Always Summer Read online

  I don’t like admitting that he’s right, but Topher’s career path is going to be vastly different from Colby’s.

  And I’m not sure if I can manage it.

  Chapter Six

  After watching Topher play professional surfer all afternoon with Ocean Blast Energy, I rethink Colby’s worries that Topher may lose his sense of self in this business. Sure, surfing is their passion and hobby, but it’s still a business that I think Topher will be able to navigate easily. He’s got the personality for it, much like his brother, even if he would flip out if he heard me say that.

  “We’re going out tonight,” he says from across the kitchen counter at the condo we’re staying in. “There’s this really awesome beach party celebration thing going on, and we’re going.”

  “Were you invited?” I ask from the barstool.

  He shakes his head. “It’s not like a party party,” he explains. “It’s almost like a festival or something. They have it every summer here, and I think you’ll like it. Besides, Ocean Blast is paying for us to stay here another night so we might as well make the most of it. It starts in like an hour so get ready.”

  A smile sweeps his face, and his eyes glisten like moonlight against the waves. There’s no way I can say no, even if I wanted to – but I don’t want to. I change into a tank top and shorts, much less professional than what I wore to our meeting with Ocean Blast Energy earlier today, and grab the smaller purse that I borrowed from Emily. Topher still looks like a surfer – board shorts and a Drenaline Surf T-shirt. He bounces with excitement all the way to his vehicle.

  The drive to the boardwalk is much longer than necessary, but being on the edge of Sunrise Valley, it’s to be expected. Topher hasn’t mentioned Liquid Spirit, although I know he knows, and I don’t dare bring them up right now. But seeing the size of Sunrise Valley, how the entire city is immersed in surf culture, I’m scared. Crescent Cove may be a gorgeous little beach town, but it’s still little. It’s a retirement area. Why bother with our tiny town when you have all it has to offer and more just an hour and a half north?

  “Looks like we may have to walk,” Topher says, stretching his neck in an attempt to see around the cars ahead of us. “I’m going to pull into that parking garage. At least it’s close to the boardwalk.”

  It takes another twenty minutes, though, to even get into the parking garage and find the elevator back to the ground level. This city is crawling with vacationers, locals, and party-goers who are just here for the drinks and bonfires.

  Topher slips his hand into mine and keeps me close to him as we fight our way through the crosswalk and over to the beach. A hazy sunset falls behind the ocean, pinks and purples dancing together across the sky like melted cotton candy. The waves glow with the colors of the sky, like a computerized ocean in a fantasy movie rather than reality.

  “What are they celebrating here?” I ask, hoping Topher can hear me over the crowd of people. “There are like a million people here.”

  He laughs. “Everyone from like three towns over comes out for this,” he says. “It’s a pretty huge deal.”

  A banner stretches across the boardwalk that reads Sunrise Valley Seahorse Memorial Celebration in big turquoise letters. Did Topher really bring me to a celebration for dead seahorses? Solomon has been my guiding light. The last thing I need right now is his death. How is this even a good idea?

  “Whoa,” I say, jerking his arm back and stepping out of the line of the crowd. “Seahorse Memorial? I don’t want to celebrate the lives of dead seahorses. How is that something I’d actually like?”

  Topher shakes his head quickly, but his face is concerned. “It’s not like that. I read about it online,” he replies. He motions toward the boardwalk. “It’s like this huge celebration for seahorses…but you know, in a good way?”

  Part of me wonders if Topher even read about this thing or if he just heard something about a seahorse celebration on the beach and thought it was a good idea.

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” I say, even though I’m not sold on this at all.

  “Look, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but Colby told me to bring you here. Apparently, he’s been before, and he said I had to bring you because it’s perfect – his words,” Topher says with pleading eyes.

  I can’t deny him any longer. I interlock my fingers with his and continue forth toward the pier that harbors the boardwalk and all of the festivities of the night. Topher hands over the entrance fee and gets our plastic bracelets for access to the pier. The girl asks if this is our first time coming to the celebration. She directs us toward a group of people down on the sand upon hearing it is.

