Chapter 10 Daisy
Ten
Daisy
“Let’s swing by the beach,” I say, kicking off my sandals and putting my bare feet up on Mateo’s dusty dashboard. He doesn’t
seem to mind. We’ve just left the tennis club. He’s been driving me home from work since Monday—though we’ve been hanging
out instead of going straight home, wandering aimlessly and listening to music while I point out local landmarks. Killing
time until Eden’s done with her survivalist stuff, then picking her up on our way back.
I’m assuming this afternoon will be no different, but Mateo shrugs off my suggestion.
“I don’t really feel like swimming.” His long tan fingers tap the steering wheel to the beat of the indie rock streaming from
his speakers.
“Yeah, but the beach will officially open to the public this weekend,” I say, scanning his profile, trying to read him. “Once
the lifeguards go on duty. Georgia told me there’s only one more day of training. Which means one more day before it gets
insanely crowded, and all the camp kids start taking over.”
He shrugs again. “Your call.”
“I just made the call! It was my idea.”
“If only you had a driver’s license and didn’t need a chauffeur every time you want to do anything,” he says.
I’m pretty sure he’s teasing as usual, and not actually annoyed. Although the thought does cross my mind that he could easily
find another girl—probably thirty other girls—who would be more than happy to spend their afternoons in his car. I’ve seen
the way waitresses and cashiers and girls on the street—guys, too—eye Mateo up. It’s hard to deny that he’s extremely attractive,
but it’s more than that. There’s an energy about him that makes you want to know more. Something about his soft voice that
makes you want to lean in to hear what he has to say.
Honestly, I feel lucky to be the one who gets to have him all to myself, even if we’re not dating. We’re not even really friends, exactly, more like friends of friends who both need a buddy so we don’t die of boredom.
Mateo is not the most emotive person in the universe; moody and unreadable are his two favorite settings, followed closely by mysterious and quiet.
Except with tennis, when he’s ruthlessly competitive.
He likes to think he’s a hard person to know—he’s even told me that.
(“Rhys is one of my few close friends. Most people think I’m an asshole, even though they’ve barely spoken to me,” he said.) But I can tell he’s just masking a lot of pain and messiness in his life that he doesn’t want to deal with.
Which I totally get. And I’m finding that despite his mysterious vibe, he’s pretty chill, easy to be around.
His sarcastic side is coming out more, and I feel like he’s starting to trust me; he’s been cracking more jokes, teasing me like we’ve known each other for years already.
Hanging out with Mateo every day after work also stops me from spiraling about Owen. I got another postcard from him yesterday.
From Sweden.
Daze,
Please help me plot Grampa Dan’s murder. I know the guy is already up there in age, but he’s not slowing down, and I’m pretty
sure only one of us is gonna make it out of Europe alive. So far, odds are in his favor. The amount of mountain hiking we’ve
been doing is not for the faint of heart. Today we hiked all day in the pouring rain and I legit slid in a landslide of mud.
It probably improved my outfit, but still. I feel like I’m in a World War II movie about soldiers on the front lines. The
rain—and Gpa D—are showing no signs of letting up. But you know what they say. When it rains, it . . . sometimes rains even
harder next.
Owen
I reread it five or six times, searching for double meanings, for some hint.
I don’t know what I expected. That he would talk about that kiss outright?
Why would he put that in a postcard? But without talking about it, how am I supposed to know what he’s really thinking?
Or is he even thinking about it at all? Somehow in the gap, I’ve completely lost the ability to understand what happened between us, and what it meant.
I guess I never really understood it, but with each passing day, I’m less and less certain it was anything at all.
People kiss at parties all the time. Don’t they?
I mean, I don’t, but it seems like other people do.
It makes me feel foolish to have gotten so flustered and excited about it. If Owen really liked me, he easily could have said
so. Instead, he’s sent me two postcards that are decidedly friendly. In retrospect, it seems obvious he is friend-zoning me,
trying to reestablish normalcy with all our familiar inside jokes. Make it clear that nothing’s changed.
“Well, look,” I say to Mateo now, pushing back my questions and insecurities around Owen. “I can’t exactly help the fact that
I’m not old enough to get my license.”
“Yo, age faster.”
I laugh. “Believe me, I would if I could.” A thought flashes through my mind—would Mateo see me differently if I were his
age?
