‘ That was one helluva ride. A bit rough on the dismount.’

‘ I was hoping for style points.’  Sand fell from my brow into my eye. Trying to restore my dignity, I said as breezily as I could manage, ‘ How’ s the garbage cleanup going?’

‘ Good. Not enough garbage to go around, though.’

Deedee walked up. ‘ You should go under the pier. That’ s where the good stuff is. My girlfriend Janelle said she once found a bag of crystal meth under there.’

I raised an eyebrow at her. More sand fell.

‘ Troy,’  I said, attempting to change the subject and use the moment of distraction to pull the back of my swimsuit to dump some of the sand, ‘ this is Deedee, a friend of mine. Deedee, this is Troy.’

Troy put out his hand to shake hers, and Deedee took it, giving him a slow once-over. He wore a K-JAM T-shirt and shorts, and she must have approved of what she saw because she bore the same expression she had at the movie theater-shame at her association with the likes of me. ‘ You know, June don’ t always look this bad.’

‘ Thanks,’  I said, sneering.

She attempted to straighten my hair, which was matted on one side and lifting like a bird in flight on the other. ‘ Okay, so it’ s not so good now. But tomorrow night she’ s going out, and she’ s gonna be bangin’ . Go on, tell him how hot you’ ll be.’

Troy grinned. ‘ Yes& do.’

‘ For real!’  Deedee continued. ‘ Those guys at this Oasis place aren’ t going to know what hit ‘ em.’

‘ I clean up nicely,’  I said, deadpan.

‘ Did you say Oasis?’  Troy asked.

I nodded. ‘ It’ s a little bar over on-’

‘ Yeah,’  he said, ‘ I know it. Used to go there with my sister once in a while. She had a crush on the bartender.’

I pulled a soggy candy bar wrapper from my hair and, disgusted, tossed it on the ground. A boy shouted, ‘ I got it!’  and ran over to pick it up and put it in his trash bag. Deedee then chucked her empty Doritos bag on the beach and watched in delight as the same thing happened. ‘ I want to see what other garbage we got. This is fun.’

After she left, Troy said, ‘ So, you a big fan of boogie boarding?’

‘ Never did it before.’

‘ Any reason you decided to try it today?’

Sand kept falling in my eyes, and I feared it appeared as if I were winking. ‘ I see we’ re also going fishing today.’  When he gave me a curious look, I said, ‘ As in fishing to see if this might be something from the list?’

‘ Was I that obvious?’

‘ That’ s okay. And yes, it is.’

He gazed out at the ocean for a moment and then asked, ‘ Did you catch any good waves?’

‘ I’ m not sure. I got going a couple times, but I don’ t know if that was catching the wave.’  It occurred to me that catching waves might be like having orgasms-if you’ re not sure you’ ve ever done it, then you haven’ t. ‘ Probably not.’

‘ You going back out again?’

Back out? Was he joking? I intended to never go back in the water& ever. In fact, in the time since what I considered my near death experience, I was seriously toying with packing up and moving to Montana-or any other state that was dead center and as far away as possible from anything large, wet, and salty.

‘ Of course I am,’  I said boldly, my pride winning over anything resembling rational thought.

‘ I’ m going to give you a shove-off.’  Without saying anything else, he reached up and pulled off his T-shirt, then tossed it on the ground. Well now! He had strong shoulders and arms-working in the fields strong as opposed to standing in front of the mirror at the gym posing strong. And a bit of light brown hair on his chest that led down to firm but not six-pack abs. That was when I noticed the huge scar that ran almost the entire length of one of his legs, crossing from where his shorts ended to his shin at a diagonal.

‘ What’ s a shove-off?’  I asked, hoping I hadn’ t been staring too obviously. But he had, after all, removed clothing. It would be rude not to look.

‘ You’ ll see.’  He shouted to his fellow garbage collectors that he’ d be right back, then grabbed the board. I followed him into the water. It was easier to swim out past the break without the board-and getting back in the water did offer the benefit of allowing me to rinse the sand from my hair and from a few of my more critical orifices.

The water reached him midchest, and I bobbed, hanging on to the board. We were no closer than we’ d been when we chatted on the beach, but somehow being in the water made it seem strangely intimate.

Troy proceeded to give me the same instructions Chase had-only he said that when the right wave came, he’ d give me a shove.

‘ So do you surf?’  I asked, bobbing.

‘ Once in a while. Not so much now since I get up at three in the morning for work.’

‘ Gosh, that’ s the time I’ m usually stumbling home drunk.’

