“One month exactly,” I say but don’t know if I really want to go to WHOI.
“That reminds me!” Nancy says with a jump. She waddles to her desk in the corner of the kitchen. “I have to reserve the tent at least two weeks in advance.”
This party is all she can talk about. I stab another pea. Scarlett comes home August 5th. One month until she comes back too. Less than that, actually.
This is all going by too fast.
I’ve been waiting for Andrew to text me with our plans for the night. It’s been kinda quiet between us since the debacle on the Fourth.
“Ettie called,” Mom says. That’s one call from Claudia and two calls from Ettie that I have to return. I don’t know what to say to Ettie. I feel like I can’t talk to her if I don’t tell her Andrew’s real age. I don’t want to lie anymore than I have to.
“Want me to proof your essay this weekend, Beanie? That’ll give you time to revise,” Dad asks.
I stab another pea. Stab. Stab.
“That would be great,” I say, just wishing we could talk about something else. Anything else.
What this means is I actually have to start the essay. My phone beeps.
Yay!
“Haven’t we gone over this?” Nancy asks.
“It’ll just take a second,” I say and slide it out of my pocket. I am about to read my message when Nancy snatches the phone and places it down next to her knife. I rub at the top of my stinging hand where her talon fingernails scraped my skin.
“Really, Bean. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Bringing a phone to dinner. You can have it when we’re done eating.”
Dad’s eyes narrow past me on the television in the other room.
“First, you whine about the gorgeous dress you have to wear to the party,” Nancy says.
Actinium, aluminum, americium . . . antimony, argon . . . what’s after argon?
“You didn’t show any interest when we mentioned going to a cake tasting the other day. It’s like you didn’t even hear me.”
I didn’t.
“And I haven’t seen you working on your scholarship.”
“I work on it in my room. And when did you become an expert on my work habits? I thought you wanted me to socialize?” Nancy only notices what she wants to see and that’s every single detail that proves just how unlike Scarlett I am in every part of my life. I talk on my cell and hang out with my friends just like Scarlett, but to Nancy, it’s not the right kind of socialization.
Mom says nothing. Dad watches the TV.
Nancy’s face is all geometric shapes, pursed lips, and squinted eyes.
“What’s going on with you? Are you even listening to me?” Nancy says.
I slam my fork down on the table. Mom and Dad jump in their seats.
“Nothing’s going on with me,” I say.
“Oh, I understand perfectly well.” Nancy points at me. My chest heaves, I’m so mad. Nancy turns to Mom. “This is all that boy Tucker’s fault. You better get those two in a room to talk to each other at the party.”
“He’s not coming to the party,” I yell. “You’re like the dictator of extracurricular activities. Why can’t you be more like Gran?”
“Scarlett! I mean, Sarah!” Mom scolds. She can’t even be angry with the right person.
“Wait, what?” Dad says. He raises his eyebrows—he’s trying to catch up.
“My sister is a burnt-out hippie!” Nancy says.
“You don’t know Gran and you don’t know me. And I don’t want to wear that stupid cupcake dress either!”
“Beanie, calm down!” Mom yells.
“Cupcake?” Dad asks.
“It’s a beautiful dress!” Mom says.
“You’ll do what you’re told,” Nancy says, still pointing. “If you want any help from me, under my roof, you’ll do what I say!”
“Do you even hear yourself? Do you even actually know anything about me?”
“Bean, calm down!” Mom says.
I get up so fast Nancy’s bajillion-dollar chair hits the floor. I walk to Nancy and snatch the cell phone so quickly she flinches. I lean in close to her and fear prickles behind her eyes.
“I hate that dress.” I say it quietly, but my voice shakes. “And I won’t wear it!” I turn and my feet clip against the wooden floor.
“Where are you going?” Mom calls.
“For a walk,” I say without looking back.
“You get back here! You will wear that dress!” Nancy yells after me. Just as I am about to pull the door closed, she squawks to Mom, “You need to control that girl!”
