“The hatchlings could go the wrong way,” I finished.
“If they did ... what would happen to them?” Dinah asked. She searched the faces around the table.
“They wouldn’t make it,” Virginia said.
“What do you mean, ‘wouldn’t make it’?”
Virginia took a sip of wine. The rest of us were having Coke, which Ryan and Mark called “pop.”
“The baby turtles have to make the trek from the nest to the shore,” she said, “and they have to do it on their own. It’s how they imprint on the beach—so they can return one day—and it’s how they develop the strength to survive once they enter the water.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “So if they head the wrong way, like toward a house, they’ll just.... you know ...”
“Die,” Cinnamon finished.
Dinah looked at Cinnamon. Then at Ryan. Then around the table at the rest of us. “But ... no! That’s so sad!
“So come with,” Ryan said. “Give out bumper stickers with me and Brook.”
“Brooklyn,” Brooklyn said. She gave Ryan a skinny-blond-girl stare, fierce in the way only skinny blond girls can be. “Not Brook.”
Ryan held up his hands. “My bad.”
“I want to build cages,” Erika announced.
“All right, you can build cages with Milo,” Virginia said. “And Cinnamon and Mark, why don’t you put in some hours at the aquarium? I can drop you off when I go into town for groceries.” She scanned our faces. “That’s everyone, right? We’re all good?”
“All good,” we chorused.
She smiled. “In that case, let’s get this kitchen cleaned up.”
Chairs scraped the floor. Individual conversations broke out, and Ryan reached across the table and snatched the last bit of Cinnamon’s fish taco.
“Hey!” she protested.
Ryan grinned. James did, too—but not as convincingly. More like he wished he’d been the rascally taco stealer.
So this is our group, I thought. I’ll be spending the next month with these people.
Alphonse, gorgeous and exotic. James, skater dude, who maybe had a thing for Cinnamon. Mark and Ryan from Chicahgo, Brooklyn with the curled hair, and Erika, who’d probably never used a curling iron in her life. Except possibly as a weapon.
Add Dinah, Cinnamon, and me to the mix, and that was it. That was the ten of us. Except ... oh, man! I totally spaced Milo!
I studied him surreptitiously and couldn’t generate much of an opinion about him ... except that he was quiet, and that tomorrow he’d be building cages with Erika.
He wasn’t bad looking. His posture was hunchy, and patches of acne marred his cheeks. But his eyes were intelligent and kind.
He must have felt me looking at him, because he met my gaze and smiled. It was a quick smile, and shy, and surprisingly sweet.
I smiled back.
On the beach that night, while the others sat in a circle and passed around a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew, Cinnamon, Dinah, and I snuck off by ourselves. We lay on our backs on the sand, Cinnamon to my right and Dinah to my left. I touched feet with both of them as I gazed at the stars. They were brighter here than in Atlanta, and so plentiful I could lose myself in them.
That was one good thing about living in the olden days, I thought randomly. Sure, life was tough, and they didn’t have washing machines. But they had these glorious stars.
“So beautiful,” Dinah murmured.
I pressed my big toe against hers, the foot equivalent of a hand-squeeze.
“Yay, stars!” cheered Cinnamon, who was in high spirits. “And you know what else I say yay to?”
I turned my head, enjoying the coolness of the sand. “What else do you say yay to, Cin?”
“james.” She rolled it off her tongue like a delicious caramel. “Cinnamon gives a big yay to James.”
“I thought you swore off boys,” Dinah said.
“I thought you were the Black Widow,” I said.
“Ehh,” Cinnamon said. “It’s time for me to heal and move on—and did you see how he kept staring at me?”
“He might have been staring at you,” I said to tease her. “He might have been staring at the wall. Kinda hard to tell with all that hair in his eyes.”
“James is adorable,” Dinah said. “I figured you’d be more into Ryan, though.”
“Ryan?” Cinnamon said. “Why?”
“Um ... because he reminds me of Bryce?”
“Ugh. If you say that ever again, I will be forced to bury you up to your neck and let the seagulls eat you.”
