WAVES CRASHING JUST LIKE ME
The Car Ride (Elyse)
I stare out the window, watching the lines flash by. White line after white line after white line. It’s hypnotizing.
“Elyse…” Mom speaks up from the seat beside me, punctuating the silence that has been permeating the car since we started driving almost an hour ago. Well, actually, I guess it hasn’t been totally silent all that time. Mom has made a few attempts at starting conversations with me, but they’ve always died off because I haven’t said anything in response.
Like I’ve been doing for the past fifty-so minutes, I just keep staring out the window at the white lines. I don’t feel like talking. I don’t care what she wants to talk about. I don’t want to talk about anything.
But Mom never gives up trying to make me talk to her, even if all she can think of to say is, “Elyse, I’m going to roll down the windows.”
Do I care? I’m just looking out the window. I’m not leaning on it or anything.
Mom uses the automatic button on her driver’s side door to roll down both of the front seat windows—hers and mine. She breathes deeply. “Mmm. Smell that salt air. I can tell we’re getting close.”
I sigh and don’t say anything. I smell the salt air too. It doesn’t make me feel any better.
“We should be there in about twenty minutes,” Mom tells me. “Do you want the pink bedroom again? Or the blue one this time?”
I shrug noncommittally. Both of the bedrooms at the New Hampshire beach house my parents own are pretty small, from what I remember. When I was younger, back when we used to spend a week or two there every summer, Mariana was always the one to choose the bedroom for her and I to share, leaving my parents with the other. Most of the time she’d choose the pink one, because it was bigger and brighter.
But this time I get to choose, because Mariana’s not with us right now. She and Dad will both be coming later, once the work week’s over. When Mom and Dad came up with this arrangement, I told them it was stupid—why couldn’t Mom and I just wait until the weekend so we could all travel up as a family? Dad reminded me of everything I already knew: that last year’s renters had posted negative reviews online about the poor condition of the place, that a new set of renters have already placed their payment down for the first week of August, and that that leaves us with exactly six weeks to repair everything and get the place in tip-top shape. “We’ve got no time to waste,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Mom will get started as soon as you get out of school, and I’ll come up on the weekends and whenever else I can get time off from work.”
Mom made me come with her, because I, unlike Mariana, have absolutely nothing going on at home. No friends, no activities, no job, nothing. I begged her to let me stay behind and come up with Dad, but she persisted, saying the beach air and whatever would be good for me. Now she’s probably regretting her decision. I bet she wishes with all her heart that it was Mariana in the car with her instead of me. Half the time my parents don’t know what to do with me, since I’m such a misery to be around. Half the time they probably wish they only had Mariana.
But they don’t. They have both of us. And they’re always pushing me to be more like Mariana, which is ludicrous because Mariana and I have nothing in common. Well, okay, except for minor things like being born on the same day to the same parents, and growing up together, and— the first thing people notice, which I hate— looking exactly alike.
In my mind, Mariana and I don’t resemble each other in the least. If you look beyond the fact that we’re the same size, with the same hazel eyes and long, dark, unruly hair—not to mention facial features that look like carbon copies of one another—you’ll see what I mean. Mariana’s into wild, funky outfits with lots of color, whereas I like plain, blend-into-the-background black and grey. And Mariana’s always doing her hair and painting her nails and experimenting with different kinds of makeup, whereas I’m a plain Jane kind of girl. And then there’s the huge difference that Mariana always has a smile on her face, while I hardly ever smile.
Yes. Personality wise, we’re like the opposite ends of a magnet. Except for one thing. With magnets, opposites attract. With Mariana and me, opposites repel.
The Car Ride (Elyse)
I stare out the window, watching the lines flash by. White line after white line after white line. It’s hypnotizing.
“Elyse…” Mom speaks up from the seat beside me, punctuating the silence that has been permeating the car since we started driving almost an hour ago. Well, actually, I guess it hasn’t been totally silent all that time. Mom has made a few attempts at starting conversations with me, but they’ve always died off because I haven’t said anything in response.
Like I’ve been doing for the past fifty-so minutes, I just keep staring out the window at the white lines. I don’t feel like talking. I don’t care what she wants to talk about. I don’t want to talk about anything.
But Mom never gives up trying to make me talk to her, even if all she can think of to say is, “Elyse, I’m going to roll down the windows.”
Do I care? I’m just looking out the window. I’m not leaning on it or anything.
Mom uses the automatic button on her driver’s side door to roll down both of the front seat windows—hers and mine. She breathes deeply. “Mmm. Smell that salt air. I can tell we’re getting close.”
