But this isn’t a rom-com or even a romancein general. This is summer with my dad, chasing swells, living onan island, escaping all the things that haunt me back home.
“You should let me meet him,” she says.
“What?” I hook my arm around the flamingo’sneck immediately, trying to keep my balance. “You’re not meetinghim. You’ll try to put in a good word for me or something. I knowhow girls like you operate.”
She bursts into laughter, which echoes around us.“I’d be cool about it,” she retorts. “I know girlcode. He wouldn’t even know that I was putting in a good word. It’djust seep into his subconscious, and later, he’d realize that youwere pretty amazing and wonder why he never saw itbefore.”
I’m not sure if Hollywood is in the marketfor new writers, but they should definitely fly out here and talkto Sloane about her daydreams of chick flicks and rom-coms. Thegirl has them down to an art – so much so that she’s trying to turnmy life into one.
“I want to show you somewhere today. It’s myfavorite place on the island,” she says, slipping off of herunicorn float and paddling toward me. “It’ll take your mind off ofthe boy for a little bit.”
She ducks under water and swims away beforeI can object that my mind isn’t on the boy. But she knows betterand so do I. He was supposed to be my punching bag for the summer,someone I could use to channel my anger toward, but all I can thinkabout is how perfect his silhouette looked against the backdrop ofthe bleeding sky last night. The way his jaw line curved sharplyaround his face was like a beautiful mountain resting against thesunset.
Ugh. Why couldn’t my dad find someone whowasn’t so beautiful to take under his wing? Regardless of howgorgeous he is, he has a reputation, and just because he’s tryingto redeem himself doesn’t mean he won’t slip back into his oldhabits. Those things are hard to break. Who knows what asponsorship and few trophies might do to his ego?
I push myself off of the flamingo into thecool water and swim over to the edge, where Sloane is sitting withher legs dangling into the pool. A towel drapes over hershoulders.
“So, where’s your favorite place on theisland?” I ask.
“You’ll see when we get there,” shesays.
An hour later, the sun attempts to dry myhair as we walk toward the massive gates to Catalina BotanicalGardens. Bright pink and purple flowers pop out of the greenleaves, as if they knew they were to grow in perfect placement forphoto opportunities. Vines weave up the walls like they’re holdingthem in place to guard the plants behind them.
“It’s my dream job to work here,” Sloanesays before pressing a button to open the large gates. The ironcreaks as it pulls back, allowing us to enter. “I’m going to majorin botany and hopefully work here after college or maybe evenduring if I can get in.”
She points toward a mossy bridge, so Iproceed in that direction. Purple and blue hydrangeas hang likegrapevines from the arch of the overpass. Small yellow flowers linethe edges of the walkway. Ahead of us is a giant horse made solelyfrom driftwood. It stands tall, rearing back as if about to chargeinto battle.
“This is pretty elaborate,” I say. I’venever been to any type of garden, much less one of this extreme.“Did they grow all of this here?”
Sloane nods. “Everything was grown locally.Some plants didn’t survive here, but they’ve spent decades studyingthem and preserving what they can to keep certain plants fromextinction,” she explains. “I’ve always loved the flowers. I liketo watch them grow. It amazes me how a little seed turns intosomething this beautiful.”
She spins around, like she’s absorbing allof the colors of the flowers around us, inhaling her own rainbow ofpetals and leaves. I envy that freedom, that ability to dream forsomething so big without fears of reality creeping in. I feel mychest tighten every time someone asks what my plans are for collegeor what I want to do with my life. A few weeks ago, I had to havepermission and a hall pass just to go pee, and now everyone actslike I’m supposed to know my life’s path and have a solid plan toaccomplish it.
I start to voice these thoughts, even thoughI know it’d burst her carefree bubble, but the expression on herface already says that everything isn’t all rainbows and flowercrowns. She stops spinning in the breeze and quickly turns her backon our path.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, stepping closertoward her.
“My ex-boyfriend...and his new girlfriend,”she whispers back.
I casually glimpse around, hoping I canfigure out at a glance which guy she’s referring to. It’s prettyeasy, though. We’re surrounded by employees, senior citizens, andmarried couples with children. Spotting a cute guy with a girlclinging to his arm isn’t hard.
“Let’s go this way,” she says, walking awayquickly before I can interject.
“What’s the story?” I ask, catching up toher.
I try to keep an open mind because itcould’ve been a terrible break up. Maybe he’s a cheating asshole.Maybe he broke her heart. Sloane is definitely softer than I ambecause I would’ve made a point to be seen, even with wet hair andsmelling like chlorine. If you hurt me, I’m going to be a thorn inyour side, like it or not. Even if it breaks me, I won’t letyou know I’m broken. That’s probably why Dad says that Icome across as harsh. I live in defense mode, but it’s safer withthese walls around my heart.
“His name is Clark,” she whispers beforeglancing back to make sure he’s out of earshot. Then she speaksnormally. “I’ve known him my whole life. We dated for the last yearand a half, but he broke up with me the day after graduation. Hesaid he needed to be single for a little while to make sure he knewwhat he really wanted out of life.”
Oh, I hope she didn’t believe that. This guysounds like a snobbish jerk. If I wasn’t surrounded by trees withpurple leaves, I’d probably be more pissed at
