Rules of Summer
: Chapter 8

“Come on, girl! Come on, Trixie! Run!”

Rory threw the stick high and long, and Trixie raced toward it. Clumps of wet sand spattered her back legs and rump. She’d have to make sure to give Trixie a bath when they were done, but it would be worth it. She’d never seen a dog so excited to be let out of the house.

“Get it, Trixie!” she yelled. “Go!”

As soon as the stick hit the sand with a thud, Trixie clamped it in her jaws and ferried it back, letting one end of it drag along the sand as she went.

“Good girl!” Rory yelled. Trixie ran to Rory’s feet and dropped the stick on the sand. “Very good girl!”

It was early, and the beach was deserted. A thick layer of clouds hid the morning sun. Rory felt the cool sand between her toes and breathed in the fresh air. She’d never played fetch with a dog on a beach. She’d also never given her number to a guy she’d just met at a party. She was changing here. Already she felt lighter, happier, freer. Different. Maybe Isabel had been right about her needing to relax. She’d also been right about something else: Guys liked to be flirted with.

It was incredible. Every time she thought that she was overdoing it, and that Landon might burst out laughing at the way she was batting her lashes, or that he might get tired of her questions, or that he might ask why, exactly, she was so interested in his brief experiences on the wrestling team, he responded with another joke, or another story that wasn’t really funny, but that she knew he wanted to be funny, or something else that was designed to get her attention. Apparently, he didn’t think she was acting weird at all. He was flattered.

They talked for what seemed like hours, until she finally allowed there to be a long pause. And then he said, “You want to hang out sometime?”

“Sure,” she said.

He took out his phone, and she gave him her number. And that was that. She’d walked back to the car, almost feeling a little guilty for her fantastic performance. She wasn’t sure that she even really liked Landon. But when they’d gotten in the car to go home, and Rory had shared the good news, Isabel had exclaimed, “Thank the Lord!” with so much relief that Rory felt like she’d done them both an enormous favor.

Of course, if it had been Connor Rule who’d asked for her number, she’d be walking on air right now. But she doubted that she’d ever be able to pull off that kind of behavior with Connor. He probably would have wondered what on earth she was doing acting that way. And she would have liked him even more for it.

Trixie dropped the stick at Rory’s feet. Rory glanced at her watch. It was almost eight thirty. If she stayed down here any longer, Bianca would be wondering where she was, and she didn’t feel like another lecture on staying away from the beach. If the Rules weren’t going to use it, then why couldn’t she?

“Okay, let’s go back,” she said, looking at the crust of brown sand on Trixie’s legs. She slipped on the flip-flops she’d left at the bottom of the wooden walkway and started the climb up the dunes. Suddenly, Trixie raced past her up the path, barking and wagging her tail.

“Trixie, wait!” she yelled. “What’s the big rush?”

At the top of the dunes, she found her answer. Connor Rule crouched down over Trixie, who was intent on licking his long, tan shin.

“Hey,” he said, looking up at her. “I just stopped by your room to see if you wanted to go for a run.”

She stood for a moment, thinking about her hair, which had probably gone frizzy, and the damp spots under her arms, and the shininess of her nose that she couldn’t see but that she absolutely knew was there. “W-what?” she sputtered.

“A run? You know, on the beach?” He stood up.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. I just took Trixie for a run. But I don’t run. I’m not much of a runner.”

“I’m not, either,” he said. “My coach thinks there’s something wrong with me.”

“Your swim coach?”

“Yeah.”

“Why does your swim coach care about running?” she asked.

“Because it’s part of my training?” he replied. “You know, cardio?”

She brushed a curl off her face. Her newfound flirting skills seemed to have disappeared. “So, uh… no swimming today?”

“Nah, I need a break. Actually, I’m thinking of quitting.”

“You are?”

“I’ve been doing it for years,” he said. “I think I’m ready for something else. But it’s not really up to me.”

“Why not?” she asked.

He smiled and looked down the beach. “I guess it is up to me, but my parents would be pretty pissed off. My dad ran track when he was in college. All-American. He’s kind of reliving his glory days through me.” He shook some blond hair off his forehead. “What about you? What do your parents make you do?”

“My parents?” Rory said. “Well, that would be just my mom. And she makes me do everything.”

“What do you mean? Sports?”

“No.” She laughed. “Like, pay the bills. Do the shopping. Figure out the car insurance. That kind of stuff.”

Connor’s smile disappeared. He obviously thought she was a freak.

“But when I’m not doing that,” she said, “I like to make films. Documentaries.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “What about?”

“This past year at school, I did this piece about people who collect bizarre stuff in my town. One woman was really into Elvis memorabilia. And another woman, she collected vintage diner stuff. Like, place mats from when Denny’s first opened, and napkins with the old Waffle House logo on them. Stuff like that.”

Connor just looked at her. Wind ruffled his hair. I’m dying here, she thought. Help.

“Anyway, it’s sort of my dream to go to USC film school. Though I’ll probably just end up going to Rutgers and studying econ or something else that’s useful.”

“Yeah,” he finally said after a pause. “I know what you mean.” He looked down at the beach again. The clouds were starting to lighten, and she was aware that she needed her sunglasses.

“Well… I guess I should get going,” Connor said. “I have to get to work soon. I’m teaching sailing at Devon in Amagansett. I did it last year. You sail?”

“Uh, no,” she said. “Not really. But that sounds cool.”

“Sure you don’t want to keep me company?” he asked with a smile that made her heart speed up.

“It’s tempting,” she said, “but I think Bianca’s probably looking for me. Have fun.”

“Yeah. Have a good day, Rory.”

“You, too.”

She turned and left right away, even though she longed to watch him disappear down the wooden planks toward the sand for as long as possible. This time, she knew that she hadn’t made it up. Something was there between them. Something that made her smile so hard that her cheeks ached as she walked into the house.

As soon as she stepped inside the hall, she heard the familiar sound of her Katy Perry ringtone. She ran into the bedroom and fumbled around in her purse. It was about time she spoke to Sophie and Trish. They’d all been playing serious phone tag since she’d arrived.

But it wasn’t Sophie or Trish. An unfamiliar 631 number was on the screen.

“Hello?” she asked, picking up.

“Hey, Rory,” said a slightly familiar voice. “It’s Landon. How are you?”

She sat on the edge of the bed. Her conversation with Connor had given her a bit of a buzz, and now hearing Landon’s voice on her phone made her struggle to focus. “I’m great,” she said, her heart beating fast. “How are you?”

“Good. You want to do something tonight?”

She shot to her feet. “Sure,” she said, a little more quickly than she’d meant to.

“Cool. Mission: Impossible Five is playing,” he said. “We could see that. Then get some pizza afterward.”

She thought about waiting to see if Bianca would need her before she gave him an answer, but she didn’t know how to tell this to Landon. “Sounds great.”

“Okay,” Landon said. “I’ll pick you up at seven. And yes, I do have a very cool car.”

She laughed. “I look forward to experiencing it.”

“Oh, and you will,” Landon joked. “See you at seven.”

She hung up and jauntily tossed her phone back in her purse. She had a date tonight. A date.

She smiled at Trixie, who waited patiently beside the bed, still panting from the excitement on the beach.

If only it were with Connor, she thought. But she refused to think about that too much. Isabel was right—Landon was cool, funny, and not too in love with himself. The perfect candidate for her first real boyfriend. Or at least an East Hampton fling.