“Gotcha.”
She blushed, gripping his forearms and pulled herself to solid sand, brushing off her legs. “Thanks.”
“It’s Jen, right?”
“Jennifer.” She hated Jen, hated the childish lilt of the name.
“Cool. Having fun?”
She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes drawn to his body, to the ripped six-pack he proudly displayed.
“We were actually about to jet. Head to a house party over in Summerset. You seem pretty cool... would you want to come?” He flashed a smile that any warm-blooded teen would be crazy to resist, a grin that displayed his dimples to perfection, his white teeth flashing at her in the dark.
Yes, I would love to come. I would love to do anything your perfect self deems necessary. She hesitated. “I’ve got to ask my brother, I came here with him.”
He stiffened slightly. “Really? Who?”
“Paul Brand.”
He stepped back a pace, surprise on his face. “Really? You’re Paul’s little sister?”
Nodding, she blushed at the impressed look he shot her. “Yeah.” It’s my birthday... so he brought me along.”
His look turned wary. “Eighteenth birthday?”
“Yeah,” she lied. “The big one.”
He nodded with a smile. “I knew your sister, Dana. You look a little like her. Prettier.” He flashed another smile, this one a little awkward, as if he regretted the comment. There was a shout, and he turned, waving absently at a group that passed. “Well... ask your brother. Summerset party. We can drop you wherever when its done. And tell him I’m a fan. He is lethal on that board.”
Stuffing her hands in the front pockets of her jean skirt, she nodded, watching his profile as he turn and jogged through the sand, effortlessly catching a beer that was tossed his way. Then she glanced around, looking for Paul.
He was by the dunes, a blonde head underneath his, his body stretched out over a form she couldn’t really see. She hung back, unsure about interrupting, glancing back at the fire before hesitantly calling his name.
There was a groan from the two bodies, and a muffled whisper, then Paul rolled, coming to his feet, his back to her, his hands adjusting the front of his swimsuit before he turned, an irritated expression on his face. “What’s up Jennifer?”
“I’m ready to leave.” The words spilled out without premeditation, but she saw the brilliance in them as soon as they came out, Paul’s expression fighting hard to disguise the frustration at the statement.
“Now? We haven’t even been here an hour.”
“I know. There is a big group headed to a house in Summerset to hang out. I could go with them – and you could just pick me up there when you’re ready to leave here.” She said it casually, as if she didn’t care either way. As if her entire love life wasn’t resting on his answer.
His eyes lit up. “Really. Summerset? Who all’s going?”
“Just some girls I’ve been talking to. But I think it’s a big group. So it’ll be safe.”
The blonde called his name, moving in the sand, and he glanced back before facing her again, indecision in his eyes. “You got a cell on you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I have Mom’s cell and I’ll be with a group. It’s just like any other night I go out with a group. Mom and Dad would be fine with it. Just call me when you leave here. You can pick me up then.”
He looked back once more, then studied her face. “Alright. Just be safe. I love you.”
She grinned, unable to contain the smile that burst out. “I love you too Paul. Thanks.”
He stepped back, watching her closely. “Cell phone. Don’t lose it and make sure the ringer’s on. I’ll call you in about an hour.”
She waved, turning and jogging up the beach, towards the fire.
“Happy Birthday!” he called out after her.
She waved again, without looking back, her eyes skimming the fire lit bodies, looking for the athletic build of her dreams.
He had a football in hand, and was heaving it into the darkness, a dim figure in red jumping up to catch it. She jogged up, tugged gently on his shirt, and waited for him to turn. He did, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his chest. “You coming?”
“Yeah. If that’s still okay.” She beamed up at him.
He squeezed her shoulder gently. “More than okay. Come on, you can ride with me.”
He whistled to a group, the guys turning, ditching red cups into the nearby dunes, insults and laughs tossed out as they dispersed.
Five minutes later, she was lifted into the backseat, his strong hands lingering on her waist, his hand sliding the seatbelt across her lap, teasing her bare thighs as it moved. He clinched the buckle, his face close to hers, and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers as his hand slid around her thigh, caressing the flesh there.
Then he leaned back, breaking their connection, shutting the door and leaning in the open window. “At the party, stick close to me. I’m gonna need more of that.”
His words made her smile, her cheeks warm, her lips still tingling from his kiss. “Okay.”
He tapped the roof. “Let’s go!” he yelled.
She glanced to the boy next to her, extending a shy smile, one that was quickly returned, framed by dark eyes, ruddy cheeks and thick black hair. “Heard you’re Brand’s sister.”
She nodded.
“He’s sick on a gun. Everyone knows who he is.”
“He taught me how to surf,” she offered.
“Hey!” the loud voice from the front seat broke their conversation. “You hitting on my girl, Brian?”
“Just making conversation Travis,” the boy muttered, grinning at her.
My girl. She bit her lip to contain a smile, grabbing the arm rest as the truck was slammed into drive, throwing her slightly forward.
10 YEARS EARLIER
DANA
LOS ANGELES GAZETTE
PRESS RELEASE: LOS ANGELES COUNTY
A late night of partying and drinking has taken the lives of three Los Angeles residents, one of them a seventeen-year-old girl. The driver, Jason Tate, is in critical condition at Long Beach Memorial Hospital and had a recorded BAC of 1.23.
Tate’s vehicle, a 1992 Land Rover Defender, lost control on Pacific Coast Hwy at approx. 11:14pm on Friday evening. The vehicle crashed through a guardrail before rolling down a steep embank. Jason Tate, a 21-year old UCLA student, was thrown from the vehicle and suffered severe head trauma. The bodies of Brian Jesup and Jennifer Brand were found in the burnt-out vehicle, restrained by seat belts. It is unknown if they were conscious when the vehicle caught fire, the blaze a result of the impact, which cracked the fuselage and tank. The third fatality, Robert McCormick, was found a short distance from the vehicle, and died of head injuries.
A joint memorial service will be held on Saturday at 2pm. In lieu of flowers, please make donations to M.A.D.D. of Los Angeles.
That night ripped apart our lives. I came home, leaving Berkeley mid-semester, and found Mom, on her bedroom floor, sobbing, her arms wrapped around a framed photo of our family. One taken before Dad’s heart attack. Back when we were a family of six, before we became five, and then four. It wasn’t long after that that we became three. Three separate souls, unconnected except for the blood in our veins and love locked away in the stubborn places of our hearts.
“She was seventeen!” Stewart yelled, pushing Paul against the wall, frames rattling against wallpaper from the impact. He dug his hands into Paul’s shoulders, their faces only inches apart. “Seventeen!”