Maverick

Out Of Place

"It's plane time! Lily, your mom is worried sick! You have to hurry!" The panicked woman running towards us, sand kicking up behind her, thrusted my phone into my hands and repeated, "You have to hurry!"
I looked at him and he looked at me. With a certain nervous shake in my voice, I asked the time.
"It's 10:15! You've got to go!" He and I looked at each other once again, the look in his light brown eyes burning with panic. Without another word, we turned towards the Maverick and ran as quickly as we could.
               •••
This story began on Friday, the twenty sixth of June. My senses slowly but surely became more aware of my surroundings, my hand grazing the smoothness beneath my fingers and my eyes searching through the darkness for color. It wasn't until I heard the distant crashing of waves that my eyes snapped open. I searched the room, the same tan walls, the familiar white sheets, the slight line of light illuminating the room from the one section of the window that the curtain can never manage to cover. A smile instantly came to my face. I was finally back to my home away from home after two dreadfully long, beach-less years. Alright, sure, there are beaches in Russell, Kentucky, but sand next to a lake is made pitiful by the beautiful serenity of Ormond Beach, Florida. It broke my heart the previous summer when I was told my new school would start the first week of August, the week my family annually visited the Maverick Resort and Restaurant.
I rolled over the protruding springs of the pullout couch to check the time. As the screen glowed the time, I squinted, closed my eyes, shook my head, and opened my eyes again. Ten o'clock? How on earth did I manage to sleep until ten o'clock when my body refused to rest past seven most days? I thought back to the late-night flight, checking in after midnight, going to sleep after one in the morning, when my usual bedtime was nine (ten if I felt mischievous).
Understanding then why I had slept so late, I did what I did every morning I spent at the Maverick and walked right to the balcony. I got slapped by the sun as the door opened, making me see nothing but white for a few seconds. Once my eyes adjusted to the drastic change of lighting, I was able to see I wasn't the only one wanting to watch the ocean. A woman sat in boxer shorts and a tank top, stunning as ever.
"Good morning, Momma." I sunk into the empty chair beside her, already feeling my fair skin burn in the vivid Florida sun.
"'Morning," she replied, her voice thick and drowsy from a long slumber. "Can you believe we're here?"
"No, I really can't." Looking out to the Atlantic seemed so dreamlike, so unrealistic, I struggled to wrap my head around the fact that I was home to paradise.
We sat in silence, other than the sounds of the beach, for a few minutes. I watched the people swimming and lounging beneath us. Something felt wrong, out of place, but I couldn't quite get my finger on it.
"Momma?"
"Hmm?"
"We don't know any of these people." She turned towards me, her blue eyes deeper than the ocean looked sternly into mine.
"You'll make friends. It doesn't hurt to try."
"I don't know. I think I'll just run and read until Tailor gets here. Then, maybe I'll make friends with her. Kids are pretty intimidating to talk to alone."
Mom rolled her eyes so hard I was honestly surprised they didn't get stuck up there. "You are so outgoing; why do you need Tailor in order to make friends?"
"Because," I paused just so Mom could hear the dramatic tone of my sentence, "nobody can say no to being friends with Tailor."
Tailor Jackson claims to be five foot, but in reality she's a four foot eleven fifteen year old, who's big, brown eyes refuse to take 'no' for an answer. She's one of my best friends, but we've never lived in the same state, nor have we been together for more than a week at a time.
It could be the double-d boobs, or the flirtatious smile, or maybe her fearless demeanor. Whatever the reason is, there's something to Tailor that attracts everybody around her. In all honesty, I don't remember what brought us together, but whatever it was three years before was a blessing. Since we both owned Week Thirty-One time shares, we always saw each other every year. As time went by, she became family, and the Maverick become home. But that year, home wasn't the same without the family.
"Either way, I can't think without a cup of coffee. Will you come across the street with me?"
"Sure." We got up and walked back into a seemingly pitch-black room compared to the radiant light outside. I stumbled around, looking for the room key and hoping my eyes would adjust quicker. Finally, I was able to make out a majority of my surroundings and made my way to the door. I waited for my mom, who stopped at the bed to tell Bill, my stepdad, where we were going, then opened the door.
"Did you get the key?" Mom asked.
I widened my eyes in mock panic as the door closed and said "no!" Mom gave quite the disapproving look as I began laughing. "Just kidding."
"Lillian, that wasn't funny."
"Maybe not to you, but I'm laughing."
Mom rolled her eyes at me often. We walked to the elevator and waited in silence after I pushed the button. When the doors opened, there was already a man with a shaved head standing in the corner. He nodded hello, we smiled back. Maybe it was the shaved head, or maybe it was random, but at that moment, I remembered somebody important.
"Momma, do you think Angel is still here?" I asked her.
If you thought residents wouldn't be friends with the guy at the desk, you thought wrong. Since I was little, I always made Angel a friendship bracelet every year. It was my favorite hobby when I was younger, and when Angel complimented my string jewelry, I decided to make one for every time I visited. The last time I had seen him, there were three circled around his right wrist. I looked forward to seeing Angel almost as much as I looked forward to seeing Tailor.
Apparently Mom had a difficult time deciding how to answer my question, as it took her until the "1" button lit up to ponder it. As the elevator doors opened, Mom let out a sigh and simply said, "I hope so."
We took a left, then another left, went down four steps, and found ourselves at the lobby.
"Hold on," I said to Mom as I stopped at the front desk. "Excuse me?"
A tall, dorky looking guy with a head like a rectangle and boxy glasses asked all too eagerly how he could help me.
"Do you know if Angel is still working here?"
The man looked quite taken aback by the question. "Angel?"
"Yes sir, Angel Castro?" I looked for any sign of recognition. "Shaved head, twenties, very outgoing, he's been here ever since I started coming."
"Oh! I remember him. I came right before the management changed last summer and he-" The dorky man looked me in the eye and aborted his previous sentence. Instead, he simply said, "I'm sorry, Hun, he's not here anymore."