I sigh and don’t say anything. I smell the salt air too. It doesn’t make me feel any better.
“We should be there in about twenty minutes,” Mom tells me. “Do you want the pink bedroom again? Or the blue one this time?”
I shrug noncommittally. Both of the bedrooms at the New Hampshire beach house my parents own are pretty small, from what I remember. When I was younger, back when we used to spend a week or two there every summer, Mariana was always the one to choose the bedroom for her and I to share, leaving my parents with the other. Most of the time she’d choose the pink one, because it was bigger and brighter.
But this time I get to choose, because Mariana’s not with us right now. She and Dad will both be coming later, once the work week’s over. When Mom and Dad came up with this arrangement, I told them it was stupid—why couldn’t Mom and I just wait until the weekend so we could all travel up as a family? Dad reminded me of everything I already knew: that last year’s renters had posted negative reviews online about the poor condition of the place, that a new set of renters have already placed their payment down for the first week of August, and that that leaves us with exactly six weeks to repair everything and get the place in tip-top shape. “We’ve got no time to waste,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Mom will get started as soon as you get out of school, and I’ll come up on the weekends and whenever else I can get time off from work.”
Mom made me come with her, because I, unlike Mariana, have absolutely nothing going on at home. No friends, no activities, no job, nothing. I begged her to let me stay behind and come up with Dad, but she persisted, saying the beach air and whatever would be good for me. Now she’s probably regretting her decision. I bet she wishes with all her heart that it was Mariana in the car with her instead of me. Half the time my parents don’t know what to do with me, since I’m such a misery to be around. Half the time they probably wish they only had Mariana.
But they don’t. They have both of us. And they’re always pushing me to be more like Mariana, which is ludicrous because Mariana and I have nothing in common. Well, okay, except for minor things like being born on the same day to the same parents, and growing up together, and— the first thing people notice, which I hate— looking exactly alike.
In my mind, Mariana and I don’t resemble each other in the least. If you look beyond the fact that we’re the same size, with the same hazel eyes and long, dark, unruly hair—not to mention facial features that look like carbon copies of one another—you’ll see what I mean. Mariana’s into wild, funky outfits with lots of color, whereas I like plain, blend-into-the-background black and grey. And Mariana’s always doing her hair and painting her nails and experimenting with different kinds of makeup, whereas I’m a plain Jane kind of girl. And then there’s the huge difference that Mariana always has a smile on her face, while I hardly ever smile.
Yes. Personality wise, we’re like the opposite ends of a magnet. Except for one thing. With magnets, opposites attract. With Mariana and me, opposites repel.
The Beach! (Mariana)
The beach! The beach, the beach, the beach! I’m finally here!
Of course, Mom and Elyse have been here for three days already. Three wonderful days to enjoy the sun and the sand and the surf and the CUTE GUYS! Not like Mom cares about the cute guys, of course. And not like Elyse cares about any of that stuff. She’s been in the house moping about for the last three days. What a waste of time. But I’m not going to waste any time. I’m finally here! At the beach!
I get up at 6:30 and run downstairs. Dad’s in the kitchen, making coffee. He smiles when he sees me. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning, Dad!” I give him a big grin. “Hey, can I go out to the beach? Like right now?”
Dad chuckles. “Right now? It’s gonna be cold.”
“I’m not going in the water right away.” I’m not even wearing a bathing suit. “I just want to run through the sand and enjoy the breeze and the beautifulness of this beautiful day!” I’m bouncing up and down as I talk. Sometimes I wake up like this, just charged with energy. Ready to take on the world and anything that comes my way. It’s times like this, especially, that I feel the most different from Elyse. It’s times like this that it’s hard to believe she and I are even related.
“All right,” Dad shrugs. “Go run in the sand. Enjoy the breeze. Don’t let me stop you.”
I’m already halfway out the door when he calls out, “But be careful!”
My parents are like that. They’re kind of overprotective of me and Elyse. We’re fifteen. I don’t think we really need our parents always telling us to be careful and stay safe and stuff. Well, maybe Elyse does, but I don’t. I can handle anything.
I run out the door, down the street and across the main road. I hear a horn honk and look back to see a freaked-out driver staring at me. Oops. I guess maybe this is what Dad meant by “be careful”—don’t get hit by a car as you’re crossing the street. But almost getting hit isn’t the same as actually getting hit, and I didn’t actually get hit, so no biggie.
