I'd Rather Be Surfing

4| The Bonfire

"And she's watching him with those eyes, and she's loving him with that body I just know it," Rick Springfield blares through my stereo. One of the first things I set up in my new room.

I tap my pencil to the beat, avoiding my math homework. It's been two weeks of school, and we're already learning Calc. Not cool.

I lean back in my chair (a little too far, but I recover) and stick the pencil in my mouth like a rose as I stand to aimlessly flip through my closet.

You would think that a girl who couldn't care less about what clothes she wears would not have a hard time picking out an outfit. Yet in this case, I need to call in help from a professional.

"Car?" I yell from my room to hers, down the hall. A new bad habit already developed between us, much to my mother's dismay.

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

"No."

"I need help picking an outfit."

"Oo!" She squeals, running into my room in record time. "For what? A date?"

"No way. A bonfire. I don't know if I'm gonna go but I figure I'd have an outfit picked out just in case."

Carly's already in my closet, shuffling through the limited selection of knit hoodies and jean shorts I've put away. "Really Colette?"

"Look, man, mom said to get only put the stuff up that you wear."

"You don't have any jeans. Or bras. Do you even wear underwear?"

I smile a cheeky grin, just playing with her. "I'm never letting you borrow my pants," she says.

"Great, cause I don't wear pants." Strictly jeans shorts. Year round, 24/7. Hell, I even wear em to bed.

My sister lands on a shirt she approves of-- a slinky tank top that I only ever wear to bed. I give her a deadpanned look. "Fine, if you're not gonna wear it, I will." She throws over her shoulder, and I assume that is the last I am ever going see of it. Good riddance. If it's not a t-shirt, it won't be missed.

Three outfits go by, and I finally agree to one from Carly's closet. It is something I would wear to school, a cropped sweater and classic pair of jean shorts-- my signature.

I slip my dirty white sneakers, that add two inches to my already tall self, over my bare feet.

I try to run my fingers through my hair-- my mom is always pestering me for not brushing it-- but they get stuck almost instantly, so I yank them out and part the mess on the other side of my head. My fault for not rinsing after a chilly dip in the ocean and one windy ride home.

I enter into the jack-and-jill bathroom connected to my room and the guest room, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

For a girl who doesn't know if she is even going to this stupid bonfire, I look pretty ready.

For your information, I am going to the skate park tonight with Carly. Sure, I have met her friends at school, but now she is letting me hang out with them. Not that I'm some charity case or something. I got myself invited to a bonfire, remember?

Pretty impressive if I say so myself. I'll have to brag to Coop on the phone later. Can you believe he had to audacity to remind me to make friends? As if I didn't know how or something.

I'll also have to tell him who I ran into earlier on the beach. Lola, the one from the surf club, saw and recognized me on the beach today. In fact, the whole damn team was there.

Apparently, they all already know me which makes this whole "never in a million years" thing a lot harder.

Coach Kenny, as I was introduced to, keeps tabs on me. He's a young guy, short, and reminds me of Hannah Montana's brother. He told me that I was a good surfer, so I told him that I knew that already and he didn't give me one of those disapproving looks that most adults would. Probably because he's only fresh out of college, if that.