Talking to Aunt Tricia has always been awkward. Be it FaceTime or voice calls, our conversations are filled with long pauses and curt answers. It’s part of the reason I prefer to text, but Aunt Tricia is old school. Even if the conversation only lasts a minute or two, she’s a ‘hear your voice’ kind of person.
“Keep it that way until after the fundraiser tomorrow and we’ll be set.”
I didn’t expect words of praise from my aunt, but they would have been nice to hear. So would a warning that I was expected to stay the weekend in this podunk town. “About that. Kelly said I’m staying the night again?”
“Don’t be such a child, Layla,” my aunt scolds.
I hear her morning mimosa clank against the sunroom’s glass table. I’m surprised she isn't at work yet. With the teen shelter fundraiser tomorrow, she should be at the venue overseeing the setup and confirming the final menu with the caterers. I look at the phone, noting it's already nine. Odd.
“I just—”
Click.
Aunt Tricia hangs up, not caring enough to hear how I would be of better use in Orlando, helping to put the finishing touches on my first ever fundraiser before heading back home. Instead I’m stuck in the tiny town of Sebastian with a chick I don’t know, no clothes of my own, and a dying phone.
The patio door slides open. Kelly pokes her head out and scowls. “You’re not dressed yet?”
She rolls her eyes and slips back into the house. I take a deep breath and run my hands through my hair. This is going to be a long weekend.
I hide under the shade of Kelly's pink and white Walmart umbrella. My skin hurts, physically hurts, because we’ve been sitting on the beach for hours and there are parts of me that are seeing the sun for the first time.
Ever.
We don’t have beaches where I live, just large lakes surrounded by grass and cream-colored dirt. I have a pool in my backyard, but it’s nothing compared to this. The sand down here is a blinding white, reflecting the sun’s rays, essentially turning the world into an oven and me into its roast.
“Can we leave yet?” I touch my arm and wince. A white circle appears and then disappears on my rose colored skin. I passed tan an hour ago and have gone full blown lobster. “I think I’m burning.”
“Seriously?” Kelly tilts her sunglasses so I can see her brown eyes roll. I don't think she wants me to be here any more than I do. “Don’t you know anything? Beaches are an all day thing. Besides, I need at least another forty-five minutes if I want my skin to keep its golden glow.”
I groan and grab a water bottle from her cooler bag, crossing my legs and try
ing to hide in as much of the shade as possible. Unlike Kelly, who seems to turn shades of brown instead of red, too much more of this and I'm going to look like an onion: a peeling mess. The perfect souvenir from Florida.
Kelly’s phone dings. She rolls onto her side to read the message, smiles briefly, then says, “We have company.”
I look up and notice a group of people walking towards us; one girl seemingly leading three guys. Kelly climbs to her feet and brushes the sand off her ass. She emits a high pitched squeal that makes me cringe, then runs towards the girl in a flowing white dress.
Kelly wraps her arms around the girl's neck until the tattooed guy says something. I can’t hear what it is, but she flips him the middle finger. They walk over to our spot and Kelly resumes her place on her towel again. “So, guys, this is Layla. Mom says I have to babysit her this weekend.”
I bite my tongue and force myself to smile. If anyone needs a babysitter around here, it’s Kelly. She’s about as responsible as a six-year-old in a candy store with a pocket full of cash before dinner.
The girl in the white dress drops her aqua, ‘be a mermaid and make waves,’ beach bag and extends her hand. “I’m Hattie.”
“Layla.”
“Like the song by Eric Clapton?” The tattooed guy, who aggravated Kelly, hands a dark-haired guy an umbrella. That one refuses to look at me, focusing all of his attention on burying the metal post in the sand. I nod and the tattooed one adds. “Cool. I’m Landon.”
“It’s a good song,” a blonde guy says. He looks vaguely familiar and I wonder, Was he at one of the parties Kelly dragged me to last night? “I’m Sam and this fucker over here is Josh.”
Sam hooks his arm around Josh's neck and rubs his fist into Josh’s dark hair like he would if Josh was an eight-year-old kid. They wrestle, like brothers do, until they fall to the sand. Sam releases Josh and they laugh like this is an everyday occurrence.
I take in each guy as they arrange themselves on the sand. All of them are beautiful, but it’s Josh my attention is drawn to most. Sure, he’s handsome in that classic, boy next door kind of way, with his dark brown hair and caramel colored eyes, but there’s something about him that I can’t put my finger on. Sam may look like someone I’ve met before, but Josh feels familiar.
Sam lays his towel beside mine which earns me a scowl from Kelly, but I could care less. I’m not interested in her sloppy seconds. “So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”
I don’t make a habit of telling people that my aunt is Tricia Collins. Her name carries weight in the right circles and while I doubt anyone here knows who she is, I’d rather not earn favoritism or criticism by association. “I’m visiting from Georgia to work at a nonprofit organization with my aunt.”
Not a lie. Just not the whole truth. Besides, the chances of running into any of these people beyond this weekend are slim to none.