Crashing Into Blue

Chapter 14

I spend my day behind the cash register, ringing up a seemingly infinite slew of sunscreen tubes, reusable water bottles, and visors. Marlene always says that heat is good for business, and I guess she's right; the bell above our door becomes a dull background tone by time the afternoon rolls around. Finally, things start slowing down when the evening arrives, with the resi's going home to get ready for dinner or a night out on the boardwalk. Without the hustle and bustle of the customers asking me if we have more beach balls in the back or sunhats made of fabric instead of straw, my mind wanders to my impending outing with Samson, Patrick, and Jasmine.

I refuse to think of it as a double date, because that makes me think of us as a bunch of seventh graders with braces whose parents are dropping us off at the six o'clock movie; juvenile, in short. I prefer to think of this as the first move of the master plan; I'm going to let Patrick see me having a good time, not even worrying about him or his leggy brunette accompaniment. I picture it as I'm counting the cash from the register: me, owning Patrick and Jasmine in the ring toss. But of course I'll be humble about my crushing victory; maybe I'll even give the stuffed animal that I win to Jasmine, since god knows Patrick won't be winning anything tonight with Samson around.

Caught up in the daydream, I don't hear the bell ring above the door, and I don't notice her walk up to the counter.

"Hey Delia!"

I flinch at the upbeat tone and drop the bills out of my hands.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I thought you heard the door open, with the bell and all."

She rushes around the counter to help me pick up the money.

"Yeah, I guess I was just distracted." Because I was planning your inevitable carnival game demise, I think to myself.

"It's alright, I totally understand getting into the zone; when I'm studying, nothing can break my focus."

I slowly nod along with her. "I feel the same way when I play," I say hesitantly.

She hands the bills back to me, and we both stand up. "Are you a musician?" she asks me. I shrug my shoulder as I hit some keys on the register, the money drawer bouncing open.

"I guess so. I play the guitar and Indigo, my sister, plays the drums. We're starting at Juilliard in the fall."

Her mouth falls open. "How can you say that you guess you're a musician? Obviously you're one hell of a musician if you're going to Juilliard!"

I blush at the praise; accepting complements is not my strong suit. It's something I'm trying to work on. And complements from the enemy? Even worse.

"Well, you're the one going to Yale; I think that's a pretty big deal too," I say as I close the money drawer.

"Thanks, my parents are definitely proud." Seems like I'm not the only one who deflects complements. I give her a sideways look, the curiosity getting the better of me.

"Your parents? How about you?"

She shrugs her shoulder in turn. "Yeah, of course I am." She bites her bottom lip and leans towards me hesitantly.

"But do you ever doubt the choices you make? If they're the right ones?" she whispers seriously.

I think about this for a moment. "I guess we never really know, but my mom says that all we can do is jump into the deep end and hope for the best; from there, you can always swim to the shallows. But if you start in the shallows, you may never leave it."

Jasmine just blinks at me. "Is that crotched on a pillow? Because it definitely should be."

"I think it's a bit too long for a pillow, maybe a throw?"

Jasmine laughs, and I feel a smile tugging at my lips. I try not to let it form because, hello, no fraternizing with the enemy. I don't want to have to accept that maybe Jasmine isn't horrible. It's easier that way, keeping the black and white areas intact, no mixing to form grey. Jasmine squints her eyes at me and tilts her head a bit to the side.

"I hope this isn't overstepping, but you should really let your hair out of its braid. You have such long hair; it'll look awesome wavy. I was so jealous of it when I saw it at the beach bonfire, mine just frizzes." She pulls the elastic off the end of the braid and drops it on the counter. I run my fingers through the braid, freeing the waves shyly.

"So where are these seashell dolphins Samson was talking about? I'll need four of them," says Jasmine as she goes to peruse the shelves.

I find it strange that she's jealous of something that's mine when I was, and still frustratingly am, jealous of something that's hers.