Summer's Darling

• Chapter Nine •

When they arrive back home, Scott is begging Stiles to run out to the ocean. He's been wearing his swimming trunks the past few days but hasn't had the nerve to jump into the sea though he's practically dying to. They make an agreement to sift through the sand for shells, though Scott has a master plan to gradually move them closer and closer to the waters edge. Stiles notices this though and keeps running back to the porch to drop off piles of shells. After a couple of trips though, Stiles looks to see his friend toeing the waters edge and he's not falling for it. He takes a seat in his lounge chair and, regrettably, decides to open up the math book he had purchased.

Formulas, equations, numbers and numbers and--

Crash, whoosh...

His eyes fade up to the shoreline, his friend crouching over the sand and sifting through the grain for remnants of creatures. The water flows in and out, swelling around Scott's ankles. The salty air floats up and fills his lungs and he breathes deeply. Summer, calling him out to the void, to jump into the the deep, to stay.

Crash, whoosh....

He sighs, forcing his eyes down to the pages in his lap. He cannot fall back into a spiral, he cannot let the sunblock and bikinis and chocolate turtles distract him. After all, it's a miracle he made it into college at all.

Suddenly, a voice sounds from the steps of the back porch below and his gaze is drawn up from his textbook to the girl below. "Hi." She speaks first but he can't read into her emotions at all. His heart flutters as the entire memory of their summers together rushes back to him in mere seconds. Lydia, here before him, with her cutoff jean shorts and and freckled cheeks.
"Hey." And he smiles a little for good measure. One corner of her mouth lifts and suddenly he can breathe. He points to her tank top, maroon with 'Beacon University' written in bold text across the chest. She looks down at it, as if forgetting what she was wearing even though he had just referenced it. She nods in conformation at the awkward mutual recognition of their school. He nods back. Is she blushing? She hopes not. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. He can't help but eye the tie of a bathing suit at the back of her neck, how a few of the strings from her bikini bottoms pokes out over the top of her shorts. She's barefoot and he knows she's itching to get in that water, just as Scott was, just as he is.
"You excited?" He asks.
She shrugs, "I guess." She really is excited though, I mean, it's school. She loves school, she's always loved school, but does she talk to him like nothings changed? Or as if she hasn't thought of him at all since a year ago?
"That's good..." he clears his throat, "do you, want to sit? Maybe?" He offers.

She eyes the lounge chair next to his, a small table in-between them. Her gaze drifts to the textbooks on top of the table and she wonders are they his or Scott's.  Then, she turns to look over her shoulder at Scott, now careless and waist deep in the water; aka not coming back anytime soon. He can sense her hesitation and begins to regret the offer. I mean, this is only the second time they've spoken since he moved, was this already pushing the boundary? But then she says, "Sure." And begins to ascend the steps. She looks at his book in his lap and it appears he's... studying? She's impressed, actually, but only a little, she tells herself. Maybe all these books are his.

"Taking any summer classes?" She asks, a sigh escaping her lips as she sits.
He's surprised by this initiation of conversation, assuming they would just sit like they had on the beach in silence. "Yeah, actually, just one. It's a crash course in basics of college math. You?"
"I'm taking three," He grins. He can't help it because of course she is, "chemistry, British literature, and social psychology."
"Range." He chuckles and she smiles. This is...nice? And then, like that night of silence, the conversation ceases. They watch Scott splash around, alone in his own world and completely obvious to the tension on the back porch. Wiggling her toes back and forth, Lydia savors the feeling of the sand between them, feeling a knot grow in her stomach as she debates whether to stay on the porch, with a boy who has yet to redeem himself, or if she should rejoin the sand and the sea and its waves.

She stands, quite abruptly, so as it actually startles Stiles a little, and doesn't say a word as she treks back down the steps of the porch and over to her home. Stiles watches her the whole way.