Read Online Riptide by Lindsey Scheibe - Free Book Online Page A

Eleanor Roosevelt’s famous quotes:
No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
     
    When I regain my composure I practically tiptoe to the kitchen, knowing Dad is back in his office. Even so, I don’t want to alert him to the fact that I’m out of my room.
    I run the hot water in the sink until it’s three quarters of the way full. My lower back aches—the dresser really nailed it. Then I wipe down the counters while the dishes soak, pausing every now and then to rub at my back or stretch the tight muscles out. I’m careful to dry the counters without leaving streaks. Once the dishwasher is loaded, I measure out the detergent, carefully.
Most people use too much detergent or not enough, but Parkers use the right amount of stuff. — Dad
     
    It’s usually funny, except when it isn’t.
    I walk gently back to my room, hugging the wall, hoping not to be noticed. I pull out some college apps to make it look like I’m working on them. Then I leave Post-it notes all over the house, making certain my parents know my locale. I check myself in the mirror to make sure I don’t have marks anywhere. Then I turn around and peek at my lower back. There’s a bruise already forming. But I’m wearing a long T-shirt so it doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to be careful at the beach around Ford. The advantage of a wetsuit—it hides the marks.
    I escape on my bike back to Ford’s house. If I had a car like most kids my age, life would be so much easier. But my parents like control. Cars equal freedom. Therefore, Grace “is fortunate to have a bike to ride.”
    After spending the weekend with Ford’s family, it feels like the right place to go. Fifteen minutes later, I skid into the Watson driveway. Mama Watson answers the front door when I knock.
    “Grace? Mija , come here.” She gives me a big hug and it’s all I can do not to break down and tell her everything. She seems so warm and safe. I fight tears welling up at the corner of my eyes, trying desperately to pretend nothing’s wrong, even though it’s probably obvious from my puffy eyes that I’ve had a less-than-stellar day.
    I sniffle. “Is Ford home?”
    A look of concern crosses her face. She shakes her head. “No. He texted me something about going to Hop’s for poker. He won’t be home until late tonight.”
    My shoulders slump. I expected Ford to be here. Waiting for me. Not hanging out with new people from work. I feel sick. I should have texted. Why would I think that if he’s not with me, he must be at home? He has a life … other friends. Unlike me.
    Mama Watson says, “I know I’m no Ford. But do you want to talk over hot cocoa?”
    “Oh, no. I’m okay. Thanks though.”
    She steps toward me, hesitantly. “I’m here if you change your mind.”
    I nod and get back on my bike. I pedal away from home base toward town, wondering where to go.

eight
royal flush: the five highest cards of a
suit where the ace ranks high; the best
hand in certain games of poker
     
    My cell buzzes and I check my messages. Grace texted me:
Breakfast on Dad this morning. Pick me up hungry. Treating you to fave coffee shop first.
     
    I throw everything in my truck and head out. When I roll up Grace’s drive, she’s waiting on her front porch. Her norm. She’s always so stoked about the waves she can’t stand missing out on a minute. That’s one of the things I love about Grace.
    I leave Esmerelda running and play it cool walking up her driveway. She’s walking toward me, bag over her shoulder. “Want me to grab your board?”
    She nods and walks toward the truck. She never says yes when I offer to grab her board. I jog over and grab it. Don’t want to look too eager. Then I carry it under my arm and whistle as I head over to place it in the bed of my truck.
    Grace stands by the passenger door. “So you gonna be a gentleman or what?”
    I smile and hurry over to yank the door open, uncomfortable. This would have been cool before I made the