Read Online Summer of Love by Emily Franklin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emily Franklin
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— Stanford? UCLA? Santa Cruz? It doesn’t matter which one — any of them would be cause enough to head out there (or at least validate the trip in my dad’s eyes and, um, wallet). Note to self: head back to the library to check on fares out west ASAP.
Leaving my flip flops and email thoughts in the car, I walk for a long time, shrugging off the broken mug handle, the search for love and missing mothers, pre-college perfection behind. Past the grey shingled houses, past the bloated bluffs, I go all the way until my mind is clear. I sink into the sand and relax in the warmth of it. Even though it feels slightly postcard-Zen-tacky, I watch breathe in and out and wonder what’s missing. Then I realize: my journal.
The depository for all my thoughts, lyrics, lists, and gripes, my journal is off on its own adventure overseas. Poppy Massa-Tonclair, my writing advisor in London (and right now on the New York Time bestseller list as well as the recipient for that famous literature prize) has it. She let me know she received it but hasn’t told me a grade or comment. Then again, it’s kind of an unusual final project — and while I hope she knows it’s not a cop-out, part of me is very aware of how revealing it is. The unedited me is not something I show that frequently.
The journal thoughts lead to thoughts of college, of applications and essays I have yet to write, which leads to my as-of-yet unrouted college tour, which leads to heart palpitations and very definitely not the summer Zen I was seeking. So before stress sucks the sun from my day, I look at the waves. Who told me to count them? Oh, yeah — I remember Charlie holding me by the waist and telling me to count the waves to calm down. It works — as long as I don’t think of him.
If I had my journal, I’d make a list of things to do. But maybe that’s the point — I shouldn’t make so many lists. I should just do what I want. So I dig my feet into the sand and don’t realize I’ve fallen into a light napping state until I sense I’m being watched.
“Hey,” Henry says and touches my thigh with his bare foot.
“What’d you find?” This from Jay Daventree, one of Henry’s college friends.
“A girl!” Henry shouts and smiles. “She washed ashore and appears to be human.”
“I’m part mermaid,” I say and sit up.
Jay and Lissa and a bunch of Henry’s friends who look vaguely familiar wave as they create a beach oasis with chairs and umbrellas and a portable grill.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Henry says and sits next to me.
“I should say that to you…this is a public beach, right?”
Henry looks at the water and slides his shades form the top of his head to his eyes. “Yup — Jay decided he wanted to mingle with the masses.”
“How charitable,” I say and smirk.
Henry shrugs. “Basically, I think he worked his way through the girls at the beach club and needs to cast a broader net.”
I laugh and stick my tongue out. Say what you want about Henry and his money and his crowd, but at least he’s aware — he doesn’t live in the financial oblivion that sop many of the posh people do. “Maybe I should stick to swimming at the pond this week,” I say and pretend to fend Jay off.
Henry takes off his shirt and I sneak a side glance at the abs on display. “I’m heading in — care to join me?”
I point to my tank top. “I don’t have a suit.”
Henry raises his eyebrows and grins, “This girl here says she doesn’t have a suit!”
As if this is a bat signal in the sky, Jay, Jason Landry, and some other guy runs over from their beachside antics and carry me, with Henry on their shoulders and swing me like a kid into the waves.
“Ah! It’s freezing!” I scream and sound so girly I want to puke. So then I brace myself for the cold water.
“One! Two!” The shout. Jay has my ankles and Jason has my arms.
“Fine — I can take it!” I say and close my eyes as they fling me into the air. But I never land all the
Leaving my flip flops and email thoughts in the car, I walk for a long time, shrugging off the broken mug handle, the search for love and missing mothers, pre-college perfection behind. Past the grey shingled houses, past the bloated bluffs, I go all the way until my mind is clear. I sink into the sand and relax in the warmth of it. Even though it feels slightly postcard-Zen-tacky, I watch breathe in and out and wonder what’s missing. Then I realize: my journal.
The depository for all my thoughts, lyrics, lists, and gripes, my journal is off on its own adventure overseas. Poppy Massa-Tonclair, my writing advisor in London (and right now on the New York Time bestseller list as well as the recipient for that famous literature prize) has it. She let me know she received it but hasn’t told me a grade or comment. Then again, it’s kind of an unusual final project — and while I hope she knows it’s not a cop-out, part of me is very aware of how revealing it is. The unedited me is not something I show that frequently.
The journal thoughts lead to thoughts of college, of applications and essays I have yet to write, which leads to my as-of-yet unrouted college tour, which leads to heart palpitations and very definitely not the summer Zen I was seeking. So before stress sucks the sun from my day, I look at the waves. Who told me to count them? Oh, yeah — I remember Charlie holding me by the waist and telling me to count the waves to calm down. It works — as long as I don’t think of him.
If I had my journal, I’d make a list of things to do. But maybe that’s the point — I shouldn’t make so many lists. I should just do what I want. So I dig my feet into the sand and don’t realize I’ve fallen into a light napping state until I sense I’m being watched.
“Hey,” Henry says and touches my thigh with his bare foot.
“What’d you find?” This from Jay Daventree, one of Henry’s college friends.
“A girl!” Henry shouts and smiles. “She washed ashore and appears to be human.”
“I’m part mermaid,” I say and sit up.
Jay and Lissa and a bunch of Henry’s friends who look vaguely familiar wave as they create a beach oasis with chairs and umbrellas and a portable grill.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Henry says and sits next to me.
“I should say that to you…this is a public beach, right?”
Henry looks at the water and slides his shades form the top of his head to his eyes. “Yup — Jay decided he wanted to mingle with the masses.”
“How charitable,” I say and smirk.
Henry shrugs. “Basically, I think he worked his way through the girls at the beach club and needs to cast a broader net.”
I laugh and stick my tongue out. Say what you want about Henry and his money and his crowd, but at least he’s aware — he doesn’t live in the financial oblivion that sop many of the posh people do. “Maybe I should stick to swimming at the pond this week,” I say and pretend to fend Jay off.
Henry takes off his shirt and I sneak a side glance at the abs on display. “I’m heading in — care to join me?”
I point to my tank top. “I don’t have a suit.”
Henry raises his eyebrows and grins, “This girl here says she doesn’t have a suit!”
As if this is a bat signal in the sky, Jay, Jason Landry, and some other guy runs over from their beachside antics and carry me, with Henry on their shoulders and swing me like a kid into the waves.
“Ah! It’s freezing!” I scream and sound so girly I want to puke. So then I brace myself for the cold water.
“One! Two!” The shout. Jay has my ankles and Jason has my arms.
“Fine — I can take it!” I say and close my eyes as they fling me into the air. But I never land all the
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