“Don’t worry,” I whispered, swiveling my head her way. “I’d save you.”
“I heard that,” Cinnamon said.
“I think James is cute,” I said. “But Cinnamon, for reals, don’t you think he’s a little ... ?”
“A little what?”
“Hmm, how to put this.” I interlaced my fingers and used them as a pillow. “Pure? Trusting? Naive?”
“Winnie!” She pushed me with her foot.
“You’d eat him alive! He’s so ... sweet, and you’re so...”
“I’m so what?”
“Um. Um.” I giggled. “Burly?”
“Burly?! ”
“Okay, bad word choice. I just mean ... well ... who do you think would wear the pants in the relationship, you know? There’s kinda no doubt who it would be.”
“So?” she said. “Lucky him, I say. I’ll train him how to be a good boyfriend, and not like Bryce, and he will be my pet.”
“Your pet?” Dinah said.
“Ker-eepy,” I said.
“And please don’t call me fat,” she muttered. “You’re always all, ‘Cinnamon, be nice. Cinnamon, don’t tease.’ Shouldn’t the same rules apply to you?”
I was baffled. When did I call her ... ?
Ohhh. She thought, when I said “burly,” that I was referring to her weight.
“Wait,” I said. “I didn’t mean ‘burly’ as in a big, burly football player. I meant like a burr, a real live burr.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re not burly, I swear. You’re just, you know, strong! You’re tough!”
“Winnie? Are you somehow under the impression that you’re making things better?”
“Yes?”
“You are sadly mistaken.”
I sat bolt upright, craned over, and gave her a loud, wet smooch, making her cringe and go, “Ewww!”
“Now are things better?”
She hmmph-ed, and I grinned and leaned back on my elbows.
The waves lapped the shore, and a feeling hung in the air that was different from the feeling of being in Atlanta. Maybe it was the sand digging into my skin, or maybe the balmy breeze ruffling my hair. Or ... was I missing Lars? Was that it?
As if she’d read my mind, Dinah said, “How’s Lars, Winnie? Have you talked to him?”
I gazed at the dark water, allowing its ebb and flow to hypnotize me. “He called, but we were cleaning up the kitchen, so I didn’t answer. And he’s sent about a thousand texts.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Dinah said.
“What? No.”
Dinah waited.
“If I did, it was by accident. I’m glad he’s texted. I just haven’t had time to text him back.”
“Are y’all having a fight?” Dinah asked.
I lay back on the sand. I closed my eyes and covered them with lightly clenched fists. “No, not a fight.”
“Then what?”
“Yes,” Cinnamon said. “Please enlighten us.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I need to call him back ... and I will ... but I’ve got, like, this tangled feeling inside.”
“Hmm,” Cinnamon said. “Carry on.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid. But sometimes I just want—” I broke off.
“Sometimes you just want what?” Dinah said.
Oh, fine, I thought. It’s dumb and stupid and embarrassing, but fine.
“A cupcake,” I whispered, barely letting the word slip from my lips.
“Huh?” Cinnamon said. “Couldn’t hear ya, pardner.”
I opened my eyes, because it wasn’t just the cupcake. I was also mad at him for going to Germany, despite the fact that he hadn’t even left yet. How ridiculous was that? I blamed him for his mom’s travel plans, as if he had the option to say, “No, thanks, I’d rather stay in Atlanta with Winnie.”
Anyway, he would have chosen to stay with me if that had been an option. So what was my problem? Ag! It was just so hard to explain!
“I guess I want that giddy-crush feeling back,” I said at last.
“Ah,” Cinnamon said. “You don’t want to be a sofa cushion.”
“I don’t want to be a sofa cushion,” I agreed. “Though I have no idea what that means.”
She rolled onto her side and propped her head in her hand. “You don’t want to be the comfy place he comes home to.”
“She doesn’t?” Dinah said from the darkness.
“Yeah, I don’t?”
“Well, according to you,” Cinnamon said. “You’re the one who agreed.”
“No, I just said I don’t want to be a sofa cushion.” I paused. “Do you want to be a sofa cushion?”
