Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,3

it’s all about the ride and the moment.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Everything else disappears.

two

mija: contraction of “mi” and “hija” (“my” and “daughter”), used as a term of endearment

I set my board down on the sand and nudge Grace’s foot with mine, so freaking proud of her. “So about that tube ride … ”

She knocks her hoodie back and does a seated victory dance, complete with squeal, while bouncing her feet in the sand.

I sit down by her, enjoying how cute she is when she gets excited. “Chill. Don’t let it go to your head or I’m gonna have to buy you a visor three times bigger.”

“Whatever. You know you’re proud of me.” She pokes my chest.

“You know, I charge people for that.” I brush wet hair out of my face.

She laughs at my dumb joke. “Really? I thought it was the other way around.”

“Ha ha. And while we’re on our little bragfest, I got news.” Holding this in, waiting for the perfect moment to share, has been epic hard.

She crinkles her nose. “What kind?”

“News of the one-more-reason-moms-in-San-Diego-County-would-love-for-me-to-date-their-daughter variety.” I’m half joking about that. Her mom always seems so stiff; it feels like she’s icing me out.

Grace rolls her eyes. “Well?”

“I’ve got an internship.”

“Where?”

I bust out with a massive smile. “At the best law firm in town.”

She scrunches her brows together. “Haha. Funny. You losing surf time over the summer, on purpose? I haven’t heard Dad say anything about that. Besides, you would’ve asked me to hook you up, right? I mean, I do have the connections.”

Her response floors me. “Really? You don’t think I could get an internship on my own?”

“C’mon,” Grace says. “That’s not how I meant it. It’s just that if you really were going for an internship at my dad’s firm, I would think you’d have told me. And I think my dad would’ve said something about giving you a spot on his how-I’m-going-to-make-senior-partner program. That’s all.”

“Well, one, I did go for it, and two, remember that my first name isn’t technically Ford—it’s Ferdinand. If your dad had interviewed me, he would have found out just who this ‘Ferdinand Watson’ was. It’s not like Watson is a unique last name! C’mon, I wanted to be treated like anybody else. No favors. But apparently he was caught up in some major case, so some junior-partner person met with me. And, by the way, three—your dad is like a freaking hero. His last high-profile pro bono case, where he saved that little old lady from deportation? He kicked some major ass. This internship is huge, and I thought you’d be ecstatic for me. Guess I was confused.”

Grace lunges toward me and gives me a big hug. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

I wrap my arms around her, my forearms resting across the top of her hips, fingers curved around her waist. She leans into me and rests against me, like for this minute everything unspoken that weighs down on her is in my hands. I wish I knew what goes on in Grace’s head when she stares off, looking lost.

She pulls back and her smile is sweet as honey. “Congrats. Really. It’ll be huge for your college apps, and I think you’ll be awesome. They’re lucky to have you. And you’re right, Dad kicks major ass.”

I pull her back for a quick hug and nuzzle the top of her head with my chin, wishing this hug was something more than it is. “Thanks, Grace.”

“I really am—happy—for you. Let’s celebrate.”

I pull back and grin. “With a date?”

Crap.

Grace has this panicked look. She grabs her bag and digs around. She plucks her ChapStick, opens it, and smears it nervously across her lips. “ oner lipsUm. Sure, we can totally go on a friend date.”

Crash and burn. I should have been smoother. Been romantic.

Retreat, retreat.

I frown. “Okay. Well, I’m pretty booked this week getting ready for the internship. How about we just do lunch like normal?”

Grace grins, and the awkwardness of the moment passes. “Let’s grab a bite to eat. I’m starving.”

“Translation: Why don’t we go to Ford’s house, where he’ll fix me tortillas with chorizo and eggs?”

“Well?”

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll fix you lunch, but only ’cause my cooking blows yours away.”

Grace wags her finger at me, all cute. “I know you didn’t go there. I know you didn’t. A few burnt pieces of toast and a gal’s reputation goes down the tubes. Because I’m a nice girl and all, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Some bunnies are just that—bunnies who like to get all fancy but got