he was recovering and his breathing would keep me up at night. It was like living with Darth Vader.
"Rachel, look!" he exclaims. "There's a guy selling designer sun hats!"
She whips her head around. "Where?"
Rob's tongue springs for her ice cream like a frog catching a fly. She shrieks and slaps him away, and I leave them bickering as I jog down to the shore.
Pulling my sticky shirt off, I couldn't be more thankful that I decided to wear a swimsuit under my clothes even though I had no intention of swimming. My knees sink into the wet sand while the waves lap over my shirt. I splash saltwater on my chest where the ice cream has seeped through the fabric, then dunk my hair and wash out the vanilla.
"Little Lia, thought that was you."
My fingers freeze from raking through my strands. There's only one person who calls me that, he thrust the nickname on me in middle school. I'd know that slimy voice anywhere, though. Jay Carter emerges from the rolling ocean, his gaze locked on me. It's like he's gliding, floating until he can slither on land and dry out his scaly belly.
I wish he really looked like a reptile. It would reflect his personality more than the conventional attractiveness it's concealed behind.
"Actually, not so little anymore, huh? I see summer's been good to you." His dark eyes blatantly settle on my chest. "Real good."
I whip up my soaking shirt to cover myself. Rachel's been on the receiving end of Carter's skeevy comments, but that's definitely the most forward thing he's said to me. The way his eyes linger sends a biting chill down my spine. It's as if he's holding a magnifying glass to my body, examining every inch of exposed skin.
Carter has always rubbed me the wrong way. Always been a source of irritation like a rash. He spreads himself over every girl he comes into contact with, consumes them, uses bodies until he's had his fill and disappears.
It's a pattern he doesn't hide, and girls don't seem to care. They still flock to him, readily giving him everything, holding a false belief that they could be the exception to his pattern.
I've seen the damage he leaves in his wake, and I'm just grateful that I've steered clear of becoming one of his many victims.
He stands next to me with dripping swim trunks and hairy legs. I'm still kneeling, deciding to bite the bullet and squeeze out my shirt so I can put it back on. Before I do, I part my hair from behind and bring it forward so that it hides my chest from him.
"Looks like everyone from school had the same idea about coming here today," his voice drifts down.
"The beach on the last day of summer? Not exactly surprising," I mumble.
"No, it's not," Carter says, watching me stand. "But it is surprising seeing you here. Seeing you anywhere outside of school, really. I guess that's gonna change now because of Matt."
I try to read his impish features. How much has Matt told him? They're unfortunately best friends, after all. His small mouth curves as he rakes a hand through his floppy brown hair. He flexes, not so subtly, deliberately emphasizing his muscles and presenting his bare torso like a peacock flashing its feathers. It's making me more confused than anything.
I'm the furthest thing from being Jay Carter's type, so why is he suddenly treating me like I am? Maybe simply being an interest to someone like Matt Benson is enough to make me appealing to everyone else. A human beauty filter.
"Little Lia climbing up the ranks." Carter clicks his tongue, his staring thoughtful. "Was only a matter of time, I suppose."
My mouth opens to question him, but he's already striding down the shoreline.
〰️〰️〰️
Rob has gone back to his friends by the time I collapse under Rachel's rainbow umbrella again. We spend the rest of the day savoring our last hours of summer break, pushing away the looming reality of early mornings and homework starting from tomorrow.
She presses me for more details about Matt, but there isn't much else to tell aside from the flirty texts.
I don't mention my encounter with Carter until she's driving me home in her Mini Cooper convertible. The sky burns violet and crimson above us, the air finally cooling with dusk as the streets scatter with sun-kissed beachgoers. My hand absently flies through the wind and rides invisible waves while she drives.
"So, what do you think he meant by that?" I ask. "Was only a matter of time."
"Well, you know," she says, focused on the road.
"Know what?"
Rachel glances at me with wild strands of flames licking her face, a slight twist to her small lips. I think she's trying to tell if I'm playing dumb, but I look back at her with true blankness.
"Really? You haven't noticed?"
"Noticed what?" I give my foot a short stomp on the car floor.
She laughs. "You've always been cute, Lia. But you're like, hot now."
"What?" I shake my head and turn away. "C'mon."
"Seriously! I can't believe you haven't seen it!"
"There's nothing to see." I scoff. "I'm exactly who I've always been, and that is not someone who's hot."
She gives a heavy sigh. "Okay first, you've gone through a major growth spurt this summer." —I swat her away when she playfully pokes the side of my boob— "And second, there's just like, this new glow about you. Carter probably figured it would happen and you'd end up getting together with someone really popular."
I barely catch the end of what she's saying because I'm suddenly very aware of my body, each section prickling beneath my clothes. Have I really changed that much in the last few months? If I have then it's news to me.
