Free Spring Tide by K. Dicke Page A

from fast-food playgrounds?
    I put on a tie-dye bikini in the powder room near the kitchen and then went outside where he was already in the water, its light reflecting off his back. His hair was so much longer when it was wet, trailing a good four inches past his shoulders. I dove in, came up next to him, and folded my arms on the side like he was doing.
    “I go to the parts store a few times a week. It’s across the street from Panda Bear Sandwiches.” He put his head on his arms. “I’ve seen you talking to the woman who puts the flyers on everyone’s windshields. She doesn’t … bother you?”
    I rubbed my chin on my wrist. “The first time I saw her, I probably stared at her too much. Dude, I’d never seen anyone with a lazy eye before. But she was at my car and I was opening the door …”
    “So what’d you do?”
    “I talked to her. She’s really into food like I am, has a great sense of humor. What?”
    “Nothin’. It’s just—”
    “It’s not her fault she was born like that.”
    He raised his head. “Kris, I don’t see anything wrong with her.”
    “Then why bring it up?”
    “I was trying to say most people wouldn’t take the time. I like that you do.”
    “Well, when I was younger I had a hard time making friends. In a way, I kinda know how she feels.”
    _______
    My therapist took the blue race car away from me. “Krissy, you can with play it in a minute, but first I want you to try again. You can talk. I’m safe.”
    I didn’t speak for the remaining fifteen minutes of the session. I reached for the car but she wouldn’t let me have it. I wanted to go home. I was only five. What she was asking was too hard.
    _______
    The pool scattered light across the deck and the thrum of the waves grew louder with the wind. I put the memory away. Jericho opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t want to elaborate.
    “So, I couldn’t help but notice that your house doesn’t look like you live with a bunch of guys, or at least guys like Nick,” I said.
    “I live with friends of my parents. They took me in when I was sixteen. They go out of town a lot so it’s a good arrangement.” His gaze was too intent. “So what happens when summer’s over?”
    “I’m supposed to be going to Rice this fall but I’m putting it off for a year.”
    “Funds?”
    “I have a full scholarship.”
    His eyebrows came together. “Then you have to use it, right?”
    “It was set up by a new foundation that did a very bad job of wording the terms of the award. Let’s just say I’ll be the only one to have the luxury of a year off and probably only because I tested out of fifteen credit hours.”
    He flicked a bug away from me. “Still, why not go? Why work?”
    “You ask a lot of questions. I have to work. I’d be batty if I didn’t have something to do or somewhere to go. And I’m not going this September because I’m not ready. I mean, I am but I’m not. It’s like I’ve always known what I’m supposed to be doing, where to go next, but this time—”
    “No dreams for your life?”
    “Well yeah. It’d be killer to have my own restaurant. I could see myself working in radio, talking music half the day or doing programming … it’s just, I can’t go after any of that right now. I need to find something, something important …” Oh God, I sound like a character in a soap opera. Wrap it up. “Since before graduation I’ve felt like there’s a signpost laying ahead that’ll give me direction—if that makes any sense.”
    “Actually, it makes a lot of sense.”
    The day my award notice came, reading it made me feel proud but uncertain, an overwhelming uncertainty I couldn’t ignore. Derek was the first person I talked to about it. He didn’t get it, spent a month trying to change my mind. But Sarah supported me, saying that I wasn’t going to go dumb in one year. The only thing I’d really cared about was that Mom understood, or at least mostly understood. I was suddenly struck