  We find a seat on a wooden log carved with tribal designs. A bonfire blazes before us, but it’s small and controlled, unlike some of the crazy ones I’ve seen at the Hooligans’ beach parties. An older lady who looks as though she could be Kale’s grandmother sits at the head of the fire. A woven blanket with brilliant colors rests over her shoulders, blocking her from the breeze that gusts in from the ocean. I sort of feel like I’m in a Twilight film waiting for tribe secrets to be revealed.

  People crowd in around us, chattering about last summer’s celebration and how they love coming out here. The leather-skinned lady raises her hands upward, and the audience falls silent, as if they know what’s about to happen.

  “Tonight, there will be a full moon,” she begins, waving her arms open wide toward the sky. Yep. We’re definitely in werewolf territory. “And tonight, that full moon will change the tides. The ocean will not be the same.”

  She speaks with a serious yet dramatic tone, like she’s going to lunge forward toward the fire and scream bloody murder just to scare us at any given moment. But she remains fairly still. I, on the other hand, feel incredibly antsy sitting here with strangers listening to a woman blab about the moon.

  “It was long ago when they reigned supreme,” she says, her face narrowing toward the fire. “It was during a time when mermaids were not afraid to swim near the surface. The ocean was a place of pure magnificence, no dangers but those of the waves in a storm. It was glorious with colors – beautiful, angelic fishes…so vibrant, so large. And seahorses, studded with jewels, that would someday be harnessed for greed. And the songs of the mermaids. All blended into a mirage of colors and life and beauty.”

  She speaks with conviction, like she truly believes that mermaids are frolicking in the depths of the oceans, unwilling to surface for fear that humans may see them. In a way, I want to believe it as well, just to know that Shark isn’t alone out there, that maybe someone is singing his soul into a realm of peace.

  “The seahorses embodied what sea royalty should be,” she continues, punching her fist into the air. “They were regal, kings of the sea. Friends of the mermaids and family to the majestic fishes. As large as a human, as gentle as an elephant, more beautiful than a sunset.”

  I try to envision Solomon as one of these real life sea kings – cerulean blue with sapphires and diamonds sparkling over his fins and around his eyes, human-sized and royal. He’d be beautiful, at the very least.

  She continues talking about the angel fishes and how brightly colored they were, how they floated among the waters like gentle giants, catching rays of sun and bouncing them around to form rainbow prisms among themselves in the water.

  “But the ships could not appreciate their beauty. Evil men, hungry with greed, hunted them, preyed on them like monsters,” she says, her voice intensifying and echoing around us.

  I wish I could tune her out. I don’t want to hear about their tragic ends. I want to imagine an ocean where seahorses still rule the ocean kingdoms. But she tells of spears piercing through them, angelic fishes floating dead at the surface, and mermaids dying and being captured during rescue missions.

  “This is where piracy began,” she explains. “The jewels within their skins were the original treasures of the sea. The pirates sailed the waters, in search of the next jewel, the next color to add to their chests. Slow
ly and surely, they took what they wanted, destroying the life below the waters.”

  And that’s when it happened – the moon exploded. I shift my eyes at Topher to make sure I’m hearing this lady correctly. But she lifts her arms widely toward the sky and says it again.

  “Her anger was becoming of her,” she lady says, with a hint of a smirk. “She controlled the tides, and she decided to take back what belonged to her.”

  The legend states that on that fateful night, when the moon was full, a terrible storm swept over the oceans, sinking ships and their chests of treasures. The mermaids scattered, retreating to the ocean bottoms for protection, and in the wake of the madness, hid the jewels of their beloved seahorses so deeply that no pirate would ever find them.

  And of course, the moon exploded. But it didn’t just explode into dust. The moon erupted into thousands of bean-shaped rocks, “moon beans” as they were called.

