“Okay,” he says. “Good night, Presley.”
“Good night, Briggs Augustus Dalton.” I give him hopeful eyes.
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
I make a growling sound. “I’m going to figure it out.”
“I believe you.”
I turn and walk toward the resort on a lighted pathway beneath my flip-flop-clad feet, looking back over my shoulder at Briggs every few steps.
Just as I’m nearing the entrance, I hear footsteps behind me, getting closer.
“Presley, wait,” Briggs says, and I turn to see him drop his bag, and then, wrapping his arms around me, he lifts me off the ground and kisses me again. I hold on to his shoulders and let him, our lips moving over each other’s like they were always meant to.
He sets me back down and inhales deeply.
“Okay. That’s it, then.”
“Okay,” I say, a little breathless. I almost want to ask him if he’s absolutely positive about this, but then he says goodbye and walks away for real this time.
Briggs
It’s been a week since I kissed Presley on Dax’s boat, and even though it’s been packed full of working and doing summer things with her, it’s been possibly the most difficult week of my life.
Not really, but having to restrain myself, knowing how good it felt to kiss her and have her in my arms, it’s been hard not to want to do that again.
I’ve tried not to touch her as much, just because it feels like it would be too hard not to take things further if I did. We’ve gone back to the friend zone, and I’ve confirmed my suspicions: The friend zone sucks.
“Give it your all!” Scout yells at our mom, who’s currently on the other side of a volleyball net from us, getting ready to serve. We’re playing two on two at the beach resort. I was more than eager to set up a volleyball net when Presley asked. Presley, in a white tank and running shorts, and my mom, wearing some sort of sweatband like she’s from the eighties, are on one team, with Scout and I on the other. And it’s possible we should have done this differently because for my mom and Presley, it’s like the blind leading the blind.
My mom, with a very focused look on her face, holds the ball up with one hand, and with an underhanded punch from the other, sends the ball sailing, but it hits the net and falls back on their side of the court.
“Oh, come on,” Scout yells, stomping her bare foot in the sand.
“Scout,” I say, my voice chastising. The kid is competitive. I blame myself for that. I was always telling her winning was the best when she was younger.
“This is the lamest game in history,” she whines.
“Go switch sides with Mom,” I tell her.
“Yes!” she says, drawing out the word excitedly. “I’m playing with you now, Presley.” She jogs over to the other side of the net, her feet kicking up sand as she goes.
My mom comes over to my side of the court, her face red from the late-afternoon heat. We closed the bookshop early when I invited my mom and Scout to come play with us. No one seems to mind around here about the hours we keep, especially during the summer. Off-season hours are always changing for the businesses that stay open during this time of the year.
I serve the ball and it goes over the net, and Scout is right there to send it back to me. It becomes evident pretty quickly that this is turning into a one-on-one game between Scout and me. But my mom gets a few hits in, and so does Presley.
After I’ve won a game and then let Scout win one (at least that’s what I told myself—the kid is really good at volleyball), Presley orders drinks from the resort, and they bring them to us as we sit at a small table in one of the cabanas.
“I’ve never seen this part of the resort,” Scout says as she takes a sip of some kind of frozen drink, a small umbrella hanging out the top.
“I don’t think I have either,” my mom says.
“Like, this is the most time I’ve ever spent on this beach,” Scout says.
“Me too,” mom replies.
I’d spent very little time at this resort growing up because it was mainly for the wealthier people on the island and the tourists. Not for us regular islanders.
But it feels like a regular thing to do now, having spent so much time here these past few weeks with Presley. And now Scout has gotten to spend some time here as well, since I’ve been bringing her along from time to time, mostly to save me from myself. I’d much rather be alone with Presley, but it’s for the best.
We went snorkeling, where Presley panicked about sharks, but we barely even saw any fish. We walked around the small nature preserve, where she spotted a baby alligator and screamed like a little girl. Scout loves to bring this up. We’ve watched a movie under the stars, using a screen and a projector from the resort, Scout sitting between us. She got to pick the movie and chose Notting Hill, but only after some coercion from Presley. We’ve even flown a kite, which is something I hadn’t ever done. And it ended up being a great time. All times with Presley are great times, though, even when Scout is there to babysit us.
Presley is amazing with Scout--answering all her prodding questions and asking her about boys she likes and the things she does with her friends. I sometimes wonder if she’s trying to find out what she missed out on, since Scout is the same age Presley was when she started acting.
I turn to Scout, a half-smug, half-teasing expression on my face. “But you have been to this beach before,” I say to her.
The apples of her cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink.
Presley looks to me and then to Scout. “What’s going on?” she asks suspiciously.
“Remember the teens that—”
“Don’t!” Scout yells.
It’s too late and Presley is too smart because she easily puts it together. “So, it was you and your friends sneaking onto the beach that day,” she says, giving fake-looking accusatory eyes to Scout.
