Clint sighed and shook his head, walking away from me. I scowled at his black-clad back. Maybe, if just everybody left me alone, I could cheer up, but no, everyone had to insist on annoying me endlessly. The frustrated make-up artist sighed and also turned her back on me. Fine. Fine, everyone turn their back on me! I too, turned on my heel in the damp sand, and began to walk away from the set.

"Uh, Scott?" Dave called after me.

"I'll be back in a minute," I retorted, feeling my feet dig further into the sand as I began to walk faster across the beach.

"Where's he going?!" Bob was asking.

Away from you, I answered him telepathically.

Dave sighed. "Just let him walk."

Damn right.

The photo set-up fading behind me, I prowled down the empty beach. They certainly had blocked off a lot of the shore. Seeing the blockades up ahead of me, something occurred to me, and upon approaching them, I decided to sneak across one to the public parts of the beach. What can I say? The sky looked bluer on the other side.

I breathed in the salty, clean air, and took in the landscape before me. There were a few lone people on colorful beach towels, all adults, because it being April, I'm sure most of the kids were still in school at this time of day. They looked so careless, all of them laying there on their stomachs or backs and soaking in massive amounts of unhealthy UV rays, however scattered they were today. My shirt billowed behind me as a little breeze hit. I couldn't help reveling - it was gorgeous. I turned a little and headed towards the ocean, shivers running up my legs as the warm tide gently lapped at my toes.

It was the kind of day you read about in stories. The sun blared over me, then ducked behind a curtain of clouds. Looking out at the expanse of ocean, I wished I could go out swimming, but the wardrobe people from Richard Tyler probably wouldn't like it if I dirtied up their expensive white silk shirt and nice white pants. Then again, I'm sure they'd probably get dirty eventually . . .

I dropped to my knees into the shallow tide, feeling it lap at my thighs, the water soaking through the pants. I smiled, finding myself wishing Tay was here. We could go swimming together, hold hands and stroll down the beach together, horse around in the water, be free. I closed my eyes and dug my hands into the soggy, heavy sand, launching myself fully into the fantasy, and finding myself singing to myself.

". . . Wouldn't it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong . . . you know it's gonna make it that much better, when we could say good night and stay together. Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up in the morning, half the day is through. And after having spent the day together, hold each other close the whole night through . . ."

I stopped and opened my eyes. Beach Boys. I am such a corny individual sometimes.

Memory chilling me to the bone just like the gentle waves, my little fantasy world came crashing down around me, much like life had lately. I sighed heavily and swirled my fingers around in the water. I didn't know what to do, but somehow, I had to talk to Taylor; I had to apologize, I had to pick the pieces back up and krazy-glue them together, and hope it would end up somehow like it was before it shattered. I was scared to death that he wouldn't listen. What would I do then? Someone I'd known for so short a time suddenly meant so much to me. The fear I had was enough proof to assure myself that I loved him. I loved him deeply. But would he believe me? Tay already thought I had just used him for kissing practice.

I stood up, taking a clump of sand with me, feeling it slide between my fingers, trying to escape, and I balled it up and threw it back into the water, watching it splash in an explosion of muck. I set my jaw, nailing a new mission into my mind: To make everything right again.

I turned and walked back down the beach, humming "Wouldn't It Be Nice" all the way back.

Taylor

By the time our meeting was dismissed, Zac was practically crawling up Dad's back and onto his head asking if he could go to the amphitheater the Moffatts were rehearsing at, because Dave invited him, and please, we didn't have anything else to do, did we, and he had the address, and a pass, and could he have twenty dollars, because he didn't have any money.

Going back to the hotel seemed like hell to me, so while Dad was relenting to Zac's hyper pleas, I thought about asking Dad if I could drive around LA for a while in the little blue Corsica he'd rented. Taking myself shopping seemed like fun; just driving around in my car listening to the oldies station and belting out Motown at the top of my lungs seemed like a good option, too. Anywhere and anything but that stupid hotel. I did not need to be stuck in the room, seeing hallucinations of Scott laying on the bed with me like we'd been last night and this morning. Any more of that and I for sure would take that razor blade to my wrists.

Zac was screaming out his good-byes as he bolted down the hall towards the elevator of the Mercury building, intent on finding a taxi to bless with his presence; intent on seeing his little friend Dave. But, Dave was cool. If anything, I found him to have Scott's charm and shy qualities, but also this awesome politeness that hopefully would rub off onto Zac.

I stated my case to dad, who, after I explained my dire need to be out on my own for a little while, reluctantly gave me the keys and made me show him my driver's license to prove I had it with me. Isaac said he wanted to check out Chinatown, and he and Dad agreed to take a taxi there and eat out there. He gave me another twenty to spend on food, which I fully intended to spend on clothing instead, and we went out separate ways.

I'd had my license for a few weeks, but driving still scared me a little. I guess I was destined to always be a cautious driver who was paranoid about all the other "speed-demons" (as my mom said) in the world. Plus, this was not good ol' friendly Tulsa, this was Los Angeles, a much bigger and badder city.

With "I'm Not Your Stepping Stone" blaring out of the sucky sound system, I turned out onto the expressway and headed towards the nearest shopping center.

I wondered if Scott drove yet. I wondered if he had time to drive. They were on such a jam-packed schedule at this time in their professional careers. Aaah!! Damn. I hated little cars. They made it feel like your ass was dragging on the ground when you drove them. Why couldn't Dad have rented a nice big sports utility vehicle?!

A large green sign caught my attention. Oh, hell yes. Thrifty Lloyd's Discount Price Hall. That was a good name for a thrift store if I ever saw one. I turned onto the exit that led to the street the establishment was residing on, and excitedly pulled into the parking lot. Clothes. I really like clothes. After parking, I slipped my shades on and added a cap for good measure, and headed inside.

It was like a big warehouse inside, and I headed over to the men's shirts section. It smelled like my grandparents' apartment. Old and worn, and a bit musty. Losing myself in sifting through T-shirts, I choked when I saw a dark green T-shirt with three familiar faces on it. I sputtered in laughter and shoved it away from me quickly. What was a Hanson shirt doing here? That was too funny.

I found a nice light-blue one that said "First Annual Lavacaberries Festival" on the front, and this made me crack up, too. 'First Annual' was incorrect - if it was Second Annual, that would be okay, but how did they know it would be Annual if it was the first Lavacaberries Festival ever? I decided to hang onto the $1.50 merchandise, and went to go look at the hats.

My eyes landed on a white cowboy hat with brown trimming, and I bit my lip, smiling. That was just like the hat my uncle had, and I used to borrow it to play cowboys with my cousins all the time. For memories' sake, I picked it up and tried it on, looking at myself in the mirror. For some reason, a mental picture of Scott wearing this hat crept into my head, and I decided I had to buy it.