I slam the door and bring my hands to my mouth because the noise is really, really loud. I run my fingers over glass to feel for cracks. On the other side, Dad says, “What’s a cupcake dress?”
They are all silent for a few seconds then everybody talks at once. Their muffled voices rise and fall within the house. I can’t tell what they are saying. It doesn’t matter. I could script it accurately.
I lean my forehead against the cold glass.
“See? I told you.” Nancy’s voice is right next to the door. I shoot up and back away to the next step in case she opens it up. “She has been cooped up in a science lab much too long!” Nancy says, but her voice retreats farther away back into the house.
I move down the front steps to the street.
The street lamp highlights my chipped toenail polish. I can’t believe I talked to Nancy like that. I’m just so tired of swallowing my words all the time.
Also, Mom and Dad don’t need to control me.
Something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I look toward the street lamp at the end of the cul-de-sac.
Andrew sits on the hood of his pickup.
I almost forgot I got a text message. My cell phone is still clenched in my hand; I open it.
ANDREW: Am I a stalker if I’m on your street?
Relief flutters through me and even makes my cheeks tingle. For a second, I think he might be a hallucination because he’s exactly who I need right now. The hazy blue light of his cell phone just barely shines on his beautiful features. With each step to him, my chest releases. I ache to be closer to him, to someone who doesn’t classify me, who doesn’t put me in neat, labeled boxes. Andrew looks up from his phone and scoots over to make room for me. By the time I make it to him, I can smile. He doesn’t have to know about the fight with Nancy.
“Let out?” he asks.
“Escaped,” I say.
I lean into his body and his arm scoops around me. I inhale. He smells like soap and suntan lotion. Comfort.
“Stalking is a felony in Massachusetts,” I say.
“Up to five years in prison for a first time offender,” he says with a proud lift of his chin. “I’d risk it for you.”
It’s enough to make me want to cry.
“I was about to come to the door. Surprise you,” he adds.
Adrenaline pings in my chest. He would have heard the fight.
“Surprise me? With what?” I ask and simultaneously try to figure out a way to explain to him that he really can’t come to the door—ever.
“Party,” he says. “Curtis’s house. Want to go? It’s only like two minutes from here.”
“Sure,” I reply and glance back up at Seaside Stomachache. That house has never earned its name more in its existence.
TWENTY-ONE
CURTIS’S HOUSE IS ACTUALLY THE STAFF HOUSING for the Wequasset Inn. It’s the other super fancy resort on the Cape and the employee housing sits on the bay with a massive water view.
“But Curtis doesn’t work at the Wequasset,” I say as we pull into the end of the driveway.
“His parents won’t let him come home, so he stays here.”
There’s a tug on my gut. I couldn’t imagine being ousted from my house forever. The accident can’t be the only reason. I don’t get a chance to ask anything else because we get out of the car. Bass music and loud voices echo from the windows. Andrew turns t
he knob and we walk inside.
Candles line the mantle above a defunct fireplace. Wax drops onto the ground near a couple of guys with long hair comparing scars on their knees. The music is pumping. Andrew, the boy who gets all the looks from the girls around us, leads me through the party. The music plays and the slide on the electric guitar goes up and down. I catch myself in the mirror. Here, as the music plays a hypnotic song, I am beautiful. My hair falls over my shoulders and as the guitar slides again and again, Andrew leads me through the tanned and blond people—lifeguards.
We find Curtis in the kitchen pumping beer into a cup from a silver thing on the floor. Ah. A keg. Scarlett is always saying people are getting “kegs of beer,” but I never knew what it looked like until now.
“Hey!” Curtis says, waving us into the room. He’s not that drunk yet or at least he seems sober. Andrew hands me a drink in a large red cup.
I take a sip.
“You like it?” Andrew asks. “They usually buy shit beer.”
The froth is kind of bitter, but it’s okay. I’m not about to go to the next rager at Summerhill, but I don’t mind the taste.
“Did you know it takes five ounces of CO2 to run a keg?” I ask.
