“I’m ecstatic,” Jamie deadpanned, looping his whistle around his head. “I’m heading to my chair.”
“Hold on, I’ll walk with you,” Marcus said, rushing to grab his gear. “I need some, ah…practice. Acting as a security guard.”
Rory couldn’t help but laugh as Jamie staunchly ignored Marcus and bee-lined for the exit, forcing Marcus to lope after him in one flip-flop, the other in his gargantuan paw.
Now that Rory was alone, the straw wrapper almost glowed from its position on the top shelf of his locker. Closing the door and leaving it there felt symbolic. That’s exactly what needed to be done with Olive. He needed to shut the door on the connection they’d made this morning and leave this funny, fresh-faced girl with a future alone. No calling her. No dating her. No searching out her face on the beach.
He didn’t expect her to search him out instead. In the most unconventional way.
CHAPTER FIVE
Olive heaved a satisfied breath when she saw an open spot on the beach. Memorial Day weekend in Long Beach was pure insanity, and she thanked God her apartment was close enough to walk. Cars were in a dead gridlock around the town, parking spots being fought over like dogs with a bone. Frankly, the atmosphere of competitive relaxation was kind of intimidating, but she hadn’t been to the actual beach since moving in, and the incredible weather demanded she leave her studying behind and bask in the sunshine.
It was Saturday, a perfectly acceptable day to be selfish. She would make up for neglecting her school work later and she’d have tan lines as a bonus.
I have great news. No one studies during the summertime.
Rory’s voice drifted down from the blue sky and she sighed. Since meeting him yesterday, snippets of their conversation seemed to find her at the oddest times. Like when she was using her vibrator on the highest setting last night and remembered him saying, Jesus Christ. Barely touched you. Wonder what that body would do if I got my hands and mouth on it?
See? The oddest times.
Olive snuck into the sliver of space and plunked down her beach bag. She rolled out her favorite towel, which was a headshot of Sigmund Freud above the words “Your Mom.” After making sure there wasn’t a single wrinkle in the towel, she sat down in the very center and applied sunscreen…beneath her cover up.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like her boobs. It was that she hated her boobs. And even though she knew logically no one on the beach would pay them any attention, as soon as she removed the gauzy white top that skimmed her thighs, her brain would lie to her, whispering that everyone was staring at her rack. Thanks to homeschooling, she’d never been forced to walk down a high school hallway full of peers with her body’s changes on display. Once when Olive was fifteen, however, a neighborhood guy her age had been helping his mother carry groceries into the house. When he saw Olive waving across the street, he held two cantaloupes in front of his chest and called, “Hey, look. It’s Olive and her huge knockers.”
She’d gone inside immediately and performed enough Internet research to know that her bust was above average in size and was properly horrified. And without her mother to confide in about her self-consciousness, she’d remained in that state for roughly three years. Now here she was, about to unveil her melons to the masses.
Maybe she should have stayed home with her books. They were her solace—and that’s why she studied during the summertime and took bonus classes. She enjoyed it. When her parents asked her to take a step back from Meet the Cunninghams, she’d needed a distraction from the hurt. School work had been the easiest way to continue being productive without a camera on her. Not to mention, she’d had an ulterior motive in focusing on her grades. She’d hoped to win back her parents’ approval, but in the midst of YouTube glory, it had only been fleeting. Keep up the good work, Olive. Then back to their regularly scheduled program.
Words on the page was where she snuggled up at night, whether they told tales of historical events, mathematics or dystopian futures with romance thrown in for good measure. She loved all of the words. Every single one.
During her senior year of high school, she’d taken psychology as an elective and found herself fascinated by the different philosophies of thought. She’d had so many feelings about being placed in the opposite corner than her family, giving those feelings a more scientific term, such as separation anxiety had helped. She wasn’t just lonely, she was having the appropriate emotional response to isolation. It was right there in her textbooks and it helped to give that emptiness a name. Applying for colleges and choosing psych as her major had been a no-brainer. Why wouldn’t she want to help others deal with the same issues in the future? In the meantime, she would continue to deal with them herself.