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The saltwater spray of the ocean soaks my face and burns my lungs as I tread water to stay afloat. I close my eyes and clear my mind, breathing in the warm summer air.
This. This is my favorite feeling in the whole world.
For some people it’s Christmas morning, for others it’s their birthday or a first kiss, but for me, it will always be the ocean.
An unknown world lurks below the surface, and it’s as unpredictable as the heart—one moment completely sure and steady, the next erratic and pulling you where you never meant to drift. In order to survive the tide, you have to coast with it, ride the current until it releases you and you can finally swim back to shore. The ocean’s connection to human behavior is underrated. The similarities between it and the way we live, breathe, and experience emotions is uncanny—though, maybe that’s just the psych-major-wannabe in me.
I’m sixteen, and I already know exactly what I want to do for the rest of my life: assess people, depict their thoughts, and tear down their emotional infrastructure in order to discover the true meaning behind what they say, think, and feel. My parents say I’m too evolved for my age, but I think my attention to detail is simply more adept than most. I’ve always known who I am and who I want to be. I have my principles, my dreams, and the understanding of how to become the person I want to be without losing who I am in the process—a fragment of life most, if not all, people my age struggle with.
Ironically, my older brother, Kris, makes so much money that he can afford to not know what he wants for the rest of his life and be completely fine. Unfortunately, not all of us can be international music sensations by the time we’re thirteen.
I close my eyes and rein in my hyperactive mind, forcing it to blank as I bob with the current. I’m supposed to be clearing my head. Wiping away every last trace of dejection from the past few weeks. But even the rhythmic flow of the ocean can’t free me from the prison that is my brain.
“Carmina,” Dad’s irritated voice calls from the shore. His white dress shirt is only halfway buttoned, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck, blowing in the ever-present breeze that comes with being so close to the water. “Your mother is waiting for you to say goodbye before she leaves.”
Closing my eyes, I curse under my breath. I must have lost track of time. “I’m coming!”
I swim toward the beach, arms burning as they move in long, broad strokes against the waves lapping at my skin. Once I’m close enough to the shore, I plant my feet on the wet sand and jog the rest of the way up the beach, adjusting the top of my bikini, which is slightly askew from the water’s pull. I grab the towel I discarded during my eager pursuit
into the water and sling it over my neck, taking note of Dad’s rumpled dress clothes and messy brown hair—messier than it would be if it were merely windblown.
I nod at his attire, wiping the water out of my eyes with one end of the towel, then ask breathlessly, “Where’ve you been?”
He grunts, moving toward the ocean and away from our modest house that’s tucked between a sea of palm trees surrounding our section of the private beach. “Working.”
“I’m sure,” I mutter, but he’s already too far away to hear me. He stands at the shoreline, allowing the water to rush over his bare feet, and I cast one last look at him, then continue jogging toward the house to find Mom before she leaves.
She’s going on a girls’ trip with some women from work—well, from where she used to work before Kris turned into an overnight superstar and she could live comfortably without her own income.
Before her luxurious lifestyle of lounging on beaches and mixing margaritas, my mom was an elementary school teacher twenty-five minutes from here. The same school where I attended first through fifth grade until Kris’s career took off and I became a public-school pariah. My brother was a household name, thanks to 13 Days of December, and everyone either wanted to use me to get to him, or looked down on me because I didn’t have his talent. He was everything every girl wanted and every guy wanted to be, and I was just overly mature me.
When I reach the driveway, Mom’s trying and failing to force a large suitcase into the back of her too-small Bentley Continental. She has half of her closet packed up in those bags—so many that even a Ford pickup probably couldn’t house them all.
Shaking my head at her tight, white tank top and light-wash mom jeans, I call out to her. She startles, whipping around and clutching her chest as she leans back against the suitcase, which is still sticking halfway out of the trunk.
Her light gray eyes take in my dripping-wet swimsuit and matted blonde hair. “I was starting to worry I’d have to leave without seeing you.” She holds out an arm for me to curl into. “I should have known to look for you on the beach. It would have saved me a lot of time.”
“It’s fine. Dad found me,” I tell her, moving under her outstretched arm for a half hug. “I thought you weren’t leaving until later this afternoon?”
