Page 65 of Reckless Girls
If everything had gone like it was supposed to, we would have left yesterday, but instead, we’re all still here.
Waiting.
I’m still on theAzure Sky,and so is Brittany. Nico and Amma are still on theSusannah,and it’s like the six of us split into our own separate universes, barely interacting anymore. If our group is on the beach, Nico and Amma stay on the boat. If we’re on board theAzure Sky,they’re on the beach.
I don’t know if anything is still going on between Nico and Amma. But I do know that Nico hasn’t even tried to fight for me. And all I want now is just to leave this island behind: escape the heat and humidity, which have become like living things, pressing down on me. Escape the claustrophobia and the weird tension, and the constant, thrumming dread.
I’m starting to dream of cooler places. The air-conditioned chill of a movie theater. A brisk walk on the beach in December. Theteeth-aching buzz from drinking a frozen cocktail too fast. Even as I wade into the clear blue water off the shore, I’m still sweating, the water the same temperature as a warm bath.
I take a deep breath through my nose and catch that now-familiar mix of salt water and slowly rotting vegetation. Despite the SPF 50 I religiously apply every few hours, the sun is searing my shoulders, the glare off the water already giving me a dull headache.
“I feel as though you’re thinking entirely too deep thoughts for a morning like this.”
Jake is approaching me, two beers dangling from one hand.
I’m still a little hungover from last night—the drinking sure hasn’t slowed down since our group fractured—but I take the bottle he offers. The first sip hits my tongue, yeasty and sour, and my stomach rolls a little.
“I was just thinking that paradise isn’t exactly what I’d expected.”
I can see my reflection in Jake’s sunglasses. My shoulders are freckled and peeling, and my hair is a tangled and salty mess, held back from my face with one of Nico’s bandanas. Even though we’ve been living in the exact same conditions, Amma somehow didn’t let herself become this feral.
Jake smiles at me, tipping the beer to his mouth. “Very few things are what they say on the tin, Lux,” he tells me, then flashes me a grin. “Except me.”
“Ah, so the feckless rich guy thing isn’t just an act?”
He tilts his head back and laughs, and I try not to let my eyes linger on the smooth expanse of his throat, the way his hair curls against his earlobes.
Nico is technically hotter, but Jake is… magnetic. In the same genre of pretty rich boy, but he wears it differently. The fact that he’s older than Nico is part of it, but it’s something else—Nico has tried so hard to deny who he is, where he comes from. Jakejustownsit, and that confidence and swagger is appealing—not nearly the turnoff I expected it to be.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing back toward the beach. “Let’s do a little exploring.”
I know it’s a bad idea, going off alone together when I’m feeling this way.
I follow him anyway.
WE WALK FOR A WHILE,following the curve of the shore. We don’t talk much, but I’m very aware of how close we’re standing, of the way the back of his hand brushes against mine every so often.
I finish the beer quickly, and it goes to my head more than one drink usually does. By the time we stop to sit down in the sand, the lagoon and what I think of as “our beach” feel far away. Like we’ve found our own little island, free from everyone else.
The trees aren’t quite so thick here, and the sandy part of the beach is narrower, a little crescent of sand around the blue, blue waters of the lagoon. There’s something liberating about looking out and only seeing open ocean, no sign of theSusannahor theAzure Skyon the horizon. For now, I can pretend that we’re the only two people here.
Leaning back on his elbows, Jake nods out toward the sea. “It used to freak me out, you know. Open water like that.”
“Sailing seems like a weird hobby to pick up then,” I offer, and his grin makes the dimple in his cheek deepen. I wonder if he’s practiced that smile, if he’s studied it in the mirror and known the effect it would have on women.
“Touché,” he acknowledges, then turns his attention back to the water. “But I was raised a Kelly, you see, and all the Kelly men sail.”
I thought again of Nico, learning to sail at some prep schoolin Oregon, and wondered how two guys could be so similar, and yet also so different.
“What else do Kelly men do?” I ask, and he tilts his head back.
“They go to poncey schools, both at home and abroad. I went to a couple in Australia, then dear old dad sent me to England, ostensibly to straighten me out, but it didn’t really take.”
“Ah, so you were the prep school bad boy, got it,” I reply, and he looks over at me with a grin.
“Never that bad, not truly.”
“What a shame.” My face is flushed, and I feel almost dizzy with my own recklessness. I know what I’m doing, whatwe’redoing. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous and stupid, and I’m going ahead with it anyway.