I clear my throat and stare down at my stretched-out legs, which have already gotten a little bit of a tan just from these
first few days of summer. “So do you want to go to the beach, or is this your not-so-subtle way of saying you don’t want to
hang out with me?”
“It’s not that—I want to hang out.”
“You do?”
He looks at me, surprise written on his face. “Of course. You’re a cool chick, Georgia’s Sister.”
“Ha. Ha.” I hate the fact that I’m blushing.
“If only I could remember your name. . . .”
I swat his arm. “Shut up.”
He laughs, then glances quickly over at me again. “Don’t play dumb. Obviously, I know your name.”
“Prove it.”
“Daisy. Daisy Daisy Daaaaaaisy,” he says in a singsong voice.
“Slow clap, Mateo. So are we going to the beach?”
“Wait.” He eyes me in a way I can only describe as mischievous. “I have a better idea.”
“You do?” I ask, mentally adding mischievous to the list of traits I know about him.
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
He takes a right turn, and soon we’ve left the wooded area surrounding the lake and are heading toward the highway.
“Where are we going?”
“Patience, young grasshopper.”
“I’ll be patient as long as you promise you’re not taking me to an abandoned field somewhere to murder me.”
He laughs. “There are probably a thousand other ways to murder you right here in Laurel.”
“Wow, so comforting.”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m just trying to find a town that’s more remote.”
“So no one will hear my screams?”
“No, silly.” He smiles. “So I can teach you how to drive. We don’t want a bunch of other cars or pedestrians around.”
“Oh!” A flood of mixed emotions rises in my chest at once. Excitement (learning to drive sounds fun!), nervousness (will I
embarrass myself in front of this cute older guy who clearly only sees me as a kid sister type, but still?), anxiety (what
if I kill a squirrel, speaking of murder?).
And there’s a pang of something else I can’t quite pinpoint. Something between gratitude and grief. No one’s ever offered
to teach me to drive. It’s kind of a dad-and-daughter cliché. One I’ll never get to experience.
“Is that cool?” he asks, side-eyeing me through his sweep of dark hair.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’d love to.”
We pull off the highway and take a few turns, following signs for an apple orchard. I roll down my window as we drive through
fields of grass and tall weeds and apple trees, the sun beaming down. I wiggle my toes on the dashboard, and a sense of peace
washes over me. This is what summers are supposed to feel like. Like freedom and open spaces and sunshine.
Like anything could happen next.
Mateo pulls over onto a gravelly shoulder on the side of the road. “All right, kid, switch seats.” He gets out, leaving the
keys in the ignition, and walks around to the passenger door.
I shove my feet back into my sandals and fumble with my seat belt.
He peers into my side of the car. “Are you getting cold feet?”
“My feet are actually the perfect temperature,” I inform him, pulling my legs off the dashboard.
He reaches a hand out to me, like a gentleman helping a lady out of a carriage. I take it and let him pull me up and out of
the car. He doesn’t step back, though, so now I’m standing face-to-face with him. I have to look up, squinting.
“We don’t have to do this if you’re too scared,” he says.
My heart is hammering in my chest. “I’m not too scared,” I say. “I’m . . . I think I’m just the appropriate amount of scared.”
“Are you sure?” he asks softly.
For some reason, this causes my heart to pound harder. I nod.
He pulls me toward him ever so slightly. “Good!” And then he lets go of my hand and gets into the passenger seat, where I
was just sitting.
I take a breath of fresh air and regain my senses. Get a grip, Daisy. Literally, what did I think was about to happen just then?
I climb into the driver’s seat, wiping the sweat from my palms onto my jean shorts. I’m still wearing my hideous, baggy work
T-shirt. If I were Eden, I would have tied it into a cute midriff-baring knot, and I’d be wearing stylish strappy sandals
instead of Tevas. Oh well. I am who I am!
“Okay, so what do I do? I don’t even know where to put my hands!”
Mateo laughs. “Hang on, you’re too far from the wheel.
” He leans all the way across my body, kind of like giving me a sideways hug, and I hold my breath for a second while he’s draped across my lap.
“The button is over here on the side,” he explains, finally finding what he’s looking for.
He hits a lever on the side of my seat that slowly pushes me forward.
“I think I could’ve found that myself,” I tell him.
I look over and—am I insane or is he blushing? “Oh right, sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m totally used to having hot guys climb all over me,” I blurt out. His blush deepens, but now I’m blushing
too and wishing I hadn’t just said that. Why am I such a weirdo? I clear my throat. “So, um, now what?”