Summer Skies and Ocean Eyes

It went without saying that I was missing the old simplicities of my home back in Michigan. Something as easy as turning on the TV had exploded into a fiasco as I tried sorting out the endless row of remotes on the coffee table. I must have pushed every wrong button before getting that thing to work.

After all that struggling, I was still barely watching. Rissa and I had finished talking about twenty minutes ago, but our conversation wouldn’t leave my head. All of my old friends took that day off work and packed up to go to what used to be my favorite stomping ground: Lake Sherman. It was where a Y Center was based, and we’d spend the day playing soccer, rock climbing, or dipping our toes into the lake as we talked about nothing in particular.

She had called when they were driving up, and held the phone out so everyone could yell an enthusiastic hello and say how much they missed me. But then it was over, and the hundreds of miles were added between us again as I pressed the call end button.

That cement in my stomach hardened, I missed my friends. They were comfortable, familiar predictable. Not like the sea of upper-class strangers that surrounded me everywhere I went here.

As I was allowing myself to continue to pine away for home, pulling my sweatshirt tighter around myself, the front door opened and Mom strolled in. Spotting me, she enthusiastically waved, the large tote on her arm swung back and forth.

“Whew! Thank God for that air-conditioner!” The Florida Grin that was always situated on Mom’s face was spread from ear to ear. “It is crazy out there, Cal. I could have swam there and back, it’s so muggy outside today.”

I straightened up from my perch on the couch, having sat myself there when I woke up early this morning and found she was gone. Mom never got up until there were at least four digits on the alarm clock. This had been a problem when the retail store she used to work at would schedule her for replenishment at six in the morning. It used to be such a chore, like ripping off my own nails, to get her to be somewhat on time.

Anyway, when she hadn’t even answered her phone this morning, I assumed the worst for some reason. Something bad had to have happened to get that woman to open her eyes before ten o’clock.

“Where have you been?” There must have been an accusing tone to my voice, because it made Mom pause near the entrance to the living room. Gaining her inertia back, she tossed the convertible keys on the key plate.

“Didn’t I tell you? I joined an early morning yoga class a couple weeks ago,” Mom said after the harsh clank of the keys landing ended. “I used to get so sore from all that hiking Jon and I did, and Yvette recommended I take yoga with her. It really helps, you should come with me sometime.”

Yvette was the best fried from high school, the one that grew up in the same po-dunk town as Mom but somehow escaped and married a millionaire. The woman must have some type of serious voodoo to get my mom to do something like early morning yoga.

I didn’t realize I was staring hard at Mom until she sank beside me in the plush couch. “What?”

“Oh. Nothing. I just can’t believe you wake up to do that. I keep flashing back to that horrid morning of Black Friday last year when you had to be there at four in the morning. I almost died trying to get you up.” I meant for it to come out teasing, but simply the memory of it made it hard for me to swallow.

“Hey. I was till hung over from Thanksgiving dinner: it’s sacrilegious to be up so early. And you survived,” she smiled, lovingly patting my shoulder. “Besides, I told you Florida was good for me. And it’ll be good for you, too, when you actually go out and do things instead of waste around on the couch all morning.

I opened my mouth for a comeback, but nothing better than saying “whatever” in my best teenage daughter voice came to my mind. It was usually me chastising her, not the other way round.

Mom took my silence as a victory, picking up her worn paperback book that was filled with unfinished Sudoku puzzles off the side table. She liked to attempt to do them, but I didn’t think there was one completed page in there.

“Why don’t you go ask Kendall what she’s doing today? Maybe you two can go to the boardwalk together,” Mom suggested, forever trying to get Kendall and I to be best friends. I stared at the television, not taking in anything that was happing on the screen as I tried to picture myself pathetically asking her to play with me.

“Maybe. I still have a lot of unpacking to do. Lilia isn’t very happy with me.” Turning toward my mother, I leaned my right ear against the couch cushion. It was so squishy, my face sunk into it almost to a point where it smothered me.

“You can do that tonight. Go and enjoy the sun. Make some friends, get lost here, heat some of the locally caught fish, anything. It’s gorgeous out there today.” Mom’s pencil scratched in what was probably a wrong answer.

