Chapter 17 Georgia
Seventeen
Georgia
Over the next four days, the gray skies slowly give way to perfect, blissfully breezy, sunny weather that couldn’t fit my
mood less.
Four days, sitting up on the tower chair, staring out at the heads and arms of hundreds of people, responsible for their safety.
Responsible for their lives.
I can’t even take care of my own.
It’s been four days since I made the biggest mistake of my life, but it could’ve been four minutes ago. It’s all I think about.
That stupid kiss plays over and over and over in my mind. The shivery, helpless surge of something—lust? insanity?—that rushed
through me, taking over. Benny’s lips, soft and wet from the lake water pressing against mine, making my body do crazy things.
Falling on top of him, as if falling out of the clouds, falling out of a dream, crashing hard back into reality.
I’ve tried to analyze it from every angle: that strange moment where I slipped completely outside of myself and became this Other Georgia. One who, for a few blissful seconds, didn’t care about any of the things she normally holds so dear: propriety, loyalty, maturity.
On Monday, I obviously didn’t wake up early to train Benny. When I got to the beach for my shift, though, he was here, wanting
to talk. I told him that what happened was a mistake. And besides, I needed to work. He asked if he should come back later,
at the end of my shift, and part of me wanted to say yes. So we could process what happened between us. So I could make it
clear how much I regret it.
But I also knew that seeing him alone again was a bad idea. “Just give me space, Benny,” I said. “I can’t be around you right
now.”
He nodded, looking sad. “I understand. I’m disappointed, but I understand.”
He looked so forlorn that I rushed to add, “Obviously this is a public beach. You can come here and swim or practice as much
as you want. But we can’t interact. I have a job to do.”
“I understand,” he said again, looking down.
“I have to figure out how to fix this horrible mistake.” I stopped short of blaming him—I only blame myself. But he needed
to know how serious this is to me.
He looked up into my eyes, searching my face, maybe wondering if I really meant it. Whatever he saw there, I guess it convinced
him.
I’ve seen him around the beach since then, practicing his sidestroke and doing push-ups in the sand. But I’ve averted my eyes,
and he’s stayed away.
He’s behaving very well—he’s listened to my request and respected it.
I know there’s not much more I can ask.
And yet, the tension inside me is so intense I feel like I could snap in half. The kind of anxiety I’ve been experiencing
since that kiss would give Doechii a run for her money. Regret doesn’t even begin to describe it.
The craziest part is that the guilt isn’t even completely about Rhys. Yes, the idea of him finding out, the idea of me having
to tell him what I’ve done, consumes me with sticky, nauseating shame. But there’s something even worse roiling deep in my
gut.
And it took me until today to realize what it is: I feel like I didn’t just betray Rhys.
I betrayed myself.
I am someone who people admire and come to for advice. They trust me because I’m responsible; I know the right thing to do
in any situation. I take care of others. I work hard. I care about making good impressions and moving through the world in
a respectable manner. And I know Rhys does, too, which is why we’re so good together. We have the same values. We want the
same kind of life.
When my dad died, and Mom and Daisy fell apart, I was a rock.
I held it in, held us all together, even helped Mom with groceries and bills, organized her schedule.
I pitched in with funeral planning too, picking out Dad’s favorite songs, sorting through family photos for the slideshow.
I can’t tell you how many times Mom has said she wouldn’t have survived without me, without that strength I showed.
I know it’s true, and I’m proud of that. It’s important to me. It’s who I am.
And while I was being a rock for everyone else, Rhys was mine.
Now I’ve taken that rock and I’ve sunk it right down into the middle of the lake, and there’s nothing—nothing anchoring me
anymore.
How can I say I’m a good person now? How can I look anyone in the eye, ever again?
All week, Daisy’s been trying to talk to me—presumably about whatever’s going on with her and Mateo. Mom keeps asking if we
can find a moment, just the two of us, to catch up. Eden’s been in her own world, maybe still upset with me about the party.
But I can’t bring myself to face any of them. I’ve been nearly silent at dinner, forcing myself to consume enough food to
not draw attention. I’m sure they can sense something’s wrong, though I’ve tried so hard to hide it, to paste on the smile
they’re used to. I can’t let them know; I can’t let them down. It would be too unbearable to see the shame and disappointment written on their faces.
The sun is too bright. I adjust my visor, subtly wiping tears from the corners of my eyes while I try to keep my focus on
the water.