  “When they hit the water, the angel fishes and seahorses shrunk to the size of the beans, making them hard to find in the vast scheme of things,” she says, holding up a bean-shaped rock that looks as though it could be made from a piece of the moon. “And every small creature – the whales and dolphins and sharks – were suddenly enlarged. No longer were they the tiny fishes that swam in the distance. They were now the protectors of the seas, a royalty of a more vicious kind, a role they still play to this day.”

  Oh, what I’d give to time travel back to those days, to see life-sized seahorses adorned with jewels and hear the mermaids sing their enchanted songs. Shark McAllister would’ve taken photos of giant yellow angel fishes rather than Great Whites. I wonder what kind of nickname he would’ve had instead. Shark would be out of the question.

  “But tonight, on the full moon, we celebrate the true kings of the sea,” the lady announces. “We celebrate them with colors and jewels and beauty. For tonight, the giant killers in the ocean shall shrink back to their true sizes, spend the night in a state of rest, and prepare for another year of protecting the true royalty. For tonight, the seahorses shall return to their glorified state, in true size, to swim in the oceans that belong to them.”

  Cheers erupt around us. I wonder if these people have heard this story before or if they are first timers like Topher and me. Our storyteller encourages everyone to join in the festivities, to enjoy the night like we’re part of the sea, celebrating our leaders in their night of freedom. Topher grabs my hand and leads me back up the pier. We flash them our bracelets and keep going. Booths of masquerade masks and face painting artists line the entrance of the pier.

  “I think we’re a little underdressed,” I say, glancing around. I make my way toward a table of masks to see the selection. The face paintings are much more elaborate and pretty, but I want something to take home with me after tonight.

  “Should I assume you’re going with blue?” Topher asks. He smiles when I glance up at him. “I mean, it’s your seahorse color, right?”

  That it is. I choose a half-mask that wraps itself in a crescent-shaped seahorse. The seahorse itself is a mix of turquoise and cerulean blue with an array of blue rhinestones adorning it. Topher chooses a similar Phantom of the Opera style mask with red hues. He’s fine in board shorts and his Drenaline Surf merch, but we stop at another vendor to let me grab a blue gypsy-style wraparound skirt to tie over my cut off shorts.

  Although the reason for celebration is enchanting and magical, it’s still quite the commercial event for Sunrise Valley. Booths line the pier just like The Strip back in the cove. There are carnival games where you can win stuffed sea creatures, funnel cakes that I’m sure A.J. would love, and multiple artists much like Emily selling homemade items that fit tonight’s theme. She and Miles should’ve come with us. Maybe next year she can.

  Further down the boardwalk, a restaurant is buzzing with customers and live entertainment. Metal tables sit outside like a coffee shop, and strings of twinkle lights sparkle against the backdrop of a California night. They remind me of fireflies who never lose their light, who just sparkle in place until it’s time for a long sleep. The sounds of bongo drums and ukuleles float across the night air, and Topher pulls me toward him.

  “Dance with me,” he says, as if we’ve never had this moment before.

  But tonight, for Solomon and the seahorses, I don’t even hesitate. I let myself fall into Topher’s arms, and we dance like we’ve never had this moment before.

  Chapter Seven

  The whirlwind of seahorse celebrations and a long, lazy day on the beach both slip away the moment we step inside Colby’s house. Part of me wishes I’d gone home first, just to hang on to the lingering glow of the twinkle lights that I can still see in Topher’s eyes when he smiles. Why couldn’t this weekend last forever? Or, you know, at least a week? I need a longer Drenaline Surf vacation.

  “Get in here and watch this shit,” Miles says, reaching across Colby’s couch for the remote. He rewinds the DVR and pauses it on Colby’s parents.

  It’s definitely back to reality. No more seashores stories or masquerade masks. No more ukuleles and browsing expensive vendor booths for the perfect souvenir for Emily, the only one who’d truly appreciate it. We’re back in Crescent Cove with Colby’s parents on TV and Miles on crutches.

  We settle in between the two blonde surfers, Topher next to Miles and myself next to Colby. Then Miles hits play.