Andrew laces his arms around my lower waist, drawing me to him. I try not to spill my beer when we kiss. Our mouths taste like the beer and in that moment it’s just us. No Nancy, no cupcake dress. No Mom yelling at me across a kitchen table.
“That’s why you’re amazing,” he says.
“Because I can remember nearly every scientific fact I have ever heard?”
“Yep.”
“No, no, she’s in New York!” Curtis says behind me, and this gets my attention. Andrew turns around and laughs.
“Give it up. Scarlett is done with you,” Andrew says, and the sound of Scarlett’s name from his mouth is a burst of adrenaline through my stomach. “Broadway ballerina and your fish market ass?” Andrew says, and laughter erupts around us.
“Scarlett?” I ask, trying to dig for information.
“Yeah. Curtis hooks up with her. Her family comes up to Orleans every year. I just like to give him shit. She’s way out of his league.”
So much for Scarlett thinking she’s at local status.
We lean against the kitchen breakfast bar.
“She’s a ballerina,” Andrew says.
“Oh,” I say, trying to sound like this is new information to me.
“But she’s a major bitch. She’s having this huge party at the end of the summer. We’ve never even been to her house, but we all have to go and get dressed up.”
We. He said we. Andrew is invited.
Of course he’s invited.
I want to cringe. Instead I grip on to Andrew even harder.
“What’s the party for?” I ask. I want Andrew to talk so he can’t tell my voice is weak.
He takes a sip of his beer. “Not sure. Her grandmother or someone is throwing it.”
Scarlett would never leave Andrew out of the party plans; he’s Curtis’s best friend. Andrew would have shown up at Scarlett’s party even if we never met. If I don’t say something before the party, he’ll see me in that horrendous cupcake dress and put it all together. My cup nearly slips from my hand and some beer sloshes onto the floor.
“I got it,” Andrew says, planting a kiss on my nose and crossing the kitchen to grab a paper towel. In the second he’s gone, I lean hard against the kitchen counter.
He’s been coming to Scarlett’s house all summer, he just hasn’t known it. He clearly hasn’t paid very close attention to his invitation. He will know the instant he pulls onto Shore Road. He’ll know the second he looks at the invitation.
When he comes back he wipes the spot on the floor and then the outside of my beer cup. He hands it back to me and it’s drier but no easier to hold. My hands tremble. Andrew leans into me again and continues, “Anyway, Scarlett bosses her friends around, talks to people like they’re idiots. And everyone lets her.”
“Not your favorite person?” I ask with a shake in my voice. I say it in my head again and again. Andrew is invited to Scarlett’s going-away party. Of course he is. Why didn’t I see it?
I am supremely stupid. I am absolutely going to have to tell him I’m Scarlett’s sister, there’s no way out of that.
“Scarlett’s okay,” he continues. “She’s just not my kind of person.”
“Who is?” I ask.
“Not you,” he says, but Andrew’s uneven smile tells me he’s playing. “Definitely not my type.”
The tips of our noses are just inches apart. Andrew kisses my lips but just barely. When he touches me like this I don’t think about the going-away party or the lies I told. His hands are so warm on my body and when he pulls away he keeps his eyes on my mouth. I don’t know what he finds so fascinating about my lips.
“You’re exactly what I want,” he whispers. I exhale. No one has ever said anything like this to me. Not until now. “And you smell so good,” Andrew says and inhales deeply. He kisses me again and his stubble pricks at my skin, but his lips are so soft. He runs his mouth over mine again and again. Goose bumps erupt over my arms.
Andrew’s lips press against mine and our kiss deepens. I’m completely engulfed in his arms. If anyone will understand why I kept my identity as Scarlett’s sister a secret, Andrew will. He’ll get what my family thinks of me and who they think I am. I will figure this out no matter what. He already likes the real me. He knows me. We keep kissing, I don’t even know for how long.
I just have to find the right time to tell him.
An hour or so later, Andrew is saying hello to some of his friends outside and I’m still leaning against the kitchen counter. I’m on my third beer and my chest is warm. How the hell am I going to even start to tell Andrew that Scarlett is my sister?