“I wouldn’t mind being James’s sofa cushion,” she said in an eyebrow-waggle voice.
“Hey, girls! one of the guys called out to us from farther up on shore. ”Get over here—we’re going to play Chubby Bunny! “
Cinnamon twisted her head, aiming her words over her shoulder. “What’s Chubby Bunny?”
“Youse guys don’t know Chubby Bunny?” either Ryan or Mark said.
Dinah sat up and finger-combed her hair. To us, she whispered, “I don’t. Do y’all?”
“Nope, but I’m up for finding out,” Cinnamon said. She got to her feet and started over toward the rest of the group. She paused and looked back. “Dudes?”
“I thought we were talking about Lars,” I said.
“You don’t want to be a fixture,” Cinnamon said. “You want to be”—she circled her hand—“the fabulous new Wii game that he’s obsessed with, not the couch he plants his butt on.”
“Ew, and ew again,” I said. “And you’re wrong. I don’t want to be a Wii game.” I wanted to be ... the girl he adored and brought cupcakes to. The girl he wooed.
Omigosh, was that it? I wanted to be wooed?
“Okay, you win,” Cinnamon said to me. “Now c’mon, let’s go find out about this Chubby Bubby.”
“Chubby Bunny” yelled either Mark or Ryan.
“That’s what I said!”
She pulled Dinah up first, then extended her hand toward me. “C‘mon, c’mon.”
I rocked myself to a sitting position and clasped her hand. She groaned as she heaved me up.
“You’re the burly one,” she said.
“Sorry again about that. I really didn’t mean it like you think.”
“Then come play Chubby Bubby and let me win so I look good for James.”
“Sweetie, how could you not look good for James?”
She grinned. “Now that’s the kind of talk I like to hear.”
Chubby Bunny turned out to involve shoving as many marshmallows into your mouth as you could, and after each new addition, you had to say “Chubby Bunny.” And it had to come out intelligible.
Cinnamon was a natural. With an astounding thirteen jumbo-size marshmallows crammed into her cheeks, she was the chubbiest bunny ever.
The instant Ryan lifted her arm in victory, she spit them out rapid-fire like soggy, squishy bullets. One of them hit James in the stomach, and he doubled over.
“Death by marshmallows!” he cried. Cinnamon blew exaggerated kissy sounds at him, and her lips were powdery-white, and it filled me with joy to see her turning on the ol’ Cinnamon charm. It had been too long.
And then, very eye-popping, I noticed that Dinah was turning on some charm of her own—with quiet Milo!!! I’d turned to her to share a yay-Cinnamon moment, only she didn’t see me because she was waaaay too busy sharing a moment with Milo. They were smiling at each other with matching shy smiles, and a lump formed in my throat. I looked away and swallowed repeatedly.
“You all right?” Alphonse asked, appearing by my side.
“Me? Yeah.” My gaze flitted to his face, and I gave him a wry grin. At least, I was aiming for wry. I wasn’t sure why—to impress him? The corner of his mouth curved up, so I guess it worked. Feeling suddenly awkward, I jammed my hands in the pockets of my cutoffs.
“Well ... good night,” he said.
“Good night,” I said.
“See you in the morning? Bright and early?”
“Bright and early,” I echoed. Urgh, I told myself. Stop repeating him!
“Right,” he said, saluting. Alphonse was a saluter, I was discovering. Some people were.
He loped off to the beach house. The rest of the group broke apart soon after, wandering back in two’s and three’s. Ryan and Mark joked loudly in their Chicago accents. Brooklyn reached the ramp of the deck, paused, and craned her neck to see the stars. She closed her eyes as if she were making a wish, then opened them and blew a kiss to the sky.
Up in the rainbow room, as Dinah put on her summer PJs and Cinnamon slipped into a long T-shirt, I checked my iPhone for messages.
WINNIE THE POOCH! the first text said. It was from Lars. WHERE R U, GIRL? “Pooch” indeed, I thought. I am pooch-free, Lars-O, as you well know.
The next four texts were variations of the same: He wanted me to call, he wondered where I was, he missed me already.
