The Beginnings Of A Story

    A crash, thunderous and mighty, sounds along the shore. The giant wave dives down, attacks the sand and its peaceful inhabitants. Foams in its rage, its desire to reach the land. Then it's pulled inevitably back. Back where it came from, where it will regroup, try again. But it is meant to fail, doomed to spend its life trying to reach a place it was never meant to reach.
    This is so simialr to the greatness that is my life. I'm sixteen, have no car, no social life and absolutely hate family vacations. This year we're in Australia, Mom and Dad thought it would be a good idea to fly in a tiny airplane for about a bajillion hours with my brother and sister screaming every fifteen minutes, "ARE WE THERE YET?" I knew before we even got in the car to head for the airport, that somebody was going to wind up bound by duct tape and shoved into the overhead compartment above my seat.
    So here I am, Sitting on the beach watching the waves crash, listening to the seagulls call, and smelling the sweet ocean air. Romantic, real, the kind of stuff you see the leading lady do in movies sitting next to her one true love. Only one little problem...I'm alone. That's right, no boyfriend. Now, don't get me wrong. It's not like guys don't pay attention to me. It's not like I have some fatal disease or something...I just...can't talk to boys. There I said it. That's my problem. I'm a writer, give me a laptop and a few hours and you'll have the next great American novel. Put me in front of a boy, any boy, and you'll have the next winner of America's Funniest Home Videos.
    Now, I'm sitting here waiting for something interesting to happen. Reading, well pretending to read, a Cosmo Girl and scanning the beach for a couple of famous Australian hotties. I watch my brother climb out of the ocean with dead seaweed hanging from his arms and head while he pretends to be the Boogieman! I sink lower into my beach chair and reach for my sunglasses trying to act totally oblivious. Then...PLOP! Green everywhere! In my hair, all over my Cosmo, on my new bikini, and God forbid, sliding down my back. Oh and you'll never guess who's standing just to the right of me and gets to witness it all...a REAL Australian hottie. You know: gorgeous tan, blue eyes, totally ripped, blonde hair, the works. I am completely mortified.
    Five seconds later as my little brother runs back to the ocean, laughing hysterically, I'm staring into the gorgeous depths of the before mentioned blue eyes. "Are you alright? I would have rescued you, but that guy seemed pretty tough." I don't know which is hotter: his amazing accent, once again the eyes, deeper than the ocean, that crooked smile, or the one dimple on the right side of his mouth. He bends down next to me, hair falling in front of his gaze. "He might have attacked me as well."
    "Yeah." Wait...did I just say 'Yeah'? Really? 'Yeah"? Oh dear Lord help me.
    He stares at me for a second, probably hoping for a more intelligient response. Sorry buddy, you're not getting one. "Well, at least let me help you get that stuff off." He reaches across my magazine and lifts a piece of seaweed off my arm. His fingers brush my skin and I almost faint. Finally, I move. I begin picking pieces off as well. Maybe, if I don't speak he'll fall madly in love with my enchanting silence and I won't be able to embarrass myself!
    Sitting here staring into his flawless face I look over and realize my entire family is watching me and Dad looks as if he's going to have an aneurysm. Jumping up from embarrassment, I hit the poor guy in the face. I look around, notice every eye on the beach staring in my direction, silently vow to take revenge on my evil little brother, and run for my life. "I can't believe you did that Elizabeth! How blonde can you get?" Great, now I'm talking to myself.
    Over my verbal monolouge I hear the pounding footsteps of a great looking, apparently athletic, sweetheart. "Wait up, I don't even know your name!"
    My name...My name...crap, what's my name? I stop and turn around...and promply run into him again. "Look, I'm sorry I scared you." He says quietly, looking into my eyes. "You just looked like you needed someone to talk to. Since I attempted to help you after the Seaweed Monster attacked, I think you at least owe me your name."
    I can see my Dad lumbering toward us. Heading right for Blondie. If he gets ahold of this poor boy, he may never see the light of day again. As my Mom rushes up behind Dad, trying to save our lives, I decide it's time to be brave for once. Time to talk to a guy for real. After all, we're only here on vacation, if I look like a total idiot, I'll be halfway around the world in a month. I take a deep breath and say the most intelligible sentence I have ever said to a male, "My Elizabeth is name."
    Blondie pauses, confused. But there's no time to make up for my stupidity. Daddy's on the prowl. "I gotta go!" I take off for the nearest bathroom, praising the Lord that he was wise enough to make seperate sexes. Neither Blondie nor my Dad can follow me into the saving confines of the ladies room: ever girls safe haven.
    A few minutes later I hear noisy flip-flops on the linoleum floor. "Bethie, I know you're in here. Your Father's distracted now. They're filming some rip off of Baywatch and there are enough boobs out there to keep an army of men distracted."
    "I'm not in here Mom!" Crap, that was dumb. "I mean...don't call me Bethie! We've been over this!" Luckily there was no one else in the bathroom with us, so I was saved from yet another embarrassment.
    "Look, I don't know what was going on with you and that boy, but he headed back to the parking lot looking extremely confused, muttering something about girls never being grammatically correct..." I could hear a smile in her voice. She knew exactly what had happened.
    "Ok Mom, go ahead. Laught it up. Crack a joke. It's hysterical. I'm laughing so hard I'm about to pee myself. Good thing we're in a bathroom!"
    "Honey, I know you have a small problem with boys but..."
    "A small problem?!? Mom, when I was five a boy asked to borrow my red crayon and I screamed and ran out of daycare. I think this could be a MAJOR problem! Maybe it's a disease...maybe it's a sickness and I'm incurable!"
    "Maybe you're a sixteen-year-old with raging hormones. I think the only 'disease' you have honey, is the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, pretty boy that just left in a Mustang."
    "A Mustang! Mom you could have left that out! You're killing me here!"
    "Honey, please come out. Your brother and sister are probably halfway to China by now seeing as your father is currently preoccupied with bouncing boobage."
    I push my stall door open and grudgingly step out into the fluorescent lights. I HATE fluorescent lighting. I think the Devil created it and put some of his little demon magic into each bulb. He created it to make each girl look her worst, showing every blemish and shiny spot it can find.
    Mom grabs me in a giant hug.  "Come on, Beth. Let's go find the little monsters...and the big one too."