I am deep in my problem when Curtis comes into the kitchen and stops next to me.
“American flag string bikini,” he says in a low voice.
Curtis stands across from me and leans a hand on the counter.
“It was an experiment,” I say and take a large step away.
Curtis squints, confused at first, but he cocks his head. “Oh yeah, you’re a science freak,” he says.
I sip on my beer, trying to act casual.
“MIT or some shit, right?” he says and swigs from his cup.
His eyes are glassy. I remember our drug prevention lecture during health class. Glassy eyes. Slurred words. He is intoxicated. I am supposed to feel bad for him, for Mike’s death and for losing a friend, but I can’t find that place right now.
Behind me, through the kitchen doorway and down a crowded hallway, I search for a sign of Andrew’s blond head.
“You think you know Andrew? You know, right? You know you’re just temporary?” Some of his beer spills onto the tile floor. He doesn’t notice. “Andrew doesn’t even drink anymore. Can you believe that?”
Curtis gestures to me, his cup of beer tips and spills down my shirt. I jump back and a few people groan. It soaks through and trickles down my stomach to the waist of my shorts. Someone yells “Party foul!” from the back of the room. I turn my back to Curtis to find some napkins or a cloth.
“Did I get beer on you? Shit. I’m sorry.”
I start patting my neck and chest with paper towels when Curtis pulls my shoulder to turn me around.
“I’ll help,” he slurs. “I’ll help.”
“I got it,” I say. “It’s okay, I have it under control.”
One of Scarlett’s friends, a girl with long dreads, steps into the kitchen. The sour smell of the beer is overwhelming. “You okay?” she asks, but I don’t have time to respond. Curtis elbows his way next to me.
“Move, Shelby,” he says to the girl. “Give me the paper towels. It’s my fault, I should do it.”
“Please stop!” I cry and step back from Curtis entirely. I’m about to leave the kitchen when he points his finger at me and yells, “You don’t have to be a bitc
h about it.” Curtis pulls at my hand and I drop the towels to the floor. “Hey, science bitch. I’m sorry. No. You’re not a bitch. And I’m sorry about the beer. I’m sorry.”
“Stop it!” I say loud and clear. I yank myself out of Curtis’s tight grip but an immediate pain pins in the center of my wrist. “Let me go!”
I head for the hallway and cradle my aching wrist.
“I want to say ‘I’m sorry’ to your face,” he yells. “I want to say it to you!”
Shelby steps into the kitchen even farther, as though she’s shielding me from Curtis. I can’t find Andrew in the crowd.
“Let it go, Curtis,” Shelby says.
“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to her! She’s only my best friend’s girlfriend.”
There’s a sharp tug on the neck of my shirt, choking me. I am yanked backward. Curtis is tugging me!
I catch myself on a side table and almost in the same instant I am pushed even farther. I grab on to the kitchen doorway to stand back up. Andrew has moved me out of the way of Curtis and rushed into the kitchen. His face is very red and his hands are clenched into tight fists.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Andrew shoves Curtis so his back smacks against the refrigerator.
“Nothing! She’s lying about me. I didn’t do anything! She’s lying!”
“I saw you. Don’t you ever touch her like that again.”
Curtis lunges at Andrew. Andrew stumbles back a few feet but throws his arms out to catch his balance. Andrew’s back muscles tense under his T-shirt. He shoves Curtis away again so he falls into a kitchen table and chairs knocking them sideways. His sneakers squeak and slide on the linoleum.
“I didn’t do anything!” Curtis screams. “She’s lying about me.”
What is he even talking about?
“What? Do you think you’re too good for me now?” Curtis says and spit flies out of his mouth. His face screws up into uncomfortable grimaces when he talks. He tries to lunge at Andrew again, but Andrew is sober so it’s easy for him to get out of the way or push back. Curtis tries to regain his balance but then swings a wide punch, missing Andrew entirely.
“Stop it, Curtis. Stop fighting me!” Andrew warns.