Washed Up

Caught Inside

Riley

Caught inside. Adjective. [kawt in-sahyd]. A surfer who is caught inside is too far in, and the waves are breaking further out. It can be dangerous in big surf.

Despite my less than fortunate run-in with the waves the last time I went swimming, today Ross convinced me to try surfing. I have little trust in my abilities since I am an utter failure at roller skating, skiing, skateboarding, and anything else that involves something moving under my feet. Ross, the super surfer lifeguard, has met his match today.

I slip off my flip flops as soon as I hit the beach, carrying them in one hand, and I jog towards Ross's lifeguard station. The beach is crowded today even though summer is waning, which I've been trying not to think about. The end of the summer means two things. One, I have to figure out what I'm going to do with my life. Two, I have to leave the island, which means I have to leave Ross.

I'm not ready for that.

It's not like I've really known the guy all that long--less than two months, actually--but I've spent so much of my summer with him that my summer has become him. And I don't want to leave it behind, but what am I supposed to do? Ask him to come with me? Stay behind on the island with him? That's not what either of us want, and besides, that's pretty drastic for a summer fling. What did I really expect when all this started? Not this. Not these pesky feelings.

"Hey, Ry!"

I look up and catch sight of Ross, jogging towards me in a thin t-shirt and a pair of boardshorts. This looks like something out of Baywatch and I have to keep myself from staring.

"Hey," I say with a grin.

He catches up to me and kisses me, his hands framing my face and pulling my mouth to his. Well, that's one way to say hello. There's urgency and passion and heat in his kiss, and all I can think is how much I'll miss this when summer comes to a close.

"Hey," he murmurs, pulling away just enough that I can see the twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

How did I get this lucky?

And it's not just that he's a hot lifeguard who kisses me on a regular basis. I mean, that's nice and all, but it's more than that. I think I would still like him even if he was shaped like a hippopotamus and missing his two front teeth. I think that we have is beyond physical, and that's the part that terrifies me.

"So, are you ready to surf?"

"Do you remember the last time I braved the water? It didn't end so well."

Ross laughs, catching my hand in his and tugging me towards the section of the beach marked off for surfers by two yellow flags. "C'mon," he says, "I'm sure you'll be great."

I somehow doubt that. For a minute, I remember a particularly tragic sixteenth birthday party at the roller skating rink that ended with a face-to-floor collision and me wearing orthodontic headgear to prom. Not exactly my finest moment, but at least this can't be worse than that.

"I can be a pretty difficult student," I say, tugging on Ross's arm and grinning up at him.

"I taught five year olds how to surf last summer, so I'm pretty sure I can teach you," Ross says with a teasing smile.

"Hey, Ross, Riley!"

I force myself to look away with Ross--which takes me a solid ten seconds--to see Earnest waiting for us with a few surfboards next to him.

"There's my favorite surfer extraordinaire," Ross says, releasing my hand to slug Earnest in the shoulder.

"Surfer extraordinaire?" I repeat. "Wow, I feel like I'm in the presence of greatness."