The next week, I met the two other girls that had been with
 Charlie. Their names were Malaya Mistry, whose family was
 from India, and she was tall, with beautiful, silky black hair.
Blaire Faucette, who was of medium height with long, artificially
colored red hair, was the other girl. I hadn't been over to Emery's since
 that morning a few days back.

Well, a few days after that, I was walking on the beach with
Malaya, Blaire and Charlie. We were about five minutes to Serenity.

We were all discussing what had happened that past
weekend: A girl just out of Captiva had been bitten by
a shark. She had been surfing and she had been rushed to
 the ER in the nearest town with a hospital.

“I wouldn't dare go out past the sandbar.” said Blaire.

“I wouldn't go halfway to the sandbar!” Malaya put in.

“There are sharks no matter what. It doesn't matter if
 they're past the sandbar or not. They could be a few feet
 from the shore.” said Charlie.

“It depends on what they feel like doing, and being.
 If they've just eaten, they'd probably not attack you.
 But if they're hungry. . .” I shuddered at my own words.

“You mean,” gulped Malaya, “That they come to shore
 hungry. . .on purpose?”

“Well, they must have learned that there's food. . .slash people
. . .at the beach. . . by now.” Blaire said.


“Well, duh, but I was watching a special on Worldview
Channel about how when surfers lay down and paddle
on their surfboards, they look like sea turtles to the sharks.
 And sharks eat sea turtles.” Charlie put in.

“Can we stop talking about this?” said Malaya. “You've already
 got me to scared to go into the water. I don't want to hear about
 sharks and what they eat.”

“Fine.” said Charlie. She turned to me. “Isn't there another
 cottage behind yours?”

I nodded. “Moonbay.”

Charlie nodded. “Oh, yeah. With that rude British
chick and her aunt, right?”

“Yeah.” I said. “But Emery's not all that rude.”

Blaire snorted. “Um, are you kidding? She's doesn't have any
 friends around, and I'm more scared of her than of a shark.”

“For good reason, too.” said Malaya.

I turned to Charlie. “Bad experience?”

“Well, not really. I mean, we've seen her around and all,
 and she just looks kinda mean.” Malaya put in.

“I,” I said, “Will prove to you that Emery Gael Wysten
is not mean.”


“How's that?” said Blaire.

“We're going to Moonbay.” I answered. But inside I was
 not as confident as I sounded. What if Emery was in a bad mood?

When we reached Moonbay, the other girls stood
 behind me, smirking.

Except for Charlie She stood up front with me, her head held high.

I knocked on the door.

“Oh, dearies, hello!” the screen door opened and Julia
 stepped out. She dried her wet hands on her apron--
this time it said Kiss the Chef--and embraced me.
“What's happening at Serenity, Carmody?”

“Nothing much.” I answered. Then I gestured to the other girls.
 “Julia, this is Charlie-” (“Oh, lovely to meet you, Charlie, dear!”)
 , and this is Malaya and Blaire. (“Hello, chickies, what beautiful
 names!”).”

After the introductions, Julia smiled and placed her hands
 on her hips. “Now, how may I help you young ladies?”

“Well. . .actually, Julia, we were wondering if Emery was
 in.” I said, twiddling my hands in front of me.

Julia looked a bit surprised, but nodded and said she'd fetch Em.

We all stood on the porch, waiting for Julia. “Now,
 wasn't Julia pleasant?” I said.

Before anyone had a chance to answer, the door banged
 behind us and there stood Emery.

She was wearing a white collared shirt with buttons, but
 had rolled up the sleeves, and a pair of short jean shorts.
She had on about eight or nine anklets and her black hair was
in beautiful, long barrel curls with a small flower tucked behind her ear.

“Somethin' in particular you needed?” she said
 in the quaintest, sweetest accent.

“Um. . .yeah.” I said. “Kind of, anyway. I wanted to
 introduce you to. . .my new friends. Blaire, Malaya,
Charlie. And. . They wanted to meet you as well.”

Emery raised her eyebrows and slouched

 against a porch column. “Is that so.”

“Mm-hmm.” I said.

And we all stood there.

“Well,” said Emery at last, “Why do you all want meet me for,
 anyhow? I'm not terribly pleasant. . .I'm sure you've known that.
 So have you come to laugh at me? I'm sure it is
 so. Well, let me tell you all that I've been feeling lovely and pleasant
 today, so I've no clue what you're waiting to see.”

That was the most I had ever heard Emery speak
Malaya swallowed nervously and Charlie nodded
curtly. “Yes, well. We had simply come to see. . .if you
 were interested at all in joining our personal, friends-only-members
. . Coalition.”

Emery chuckled. “Coalition? What kind of word is that?”

“A word I've just used.” Charlie replied icily.