She shrugs, turning back to the task at hand: forcing the oversized suitcase into her car. “My flight isn’t until four, but it’s better we get to the airport early to check our bags.”
“Oh. Makes sense.” She ruffles my hair a little, and I shudder at the thought of being home for over half the summer with only Dad to keep me company. So, essentially, by myself.
We live in the Pacific Palisades, which is just west of Central LA. It’s peaceful and luxurious, but not exactly what I have in mind for my summer. Alone, bored, and stuck at home with a man who, most of the time, hardly acknowledges my existence except in grunts and the occasional blink when I speak to him—the blink indicating that he’s actually seeing and listening to me as opposed to looking through me, which is what he normally does.
I got screwed. My brother and his friends are spending the entire summer in Miami, and I was supposed to be there. I was there for the band’s end-of-tour party, but had to leave when they flew back to Pennsylvania for a few weeks. Plus, my parents weren’t going to let me skip the last few weeks of homeschooling anyway. The plan was originally for me to fly out there with my boyfriend and best friend once school finished; however, that didn’t exactly pan out.
Now my mom is going out of town, my dad has other commitments, and I’m not allowed to get on a plane by myself.
Kris is the lucky one out of the two of us. He has a private jet to jaunt him wherever he pleases. I’m not privy to those benefits because, for one, I’m only sixteen. Then there’s the whole fact that I didn’t become an international sensation before I hit puberty. If I’d made millions as a kid, I’m sure my parents would be much more lenient with me.
My fists clench around either end of my towel, and I swallow with difficulty, clearing my throat. “So, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Mom shoots me an apprehensive look before sighing heavily, golden hair swishing across
her shoulders as she shakes her head tiredly. “What do you want, Carmina?”
“It’s just… I was supposed to stay in Miami with Kris and his friends after the tour ended, but since I had to fly back here to finish my homeschooling for the year… well, I guess I… I just don’t think it’s fair that I can’t go now. Everyone else is going to be there and—”
“I’m sure Kris doesn’t want you tagging along with him and his friends,” she says blandly, sparing me a pitiful glance.
Don’t parents usually force their children to include younger siblings instead of saying they don’t want you around? Kris and I aren’t super close, but we have a good relationship, and I know for a fact he doesn’t mind having me around—why else would he invite me on the trip? Besides, I hardly think my presence would prove to be a buzzkill.
“Might I remind you that you and Dad were also invited,” I press, bouncing on the balls of my feet pleadingly. “Carson and Jamie’s parents will be there.”
Mom shakes her head, closing the trunk of her car with a thud. “Dawn called me a few days ago—she and Rick aren’t going. She said it doesn’t feel right to go on a family vacation so soon after Mara and while Jamie’s in rehab. And since they’re not going, Carson’s parents aren’t either. That means it’s just the boys and their girlfriends.”
“Kris doesn’t have a girlfriend,” I point out, swallowing the bile that rises in my throat at the mention of Mara. “And you said so yourself—Jamie’s in rehab, so he won’t be there with Tori. Plus, the Greens’ youngest is going, and he’s my age. No one’s complaining about him tagging along.”
Her brows furrow, and I can tell by the bewildered look on her face that she has no idea who I’m talking about. “Dylan Green, Mom. He’s Kris’s best friend…?”
Her expression remains blank.
“Carson’s girlfriend’s little brother.”
Her face lights up. “Oh, Rylee!"
Of course. Rylee she remembers. Probably because Rylee has nothing to do with either of her children. It seems when it comes to Kris and me—especially me—everything is forgotten.
“Sweet girl. It’s a shame what the media put her through.”
“Tragic,” I drone, moving on to more pressing matters. My entire summer is hanging in the balance here, and she wants to discuss something that happened around six months ago? “But see—everyone is going, and only two couples will technically be there. Plus, Jer and Kirsten have been dating for so long that they hardly count.”
Her expression doesn’t change, and she looks at the open car door longingly.
This isn’t working. She’s too eager to get on the road and start her own summer of fun to actually hear me plead my case and understand why going is so important to me.
Staying here for the summer isn’t an option. I need a break. I need to leave and be anywhere else. Maybe if I’m in a different state, I’ll manage to actually relax a little.
