I huffed. "I know you think that makes you seem sexy or whatever, but really it doesn't."
He took a handful of popcorn and shrugged. "Regardless."
I thought for a minute. "What about Ris?" I wasn't sure why I was trying to help him with this new girl aside from the fact that it made me feel like I had been successful in smashing down my feelings. The feelings nobody knew about but me . . . and my mom . . . and maybe Cooper, though I was pretty sure I'd convinced him I was joking last summer.
"Ris is cute," Rachel agreed, taking her own handful of popcorn from Cooper's bucket.
"Huh," he said. "That might work. Good thing I got her number."
"She should've bought me a movie ticket. I just saved her chances." I watched the sun sit atop the edge of the ocean before it dipped below it.
"What about you two?" Cooper asked. "What are your relationship goals?"
"My immediate goal," Rachel said, "is an Italian boy with long wavy hair and an accent so thick I won't know what he's talking about, but he'll be an exceptional kisser, so it won't matter."
I laughed. "Is this before or after you and your parents find the plot of land your great-uncle peed on?"
"Definitely before . . . and then after as well. What about you, Abby?" Rachel asked. "Relationship goals?"
I flopped onto my stomach and began drawing in the sand with my pointer finger. "An artist for sure. Someone who can paint or draw or something."
"But then what if he's better than you? Why would you want someone who has your same skill set?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah," Cooper agreed. "It would turn into a competition."
"Just because you turn everything into a competition, Coop, doesn't mean everyone does."
"See, my name is perfect. It can be shortened with epic results."
"I don't know that it qualifies as epic, but it's adorable," I said.
"Actually, that reminds me," Rachel said. "Someone was asking about one of your pieces the other day. He remembered seeing it in the art room before school let out and hasn't been able to get it out of his head."
"Who was asking?"
"I didn't know him. He stopped me in Starbucks. I guess he knew we were friends."
"Cool," Cooper said.
I bit my lip and smiled. I wanted to yell, see, Cooper, I have something going for me. I'm not so laughable a catch. I'm an artist.
"So as far as relationship goals go," Rachel said. "Would appreciating your art be just as good as being an artist? Because if so, you need to ask mystery boy out."
"Yes! You should," Cooper said.
"Appreciating art would be a close second to being an artist. Good thing you have so much detailed information about who he is, Rachel."
"Minor setback."
The movie started on the large screen in front of us, music blasting out of the speakers.
Rachel leaned close to my ear. "I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." She scurried off.
Cooper moved onto his stomach, positioning himself alongside me so our shoulders were touching. He started drawing stick figures in the sand next to my art. "Just you and me this summer, kid," he said.
My heart gave a jump at those words. We're over him, I reminded my heart. He's one of your best friends, after all. We could handle a summer alone with Cooper Wells. "Yep." I reached over and added wheels onto the bottom of one of his stick men. "You racing at the dunes this week?" Cooper raced his quad in an amateur local league put together by some serious quad lovers.
"Wednesday. I expect you there with a big sign that says, ‘Cooper is number one.'"
"But what if you come in second? Then that will be awkward."
He bumped his shoulder into mine.
"I will be there. Am I ever not there?"
"Well, you usually come with Rachel and Justin, so I wasn't sure."
"I used to come without them all the time." I'd met Cooper first, eighth grade. We'd been friends ever since. Rachel and Justin joined us freshman year.
"That's true. And I've decided you're my good-luck charm, so you have to keep coming for all of eternity now."
"I will." For all of eternity I'd be Cooper's fangirl. That pathetic thought almost made me march out of there that second and gain back some of my dignity. But then he smiled at me.
TWO
In the summer, I usually slept in as long as possible. But the next morning a strip of light from the window crept into my room through a partially open blind and wouldn't go away. I stood up, crossed my room, and shut the blind completely. I snuggled back under my covers, pulling them up around my ears. It didn't stop me from hearing my phone buzz on the nightstand next to me. I thought about ignoring it, but when it buzzed again, I couldn't help my curiosity. A text from Rachel lit my screen.
