You know those movies that start at the end where it shows the main character in a freeze-frame? In the middle of falling from a building, or dying of dehydration in a scorching dessert surrounded by vultures? I could be in one of those movies right now.
I picture a crane shot of me sprawled out on the beach like I've been washed ashore, coughing up saltwater, seagulls circling me instead of vultures. Their squawking isn't quite as sinister, though.
Nate draws an outline in the sand around my body like those ones they do with chalk at crime scenes. I'm too tired to move out of it. I'm too tired to do anything. My muscles are completely drained after one surf lesson, and the most we did was swimming and paddling.
But as dead as my muscles are now, they come alive in the morning and scream under my skin. Stiff and burning and pain, pain, pain. Reaching for my phone on my nightstand is a chore, but I need to text Nate.
L: I HATE YOU
N: haha you'll live
I'm out of the house before Rob so I take my opportunity to ride shotgun, carefully squeaking open the car door in agony.
I glare at Nate as I sit, but he holds up a finger before I say anything. "You craved French toast when you had a hangover, which means you like sweet things and cinnamon. So being the extremely amazing person that I am, I got Lizzy to make these painkillers for you."
He opens the yellow lid of his Tupperware, revealing half a dozen decadent-looking cinnamon rolls nestled in wax paper.
"You think you can just bring me sweet things and I'll forget my pain?" I say bluntly. "Well you can't."
"Okay." Nate shrugs, starting to close the lid, but I quickly snatch a roll out and he laughs.
"If your sister went to all that trouble then it would be rude of me not to try one, wouldn't it?"
"Sure, sure," he chimes, taking one out for himself before he passes me a paper napkin.
The cinnamon rolls are still warm. Ooey and gooey just the way I like them.
"You know, you shouldn't even be mad at me for your stiff muscles," he says. "If you used them more then you wouldn't be sore in the first place."
"I use them the normal amount. And I warned you that I was athletically challenged."
"And I warned you that you'd feel pain in the morning."
"Well if you warned me sooner then I could've done push-ups in preparation or something."
He swings his head my way. "Would you have actually done push-ups if I recommended it before? Be honest."
"Yes!"
"Liar."
As he lifts his cinnamon roll to take a bite, I knock my hand against his so the cream cheese frosting smashes right onto his nose. I'm cracking up before I can stop myself and he's letting out a big stony-faced sigh.
"Uncalled for," he mutters, his eyes flitting over my shoulder to the window. "What the...? What the hell's going on over there?"
My laughing dwindles as I turn and scan the front yard. "Where? What are you—"
Just as I face him he pushes my cinnamon roll to my cheek, leaving a blob of frosting.
"Nate!" I shriek.
He bursts out laughing. "Fair's fair, baby."
I fight my smile, readying the napkin to wipe my cheek.
YOU ARE READING
In Waves | ✔️
Teen Fiction"𝐖𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞?" Starting her junior year, Lia DeMarco's predictable life takes a sharp turn when she vows to break out of her comfort zone and date the wealthy...