She sighs and finally gives up on the suitcase, unzipping it and tossing clothes, shoes, makeup, and a curling iron loosely in the back seat of the car instead. I furrow my brow, unsure as to how she expects to take that stuff on the plane without a bag. “Honey, even if this Dylan boy is your age, he’s still Kris’s friend. They aren’t going to want you hanging around the whole time.”
“You don’t know that,” I argue, frustration growing into a tight ball in my chest. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes tightly to keep from crying. If I get an attitude or throw a temper tantrum, it will only further her argument that I’m too young to go on this trip when I’m not. She was fine with it months ago when it didn’t require her going out of her way to safely put me on a plane, and that’s when I was going with my boyfriend, of all people. Now it’s simply too much effort.
“Either way, you’re too young to ride on a plane by yourself, Carmina. You’re sixteen. And you are not, under any circumstances, allowed to borrow the band's
private jet, so don’t even ask.”
“Please, Mom. I really want to go.” My fingers squeeze the towel with unnecessary force. “I need this.”
“I’m sorry, but my answer is no.” Mom kisses my forehead, then slides her empty, unzipped suitcase in my direction before getting in the car. “Take that in the house for me, will you? I’ll see you in a month. Love you.”
She closes the door and backs down the driveway before I can say it back.
“Have fun,” I say bitterly, grabbing the suitcase roughly and dragging it toward our two-story house.
Angry at my mother, I stomp inside and slam the door behind me, dripping water all over the tile floors as I sulk into the kitchen. Mom hates when I don’t dry off before walking through the house, and although she’s not here to bear witness, it feels good to do this one thing in rebellion.
Sinking onto a leather stool at the kitchen island, I ponder my options. The thing about having a crazy-famous brother is that it makes going over your parents’ heads a lot easier, and with Mom gone and Dad disinterested…
No, I can’t. I really shouldn’t…
Tapping my fingers on the counter, I chew my lip thoughtfully.
I’m not rebellious. My parents may be strict, but I’ve never in my life given them a reason not to trust me. When they say no, I listen. Every time. My ex used to give me shit about it, but I never let him get under my skin. I knew that sneaking out to see him when my parents told me no was bound to get me in trouble, so I didn’t.
And yet… the thought of spending the entire summer, alone, cooped up in this house with only a driver’s permit and no car, where the only places I can walk to are places I’m bound to see Jax…
Well, unrest and boredom can make a girl do some crazy things.
With a newfound sense of determination, I decide to make one last desperate attempt to save my impending summer. I pull out my phone and click on my
brother’s contact, staring at it longer than necessary as guilt for disobeying my mom eats at me. Finally, my desperation wins out.
I trace the swirls of black ink that color the granite countertop as I listen to the dial tone. It rings, rings, and rings some more until I think I’ve aged fifty years just waiting to hear my brother’s voice on the other end of the line. Then, finally—praise all that’s good and right in the world—he answers just before I’m sent to voicemail.
“To what do I owe this phone call from my sister?” he asks groggily, already aware that if I’m calling, I want something. I don’t pick up the phone for fruitful conversation, and because he’s always so busy, I leave it up to him to call when he has time to catch up. We usually talk about once a week, if that, and he occasionally texts me pictures of the cities he’s in or restaurants he thinks I’d love if I were there with him.
I glance at the clock. It’s noon where he is, so unless he’s taking a post-wakeup nap, he was still asleep when I called. If I wasn’t in dire need of his assistance, I wouldn’t hesitate to tease him about being lazy and pampered just to get under his skin.
“Why do you automatically assume I want something from you?” I ask innocently, biting my lip with a smirk. “I mean, no greeting, no pleasantries. Do you even care how I am?”
Kris chuckles, sighing heavily. “Fine, fine. What’s up, Carmina? How’s life?”
“Oh, it’s good…” I sigh, rotating the stool back and forth in half circles as I check off the list of things I’ve done so far today. “I just got back from the beach… Mom left for her girls’ trip… Dad’s still in one of his moods… There was something else, too… but I can’t remember…” I pause, pretending to think it over. I tap my finger on my chin, smirking as silence ensues while he awaits the real reason I called. “Oh, that’s right. Can I pretty-please borrow the private jet so I can fly to Miami and spend the summer with you?”