I keep running, running, running until I reach the beach, and that’s where I finally slow down. Ahhh. It’s just how I remember it. Thick, soft sand that gets coarser and grainier for a stretch, then firmer and wetter as I get close to the water. I walk to the very edge of the ocean and let a wave creep up to wash over my feet. The water’s freezing, and that’s not just because it’s so early in the morning. This is New Hampshire, not Florida or California.
I walk along the water’s edge for a little while, then climb up onto a long jetty made of jagged rocks and stroll across that, though not all the way to the end. I watch a crab scuttle underwater in a tidal pool, and write my name several times in the sand, all the while thinking, I love this. I love my life.
Pretty soon the sun is high in the sky and other people are starting to flock to the beach. It’s warm enough now to change, so I head back to the beach house and up to my room, where I take out my suitcase and ruffle through the contents until I find my newest swimsuit. This swimsuit is the most adorable thing ever. It’s a bright red bikini with little flowers all over it, and not to brag or anything, but I think I look really hot in it. I hope the guys think so too. I went on a major shopping spree when I found out we’d be spending six weeks at the beach, making sure I’d have everything I needed. Mom and Dad weren’t too pleased, because I also ended up buying a lot of stuff I didn’t need, like a pair of jeans that cost $80, and a cool silver watch (even though I already have a watch) and six pairs of earrings because I couldn’t decide which ones I liked the best. Mom and Dad call me an “impulsive spender” because if I see something I like, I buy it, no matter how much it costs or whether I could get it somewhere else for cheaper. I don’t think that’s a particularly bad thing. And hey, I was nice on this most recent shopping spree. I even picked up a swimsuit for Elyse.
I change into my bikini and throw Elyse’s bathing suit onto the bed. I doubt she’ll want to wear it, even though it’s totally her style—a boring black one-piece. But just in case.
I grab everything else I’ll need—my phone, my sunglasses, some suntan lotion, and a beach towel, all stuffed in my tropical-print beach bag—and then go back downstairs. It looks like Mom and Dad have decided to tackle the living room walls today, because they’ve thrown an old sheet over the couch and are both standing with paintbrushes in hand. “Heading down for some fun in the sun?” Mom asks me.
“Yep,” I say with a smile.
“That’s great. Have some fun for me!” she calls as I slip out the door.
I find a patch of soft sand and spread out my towel there, lying down to soak up the rays. Elyse hates the sun, but the sun is my friend.
I’ve only been lying in the sun for a few minutes, however, when I start to hear male voices nearby. My ears perk up and I open my eyes. A group of teenage guys is playing volleyball just a few feet away. I study each of them, trying to decide which one is the cutest. The dark-skinned guy in the green swim trunks is kind of good-looking, and so is the red-haired one in black shorts. But then the blond one runs over near me to get the ball, and I make my decision.
It’s definitely him.
His hair looks like a natural blond, lightened and highlighted by the sun. His skin is tanned and toned, and his muscles are crazy well-defined. I wonder if he works out. I can’t tell his eye color from here, but I can see the features of his face, and wow. He’s so cute.
I try to think of something witty I can call out to him, to get him to notice me. I can’t think of anything, so I just watch him pick up the ball and go back to his game.
The guys keep playing and none of them are looking in my direction. I’m getting antsy. I jump up and run over to them. “You guys need an extra player?” I ask.
The guys stop and all look over at me. I can tell the redhead is checking me out, but my eyes are on the blond guy. He’s looking at me, but not checking me out. There’s a difference.
The dark-skinned guy shrugs and says, “Yeah, it might be nice to have someone else so Ryan doesn’t have to be all by his lonesome. Why don’t you join Ryan’s team?”
Today is my lucky day. It turns out that Ryan is the blond guy.
We start the game up again, with the other team serving. The ball comes toward me and I put up my hands to hit it, but the ball doesn’t make it anywhere near the net. Maybe today isn’t my lucky day. Maybe it would have been better for me to be on the other team. Now Ryan’s going to hate me if we lose.
But Ryan just walks over to me and asks, “Have you ever played volleyball before?”
“Not much,” I tell him.
“Here. This should help. Put your hands together, like this.” He shows me how he locks his hands together, keeping his thumbs flat on the top. “A lot of times you can wait until the ball starts getting low, and then receive it this way, kind of angling your arms in the direction you want it to go. If it’s up high, you do it with your fingertips.” He demonstrates.
I’m trying to pay attention, honestly, I am. But it doesn’t help that I’m practically hyperventilating just from being near him.
The game continues and I use the methods Ryan taught me. Or, well, try to. I’m still not very good at it. We lose, but Ryan’s cool about it. He gives me a high-five and says, “Thanks for joining.”
