Fathom by L. Standage (spanish books to read .TXT) 📕

“Now close your eyes.” Sam continued to click away while I struggled not to smile. I could hear the camera click around me as she moved for different angles.

“Ah, shoot,” she said after a few minutes. I opened my eyes.

“What?”

“I’m out of space on this memory card. Sit tight while I go back and get my other one.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I took a lot of pictures yesterday and I forgot to switch the cards.”

“You don’t keep one in your camera bag?”

“I just got a new one—it’s still in the store bag and everything. I left it in the car.” She swung her camera bag over her shoulder and started up the beach.

“Just go through and delete a few from your camera.”

She stopped. She turned and gazed at me as though I asked her to delete the last ten years of her life.

I frowned. “So you’re going to leave me here?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes.” She turned back.

“Samantha!”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move!”

I heaved an exasperated growl. As if I could move if I wanted to. Sam had my pants. Just pull off this stupid costume and run back up the beach in my underwear? That’d make a nice photo for the portfolio.

I sighed and waited. In spite of my circumstances, I closed my eyes. The sound of the surf lulled away the worry. I breathed in the peaceful, freeing solitude. The breeze, the taste of the ocean mist on my lips, the sand touching my skin—it was too perfect.

Sam should be back soon. I opened my eyes to check…and screamed.

A guy about my age leaned over me, watching me with eyes as round as quarters and his jaw hanging open. He cried out too, then stumbled back and almost tripped. I sat up and threw my arms around my half-naked torso, embarrassed at my ridiculous attire. I never even heard him coming.

“What are you doing here?” I shrieked, as though this wasn’t a public alcove near a public beach.

He shook his head, his mouth still open, his eyes still wide. His bleached hair stuck out at all angles. He sputtered as he backed away. I noticed a cell phone clutched in his hand. Had he taken a picture of me?

I scowled at the phone, then at him. He took off running.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” I called after him, but the sound of the surf drowned out my voice. I scooted around the rock to see the twitchy weirdo tearing down the beach. I rolled my eyes. In case more joggers decided to come by, I scooted back, leaned against the rock, and tucked my mermaid knees under my chin. Then I heard the laughter. I looked up.

“Oh, that was priceless!” Samantha cried. “Did you see his face?”

I put my hands over my own face. “That was so humiliating. Please get me out of this costume.”

“Not yet, I need more pictures.”

“Did you see the whole thing?” I asked through my fingers.

“Yep. Well, from the pier.” She laughed again. “Thank goodness for zoom lenses. I could almost swear that guy thought you were real.”

I raised my eyebrows. “If he did, he’s an idiot.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry about him seeing you like this.”

I shook my head and lay back down. Sam started clicking away again.

“I think he took my picture,” I said.

“So? They won’t be as good as mine. Close your eyes.”

“So? I don’t want my picture on some creeper’s phone!” Especially the phone of some guy who may or may not have thought I was—by some ridiculous stretch of the imagination—a real mermaid.

“Come on, Liv,” she said, lowering the camera. “It’s not a big deal. He’s probably just a tourist. I saw him jogging along the beach. I knew he’d see you, so I went up on the pier to watch the hilariousness. Close your eyes again and turn on your side.”

“Ugh. What if he’s a stalker?”

“He’s not. He’s perfectly normal.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. But if he’s staying around here, we’ll probably see him again. We can find out what he’s like and tell him to delete the picture.” She giggled. “Maybe he’ll ask you out.”

“No, thank you.” I threw some sand at her.

After heading home to change and eat lunch, Samantha and I went back to La Jolla Beach—this time to play in the water with normal swimsuits instead of a mermaid costume.

“Ugh, no surfers again!” Sam lamented.

“Waves must be bad.”

“When do they get good again?”

“Well, the position of the moon and the Earth’s rotation affect the tides, along with weather conditions. High and low pressure, wind, shapes of the shoreline…” I trailed off after Samantha’s eyes glazed over. I smiled. “I don’t know, Google it. Or ask a local.”

“Hmm. Okay,” she said with no reservation. She looked around and saw some guys tossing a Frisbee. “Be right back.” She put down her bag and towel, then walked away.

Meanwhile, I scanned the people on the beach for signs of the blond, feathery-haired guy who had dropped by the “photo shoot” that morning. Not to bat my eyes and ask why the mediocre waves were driving surfer boys away, but to make him delete my picture. Having my picture in a stranger’s phone felt so violating, like somebody spying on me.

My search was futile; in all the crowds of people playing on the beach, I couldn’t find him.

A few minutes later, Sam returned with a giddy spring to her step.

“Well, there’s no sign of Hottie McScottie,” she said as she sat on her towel.

“Who?” I asked, even though I knew perfectly well who.

“The Scottish guy! You know, the one we met yesterday.”

“Oh, right.” Yeah, he moved on. As I thought he would. No reason to hope.

“—but I’m getting surfing lessons starting tomorrow.” She turned and gave a flirty-fingered wave to the boys with the Frisbee, who seemed to have had enough of the game and were walking away. One of them waved back—a bulky one with hair