“But I thought you said it was-”

“Go.”

“But I was-”

“Go.”

Frowning, I somehow made my way back to the surface of the couch and stood to my feet. Creakily walking up the staircase--guess I had been sitting there too long--I heard Kendall stirring in her room.

I peered into her open door. She was sitting on her bed, toying around with the expensive laptop her dad bought her.

Kendall didn’t notice me at first, and I found myself studying her like we were on a nature program. She was a gorgeous little girl, the product of a Miss Florida 1992 second runner-up and the quarterback that led Naples High School to the State championship when he was a senior. The features of her face were smooth and vaguely reminded me of a Barbie.

She jarringly glanced up, expression flattening as she saw who was standing in her doorway.

“Hey,” I said, leaning into the wall as I crossed my arms, trying to pretend like I hadn’t been lurking. Kendall took her time in replying, as if she couldn’t figure out why I was so close to her.

“What?” she asked as she sat up on her bed. Her comforter was a sharp zebra print, complete with matching sparkly pillows: it almost matched her bright pink walls in an eyesore kind of way. I couldn’t help but squint at the bold shapes and colors that surrounded me.

“Nothing, really. I’m wondering if you were doing anything today.” I traced patterns in the thick carpet with the bottom of my foot. Kendall let out a sigh, clicking through a couple things on her laptop before looking up at me.

“I’m going to the beach with some friends for the day, but I’ll be back before dinner.” The girl was adding herself to the list of people who didn’t want to talk to me. She and my mom should start their own club.

“Oh. Are you going to end up going to the party tomorrow?” I asked.

Kendall examined the ends of her hair, shrugging. “I have to wait until my dad’s asleep to leave. By the way-” She swung her feet over the side of her hi-rise bed, pushing off and landing with a gentle thud. “Don’t be surprised when I go through the guest roo- I mean, your room tomorrow night. I use that palm tree by the porch to get out of the house.

I nodded as she took the cell phone out of her pocket. Once her focus was on texting, it was like a thick fence went up between us. It was enough to show she was finished with our conversation, so I quietly escorted myself out and went back to the guest room.

In a frustrated fit last night, I had opened up every box in my room and pulled them apart to find where I had stored my sweatshirts. When Lilia gets here to clean today, she was going to have an absolute fit.

Surveying the wreckage of everything that I had so neatly and caringly packed into boxes before The Move, I felt deflated. A shiver vibrated through my arms and legs, it was always too damn cold in this house. So I stood there; freezing, friendless in Florida, and made for reasons unknown that Mom had joined a morning yoga class.

“What are you frowning at?” I turned to see Griffin, freshly woken up with his hair sticking out in ways that defied gravity. Beyond his sleep-induced puffy face, his eyes shone inquisitively in my room. He was hovering just outside the door, unsure of the protocol that went along with entering my room.

“I’m frowning?” I asked, turning to the boy wearing Superman pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He nodded, hair flopping as he continued to awkwardly stand in the hall. Feeling the frown that I hadn’t known was on my face start to melt into a smile, I nodded my head back. “You can come in, if you want.”

With one large step, he entered--but that was as far as he was going to go.

“What are you doing today?” Griffin couldn’t help but curiously stare around my disheveled boxes.

Bending down to fold some of the other clothes that had been flung when I hungrily snatched my sweatshirt, I shrugged. “Probably just clean up, or take a walk by the beach, or... something.”

I am the definition of lame.

“Or,” he dragged out the word, then speedily launched into the rest of the sentence, “you could hang out with me and we could go to the skate park or we could get ice cream at the boardwalk.”

I sat down the LFC soccer jersey I had been folding, mouth poised to make an excuse so I wouldn’t end up hanging out with a twelve year old. But, I tossed the shirt back into the box and stood up straight. “Sure. Ice cream sounds good, but have you had breakfast yet?”

Griffin rolled his eyes, à la Kendall. “No, but it’s summer. Anything goes.”