His two friends seem to be taking down the net. Oh no! Ryan’s going to leave! I can’t let him leave. So I say, “It’s getting kinda hot out. Have you been in the water yet?”
“It’s freezing,” he tells me. “Your feet will get numb in two seconds.”
“Yo, Ryan!” The redhead calls out to him. “Let’s go hit up the arcade before it gets too swamped.”
“Okay,” Ryan answers. He looks at me. “Nice meeting you, uh… what’s your name again?”
I didn’t tell them before. “Mariana,” I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder.
“Well, Mariana… thanks for playing with us. See you around. Enjoy that cold water, if you decide to go in.”
I wish he would invite me to the arcade. Oh, come on, please invite me to the arcade. But he doesn’t. He just walks off with the other guys.
I’m half tempted to follow them, but I don’t. I need to keep in mind that I’m going to be here for six whole weeks, which means that I’m probably going to be meeting a new cute guy every day. Maybe even several a day. There will be plenty of opportunities to flirt and make one-day guy friends and exchange phone numbers that will never end up being used.
So instead of charging after the guys, I turn around and charge in the other direction—toward the water. I already know how cold it is. Of course my feet will be numb in two seconds. Actually, my whole body will be numb in two seconds, because I’m not just going in with my feet. The cold will be extreme.
I like extreme. If it’s extreme, I’m all the way in.
The beach! The beach, the beach, the beach! I’m finally here!
Of course, Mom and Elyse have been here for three days already. Three wonderful days to enjoy the sun and the sand and the surf and the CUTE GUYS! Not like Mom cares about the cute guys, of course. And not like Elyse cares about any of that stuff. She’s been in the house moping about for the last three days. What a waste of time. But I’m not going to waste any time. I’m finally here! At the beach!
I get up at 6:30 and run downstairs. Dad’s in the kitchen, making coffee. He smiles when he sees me. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning, Dad!” I give him a big grin. “Hey, can I go out to the beach? Like right now?”
Dad chuckles. “Right now? It’s gonna be cold.”
“I’m not going in the water right away.” I’m not even wearing a bathing suit. “I just want to run through the sand and enjoy the breeze and the beautifulness of this beautiful day!” I’m bouncing up and down as I talk. Sometimes I wake up like this, just charged with energy. Ready to take on the world and anything that comes my way. It’s times like this, especially, that I feel the most different from Elyse. It’s times like this that it’s hard to believe she and I are even related.
“All right,” Dad shrugs. “Go run in the sand. Enjoy the breeze. Don’t let me stop you.”
I’m already halfway out the door when he calls out, “But be careful!”
My parents are like that. They’re kind of overprotective of me and Elyse. We’re fifteen. I don’t think we really need our parents always telling us to be careful and stay safe and stuff. Well, maybe Elyse does, but I don’t. I can handle anything.
I run out the door, down the street and across the main road. I hear a horn honk and look back to see a freaked-out driver staring at me. Oops. I guess maybe this is what Dad meant by “be careful”—don’t get hit by a car as you’re crossing the street. But almost getting hit isn’t the same as actually getting hit, and I didn’t actually get hit, so no biggie.
I keep running, running, running until I reach the beach, and that’s where I finally slow down. Ahhh. It’s just how I remember it. Thick, soft sand that gets coarser and grainier for a stretch, then firmer and wetter as I get close to the water. I walk to the very edge of the ocean and let a wave creep up to wash over my feet. The water’s freezing, and that’s not just because it’s so early in the morning. This is New Hampshire, not Florida or California.
I walk along the water’s edge for a little while, then climb up onto a long jetty made of jagged rocks and stroll across that, though not all the way to the end. I watch a crab scuttle underwater in a tidal pool, and write my name several times in the sand, all the while thinking, I love this. I love my life.
Pretty soon the sun is high in the sky and other people are starting to flock to the beach. It’s warm enough now to change, so I head back to the beach house and up to my room, where I take out my suitcase and ruffle through the contents until I find my newest swimsuit. This swimsuit is the most adorable thing ever. It’s a bright red bikini with little flowers all over it, and not to brag or anything, but I think I look really hot in it. I hope the guys think so too. I went on a major shopping spree when I found out we’d be spending six weeks at the beach, making sure I’d have everything I needed. Mom and Dad weren’t too pleased, because I also ended up buying a lot of stuff I didn’t need, like a pair of jeans that cost $80, and a cool silver watch (even though I already have a watch) and six pairs of earrings because I couldn’t decide which ones I liked the best. Mom and Dad call me an “impulsive spender” because if I see something I like, I buy it, no matter how much it costs or whether I could get it somewhere else for cheaper. I don’t think that’s a particularly bad thing. And hey, I was nice on this most recent shopping spree. I even picked up a swimsuit for Elyse.
