Free Sea Change by Aimee Friedman Page B

breath, surely freshened by mints. The scent of whatever expensive cologne he must have dabbed on every morning. The chance to discover what another boy kissed like. T.J. seemed so suave, so experienced, that I was certain he would be good at whatever he did.
    But why did a bigger piece of me still want to go on that beach walk?
    “I’m not scared, I just don’t think I’m ready to hang out with T.J. alone,” I replied, hugging my knees to my chest. “I’d rather hold out for a double date.” Or nerd out on a sea creature walk.
    CeeCee sighed. “If you’re sure…” she drawled, and dutifully began texting again. “I’ll tell T.J. that you have otherplans. You know,” she said, shooting me a grin, “it’s clever to play hard to get and all, but you need to be careful. You don’t want T.J. slipping through your fingers. Otherwise you’ll end up with Mr. Townie in there as your summer pick.” CeeCee jerked her thumb back toward the center.
    I set my chin on the tops of my knees, a shiver going down my spine.
    “Yeah,” I said softly. “That would be awful.”
    For obvious reasons, I refrained from uttering a word to CeeCee about the sea creature walk. So, over a lunch of popcorn shrimp at A Fish Tale, I let her prattle on about the importance of moisturizer and whether or not Virginia had gotten a boob job. I tried to drop in a few questions about our mothers, in case CeeCee had absorbed any information about Mom’s past from Delilah. But her response was always a carefree shrug and a blithe, “I don’t really remember.”
    In the vain hope that CeeCee would eventually remember something she’d been told, I agreed to a trip to the beauty parlor for “mani-pedis.” A pedicure was out of the question—the idea of baring my toes for examination was mortifying—but I succumbed to my first-ever manicure, which turned out to be fairly pleasant.
    At six to six, I was studying my buffed, clear-polished nailsas I hurried back down the boardwalk to the marine discovery center. CeeCee had wanted us to browse in the swimwear shop in town, but I’d made up a hasty excuse about needing to get home for dinner.
    I was surprised not to see a group forming outside the center; I had figured the beach walks would be a popular draw. Plus, the day was turning into a beautiful evening, the oppressive heat giving way to a soft breeze, and cotton-ball clouds— cumulus, I thought automatically—drifting across the eggshell blue sky. A few beachgoers were still lolling about, soaking up the last hours of sunshine. But when I reached the screen door, I saw just one person standing there, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes trained on the water.
    Leo.
    Instantly, I felt woozy, almost as if I were seasick.
    Get a grip, I told myself sternly.
    “I thought I was late!” I said in my most casual voice, strolling over. “Where is everyone else?” I peered through the center’s window into the empty foyer.
    Leo turned to me, and for an instant it looked as if his face turned red. But it must have been the rose-colored glow of the sun. I watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. He no longer wore his name tag.
    “We don’t usually get a big turnout for these after-hours walks,” he replied, glancing down at his flip-flops. “Mostpeople are heading to The Crabby Hook for happy hour, or having barbecues with their families.”
    “Right,” I said, feeling a pang of guilt and wondering if Mom did, in fact, expect me home soon for dinner. Knowing my perfectionist mother, though, she was probably still giving directions to the repairmen. Besides, I’d return to The Mariner before dark.
    Leo looked back up at me, and I realized, with a jolt, that I’d been spaced out staring at him, at the dark blond hair that the wind was sweeping across his forehead
    “Oh, I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, reaching into my jeans pocket. “How much is the walk?” Where had my head gone?
    “No, no,” Leo said,