Postcards From Last Summer by Roz Bailey Page A

dramatically. “You, I know. Always. You’ll eat me out of business one day. I should take it outta your salary.”
    Bear stepped behind the counter for a cup, then filled it at the Coke dispenser as if he owned the place. “You’d better grab something now, squirt. Soon it’ll be so busy in here, you won’t have a chance.”
    â€œI’m trying to cut down.” I tried to sound positive, keep the desperation out of my voice. “You know . . . the freshman five. Sophomore seven. Jumbo junior.”
    He let out a short laugh, then his eyes moved over me as he took a sip. “Don’t go anorexic on us. You look good to me.” As he spoke, he leaned around me, as if trying to get a better look at my butt.
    With a squeal, I swatted him and ducked back behind the register.
    â€œHey, you two,” Sal called. “No roughhousing near the pizza ovens. Lindsay, if you will, the red pepper and oregano need to be refilled and put back on the tables.”
    â€œI’m on it!” I called, gathering up a tray of glass shaker bottles.
    I pretended to be all business as Sal came out and served Bear his slice. I acted like filling the green flecks of oregano to the top was of utmost importance, but my thoughts were on what Bear had said.
    He didn’t think I looked so bad. In fact, he thought I looked good, and it wasn’t that dismissive “Oh, you look fine so stop complaining” crap.
    My heart did a happy dance as I shook the red pepper shaker like a maraca.
    Bear thought I looked good, and the sun just rose over my summer.

7
    Lindsay
    â€œH ere’s a quandary,” my brother Steve announced to his buddies bobbing in the lineup. I paddled beyond him, suspecting I didn’t want to be a part of this. “If you had a choice, which would you rather grow—a second dick, or fins?”
    The Fogarty twins let out a roar of laughter, as if it were the first time they’d ever heard that old nugget. I ran my fingertips over the tacky wax on my board, thinking how there were advantages and disadvantages to being accepted as “one of the guys.” I liked being able to float in the lineup and pop up on my board without feeling that the boys were eyeballing me. The downside was that now that I was in, they had no qualms about acting like big beef jerkies in front of me.
    â€œThat’s not a tough choice. Who could resist a second one?” Johnny said, swiping his wet hair back. “Imagine the possibilities. Double dipping!”
    More laughter, but I noticed Bear wasn’t going for it. “You guys are full of it,” he said. “You can’t even handle the one you got.”
    Staring down into the sea, I was glad Bear didn’t go for it. The water was clean today. With crisp waves coming from an offshore breeze, the undertow was quiet, and I enjoyed peering through the blue-green water to the bits of seaweed and shell gently lolling on the sandbar. The water rose, a swell rolling in. Most of the surfers turned their boards quickly, moved onto their stomachs, and started paddling.
    I paddled, pushed ahead of the wave, and popped up to a crouch. Water surged beneath my board as I got lifted and pushed ahead. Picking up speed. Angling in, my arms out for balance. This was it! The water rushed beneath me, a free thrill ride.
    Then, suddenly, the board dropped down and came to a halt in the shallows, where I swerved and dropped into the water beside it. “Woo-hoo!” I shouted, slapping the water with my hand.
    As I lingered in the shallows, I caught sight of two figures heading over the dunes. Dressed in a sleek turquoise and black wet suit, Tara walked alongside a short, solid guy who was carrying a surfboard under one arm. This had to be Officer Migglesteen, the soldier Tara couldn’t stop talking about. They seemed like a couple, quietly exchanging conversation. I floated my board into the beach and flopped it onto the