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“Fine,” I snap, grabbing the clipboard and pen, and scribbling down my details. Done, I thrust the clipboard back at his chest, snatch up my leaflet at long last, grab Summer’s hand and stomp away.
“Catch ya in the water, Malia-Tarni,” the guy shouts playfully as we walk away. I wish I’d left false details now. I’m meant to be smart.
“I think he likes you,” Summer says excitedly.
I don’t reply. There’s really no need because she’s wrong. And even if she wasn’t wrong, I’m not interested in some gorgeous, sexy surfer with eyes like blue tourmaline and a smile which warms my insides. I’m not.
“Ooooh, you like him too! You should totally join the surf club.”
“Why?”
“Because then you’ll see him again.”
“I don’t want to see him again.”
“Well, at least join the club to go surfing,” she counters.
“I can surf without a club keyring or bumper sticker or whatever free crap they give you for signing up. I don’t need to pay dues to surf. I have an entire ocean that lets me ride for free. Besides, the ocean doesn’t discriminate.”
“MT, I think you’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“To make friends.”
“I have a friend. It’s you.”
“But these people will have things in common with you.”
“Like what?”
“Well, they’ll like surfing too. So you can hang out with like-minded people.”
“I don’t want to hang out with like-minded people. People suck, generally. If they have minds like mine, they’ll be unbearable.”
Summer shakes her head like she always does when I say anything remotely negative – true –about myself. I ignore her, not wanting a lecture on loving your best self or living your life or whatever hippy touchy feely crap she wants to spout at me today.
“Okay. But we’re going to the party tonight, and you’re not getting out of it.”
“Fine.”
“And you have to let me do your hair and makeup and choose your outfit.”
“Hair, yes. Makeup, if I have to. Clothing? Absolutely not.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To get ready of course!”
I look at her like she’s the crazy one.
“The party isn’t for hours,” I point out.
“How long do you think getting ready will take?”
I know there’s a right and a wrong answer to this. I would go as I am so the answer should be zero amount of time, but Summer won’t like that. Quickly, I work out timings in my head. Taking into account a shower, putting on clean clothes and doing hair and – yuk – makeup, I estimate a generous half an hour. I round it up a little to make Summer happy.
“Forty minutes?” I ask hopefully. She scoffs, and my face falls. “I want to go for a surf. Please. It clears my head, and I need it after all the chaos of today.” Summer isn’t buying my excuses. “The more relaxed I am, the longer I’ll stay out later?”
“Fine. But you have to do shots with me. And we’re dying your hair.”
“Okay,” I sigh. Summer grins triumphantly. She’s wanted to get her hands on a box of dye and my long, white locks for years. Suddenly I feel like I didn’t win this negotiation. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Two hours, MT. I mean it. It’s going to take ages to get you ready for tonight, but I promise it’ll be epic.”
I grumble as I walk away, dodging excited freshers left, right and centre. I don’t want tonight to be epic. The only epic things I like are waves and naps.