  “I’m joined today by Linda and Paul Burks, the parents of surf star Colby Taylor,” a girl’s voice says, even though the camera remains on the parental units.

  Colby’s mom sits stoically, dressed in a business suit and a pearl necklace. His father looks less professional, simply wearing a polo shirt and khakis. I expected him to look the part of a lawyer or businessman. Maybe he’s hoping the downtrodden father act will gain him sympathy.

  The camera zooms out, capturing their interviewer on screen. I recognize her. The blonde in the high heels.

  “Oh my God. Isn’t she the one who had the interview with you for SurfTube? Bridget something?” I ask, turning toward Colby.

  “Yeah, four inch heels in the sand? That’s her. Bridget Parker,” he confirms. “What a bitch.”

  Bridget tucks her hair behind her ear and angles herself toward the camera, as if she’s trying to get her best side while conducting the interview.

  “It’s been a rough few weeks for you guys, understandably, and I appreciate your taking the time to sit down with us and help surf fans and our community understand exactly what’s going on,” she says, giving them a sympathetic smile.

  Mrs. Burks is the first to speak. “Thank you for giving us an opportunity to explain things,” she says. “It’s been such an emotional time for us, and I never dreamed we’d be in this situation. Although we’re relieved that our son is alive and well, we’re heartbroken over how this has played out.”

  The creases under her eyes crush together as she squeezes her eyes closed, as if she’s in massive pain and trying to brave her way through it.

  “Bullshit,” Colby mutters.

  Bridget clears her throat. “If you don’t mind, we’ll begin with a few questions,” she says, waiting for a nod before moving forward. “Is it true that you don’t support your son’s career choice?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Mr. Burks says. “He’s done well for himself, as anyone can see. It may not have been the path we’d have chosen for him because it’s not something you can fully depend on, but he’s clearly talented and was able to make a name for himself.”

  His parents continue a well-rehearsed speech about how they’ve begged and pleaded with their son to let them be involved in his life, but he’s consistently shut them out.

  “We offered to move our lives to California,” his mom says, fighting back a sob. “I would leave my life behind to be part of his if only he’d let me. We spent our life savings trying to find him, and this is how we’re repaid just for loving our son.”

  Colby jumps up from him couch and paces across the room for a moment
before walking over to the kitchen counter. He keeps his back toward us. Miles pauses the DVR.

  We spend about thirty seconds in the eeriest silence before Colby spins around. “I offered to move them out here, pay for it all,” he says. “I told them I’d made a name for myself, that I had a career. I’m somebody here, even if no one believes that. I offered to fix this, to foot the bill and buy them a condo on the beach. That was all me – not them.”

  Miles and Topher exchange a subtle glance, but it’s enough to make my paranoia twinge just a bit. To anyone else, it would’ve been nothing. But I know the Hooligan bond runs deep – deeper than the Drenaline Surf brotherhood. I’m not sure of a percentage, but there’s a part of them that doesn’t believe him.

  “Turn that off,” Colby says, pointing toward his flat screen. “I can’t deal with watching it again.”

  Miles grabs the remote and powers the TV off. The three of us remain on the couch, awkwardly trying to figure out what to say, until Miles finally looks over at Topher.

  “I’m starving. You wanna drive me somewhere to get some real food?” he asks.

  I don’t look back at Colby because I’m certain he’s shaking his head in some kind of disgusted fashion because Miles does nothing but complain. Maybe I should convince Emily to get an apartment with Miles, for everyone’s sake.

  After moving my luggage from his truck to Colby’s living room, Topher gives me a quick kiss and runs back to his truck to leave with his best friend. I don’t mind, though. I know the Hooligans aren’t fully sold on all this Colby Taylor drama.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, leaning on the granite countertop bar in Colby’s kitchen.

  He stares at his refrigerator at the picture of him with Shark on the boat. I remember him telling me about that day, how Topher and Reed were with them. I wonder if Topher feels torn in the mix of all of this. His loyalty lies with the Hooligans, with Horn Island and all of its grit, but he trusted Shark, and Shark believed in Colby.