    "If you don't get out of that bathroom in 2 minutes, all the Bratz will die!" I hear a terrified gasp from the currently locked bathroom door.
    "Even, Cloe?!"
    "Cloe will die first!"
    The door burst open and my little sister comes tearing out like her butt's on fire. "Mom!! Are the Bratz still alive?" I hear a confused, "What?" coming from the living room area and hurry into the bathroom. I'll deal with that later.
    I start taking off my swimsuit, thinking about those gorgeous blue eyes...bad idea, if I get distracted I may end up strangling myself with my swim top. Before I slide my shirt on, I study myself in the mirror. What the heck is wrong with me? Why can't I talk to boys? I'm not bad looking: short, wavy black hair, the movie kind of hair; tan with some freckles; not fat, not buff either, but you know healthy; and I have boobs which thanks to my Dad's 'Baywatch' problem earlier, I now know are very...endearing to a guy. Why can't I just say hi? Why can't I say somthing witty and charming, like in the stories I write?
    "Beth?" A gruff voive seeps through the door. "Your sister is hysterical. You better get out here." Great.

    "Ok Mom, I understand." I try to sound serious and remorseful. Like I'm really sorry for all the pain I caused my sister. "You're right, I don't deserve to go."
    Mom thinks for a moment, "You know honey, if you're really sorry you could probably still come. I'm sure your father..."
    "No, Mom. Really!" I try to keep the panic out of my voice. "I really should stay here and think about what I did. I don't deserve to go back to the beach today." 
    "Danielle, come on. That kids are going to kidnap me and leave without you if you don't hurry up."
    "You better hurry up, Mom. His voice sounded kind of muffled. They may already have the duct tape out!" I try to seem depressed as I usher my Mom out.
    "Fine, remember to call if anything happens, you have a key, keep your cell phone on..."
    "Bye, Mom!" I manage to say as the door slams in her face...oops. I wait for the "Elizabeth Marie Kennely!" But it doesn't come. Whew. That could have sucked.
    I plop on the bed and flip through the channels. Nothing good on of course, because every respectable, and unrespectable, person is currently at the beach, getting an awesome tan.