5. Familiar Faces

We passed the small plaza with the convenience store that doubled as a video rental place. It was next to "Dee-lightful Pizza". I don't know why they misspelled delightful but their pizza was good. There was White's Mini Golf with the impossible clown face on the eighteenth hole. I don't think they ever had to award a free game to anyone. I could see the beach at the end of the side streets. The final road was so narrow that we had to pull over onto the sandy shoulder to let an oncoming car crawl by. We were finally here, my heart was racing. I looked out the window. I was surrounded by familiar cottages. They were simple, little homes with a yard of sand instead of lawns or driveways. This area was filled with friendly families that took a few weeks of vacation in the summer to live near the water.

The corner cottage belonged to the Burris clan, that's where Curtis lived. I expected to see him in a headlock. More than once I had heard my parents give directions to our cottage by saying 'turn where you spot two boys playfighting'. But their cottage was locked up, the shutters were over the windows. Maybe they drove to Collingwood for the day. My eyes darted everywhere, looking for my friends.

My dad slowed the minivan down to walking speed. He was trying to drive me crazy, we were minutes away.

"Dad. For real."

"Rachel, there's a lot of kids in the area. Your father's being a good driver." mom said.

"Relax, it's a different pace, life at the beach." my dad chimed in. "You look like Dodger." he added as he shot me a friendly wink in the rearview mirror. I returned a sarcastic wink. Dodger was the Burris family's dog. Well technically he was the Burris' dog but in the summer he adopted the entire row of cottages. He had a hilarious habit of mashing his face against the window when he was excited. Especially when he sensed someone was coming home.

Up ahead, there was a girl on an ugly, beat up, rust coloured bike. I knew that bike, I could barely contain myself. It was so full of sand that you could hear it grinding as the wheels were forced to turn. The rider had to stand up and pedal to exert enough pressure to keep it rolling. Occassionally, the gritty resistance vanished and, if the rider wasn't careful, would have easily been thrown over the handlebars. There was only one person who could pedal that bike. She had been taming it on the beach for five years. It was Jill. I almost didn't recognize her because she had long hair. That was a first. It was barely contained in a poorly fashioned ponytail. She slowed down to match speeds with the minivan, her bike wobbling. Twice her handlebars nearly slammed into us as she risked leaning toward my dad's open window.

"Hey Mr. Martinez, is Rachel here?"

"Nope," he replied, trying to ignore her spastic riding,  "we left her at home this year."

"That's good," she grinned, "because we've actually met a new Rachel who's a lot funnier and better looking." My dad chuckled.

"Oh really?"

"You're dead." I shouted from the backseat.

"Rachel? You're here? Uh-oh. This is awkward." Then she laughed wildly and rode off yelling for Omar. Jill was easily the loudest person I knew. My dad shook his head and my mom winced and turned to face me, smiling.

"Are you going to make some new friends this year?"

We parked in front of the cottage. He was there, waiting for us, sweeping sand off of the four large patio stones. He was definitely taller but still recognizably lanky. His hair was shaved short like an army cadet. It appeared to be the summer of new hairstyles. I made a quick mental note to ridicule both of them. He gracefully opened the door for my mom. "Welcome back, Mrs. Martinez."

"Omar," mom announced, stepping out onto the sand, "the consummate gentleman." Then he skipped around to the back of the minivan to help my dad lift the cooler.

As I climbed out of the backseat I noticed that my mom had forgotten an envelope on her seat. Part of the letter was hanging out. I thought it might fall out the door. I looked behind me, Noa had exited out the sidedoor with her books. I was alone in the minivan. I could hear my parents on the porch, occupied with opening the cottage. I picked up the letter and tried to push it into the envelope but it started falling out. I accidentally saw the top of the stationary. This must have been the letter that Noa handed to my parents. Suddenly, a hand snatched it out of my grasp. Omar smiled mischeviously.

"Mrs. Martinez? Did you forget this?"

"Thank you Omar." He was trying to score some serious points this year.

I stepped out of the minivan. It didn't feel right so I quickly slid my shoes and socks off. That was better. It was late in the afternoon and the sand was cool between my toes. I heard a bike crashing to the ground behind me. I turned and was crushed by a hug that pinned my arms to my side. Jill was squeezing me, an uncharacteristically warm greeting. "I'm so happy to see you." She squealed. I could feel something wet and cold on my lower back.

"Are you putting mud down the back of my pants?"

"Yes," she grinned. "Yes I am." I pushed her away, imagining how I would be getting her back. I tried to sound annoyed but I was out of practice. It was the beginning of summer so my Jill-tolerance was still high. I had no choice but to help the mud slide out of the bottom of my shorts.

"You're gross." Jill laughed.

"I'm not wearing my bathing suit." There was a general rule that, if you were in beach wear, you were fair game.

"Yeah, well, what are you waiting for? You're here."

"Jill?" Omar scolded from the porch, "make yourself useful."

She looked at me and rolled her eyes as if to say that Omar had gotten worse. He often scolded us but today he seemed to be in high gear. I figured it was because of the secret game that we played. We tried to steal each other's parents by acting responsible around them. I'm sure he invented this game, it was definitely his thing. It was considered a win if he could get my parents to ask me, "why can't you be more like Omar?" He was the undisputed champion. Although once I scored a major win with his parents when I did the dishes after dinner. I never did the dishes at home but his parents thought I was the golden child.

"I've got that Mrs. Martinez." My mom hesitantly passed a suitcase into Jill's muddy hands.

I took a long slow breath of the fresh air from the bay. I could relax. Curtis wasn't here but I knew I'd see him soon. I had forgotten about everything, about my school year, about my cousin -where was my cousin? She had moved quickly and quietly into the cottage. Like a thief in the night. I thought about her letter. I hadn't seen much, only some sort of logo in the top corner. It was a ridiculous drawing of a buffalo's face surrounded by a wreath while a fat red and gold crown hovered above. I had no idea what it meant.

"What are you thinking? How did you get mud on your feet? Give me that." Omar took the suitcase from Jill, wiped her muddy handprints off with his shirt and sent her away. He was way over the top. He had already set up a system to prevent tracking sand into the cottage, a foot basin beside a towel for a quick wash and dry before you walked inside.

"Thank you, Omar." my mom swooned.

"You're welcome. Where would you like your luggage, Mr. Martinez?"

"You can set it inside the door and we'll take it from there. Rachel?" my dad smiled. "Why can't you be more like your friends?" Omar smiled, I groaned, I was sure my dad knew about our game.

All of the luggage was in the cottage. I knew I should probably introduce my cousin to my friends but I honestly didn't know where she went. Omar, Jill and I stood around and my summer began.

"Did you hear your dad?" Omar asked, knowing that I did.

"That's the only thing you can win."

"Did you bring your paddle?" Jill asked.

"No, I forgot it. What paddle?" I said sarcastically.

"Jill forgot hers." Omar smirked.

"Again?"

"Not a big deal." Jill shrugged.

"We saw an accident on the way up." I was about to tell them about the yellow jeep turned on its side but it would probably be better to wait for Curtis.

"You had an accident in your pants?" Jill asked with mock concern.

"How old are you?" Omar scolded, disgusted.

"I'm serious, look at her shorts."

"Where's Curtis?" I asked. The jokes stopped. I knew from the look on their faces that something was wrong.