7
Emma
I glance at my phone for probably about the five thousandth time, though I don’t really expect anything new to come across the screen. Everything exciting has already happened. I got a much anticipated text from Jameson, roughing out the details of this afternoon.
Surf lessons today?
Totally! Where and when?
Then there is a lapse, with just those three dots, indicating that he’s texting. I friggin’ hate those dots. Then, he finally texts me back.
Meet at Joe’s Surf? Let’s shoot for 2.
Definitely! I immediately text back.
That was at noon. Now it’s one fifteen, and I am squeezing into my teeniest tiniest bikini. I look in the mirror in my messy bedroom, scoping out the pale pink triangle top against my suntanned skin.
I turn and check out my ass, indecisive. I glance at the