“Aw,” Cinnamon said, peeking over my shoulder. “He’s in lurrrrrve.”
“Shut up,” I said, twisting away.
I saw that there were three voice mails from him, too, and while part of me was touched, another part wondered if so many calls were necessary.
But isn’t this what you want? an annoying voice said inside my head. Doesn’t this count as wooing?
I don’t know, I said back to that voice. Does it? Or is he just worried by the idea of me being off with potentially hot beach boys?
I tapped the VOICE MAIL icon and brought the phone to my ear. His voice was so familiar.
“Hey, Win. Call me.”
“Winster! At the beach yet? Call me.”
“You must be having fun. Maybe you’re riding the back of one of those huge sea turtles, and that’s why you’re not answering your phone. So, uh ... right. Call me!”
I sat on my rainbow-quilted bed and called him. As his line rang, I scooched back and leaned against the rickety headboard.
“Winnie!” he answered. “Hey! ”
“Hey,” I said. “Omigosh, you would not believe how hectic everything’s been. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call till now.”
“No worries,” he said. I’d been afraid he was going to be pissed, but he seemed to be in a great mood. “So how are you? Still popping those wicked Junior Mints?”
“Ha ha, and no, but only because I don’t have any. But Lars ... the beach is so gorgeous! We saw dolphins! I mean, porpoises! And the house we’re staying in? Amazing. It’s got all these nooks and crannies, and at the way top there’s—”
“Guess what? ” he interjected. “I’m not going to Germany. My mom lost her funding.”
My eyebrows shot up. “For real?” His announcement took me by surprise, and I didn’t know how to respond. “Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m stoked.”
“Oh,” I said, still trying to figure out how I felt. Mainly, I was confused, but also a little miffed that he cared more about his big news than my own.
“O-kay,” he said, chuckling in a way that suggested my reaction wasn’t good enough. “Don’t jump up and down with joy or anything.”
Well, you cut me off, I wanted to say. I was all excited to tell you about the Crow’s Nest, and you totally cut me off.
“Win, you’re not getting it,” he explained. “You d
on’t have to stay in South Carolina. You can come home.”
“What?!”
Cinnamon glanced over. I twisted my upper body toward the wall.
“You just got there, I know. But you never really wanted to go in the first place, right?”
“What are you talking about? Yes, I did.”
“You only decided to go after I told you about Germany,” he said. “And now Germany’s off.”
“Lars ...” I felt a whirlwind of emotions. It was strange and wrong for my boyfriend to expect me to come trotting home just because his plans had changed. Wasn’t it? It verged on slightly psycho, like Edward from Twilight and how he watched Bella sleep. The guy sat in her room by her bed and watched her sleep—and since she was asleep, she didn’t even know it.
Plus, Edward was so ... pale! And he was always smelling Bella! Sorry, but I found that unsettling.
Bella: “Hello, Edward! I’m home!”
Edward closes his eyes, flares his nostrils, and inhales deeply. “Ah, Bella. Yesssss.” He inhales even more deeply, shudders uncontrollably, and pierces Bella with his stare. “You look tired, my darling. You should rest. And please, don’t worry: I’ll be right here ... smelling you for all of eternity...”
“Winnie? You there?” Lars said.
“Oh. Sorry.” I drew my knees to my chest. “But Lars ... I’m having fun here.”
“At Camp Sea Turtle?” He laughed. “Ah, Win. You’re a good friend to Dinah to not want to abandon her. But she’ll understand. Anyway, Cinnamon’s there to take care of her.”
Oh no you dih-un’t, I thought, my confusion transforming into anger. Anger was easier and gave me the courage to say, “Okay, first of all, Dinah doesn’t need ‘taking care of.’” My mattress dipped, and a sideways glance told me that Cinnamon and Dinah were perched on the side of my bed. “And secondly: How did you know Cinnamon was here?”
“I told him,” Cinnamon whispered.
“She told me,” Lars said. “She wanted me to download my Spearhead CD.”
Cinnamon, who apparently could hear Lars through the tiny speaker, nodded. “Love Michael Franti,” she said in rasta-speak. “Perfect for da beach, yah?”