Kris groans his discontent. “Mina…”
“I know, I know,” I begin, bouncing my knee like a madwoman. “Mom already called you, told you not to let me come, not to come get me, not to lend me the jet… yada, yada. I’m practically a prophet. Listen, I’ll do anything,
. Anything. I’ll do your laundry for a month. I’ll wash the dishes. Kris, I’ll take shorter showers so the water has time to reheat for you.”
“That’s not how it—you know what, never mind. How do you think you’re going to get to the airport? You only have a permit.”
“I’ll get Dad to drive me. He won’t question Mom,” I say, chewing on my lip. It’s true—if I tell him that she changed her mind and said I could go, he’ll never double-check with her.”
Kris groans, and I can practically hear his resolve crumbling. “Oh, all right. Fine. I’ll send the jet.”
“Yes,” I hiss, pumping my fist in the air. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Kris sighs. “If Mom finds out, I’m telling her you played me. There’s no way in hell I’m facing her wrath for you.”
I’m amazed at how easy it is to convince my dad that Mom changed her mind at the last minute and said I could fly to Miami by myself. I’m even more amazed by the fact that I only told him when I had my suitcase packed and was asking for a ride to the local airport, and he still didn’t question me. He would also never dream of calling Mom to confirm my story—he simply doesn’t care enough. Besides, if I’m lying, he won’t be the one who gets in trouble. At least this way he doesn’t have to worry about feeding me or, you know, checking to ensure I’m still alive during commercials of NCIS: Los Angeles.
While I wait for the band’s jet to take off, cozy in the plush seat with a cup of iced coffee balanced between my knees, my phone beeps with a text from Justice. She’s my best friend—or at least, I think she still is. As of right now, we’re swimming in uncharted waters, and I’m not sure how to get back to solid ground.
Justice: Hey! I heard your folks are letting you go to Florida after all. Consider me jealous. Have fun!
I grit my teeth. As much as I love Justice, there’s no reason she shouldn’t be spending the summer with me. A couple weeks ago, her twin—my boyfriend—broke up with me. Out of nowhere. Over a text message. Without so much as an apology or explanation.
So, it’s not as though I dumped him and he’s boycotting the vacation because his heart can’t handle spending that much time around me.
Far from it, actually.
From what I’ve heard and read online recently, he’s doing just fine without me. If anything, I’m the one running to Miami to forget about him. We frequent all the same places, hang out with the same people, and I can’t fathom the idea of running into him or spending time in places where he used to take me.
Bile rises up my throat, but I stomp it down and type a reply, channeling every ounce of my strength so as not to unnecessarily snap at her.
Me: You know, you could be coming, too :(
Justice: It wouldn’t be fair to Jax, or I would. The breakup has been hard on him.
I fight the urge to argue with her and send a sad-face emoji instead. I haven’t seen Jax since the band’s end-of-tour party, when he and Justice flew to Miami to celebrate with their older brother, Jer, the lead guitarist in 13 Days of December. At the time, I thought things between us were better than ever. Then he started making excuses and bailing on our plans. He’s busy, I get that, but his betrayal came out of nowhere.
When you spend so much time with someone, and give them so much of yourself, the least you can do is respect them enough to say you don’t love them to their face.
Other than self-deprecating embarrassment at the way he acted, there’s no reason Jax couldn't
have come to Miami either. He could have pretended to be my friend to keep the peace, but instead, he backed out like a coward.
Am I glad he isn’t coming? Of course. Being around him right now would prove too difficult. However, I wish he would, just so I could gauge where we stand now that we’re over.
Plus, I’m not the kind of girl who would go out of her way to make things awkward around our friends and family. If he came, as far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t utter a word about our history. I’m not going to corner him all teary-eyed and emotional, begging to know why I wasn’t good enough.
I already know I’m awesome. It’s just too bad that he didn’t see it.
Sighing, I put on my headphones and bury my nose in a book that will definitely have a happier relationship outcome than my own.