“Hey.” I looked down at him, feeling myself comfortably turn into Mama Calico that all my friends knew me for. “You should at least have an apple or something. You’ll crash in an hour if all you have this morning is ice cream.”

And because I have that certain something that makes people listen to me, Griffin shut his mouth, sullenly gave one nod, then turned and jogged with his elephant steps downstairs.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

“Ooh, this looks cute.” I braced my hands against my brow, pressing my pinkies against the musty window of the old bookstore so that I could properly get a view of what was inside.

“Yeah. Bookstores are precious.” Griffin wasn’t very excited about our exploration of the boardwalk. He had been trying this whole time to edge be toward the arcade, but I was making as many stops as possible. I’d probably end up going there and meeting all his tiny friends anyway: I was taking my sweet time.

The bell located on the top of the door clanged as a boy a little older then me exited, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he joined the flow of the mildly crowded boardwalk. The sound brought my eyes to the glass-paned door, where the words “Now Hiring” were scribbled on a piece of cardboard caught my eye.

Something inside me happily clicked as I read the words. Ever since I was fourteen and bagged things at the grocery store, I’ve ha d job. I started out bagging things, then moved on to fast food when I was sixteen. Then for the last year, I had been working as the PM receptionist at Rissa’s Mom’s massage studio.

It wasn’t like me having a job had been a vital part of my small family’s income. Mom’s position at the retail store and the (more than generous) monthly check that dad sent us was enough to pay for all of the essentials. But I liked having my own stash of money. That kind of independence was always something that I needed.

Due to my devoted work schedule, at sixteen, I was able to buy Doctor Wanda from an eccentric neighbor down the hall: a 1992 Honda Hatchback with a gorgeously horrendous paint job of flames and a t-rex on the hood. She may have been fussy and loud, but she had been mine. All that mattered was that Doctor Wanda--the PhD made her sound all the more classy--got me from point A to point B.

Um. Most of the time.

Unfortunately, my time with her was short. I ended up selling the doctor to the friend of a friend before I left for Florida. There had been no way she could have made it down here.

Griffin snapped me back to the present, tugging impatiently on my arm to get me to step away from the bookstore. I reluctantly followed, but noticed the slightest bit of ease soothe my mind at the thought of getting a job down here.

Even though I felt like I didn’t belong in Naples, at least I would have a place to go.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

"You don’t have to get a job, Calico.” Jon was looking at me like I was a poor orphan child. Griffin and Kendall were perplexedly staring across the table, hands poised with their forks over their plates in a freeze-frame.

I shrugged, looking down at the roast beef on my plate that Mom had made today. Making edible dinners that didn’t have to be microwaved and going to morning yoga class? Something strange was up. “It’s not that I feel I have to get a job. I just- Want one.”

I looked to the end of the table to see if I could rally some support from Mom, but she was giving me the same expression that the kids were. I hadn’t expected the whole fact that I wanted to apply for a job at the bookstore would be such a big deal, but Jon appeared almost hurt by the notion.

“You don’t have to worry about buying things. You’re part of my family now and I can take care of whatever you want. Did you see something when you and Griffin went out today?” He said it like that would be the only thing that would make sense as to why I wanted to work at the bookstore.

An embarrassed flush tickled the back of my neck. I wasn’t keen to the idea of mooching off someone, especially Jon, who I wasn’t really close to.

Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was because it was so out of character for me to take money from others. All I knew was that I didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken.

“No, no. I didn’t see anything.” I was flustered, barely able to speak without stuttering.

Mom finally sat down her fork, folding her hands in her lap as she leaned toward me across the table. “Cal, maybe getting a job this summer wouldn’t be the best idea. I really think you should be going out, having as much fun and meeting as many people as you can before your senior year. Not spending all your time straightening out books and working behind a counter.”

Back home, I could always out-argue Mom. Though, like a child, she usually ended up getting her way anyway. Now, I could feel my tongue thicken with loss of words.

“Why would you want a job, anyway?” Kendall muttered under her breath, glaring at the phone beside her plate that Jon had made her put down after she tried texting at dinner.

“Exactly.” Jon beamed at Mom’s words, ignoring his daughter’s comment. “Don’t feel strange asking me for money to buy something with. All you should be concerned about is working on your tan.”

