Washed Up

Whirlpool

Riley

Whirlpool. Noun. [hwurl-pool]. A rapidly rotating mass of water in a river or sea into which objects may be drawn, typically caused by the meeting of conflicting currents.

I can't tell if Ross likes me or if he thinks I'm a complete psycho. Granted, the dinosaur question was out of left field, but I was trying to lighten the mood. I can tell he doesn't take my inquisitory questions lightly, which I admire, but we also don't know each very well, i.e. at all, so I feel like I went too far by asking such personal questions.

But the way he was looking at me in the ocean--I could have sworn something passed between us. I'm not sure if I annoy him or challenge him or surprise him. Maybe a little of all three. I'm so glad he didn't let me leave, though. Even though it's getting later and I have a shift at the pizza shop in the morning, I don't want to leave. There's something kind of magical about tonight and I'd like to stay here in the magic for another hour or so.

Ross walks beside me, all grace and agility, his shoulders brushing mine. "So I don't get it. Why don't you like it here? You're not like me. You haven't been stranded on a literal deserted island your entire life. Most people love LBI."

"Well, I'm not most people."

"Not impressed by our white sand beaches and perfect waves?" Ross teases.

"Like I said before, it takes a lot to impress me." The wind catches my hair and tosses it in Ross's direction, so I tuck it behind my ear. "I didn't want to come here for the summer; it didn't really matter where 'here' was."

Ross tilts his head, his pale blue eyes glowing against the black night. "Where would you rather be?"
I search my mind but come up blank. And I thought I was the one who asked the hard questions. I can't imagine anywhere I'd like to be right now except maybe home, but I don't even have a home.

"That's a-a really good question."

How can I be discontent with my life when I can't imagine any place I'd rather be? I want to be independent of my parents and on my own, but not alone. I want the freedom to pursue my nonexistent dreams but the security that comes from belonging. Are they mutually exclusive? I wouldn't know. I've never had either.

"But it doesn't matter," I say, deflecting the question. "I'm stuck here."

"So you might as well make the most of it."

"Are you always such an optimist?"
"I'd call myself a realist. You can't do anything about the fact that you're here, so why be miserable?"

I roll my eyes. "Well, I work at a pizza shop all the time, I almost drowned in the ocean, there a thousand tourists with screaming kids, I don't know anyone--"

"That's not true," he interrupts. "You know me."

I scrunch up my nose. "I really don't. I didn't even know your last name until an hour ago."

He tilts his head to look at me. "There's more than one way to know a person."

With electricity buzzing in my ears, I realize we've come to a stop in the middle of the beach with no one else in sight. Wind catches in Ross's hair, sending a blonde curl dancing across his tanned forehead. I think I know what he means. I couldn't tell you Ross's favorite color or the name of his dad, but I've learned things more meaningful than empty facts. He has a restless soul that longs to escape, yet he remains tied to this island.

There may be more than one way to know a person, but I'm certain I know Ross.

A sliver of fear slices through me. I'm getting too close to this charming boy with the kind eyes that look towards lofty dreams. I turn away from him suddenly and keep walking, sand spraying my legs.