I change into my bikini and throw Elyse’s bathing suit onto the bed. I doubt she’ll want to wear it, even though it’s totally her style—a boring black one-piece. But just in case.
I grab everything else I’ll need—my phone, my sunglasses, some suntan lotion, and a beach towel, all stuffed in my tropical-print beach bag—and then go back downstairs. It looks like Mom and Dad have decided to tackle the living room walls today, because they’ve thrown an old sheet over the couch and are both standing with paintbrushes in hand. “Heading down for some fun in the sun?” Mom asks me.
“Yep,” I say with a smile.
“That’s great. Have some fun for me!” she calls as I slip out the door.
I find a patch of soft sand and spread out my towel there, lying down to soak up the rays. Elyse hates the sun, but the sun is my friend.
I’ve only been lying in the sun for a few minutes, however, when I start to hear male voices nearby. My ears perk up and I open my eyes. A group of teenage guys is playing volleyball just a few feet away. I study each of them, trying to decide which one is the cutest. The dark-skinned guy in the green swim trunks is kind of good-looking, and so is the red-haired one in black shorts. But then the blond one runs over near me to get the ball, and I make my decision.
It’s definitely him.
His hair looks like a natural blond, lightened and highlighted by the sun. His skin is tanned and toned, and his muscles are crazy well-defined. I wonder if he works out. I can’t tell his eye color from here, but I can see the features of his face, and wow. He’s so cute.
I try to think of something witty I can call out to him, to get him to notice me. I can’t think of anything, so I just watch him pick up the ball and go back to his game.
The guys keep playing and none of them are looking in my direction. I’m getting antsy. I jump up and run over to them. “You guys need an extra player?” I ask.
The guys stop and all look over at me. I can tell the redhead is checking me out, but my eyes are on the blond guy. He’s looking at me, but not checking me out. There’s a difference.
The dark-skinned guy shrugs and says, “Yeah, it might be nice to have someone else so Ryan doesn’t have to be all by his lonesome. Why don’t you join Ryan’s team?”
Today is my lucky day. It turns out that Ryan is the blond guy.
We start the game up again, with the other team serving. The ball comes toward me and I put up my hands to hit it, but the ball doesn’t make it anywhere near the net. Maybe today isn’t my lucky day. Maybe it would have been better for me to be on the other team. Now Ryan’s going to hate me if we lose.
But Ryan just walks over to me and asks, “Have you ever played volleyball before?”
“Not much,” I tell him.
“Here. This should help. Put your hands together, like this.” He shows me how he locks his hands together, keeping his thumbs flat on the top. “A lot of times you can wait until the ball starts getting low, and then receive it this way, kind of angling your arms in the direction you want it to go. If it’s up high, you do it with your fingertips.” He demonstrates.
I’m trying to pay attention, honestly, I am. But it doesn’t help that I’m practically hyperventilating just from being near him.
The game continues and I use the methods Ryan taught me. Or, well, try to. I’m still not very good at it. We lose, but Ryan’s cool about it. He gives me a high-five and says, “Thanks for joining.”
His two friends seem to be taking down the net. Oh no! Ryan’s going to leave! I can’t let him leave. So I say, “It’s getting kinda hot out. Have you been in the water yet?”
“It’s freezing,” he tells me. “Your feet will get numb in two seconds.”
“Yo, Ryan!” The redhead calls out to him. “Let’s go hit up the arcade before it gets too swamped.”
“Okay,” Ryan answers. He looks at me. “Nice meeting you, uh… what’s your name again?”
I didn’t tell them before. “Mariana,” I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder.
“Well, Mariana… thanks for playing with us. See you around. Enjoy that cold water, if you decide to go in.”
I wish he would invite me to the arcade. Oh, come on, please invite me to the arcade. But he doesn’t. He just walks off with the other guys.
I’m half tempted to follow them, but I don’t. I need to keep in mind that I’m going to be here for six whole weeks, which means that I’m probably going to be meeting a new cute guy every day. Maybe even several a day. There will be plenty of opportunities to flirt and make one-day guy friends and exchange phone numbers that will never end up being used.
So instead of charging after the guys, I turn around and charge in the other direction—toward the water. I already know how cold it is. Of course my feet will be numb in two seconds. Actually, my whole body will be numb in two seconds, because I’m not just going in with my feet. The cold will be extreme.
I like extreme. If it’s extreme, I’m all the way in.