Change goes unnoticed on a daily basis, and since I've been lounging around the house in loose shirts and shorts for most of the summer, seeing any difference in myself was practically impossible.
An abrupt thought comes to mind and sends my heart on a fast drop to my pit. "What if Matt only texted me because I've... changed or whatever?"
"You said you haven't seen him in person, though."
"Yeah, but he could have seen me in passing before he went away. I don't know."
"I doubt it." Rachel shrugs as we stop at a red light. "Aside from hanging out at my place and working in the restaurant sometimes, you've pretty much stayed under the radar. And Matt's always been nice to you, hasn't he?"
I give a brief grunt of agreement and start a braid in my hair, watching an exhausted mother dragging her tomato-faced child over the crosswalk as he throws a tantrum.
In all the years of being in classes with Matt, he was never rude to me, but he never really went out of his way for me either. I was sort of an acknowledgement, worthy of a smile here and there. While girls like Rachel or Simone Fraser got special treatment from the popular group, because they were in that group too.
"Has he asked you for nudes?"
"What? No!" I exclaim. "Guys don't really do that, do they?"
Rachel's chuckle mixes with the air as we drive again. "Right, almost forgot you're—"
"Naïve?"
"Inexperienced," she corrects. "But if you've been talking to Matt for a month and he hasn't tried anything like that, I feel like he's in it for more than a hookup. I mean, he's never been that type in the first place, anyway. He's not Carter."
Thank god. If Carter texted me out of the blue, I'd burn my phone and scatter the ashes for good measure.
"Do me a favor," Rachel says when we pull up outside my house. The sprinklers are whirring away in the front yard, misting over the back of my legs. "Take a good look at your hot self in the mirror, okay?"
"Rach, I really don't think—"
"See ya at school, sexy!"
I roll my eyes as she screeches away and causes Mrs. Brenner's terrier to start yapping across the street, as usual.
〰️〰️〰️
It doesn't matter how long I'm away from my room for, could be five minutes or five hours, but walking in always feels like a warm hug. My muscles ease and my head clears when I'm alone in my space, surrounded by my things and separated from the chaos of the outside world. I glide my finger over the maple lid of my piano. It could do with a polish.
When my mom brought me along with her to an antique store at the age of eleven, I was drawn like a moth to a flame the second I saw it collecting dust there. The intricate carvings of flowers and butterflies on the upper panel captivated me back then, but I still like gazing over the etches when I play. It's easy to get lost in daydreams.
The piano sat in the living room when we brought it home, but Rob insisted it be moved to my room since I'm the only one who uses it. Upright and on the smaller side, it slots in perfectly next to the window leading onto the roof.
I tip the remnants from my water bottle into the succulent on my cluttered desk before I make my way to the bathroom. I'm mentally going through the fridge and thinking about what I'll cook for dinner when I hop in the shower, but then I remember that it's Sunday, and Sunday is leftover day.
Mom will come back from work with trays of food the staff made, and I'm hoping with every fiber that Renato's lasagna will be among those trays. As the head chef of Floriana, our family's restaurant, he's the master of lasagna and makes the best pasta sauce I've ever tasted. I've pestered him for years about giving up his recipe, but that's a secret not a soul on earth knows. Not even my mom, so I'm no exception.
After I've washed the sweat and sand away, I go back to my room, pausing when I pass my standing mirror. Bags and clothes are draped over it, a habit of flinging up whatever I can't be bothered to pack away. I move it all aside and exhale when my reflection comes into full view.
Fine, Rachel. I clench my teeth and drop the towel wrapped around my body.
Back in middle school, I went through a phase where I religiously wore Rob's clothes. Hoodies, sweats, baseball caps, you name it. Anything to be like him. But then, on a field trip to a public swimming pool, a girl named Sarah-Marie singled me out in my bathing suit. She told me I looked better in boys' clothes because I had no shape, no curves, just a skinny, flat body with knobby knees.
Rachel was so infuriated that she called her a "bra-stuffer bitch" before she pushed her in the pool, leading to tattling, a lecture from our teacher, and Rachel giving a forced apology. But what Sarah-Marie said that day stuck.
"You should just keep hiding yourself in baggy clothes because no one wants to see how boring you are underneath, Lia."
And so I did hide. It took me a while to find my own sense of style and leave the tomboy phase behind, but even after Sarah-Marie moved away to Ohio and wasn't around to make me feel small, her words lingered.
But now, looking in the mirror, that shapeless middle-schooler is gone. I don't see the girl body I'm used to envisioning, but a woman with curves and definition that I never could've imagined having when Sarah-Marie humiliated me. And I like it, but I also don't. More so, the reaction to it.
Jay Carter always has a flirty demeanor and a smirk on his lips, but the intense way he was looking at me today was different than how anyone has looked at me before. It was like he was ogling. Leering. And that's the part I don't like one bit.
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