Mom and Jon chuckled together as if they were the only two people in on the joke. I pulled apart a piece of my cauliflower, knowing that this battle had been over before it began. It made Jon uncomfortable that I preferred a job over taking money from him, and it made me uncomfortable to take cash from Mom’s boyfriend. Both of us couldn’t win this one.

The click that had sparked inspiration earlier fizzled, and I was once again feeling like a puzzle piece in the wrong jigsaw puzzle.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

The dark water rose and fell in mild hills, sometimes gracefully curling into a baby rip before gushing toward the shore. There were goosebumps covering my body like a brail wetsuit as my eyes cautiously surveyed the surface. I kept expecting a fin to suddenly slice through the water, accompanied by the Jaws theme song.

I knew it was stupid to be so worried about sharks. People went swimming in the ocean all the time without anything happening. Plus, all of the “don’t swim at night” stuff is an extra, almost irrelevant precaution.

No one else was out at this hour. There had been the sparse cars that had passed by, but since it was one o’clock in the morning, no joggers were running by. There was a nagging thought in my head that kept repeating if something were to happen to me--i.e. getting chomped on by a huge shark--no one would be around to help.

Gulping loudly, I sheepishly shook out my arms and legs. This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to be afraid of some stupid, overgrown fish.

I locked my jaw with determination and surged forward, as if it was possible to catch myself by surprise. The water sloshed at my feet, then my shins, then my knees-

And then I stopped. My bravery wasn’t all that strong in this particular moment.

Even though I felt jittery and nervous, I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the constant beating of the heavy-feathered waves against my legs. Of course, every other moment I could have sworn I felt something touching me, but with a substantial amount of effort, I swallowed the fear.

It was a combination of the sight, the sound, and the feeling that settled a vague sense of peach over my mind. If I concentrated, I could pretend that every wave was slowly dragging me to sea, pulling me away from every frustration that had occurred like dominos falling these past couple months.

My breath came easier.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

The climb down the palm tree had been rougher than I thought it would be. Angry and unforgiving, the bark clawed at my skin as I hugged it tight while my knees: shimmying to the ground. It didn’t help that Kendall had looked like a Climb Down the Palm Tree Champion, leaving me to tumble like some sort of cow with its legs tied.

I swore that I sat a quick, genuine smile fill her lips as I landed with an ungraceful thud, but it was hidden in a flash as she instructed me to follow her. She had already arranged for the two of us to meet her best friend Sara and her older brother at the entrance of the neighborhood.

It was odd, sneaking out to a party like a normal, American teenage. Cliché, but there was this stupid, almost excited feeling I was getting from making my own version of a jailbreak.

Back home, I hadn’t even had to tell Mom where I was going or when I was going to be back. It was her belief that teenagers were going to do what they wanted to do, no matter what people told them. All she could do was inform me about growing up to the best of her ability, then let me go and have faith that I would make the right decisions.

For the most part, I did. I partied every now and then, but usually stayed dry because I was the designated driver in the company of my friends. I never tried drugs, got arrested, or had any trouble in school. Old ladies in our town had no problem informing me how different I was than my mother when she had been growing up.

It’s from Dad’s side of the family.

The night was clear and crisp as the two of us walked past the grand houses in silence. It wasn’t until a parked Mercedes with its lights off came in to view when Kendall spoke. “They’re right here.”

The two of us walked to the car, and as she climbed in the back and I claimed the front seat, I couldn’t help but feel like I needed to shut the door carefully. I had never been near a car that was so nice

After clicking it shut, I turned to see a tired looking boy in the driver’s seat. His eyes were droopy with dark circles beneath them, standing out drastically from his young face. He gave me an uncaring glance, then flicked on his headlights and pulled out from the neighborhood. I didn’t have time to linger on his expression, because Sara popped her head next to my shoulder.

“Hi. Calico, right?” she peppily asked. The girl was so close, I could only pull into focus her huge, light mint green eyes, framed by thick auburn bangs. My body involuntarily inched away until my right shoulder hit the heavily tinted window.