The seconds tick by as the hot sun pours down on my shoulders, and I feel like I’m sitting in a torture chamber. Every morning
has felt like this.
During my break, I barely touch my lunch, then jump into the water to cool off. But the burning sensation isn’t just coming from the sun, it’s coming from within.
Somewhere around four, Benny shows up.
True to form, he ignores me completely.
I watch as he strips off his T-shirt and walks confidently into the water. It’s been super crowded; after all, it’s perfect
beach weather after several gray days. And the Fourth of July festivities start tomorrow, going into the weekend. It’s a busy
time in Laurel.
I can almost lose sight of Benny among everyone else in the water, but like a game of Where’s Waldo, I keep spotting hints
of him. The arm stroke that’s unmistakably his. The flash of his red-and-blue swim trunks. The specific way he shifts his
weight to one side when waiting in line at the snack shack for a Popsicle.
It would be so much easier if he would just not come here at all. I have to concentrate so hard to avoid him, it ends up being
the thing I’m most focused on all day. Benny, Benny, Benny. Everywhere I turn my gaze.
I should be glad. He’s keeping his distance, playing by the rules.
But instead I feel overheated and frustrated and, frankly, furious. He gets to just splash around and chill out and enjoy
the summer like he hasn’t been involved in ruining someone’s life.
Okay, maybe that’s extreme. He didn’t ruin my life. But he’s half the reason my good conscience has been ripped to shreds;
half the reason I haven’t been sleeping, the bedsheets hot and stiff against my burning, tingling skin.
He’s the whole reason that when I do drift off to sleep for brief stretches, I dream of things I shouldn’t dream of, and wake feeling guiltier and sicker than before.
I train my gaze back to the water. I shouldn’t be watching the snack shack.
Somehow the remaining minutes of the day tick by, and it’s finally time to pack up. But I can tell that someone’s approaching,
and turn around.
Benny. It’s like I have a sixth sense for him now, like I can tell where he is not by looking but via some supernatural awareness
in my fingertips, behind my ears, the backs of my knees.
He smiles, handing me a mango Popsicle.
“What is this?” I ask, mystified. Why is he smiling? How can he possibly be joyful when I’m completely wrung out?
He shrugs. “A peace offering. I saw you glancing over at the snack shack.” I blush, but I’m not sure if he registers this.
“Figured you were hungry.”
He’s not wrong. I take the ice pop—no sense letting it melt in his hands.
“Thank you,” I say, unwrapping it and feeling an instant burst of relief at the sweet coldness against my tongue. Maybe this
was all I needed to take the edge off my misery—something to cool me down and a few calories.
He stands there watching me. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Benny,” I say. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Look at me like that. Be nice to me. You’re supposed to be giving me space.”
“Is that really what you want?” he asks.
“Of course it is. It’s what I need,” I tell him, hating the shakiness in my voice. He’s only a year and a half younger, but
he’s somehow so clueless.
“Georgia,” he sighs, shaking his head.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. What is the sigh for?”
“I think you’re lying,” he says, looking me right in the eyes.
Indignance rises in my chest. “I’m lying? That’s interesting.”
“Is it?”
I realize he’s never lied to me. In fact, it’s the opposite; Benny has always been painfully blunt. That’s part of what got
us here in the first place.
“I haven’t lied to anyone,” I tell him. “I certainly haven’t lied to you. So what are you suggesting? That I lied to Rhys? That I should tell my boyfriend about our—” I stop myself from saying the
word kiss out loud. Because there are still a bunch of people clearing out of the beach who might hear. And also, because the word kiss makes it seem so much smaller and more trivial than what it actually was.
He has the grace to blush.
I go on. “For your information, I do plan to talk to Rhys about this, when I see him in person. I don’t take this—I don’t take any of it—lightly.”
“Oh, I am very aware of that,” he says, his eyes tracing every twitch in my lips.
“So who am I lying to, then?” I demand, crossing my arms.
He shakes his head, trying to hide a half smile. “Yourself.”
“I am not lying to myself. You’re lying to yourself. Clearly you think what happened between us wasn’t that big of a deal, but for me it very much was.”
“It was a big deal to me, too,” he says, the smile disappearing. “But Georgia, you’re lying to both of us if you say you didn’t
like it. Love it, even. Come on. I just need you to admit this.”