Washed Up

Lunar Tide

Riley

Lunar tide. Noun. [loo-ner tahyd]. The part of a terrestrial tide that's due to the mutual attraction between earth and moon.

I think I've lost my mind.

I stand in front of my full-length mirror debating which pair of shorts makes my butt look better to go to a stupid bonfire with a guy I just met. This is absolutely ridiculous; I shouldn't be trying to impress Ross, a random lifeguard who never leaves this island, a guy who wants to travel but hasn't, a man who's managed to save my butt on more than one occasion. I shouldn't care what he thinks; I usually don't care what anyone thinks, but this time, I do. He looked at me like I was more than the labels slapped on me by my peers. He wasn't put off by my barbed wit and sarcastic insults. In fact, he might have even been flirting with me.

The jean shorts are definitely better. I wiggle into the shorts and pull on a dark purple tank top, refusing to check my appearance again. I look fine, or at least as good as I'm going to look.

Ross. There was something about him, a wistfulness in his eyes and a genuine sweetness to his temperament, that showed he was more than the moron who pulled me out of the ocean kicking and screaming or the guy who caught me when I tripped over a chair like an idiot. Knowing my luck, I'll probably give him something new to make fun of tonight at the bonfire.

Despite my dedication to hating this island, I realize I like the idea of joining Lucy and Ross and their friends at the bonfire, of belonging to something beyond my cold, eclectic family. I want to spend a night with Ross, his easy charm and his disguised yearning for something beyond this island.

But at the same time, I know I'm probably making a huge mistake, letting myself be drawn into this group of friends. I'm going to leave at the end of the summer and never see any of them again, and letting myself get attached will only make it harder. If I stay in my room and watch Netflix, I'll be able to leave with no tears, no pain. But if I go tonight, if I let myself spend time with Ross and Lucy and the rest of them, I know I'll leave with no regrets.

Do I choose safety or take a chance? The good thing is, I've always been good at taking risks because I know I can run away when things get hard, and this summer, I can leave it all behind when I make a mistake and mess everything up like I know I will. For some reason, though, Ross scares me. He's more dangerous than a summer flirtation or a witty friend; there's something about him that could pull me in too far, just like the riptide that almost drowned me.

Here's the thing about me and guys: I don't do relationships, I don't do hook-ups, and I don't do complicated. Basically, I avoid men at all costs because I refuse to lose myself in someone. My mom loves my dad too much, and because of that, she never stands up to him. I refuse to become someone tied down by another person, so I won't let myself feel anything beyond mild interest in a guy. As soon as my heart starts to pound too fast in my chest, I get rid of them.

But now I'm getting ready to go to a bonfire with this guy I only met a few days ago, and I know I can't let him get too close, but I also don't know if I can stop myself.

Get it together, Olson.

I slam the door shut to Lucy's and my room and glance in the mirror in the bathroom one last time--my hair is down, the chestnut color highlighted by auburn strands. Since I'm not drenched in saltwater or covered in ketchup, I figure this is a big improvement over the last few times I've seen Ross.

"Riley, are you coming?" Lucy hollers up the stairs.
I sigh and thump down the stairs. "I'm here, I'm here."

Lucy's nose is two inches from her phone. "Good, I don't want to be late."