“Yeah,” I slowly said. Now that there was more space between us, I was able to get a good look at her. She was pretty in that delicate way, with some baby fat pudging her otherwise thin face.

“Calico is such a weird name. Why are you named something so weird? It’s weird.” Sara babbled like the only reason she talked was to hear her own voice Kendall was already texting on her phone in the back seat, giving one nod to signal that she agreed.

My mouth parted as I was momentarily lost for words. What was I supposed to say to that? Usually people were a little more discrete with their curiosity about my name.

“Uh, my mom used to work at a fabric store, and I guess she cut up some calico fabric for a customer one day when she was pregnant, and realized she liked the sound of it.” I made it as simple as possible, already worn out from trying to converse with the barely-sophomore.

Sara blinked like it hadn’t registered. Truthfully, I really liked my name: no matter how odd people claimed it was or however many times they made me repeat it when they thought I said it wrong.

According to Dad, Mom didn’t spring the idea of naming me after a kind of fabric until minutes after she had given birth. Sweating, in pain, and with tears in her eyes, Mom used it to her advantage.

Dad barely had a chance. He claimed it was impossible to say no to a woman who’s just had your kid.

Though, he was able to plant his favorite choice of name between my first and last. And Calico Grace McCandless I became.

“You’re so pale, does the sun ever shine in Michigan?” Sara must have been unamused with my answer, so she went on to picking at other parts of me. I masked my annoyance with a smile, choosing instead not to answer.

When she saw I wasn’t going to reply, she happily flopped back into her seat. Kendall and she then burst into an excited chatter, voices too high for anything but dogs to hear.

The ride was short and semi-painless. I sat there, clacking my tongue against the room of my mouth as I pretended to be interested in the passing night scenery. It was almost a relief when we arrived, but not for long.

From the moment I stepped out of the car, it was incredibly clear that a house party in Naples was extremely different than the parties I was used to back home. The first thing that struck me was how the estate in front of me was somehow larger and more intricate than Jon’s suburban castle. The second thing I noticed was that I could taste the saltwater on the back of my tongue as if I were standing on the beach: it was a perfect palace on the edge of the ocean. Kids my age constantly trickled in and out of the front door, their voices blending together and mixing with the thud of music I could hear coming from the house. Their natural tans practically glowed in the moonlight as they walked around outside, and all of them were promenading around in clothes I probably couldn’t afford to look at.

I looked down at the pale tone of my arms that everyone had been pointing out, tracing my eyes down the rest of my body to the simple outfit of shorts and a tank top that I had gotten from a cheap department store. I should have borrowed that top Kendall offered me when she realized I wasn’t going to Dress to Impress.

When I finally got over myself and stopped gawking at the spectacle, I turned to say something to Kendall only to see her traipsing toward the front door with Sara, hugging people and laughing along the way.

That was when I realized how awkward this was going to be. I never really struggled with making friends, and was outgoing in that average way. But I had a feeling that making friends in Michigan was going to be a lot different than making friends in Naples. Besides, it was far too hectic here to actually meet anybody.

I had been nervous anyway, but no one could go to a party without knowing anyone and not be a little anxious.

Well, except Carissa, but she wasn’t here right now. My heart gave another pang for my best friend as I pursed my lips, feeling like a loser as I began to walk to the house. I hated moments like this where my confidence faltered and I had to force myself forward.

As I walked through the huge front doors, I couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at everything. It was crazy to know that people lived like this: with marble floors, contemporary pictures and statues, and crystal chandeliers. Whoever Miller was, he’s one lucky guy.

The house was filled to the brim with people, all laughing, drinking, and trying to talk over one another. The latest hit I’ve heard a million times on the radio was vibrating through the halls. I could hear cheers coming from somewhere to the right of the entrance, and as I looked that way, someone accidentally bumped into me and poured some kind of alcohol on my shorts. But, like I was invisible, they didn’t pause and continued to weave through the mess of teenagers.

I threw myself a mini pity-party that only lasted a few seconds, then decided to find something that could sop the drink off my shorts. Clean up first, making first impressions later.