That’s why I love fiction—it represents what reality should be, could be, if people only took their heads out of their asses more often and communicated. Instead, we all keep our heads down, some of us trying not to stir up any drama, others openly daring it to find them. Either way, if everyone cared just a little more and let honesty guide them, more of the world would believe in the possibility of happily ever after.
***
The jet lands smoothly on a private airstrip four-and-a-half hours later, and I’m itching to check my notifications after going so long without service. The Wi-Fi was down for some reason, so I was forced to spend hours disconnected from the rest of the world. It’s really sad how much that bugs me, and even worse, how often I clicked the home button on my iPhone knowing that there still wouldn’t be anything there—yet I kept checking. Every five minutes.
When I finally turn off airplane mode, the only notification I have is a text from my brother, letting me know he’s outside.
Excitement overcomes some of the resentment I’ve been feeling. Kris’s friends are always kind and entertaining, and I’ve found that they provide a nice distraction when I’m feeling overwhelmed by life.
With as positive an outlook as I can muster, I step onto the moving walkway and ride it until I reach the exit closest to where Kris is parked. Sliding glass doors part to make way for me, and a burst of humid air slams into me as the Florida sun kisses my skin like the breath of fire.
Kris is in a puke-green pickup truck parked along the sidewalk, and I immediately roll my eyes at the hideous contraption. It’s probably a model so old that they don’t even make it anymore. I get why the guys never rent fancy vehicles—expensive cars draw eyes. Eyes that, if they don’t live under a rock, will recognize Kris and his insanely famous friends.
Still… would it kill them to get a car that isn’t so ugly that I don’t want to be caught dead riding in it?
I seriously contemplate calling an Uber.
I reach for the door handle and pray the inside smells better than the outside looks, but it’s locked. Kris glances up at the sound, and a wide grin overtakes his face. He slides across the bench seat and pops the door open, then jumps out of the vehicle and engulfs me in the kind of comforting hug only a brother can give.
“There she is.” He squeezes me tight, and something inside of me breaks. The last few weeks—obsessing over Jax, overanalyzing our breakup, trying to figure out where I went wrong—weigh on my heart and make it difficult to breathe as I rest my head on his chest. Hot tears threaten to spill down my cheeks, but I hold them in and take a few deep breaths before releasing Kris. I start to turn toward the truck in case there are any traces of emotion left on my face, but unfortunately, my brother isn’t as emotionally dense as one might think.
“You okay?” he asks, concerned eyes trailing over my face as the wind sweeps the brown hair off of his forehead.
I slide him a look, then gesture toward the sky and force a convincing smile. “Look around—how could I not be?”
Kris shakes his head slightly, then hoists my carry-on into his arms and deposits it on the floor of the truck. “I can beat him up if you want.”
“I’m not upset over Jax,” I lie, rolling my eyes so convincingly that even I believe me. “Besides, he’s Jer’s brother. You can’t beat him up.”
He shrugs, as though beating up his friend’s younger brother wouldn’t put a strain on their friendship or the band. “Jer never liked you two dating. He’d get over it.”
“Kris, seriously. Whatever you do, don’t get involved, okay? Our breakup is between me and Jax. You and Jer have nothing to do with it, and I want it to stay that way.” When he doesn’t look convinced, I sigh and punch him in the shoulder, then climb into the truck. “I’m totally fine. Promise. I just…” I look around, raising an eyebrow at the palm trees swaying around the small, private airport. “Need a vacation.”
“Well, then…” Kris shuts my door and leans against the open window. “It looks like you, my dear sister, are in the right place.”
I just hope I can keep my mind off the past long enough to actually enjoy myself.
Kris starts up the engine and takes off down the exit ramp, completely ignoring the five speed limit signs we pass along the way.
He puts a country station on the radio, and I rest my head against the car and close my eyes, allowing the salty air to enrapture my senses. The wind whips through my hair and slaps my skin as the hot sun scalds my bare arms and legs through the windshield.
Maybe this breakup will prove to be good for me. Maybe Jax’s absence from my life will even be beneficial somehow.
And maybe that’s just a load of crap I continue to tell myself to create a sense of inner peace. Either way, I hold on to hope that this summer won’t turn out to be the total failure I’ve been anticipating.
