Disclaimer: I own everything but their names.
April 11, 2011 – Santa Cruz, California
"Dad! Could you come help me?"
I huff, because he's taking forever, and then I call for him again. I hate being short. Dad insists I'm 'growing like a weed' but I have no idea what that means. Besides, dads are so not supposed to know anything about weed! All I know is that I'm one of the shortest kids in my grade. It's cool though, 'cause I'm totally boss at art and catching a wave. The chicks dig me.
"How many times do I have to tell you about yelling through the shop, Carlisle?"
He never full-name's me unless I'm in serious trouble, so I grin as innocently as possible. "You were taking forever!"
He rolls his eyes. "What do you need?"
"I can't reach the top of the window; I wanna put a few pieces up there." I point to where I want the water as dad shakes his head.
"Here, give it to me." He holds out his hand and patiently listens to my instructions for getting everything just right.
It's starting to look awesome, and I'm still stoked he actually said yes to putting this on display. I really didn't think he'd be cool with it at all, 'specially since when Bella's name comes up he gets all cranky. But I worked super freakin' hard on it, and after I came home with a big fat 'A', I knew he couldn't tell me no.
It also helped that I had Uncle J on my side. He likes pushing Dad's buttons.
I think sometimes he mentions Bella's name just to see those wrinkles in Dad's forehead show up. We both think they're multiplying. I even get five bucks if I find a new one. But dad doesn't know that, and Uncle J says I'm not allowed to tell him or he's never paying me a dime again. I can't have that, because I gotta get the cool art supplies somehow. The ones Dad refuses to pay for unless I do chores around the shop.
Who the heck wants to clean glass displays? And why the heck do people have to touch everything in here? I swear to… Ugh.
I shake my head and get back to work. Now that the layer of 'water' is laid out – it's really this sick metallic blue paper I found at a party store downtown that's been cut, rolled and curled – I carry the platform for the wave over to the window and Dad helps me lift it into the middle.
"Something's not quite right…" I move it just a little to the left… and… perfect. Gotta make sure it's perfect, so everyone who walks by can see what it says.
. live . your . life .
. live . your . dreams .
. surf .
"Looks good, kid," Dad tells me, reaching over to mess up my already messy hair.
"Stop that!" I smack his hand and jump away, narrowing my eyes.
He laughs, and I watch as his eyes settle on my wave. "What made you think of doing this, anyway?"
I shrug. "Just thought it'd be cool."
The idea just kinda came to me one day while I was messin' around. We save all her magazines, and she's been all over the world, and it's so cool that she knows so many surfers. I like the idea that, maybe one day, she'll see this. She'll visit, and then she'll remember me and tell me about all her friends, and it'll be so freakin' cool.
I want to ask her if she thinks Slater's gonna win his eleventh title this year. I think he is; he's pretty badass. I also wouldn't mind if she wanted to introduce me to Alana Enever… She's not that much older than me.
"It is pretty cool," Dad says, smiling at some customers who walk in.
I smile, too. The nice thing about hanging around the shop is when the girls come in to look at the bikinis. It's epic when they try them on, I swear. He steps away and I stop staring at the girls and get back into my zone.
I went through every single article she wrote after I decided to do this, and I swear it took me, like, two weeks, but I found everything I needed. After that, I built the base from the spare wood dad keeps lying around here at the shop, which wasn't easy, let me tell you. But I finally got it right, and then it was just about mixing up some papier-mâché and layering, layering, layering until it formed one big rippin' wave curling and about to break.
That's where her articles came in. I used the strips I'd cut out as the very top layer, alternating fonts and colors. Now it looks like some poetic version of a ransom note (at least, that's what my teacher said).
It's pretty sweet if you ask me. Then again, I'm the artist. Everything I do is pretty sweet.
Dad says not to count on her ever seeing this, but I still think maybe she'll come and visit us. And if she does, I want her to know we definitely didn't forget her.
I know dad hasn't. He still stares at the pictures sometimes. He thinks I don't know it, but I see him when he comes into my room at night to make sure I'm not playing XBOX or posting on the internet or some junk when I'm 'sposed to be sleeping. He'll grab the frame and hold it and just stare.
I pretend I'm asleep so he won't be mad. And also 'cause I don't want him to know I see how sad he gets sometimes.
He used to smile when he told me stories about her, but he doesn't do that so much anymore. Maybe it's because I'm older now. Maybe it's because I ask too many questions.
Maybe it's because he doesn't want me to know he's sad…
Who knows? Adults are weird.
If he did talk to me about it, though, I think I would tell him it makes me sad, too.
He needs to smile more. He works too much, and it scares me when Uncle Jasper jokes around that he could end up like Grandpa Carlisle.
Good thing we're going on vacation in two days!
This was not what originally went here, but this little dude is a chatty one. He started yammerin' away in my head the other day, and, well… I hope you liked him!
Tomorrow brings exactly what you guys have been waiting for… Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and not flouncing me after yesterday. I lurve you all.
Reviews are love.
Until tomorrow!
xx