As I set on my journey, I found it difficult to zig-zag through the sea of expensive hairstyles and a heavy mixture of too much perfume and cologne. I somehow managed to find the kitchen, located at the very back in the maze-of-a-house.

There was a game of Quarters being played at the counter island that split the room in two. A large group of people were watching, filling in the spacious place. Barely anyone glanced up as I entered, then wriggled my way over to where I had spotted paper towels by the sink.

As I dabbed at the wet spot, I looked up, out the large back window to catch a sight of the water. Surprisingly, there were only a couple pairs of people walking by the private shore. There was an instant feeling of longing that filled me as I stared at the moonlit ocean--it was so much more appealing than the room I was crowded in right now.

So without hesitating--and trying to tuck away Mom’s nagging voice in the back of my head that I would never make friends like this--I battled through the crowd and made my way to the glass sliding door that overlooked the back patio.

With one motion, I opened it and stepped into the fresh air, the easy ocean breeze catching at my hair. I closed the door behind me, regretting the decision to shy away from the party but shutting myself off anyway.

Then, something caught my eye. Or, more like someone.

It was the Tommy guy I had met when getting paint a couple days ago. The moon was full and bright, so even though his silhouette was partially darkened, I could still tell it was him. His profile was turned to me from where he stood on a small dock, gazing across the shoreline with his hands in his pockets.

There was something peculiarly interesting about him. So, without fully meaning to, I stared as my imagination ran wild, telling me that I should go talk to him.

But then I remembered the way he had looked blankly at me in that home improvement store, and chopped the dumb fantasy right in half.

“Calico!”

The noise jerked me out of my thoughts as I whipped around in surprise.

Poot was standing there, holding up his hands as if I might hit him: mischievously smiling. All I could do was press my hand against my heart, trying to remember how to breathe again from the shock.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you pee your pants.” His eyes were twinkling, I could just catch the blue haze of them from the lighting of the kitchen behind us.

“Sorry doesn’t make them any more dry,” I retorted, pleased with the quickness of my comeback. The tips of his blonde hair gently moved with the beach wind as he shook his head.

“Hey, I bet I could find a guy at this party who wouldn’t mind helping you take them off and keeping you busy until they dry out.” Poot was too charming. Guys shouldn’t be so likable while making lame jokes, it was dangerous.

On top of that, equipped with his smile, cute nose that slightly swooped up at the end, and those bold blue eyes: he was more than dangerous.

“I think I’d rather stand in my wet pants.” I crossed my arms.

“Understandable,” he nodded, then turned to the house behind us. “But what’s not understandable is why you’re by yourself out here, and not inside, meeting all the wonderful, classy people of Naples.”

As if on cue, a loud, drunken cheer erupted from the kitchen. Poot kept a straight face as I pressed my lips together to stop myself from grinning.

I nodded my head toward the shore. “I wanted to see the view.” He gave me a skeptical look, then gently pushed my shoulder so I faced the ocean.

“See that loser right there?” he asked, pointing to where Tommy stood.

“Your friend?” I acted like I hadn’t noticed him there in the first place. Poot gave a confirming mumble, removing his hand from my shoulder.

“Yes. That is what you’ll turn into if you stay out here to look at the ocean instead of meeting new people. Fear it.” He was joking, but it only helped stir my growing interest with his friend. What kind of person stood outside alone, far away from a party that was probably full of his friends?

Me, I guess. At least I had the excuse of not knowing anyone.

“He looks peaceful,” I commented, as if that was a good point. Looking back at Poot, I saw something change in his eyes for a millisecond. The moment came and went before I could decipher it, and the dimples at each point of his mouth deepened into a smile once more.

“Then you obviously don’t know Tommy,” he quietly said, then louder, “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to some of the almost-coolest kids in the entire town.”

“Almost?” I fell into step with him as we walked back to the sliding door. Again, his disarming smile.

“The reigning title goes to me, of course,” he explained and with that, strode back into the house. I discreetly checked over my shoulder at the motionless boy, wanting one more look.

Then, shaking my head to try and get rid of the curious thoughts, I followed Poot inside.