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Jason King will grow up attractive, which bodes well for my fantasies of growing old with him, 2.5 kids that look just like us running around our feet…
Snap out of it!
Mr. King points to a soap bottle. “Hand me that?”
I do. He squirts the soap over the grill. “Is this your first time?”
“Sorry?”
“On the ocean.”
“Oh. I guess.”
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You won’t find peace like this anywhere else.” He looks over at me. “What is it you want to do with your life, Kenzi?”
An intense question, but. Sure. “I’d like to do something with music.”
“Make it?”
“Produce it.”
A smile crawl over his mouth. “Good girl. I know there was an ambitious woman in there somewhere.”
“Thanks.”
“Jason seems fond of you.”
He does? “I guess.”
“Enjoy it. Summer fun. I had it in my heyday, too.” His hand meets my shoulder then, and he squeezes. “Just don’t forget what it is. Fun. Don’t let anything come between you and your dreams.”
Geez, this isn’t the conversation I was expecting. I don’t know what I expected. But I certainly didn’t think Jason’s dad was going to lecture me on the pitfalls of falling in love.
I’ve got Pearl for that. What is it about getting old that makes people so jaded?
“Mr. King?” I squeak out.
“Yes?”
“I was the one who set your boat loose. It floated off the dock and hit the shore. It was a dumb prank. It wasn’t Jason.”
There’s a change in his eyes. A flicker. I can’t tell if he’s pissed…or impressed. Maybe both? He nods once, and his hand drops from my shoulder. “I see.”
That’s all he says. Then there’s silence. It’s scary, his silence. I feel my stomach flatten. Did I do the right thing? Jason might no longer be grounded…but what if I got Pearl and Four in trouble instead?
I imagine them standing at the end of the dock with a megaphone, confessing to the marina: I apologize for having a terrible daughter. It was wrong of me.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” I quickly blurt out. “I’ll clean your boat or do chores or…”
“Do you think I’m harsh, Kenzi?” he asks, which catches me off guard, so I say nothing. “You went quiet at dinner,” he continues. “I imagine you thought I was being cruel and unusual to Jason. Do you have any brothers?”
“No,” I say.
“Boys,” he says, “are different to raise from girls. Girls, you have to encourage them. Build their spine. Boys have to be taught respect. Disciplined. Trouble has to be broken. Otherwise, they’ll run wild.”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? “I don’t know about that,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow and smiles, as though pleased at the challenge. “No?”