“Yes, well-” Emery stretched her arms way up
 above her head - “I'll think about it. But today, I've got lacrosse.”

Later that week, me, Malaya, Blaire and Charlie were
 clustered up in my bedroom. Charlie was perched on
my bed, me and Malaya were parked on the floor, and
 Blaire was tuning my radio, hoping to pick up some good
 tunes but getting only static.

“You know what you need to do, Carmody?”
 said Malaya. “You need to move out here.”

“Oh. .” I said. “Well. . It is nice here.”

“No, she doesn't want to move out here.” Charlie put in.
“She doesn't want to miss her friends back in Seattle.”

Malaya's smile disappeared. “I suppose.” she said,
 sounding a bit offended.

“No, no, it really is nice here.” I protested. “But, Charlie's-”

“Right.” Charlie interjected. “We'll enjoy Carmody while she's
 here, and that's it.”

Our silence was broken with a squeal from Blaire in
 the corner, who apparently had not been following the
 conversation whatsoever.

“Yay! I love this song!” she jumped up and clapped her hands,
 turned the radio up, and came to sit on my bed next to Charlie.
 She wiggled and bounced, so Charlie moved over to Lindsays' bed.

Charlie rolled her eyes. Malaya giggled. “You're such a
goofball, Blaire.”

“No,” Blaire answered, “I just have good musical sense.”

“Musical sense?” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

“Isn't that a word?” questioned Blaire.

“Um, no.” said Charlie.

“There's horse sense, and fashion sense, but I've never
 heard of musical sense.” put in Malaya.

“Whatever.” Blaire sighed. “You guys are so critical.”

Just at that moment, the bedroom door opened, and

 Lindsay walked in.

She stood for a moment, watching all us us. Her
 face was a bit surprised, and then it changed to
 an expression of annoyance. Her eyebrows narrowed
 and she let out a loud huff.

“Why is she on my bed?” Lindsay said irritably,

indicating Charlie. “Get her off my bed.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Make me.”

“Oh – I'll make you, all right.” Lindsay was furious. She rushed
 over to Charlie and tried to pull her off, but Lindsay was flimsier
 than a piece of paper and didn't do anything. Charlie laughed.
Lindsay whirled around to me, her face purple-red.

“GET OUT OF HERE! All of you, OUT! Now!”

We left. Who'd want to hang with a chick like Lindsay anyway?

Three weeks later, me, Charlie, Blaire, Malaya, and
Emery were sitting at the local Ice Cream Bar, which
 was actually just an open bar with a thatch roof on the beach.

“Hey, I got it.” Blaire snapped her fingers next to her head.

“Got what?” Charlie drummed her fingers on

the bar. Barump, barump, barump.

“An IDEA.” Blaire turned to Malaya, who
 was on the other side of her.

Blaire squealed and clapped her hands.

“Okay, so, idea: Let's have a party!”

“A . . . .party.” Charlie furrowed her brow.

Blaire pulled out her notebook and
began to write down the details of the party.

“Yeah, this Friday. We could have all of us,
the Hendrickson boys, Troy Rudder, Krystyl Valsquez,
 and Winnie Rowndrup. We could order pizza, play
 video games, and just really live it up!”

We were all silent for a moment. “My uncle
 owns a rubber factory in Tampa. I'm sure I
could get balloons.” Malaya said finally.

“And I could bake crème brulee.” Emery put in.
We were all a bit surprised; Emery was usually quiet.

“What's crème brulee?” we all asked at once.

“They make it in England a lot. It's also called
Trinity Cream. It's a custard base that's blow-torched
 on the top. It's simply divine.”

“Ummmm. . .Okay, Emery. I'll put you down for –

 how do you spell it?” Blaire inquired.

“C-R-E-M-E – Oh's, it's two words, by the way – B-R-U-L-E-E.”

Emery stated.

“Cool.” Blaire tucked the notebook into her back pocket.

“Pizza, crème brulee, video games, movies, and balloons. Sounds
 cool, huh?” Malaya said. “I'm getting excited!"

 


Comments

08/25/2011 20:30

Your writing leaves me ashamed of my own, <sigh>. It's really good! Now, not to be annoying but... ships in bottles? I'm sorry, I'm rather fond of those, even though I don't have any.

Reply
Kate
08/26/2011 05:52

Haha. Well, I'm saving that part. I'm planning to put it in, though. It will play an important role in the next chapter of the story. (hint hint!)

Thanks for commenting! You're really not annoying me, by the way - I'm good with it. Remember, I have a brother. :D

Reply
Lily
08/28/2011 17:41

Okay. Yay! I'm writing a beach story too...

Reply
07/15/2012 12:42

Nice one info, thx

Reply



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