I decide to add a little stop.

“Let me teach you something,” I say. “Stop, look out at the water, and wiggle your feet like this.”

I wiggle my feet side to side and they start to sink into the wet sand. He does the same, and we both settle in about ankle deep.

“I like it,” he says.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” I reply. “I always love to do that when I’m walking along the water’s edge.”

We spend a quiet moment looking out over the ocean. It’s peaceful and nice, but inside my head I’m going a million miles a minute. Finally I snap and blurt out, “So, do you have a girlfriend back home in Wisconsin?”

It is very unsmooth and made worse by the fact that it is not followed with a quick denial. His face looks a little pained, and I wish I could erase the question.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s none of my business.”

“I don’t mind,” he says. “I don’t have a girlfriend . . . anymore. I did for a long time. For over a year. But we broke up during spring break.”

That sounds pretty recent considering they dated for so long. I should stop asking questions, but I can’t help myself. “Did you break up because you were coming here for the summer and she didn’t want to try long distance?”

“That may have been part of it,” he says. “But there were a bunch of little things. I think a lot of it has to do with my parents. I mean, I always thought they were a perfect couple, happy and in love with each other. Then it turned out that they weren’t. It made me realize that things aren’t always how they seem. I started to question what was going on with Beth and me, and eventually I decided that we weren’t right for each other either.”

Beth and Ben. Ugh. They even sound perfect together.

“I’m sorry. It really isn’t any of my business.”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “Actually, it’s kind of nice to have someone I can talk to about it. Things were so crazy at home, I didn’t even tell my parents until a month after it happened. And my guy friends were useless. They don’t usually have much to offer when it comes to relationships.”

I have killed the mood and totally lost control of this conversation. I have done the boy-girl version of pearling and it’s my own fault. Yet I can’t seem to make myself pull out of it. I just have to know whom I’m competing with.

“What’s Beth like? I bet she’s pretty.”

“She’s really pretty,” he says, in an automatic way that I could never imagine a guy saying in reference to me. “And smart. And funny. Everyone thought we were perfect together.”

I would like to go on the record here and declare that I completely hate Beth.

“But that’s history,” he says with a trace of melancholy. “She’s in Wisconsin and I’m in Florida.”

Izzy Lucas, door prize.

I really have no idea what to say next, so I just stand there and try to imagine how I can possibly compete with the girl he just described.

“It’s easy to talk to you,” he continues. “You’re the kind of girl I can just be myself with. That’s nice.”

And the final verdict is in.

“Easy to talk to,” “kind of girl,” and “nice” are all codes I know how to decipher. I’m the confidante, the girl he feels comfortable talking to about the girl he really likes. Unfortunately, this falls into the category of “been here, done this.” My heart feels like it’s sinking into my stomach just like my feet sank into the sand.

That’s it?” an exasperated Sophie exclaims when I finish recapping my day with Ben. “That’s the end of the story?”

“That’s it,” I say.

We’re sitting in a booth at Mama Tacos sharing a plate of nachos.

“You bailed too early,” she says.

“I hung in there as long as I could,” I reply.

Nicole has an order of chips and guacamole and slides into the booth next to me.

“I still think he’s totally into you,” Sophie says.

“He sees me the way every guy sees me,” I say. “As the one who makes for a really good friend and has a great personality. Besides, I think his parents getting divorced has turned him against the whole concept.”

“The concept of what? Marriage?” Sophie asks. “I’m not saying he wants to settle down for life, but I think he’s interested. And if he is spooked because of what’s going on with his parents, then you’re going to have to be superbrave like my girl Nicole over here.”

She nods toward Nicole right as she chomps down on a huge guac-and-salsa-covered chip.

“What makes Nicole courageous?” Then it hits me. “Wait a second—did you talk to Cody?”

Nicole grins and nods as she finishes the chip.

“I want details!” I say.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she says.

“Liar, liar, skinny jeans on fire,” says Sophie. “It’s a huge deal.”

“Tell me,” I say. “What finally inspired you to break out of your years-long silence?”

She looks me right in the eye and says, “You.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ve never seen you as happy as you looked with Ben,” she says. “I thought maybe that could happen for me. So I just called him up and asked him if he wanted to catch a movie. Just like that. No plan. No script. No stalking.”

My cheeks hurt from how much I’m smiling. “Oh my God! What did he say?”

She almost blushes at the answer. “Yes.”

I really am happy for Nicole. She has liked Cody forever, and it is amazing that she had the courage to ask him out. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that a part of me was dying inside. I inspired her because I looked so happy, but the happiness was all based on hope. Not reality. I was happy because I didn’t know better, and that makes me feel like some tourist who just bought a surfboard for seven hundred dollars.

Over the next two weeks I see Ben twice for summer camp. I’m polite, but I try to keep the conversation to a minimum. I just can’t shake the sting of the conversation we had. Normally, I don’t mind being the confidante, but with Ben it’s different. I need more.

At the surfing class he comes up to me before we stretch and asks, “Do you think we can do another lesson this week? I still feel like a fish out of water around here.”

I shrug and tell him, “It’s hard to say. I’ve got a lot going on with my parents this week.”

“Okay,” he replies, sounding a little disappointed. “Maybe next week.”

“Sure, we’ll see.”

I continue using my evasive skills the next week, however, and when he makes a joke about calling something by the wrong name, I just give a halfhearted laugh.

“Right. That’s funny.”

I feel like a total drama queen about it, but it’s just so hard. I like him so much and am utterly embarrassed by my inability to navigate these waters. At the end of the lesson I almost go over to him to talk, but I notice that he’s talking to Kayla and I hear her invite him to a party. I’ve lived here my whole life and have never been invited to one of the cool-kid parties. I take it as the final sign that we belong in different circles and that I should just move along.

That’s what I’m thinking about on the last day of June as I paddle out on my board. It’s early and beautiful and I am safe here, in my special place, with no one around to get in the way. These waters I can navigate perfectly.

The waves are great and it is liberating to ride them one after another. It’s like the surf gods are trying to make up for my heartbreak. My last ride in is perfect, and when it finally dies out, all I have to do is step off the board into the shallow water. I am fully relaxed.

And then I hear clapping.

“I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good.”

I look up at the beach and see Ben sitting there. He stands up, and I have no idea how long he’s been watching me.

“I really think you should compete in some of these contests,” he continues. “I know it’s not your thing but . . . wow.”

“How long were you there?”