Page 43 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

“Maybe we can have one of the coconuts on the ground.” Cal struts toward the coconut tree. He grabs one triumphantly, then horror descends over his face, and he drops it.

“Cal?”

“It’s, uh, already been claimed.”

“Fresh ones it is.”

He jerks his head into a nod. I glance at the coconut he dropped, and it’s totally swarming with insects. I shudder. My Seaport apartment was blissfully insect-free. It also had couches and bathrooms and food. I didn’t appreciate it nearly enough.

I put the rock down, then aim again for one of the coconuts. This time, I actually hit the rock. In fact, my stick connects with a coconut with a satisfying thwack.

Unfortunately, the coconut only wobbles.

“I’ll, uh, get more rocks from the shore.” He hurries away, like he doesn’t want to spend time with me.

And why would he?

We’re not friends.

He pulled a prank on me in high school. Since then, he’s only written a negative article on me.

And though he says the article is a chance for me to share my side of things, I know it’s mainly a chance for him to slip in a quote from me that will legitimize the whole article. He would probably splice any comment I made to make me look optimally bad.

I line up the rock again. I’m going to get a coconut. I whack the rock, and this time my coconut target falls.

I holler and scoop it up.

Cal comes running toward me. “You got one?”

“Uh-huh.” I hold the coconut, running my hand over the strange, stringy texture.

“Awesome.” He flashes me a wide smile, then swallows it away, as if he’s remembered we don’t smile at each other anymore.

I carry the coconut to the beach, then sit on the sand. Cal sits next to me, more slowly.

“Those look tight.” I glance at his pants.

He flushes. “I’m fine.” Finally, he sighs. “My roommate packed it. I thought it was the most professional looking thing.”

My heart scatters from my chest, so all that’s left is an odd sense of disappointment. Roommate. Is that code for boyfriend? Husband?

It doesn’t matter.

I blink hastily and turn away.

I focus on the coconut. “So do I smash it against something?”

“Maybe?”

I frown and drop the coconut on the ground with force. It bounces once, rolls away, but remains irritatingly whole.

I pick it up again.

Cal peers at it, and his curly dark locks flutter in the breeze. I jerk my gaze away.

“We’ll figure it out. I’ll get more.” I drop the coconut in his hands.

I turn quickly around and focus on the coconut tree. I place the rock onto the ground, pick up my stick, then whack it hard.