This will be the last text I send you for 9 weeks.
That text was followed by: What will you do without me?
Probably get more sleep.
True. Me too. What happens if I like being without a phone? No. That can't happen. Even if I like it, I would never let my parents know. They'd enjoy that too much.
I smiled and rubbed my eyes. I'll miss you! Don't like any hot Italian boys more than me.
You too!
Pretty sure I'm not in danger of liking any hot Italian boys in the near future.
Funny. I meant the missing you part.
I know. Safe travels. Call me from a pay phone if you ever get a chance. Do you think they still have pay phones?
I don't know. We shall find out.
I stared at my phone, but there was nothing more to say, and it stayed quiet in my hand. It really was going to be a slow summer without Rachel and Justin. My finger, almost as if it had a mind of its own, swiped across the screen and pulled up a website I had saved as a favorite. Wishstar Art Institute Winter Program Application. The program of my dreams. The program that my art teacher told me would bolster my college applications and help me get into a really good art school. Plus, it was Wishstar. They had amazing instructors, and I was dying to spend part of the winter holiday with other artists. We would spend two solid weeks learning new techniques, working with all sorts of mediums, and being inspired by the speakers sharing their success stories. I wanted to meet actual professionals in the field and, along with bettering my own art, this would help me do that.
I studied the page again, like I had a million times in the last six months. I read through the requirements, which hadn't changed. Age, experience, letter of recommendation, display/sales history. I was finally old enough. They only accepted high school seniors and above. And in the fall I would be. I had heard most attendees were college students and even older, but that wouldn't stop me. I had experience-a whole portfolio of paintings I could attach. I knew who I wanted to write the letter for me. I had only one more thing to accomplish before sending off my application: display/sales. I had never had my art on display anywhere outside of school. And I had definitely never sold a painting before. But I had a plan. I smiled, excited by the thought again, and threw my covers back.
I shuffled down the hall into my bathroom, where I nearly tripped over my mom, who was lying on the floor. The cupboards were open and shampoo bottles and hairspray and window cleaner lined the floor next to her. In one hand she held a flashlight, which she was pointing under the sink, and in her other hand was a flyswatter.
"Uh. What are you doing?" I asked.
"Have you ever heard of a brown recluse?"
"The spider?"
"Yes. I was just making sure you didn't have one under your sink."
"Did you see a web under there? Or is there a sucked-dry mouse corpse?" I squatted down to get a better look and sent a bottle of conditioner toppling.
"No, I read a story about a teenage girl who got horribly disfigured by a brown recluse spider when reaching under the sink for her Herbal Essences. Then I remembered that's where you store your extra shampoo. I figured I'd better check."
"Mom." I picked up the bottles on the floor and began shoving them back under the cupboard. "Stop reading horrific internet stories and immediately applying them to our lives. If I'm going to be horribly disfigured, it better be in my own original way."
She sat up and gave me a stern look. "Abigail. Don't joke about that." Her dark hair stuck up in crazy waves around her face, like she'd rolled straight out of bed and into my bathroom.
I clicked off her flashlight and brought it to my mouth like a microphone. "Can I have my bathroom now? I need to use it."
She sighed and stood. "I have to check the other bathrooms anyway."
I locked the door after her and turned on the shower. My eyes went to the cupboard. I opened the door and peered in, then shut it quickly. I rolled my eyes. There were no spiders in the bathroom.
After a quick shower, I pulled on my standard summer wardrobe of cut-off shorts and a tank top. I arranged my blond waves up into a ponytail and went to the kitchen. The oatmeal was on the top shelf in the pantry, so I stood on my tiptoes and fished two packets out of their box, poured them into a plastic bowl, and added water. By the time the oatmeal was done heating and the timer went off, my grandpa was awake. His feet made a scuffing noise on the tile because he didn't pick them up very high when he walked.