Fades In The Summer

The Best Friend

"Who are you looking at?"

Silence followed that question, and I could only assume Mary-Jane – because that was who Bertha had been talking to – was pointing or blushing or simply doing nothing, as she was wont to. I was back-facing them and didn't want to turn around. I had the feeling they exactly didn't like me. It would seem overly forward to intrude into their conversation.

After a moment, Bertha spoke again. "The new lifeguard? Good pick."

I almost dropped the tray I'd been holding. What the hell?

"Hey, you know him, don't you?" Bertha was suddenly by my side, leaning against the counter and studying me through the gobs of thick eyeliner she slapped on every day. Her gaze wasn't friendly, but it wasn't unfriendly either. "Maybe you can put in a good word for Mary-Jane here."

I shoved an empty tray back into the pile. "We... don't really talk."

"Really?" Bertha pursed her lips. "Shame... he's..." Then she grew silent, and I looked up to see what had caused that uncharacteristic behaviour. And groaned inwardly.

The aforementioned lifeguard - Dylan Ainsworth - had his elbows propped against the counter, and he was staring at me unsmilingly. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off a broad strip of tanned skin and lean muscles. A part of me wondered if he'd done it on purpose. Then again, he'd probably just thrown it on before entering the diner. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been shirtless and sitting in the lifeguard chair on the beach just a few feet away. What drew my gaze, though, had nothing to do with his very fine body. It was the automatic chronograph watch on his left wrist. He was always wearing it – even when he was working as a lifeguard, because the watch had been made for diving purposes and was, quite naturally, water resistant.

"Tara," he greeted me softly. I marvelled at this anomaly. In the short time I'd been working here, he'd come in several times with his friends, but had never sought me out for anything more than a brief nod. Beside me, Bertha's eyes about popped out.

I cleared my throat. "Hi, Dylan."

"I'm hungry," he said.

"I kinda figured," I replied drily. "What do you want?"

He shrugged. "You know what I like."

Yes, I did know what he liked, but I didn't think he would want it right here, right now. He gave me a look that told me he knew what I was thinking, and I said, "Come back in five minutes."

"I'll wait."

I shrugged and turned away. Ignoring the vicious glares Bertha was sending me, I stuck my head into the kitchen at the back and hollered for a chicken and ham sandwich, with extra cheese and no olives. While waiting, I turned back to look towards the counter, where Bertha was trying her hardest to chat Dylan up.

"So, you're the new lifeguard they hired for the summer, huh? I've seen you come in here a couple times." I could've told her not to bother. Her flirtatious tone was wasted on him.

True enough, Dylan simply glanced at her, smiling distantly. This was what his smiles always looked like these days. Distant. "Oh?"

"I'm Bertha. I'm a full-time waitress here." Bertha smiled winningly at him. That smile had felled a couple of suckers in her time, but not this one.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dylan." He dropped her hand pretty quickly after the handshake, as per his habit. One would think he had a phobia of skin-on-skin contact.

Hah. What a joke.

"You're in high school, aren't you?" She really was persistent; I'd give her that. Then again, it probably had something to do with his personality, that innate aura of indifference that surrounded him. He always seemed so uninterested in what was happening right in front of him that it made people want to try to reach out and grab his attention – to make him react, to break that smooth, impassive mask he usually had on. What they didn't realise was that their efforts tended to be wasted on him. Dylan had very clear ideas on what he did or did not care for, and not many things or people made the cut.