‘ Right. You strike me as that type.’

‘ You don’ t know-I could be,’  I said, finding myself mildly irritated that it was so obvious I wasn’ t a party girl, even though he’ d clearly meant it as a compliment.

We chatted a bit about his favorite surf spots, and then he told me to get ready-that the waves were picking up. I clambered onto the board, my arms reaching to grab the top end and my butt and legs dangling in the water. I was pointed toward shore like a rocket ready to launch. Troy was behind and slightly to the left of me-not the proximity to my rear I would have chosen had it come up for a vote.

‘ When I say go, start paddling,’  he instructed. I glanced behind me, and a swell began to build. When it reached me, he shouted, ‘ Go!’  My hands grabbed at the water, and the wave started to lift the board. Troy put one hand on the back of the board, the other on my lower back, and gave a strong, hard shove.

Suddenly I was soaring. This was catching a wave, and-my suspicions had been correct-I’ d never done anything like it before. It felt as if the water beneath me had turned into a sea of hands that kept spiriting my board up and forward-gliding and skipping and lifting until I was shrieking with the unexpected thrill of it and wishing that this amazing rush would never, ever have to end.

Chapter 9

I ‘ d driven past Oasis probably a hundred times but had never before been inside. I generally try to avoid tropical-themed bars located in minimalls. When Brie, her girlfriend Chanel, and I walked in, however, it was surprisingly large and lively and-for a Sunday evening-crowded.

‘ Good, there’ re mostly guys here. Less competition,’  Brie said, tugging on the snug tank top she wore especially for the occasion because it was the color of baby barf-no worries she might upstage me. Chanel had announced that surely there’ d be no brothers at a place called Oasis in a minimall so she might as well wear an ugly shirt, too-a gesture I would have appreciated more if I didn’ t happen to own the same shirt.

No matter. All that was important was that I meet the dictates of #8: Be the hottest girl at Oasis.

To that end, I wore the aforementioned silvery blue top with the sequin action going and the low-rider jeans I’ d bought for the blind date. I spent forever blow-drying my hair. Truly a child of the eighties, I can’ t help myself: When it comes to hair, I still equate bigger with better. I did, however, pass on Brie’ s offer to do my makeup for me. (I’ d almost taken her up on it until she’ d boasted, ‘ I do one face and it works on everybody.’  )

We took a seat at a high cocktail table in the center of the room. The waitress came by, and Brie and Chanel ordered pink ladies, and I asked for a Chardonnay.

‘ So now what?’  Chanel said when our drinks arrived.

I quickly surveyed the people around us. ‘ I suppose as long as we establish that I’ m the hottest woman in the room, then we’ re free to have our drinks and go.’

‘ I can’ t see everybody good from here-let’ s check it out,’  Brie said. She and Chanel grabbed their drinks and left to case the room. I stayed at the table, trying to be& hot? Ugh. Could I please go back to my idea of setting myself on fire? Truth was, I’ d never felt so ridiculous in my life. I felt silly because Brie and Chanel were walking around deciding if I was the prettiest girl in the room and even sillier because I kind of hoped I was. I understood what Marissa was after: that thrill of feeling that every eye is on you because you’ re beautiful, not because you’ re fat. But most of the eyes here weren’ t on women, but rather on the TVs in the corners broadcasting a Lakers game.

They returned, their faces a twist of pity. ‘ Over there, by the jukebox, behind that pillar,’  Brie said. ‘ She’ s hotter.’

Chanel nodded. ‘ The boobs are fake, but she’ s got kind of a Lindsay Lohan thing going. You know, real fresh but slutty.’

I craned my neck. Crap! She was hot! ‘ I can’ t compete with that! Now what am I supposed to do?’  I whined. ‘ Keep returning again and again hoping to hit a slow night? There’ s always going to be somebody more beautiful!’

‘ You don’ t need to worry about it,’  Brie said ominously. ‘ We’ ll get rid of her.’

‘ What are you planning to do?’  I asked, mildly alarmed.

She reached into her purse, and I feared what she might whip out. She merely freshened her lipstick. ‘ We got a few ideas. I figure we’ ll stand there and talk about a designer shoe sample sale in the parking lot. That ought to get her moving. If that doesn’ t work, maybe we’ ll say we saw a rat in the kitchen.’

After they took off for their second mission, I was left to sip my drink alone. I was in the midst of checking out the bartenders, wondering which one Marissa had a crush on, when up walked Troy Jones, a beer in his hand and a grin on his face. ‘ You were right, you do clean up nicely,’  he said.