Through a mouthful of toothpaste I said, “Um, because he’s a self-righteous neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie?”
We both laughed at that. It was one of our little inside jokes, a line fromThe Breakfast Clubthat we spent repeating to each other the summer I was eight and he was nine.
He cleared his throat. “Seriously, though, don’t be so hard on him. He’s going through some stuff.”
This was news to me. “What? What stuff?” I demanded.
Jeremiah hesitated. “It’s not up to me to tell you.”
“Come on. We tell each other everything, Jere. No secrets, remember?”
He smiled. “I remember. But I still can’t tell you. It’s not my secret.”
Frowning, I turned the faucet on and said, “You always take his side.”
“I’m not taking his side. I’m just telling his side.”
“Same thing.”
He reached out and turned the corners of my mouth up. It was one of his oldest tricks; no matter what, it made me smile. “No pouting, Bells, remember?”
No Pouting was a rule Conrad and Steven had made up one summer. I think I was eight or nine. The thing was, it only applied to me. They even put a sign up on my bedroom door. I tore it down, of course, and I ran and told Susannah and my mother. That night I got seconds on dessert, I remember. Anytime I acted the slightest bit sad or unhappy, one of the boys would start yelling, “Nopouting. No pouting.” And, okay, maybe I did pout a lot, but it was the only way I could ever get my way. In some ways it was even harder being the only girl back then. In some ways not.
chaptertwenty-two
That night I slept in Cam’s hoodie. It was stupid and kind of sappy, but I didn’t care. And the next day I wore it outside, even though it was blazing hot out. I loved how the sleeves were frayed, the way it felt lived in. It felt like a boy’s.
Cam was the first boy to pay attention to me like that, to be up front about the fact that he actually wanted to hang out with me. And not be, like, embarrassed about it.
When I woke up, I realized that I had given him the house number. I didn’t know why. I could have given him my cell phone number just as easily.
I kept waiting for the phone to ring. The phone never rang at the summer house. The only people who called the house phone were Susannah, trying to figure outwhat kind of fish we wanted for dinner, or my mother, calling to tell Steven to put the towels in the dryer, or to get the grill going.
I stayed on the deck, sunning and reading magazines with Cam’s hoodie balled up in my lap like a stuffed animal. Since we kept the windows open, I knew I’d hear if the phone rang.
I slathered myself with sunscreen first, and then two layers of tanning oil. I didn’t know if it was an oxymoron or what, but better safe than sorry was how I figured it. I set myself up with a little station of cherry Kool-Aid in an old water bottle, plus a radio, plus sunglasses, and magazines. The sunglasses were a pair that Susannah had bought me years ago. Susannah loved to buy presents. When she went off for errands, she’d come home with presents. Little things, like this pair of red heart sunglasses she said I just had to have. She knew just what I’d love, things I hadn’t even thought of, had certainly never thought of buying. Things like lavender foot lotion, or a silk quilted pouch for tissues.
My mother and Susannah had left early that morning for one of their art gallery trips to Dyerstown, and Conrad, thank God, had left for work already. Jeremiah was still asleep. The house was mine.
The idea of tanning sounds so fun in theory. Laying out, soaking up sun and sipping on soda, falling asleep like a fat cat. But then the actual act of it is kind of tediousand boring. And hot. I would always rather be floating in an ocean, catching sun that way, than lying down sweating in the sun. They say you get tanner faster when you’re wet, anyhow.
But that morning I had no choice. In case Cam called, I mean. So I lay there, sweating and sizzling like a piece of chicken on a grill. It was boring, but it was a necessity.
Just after ten, the phone rang. I sprang up and ran into the kitchen. “Hello?” I said breathlessly.
“Hi, Belly. It’s Mr. Fisher.”
“Oh, hi, Mr. Fisher,” I said. I tried not to sound too disappointed.
He cleared his throat. “So, how’s it going down there?”
“Pretty good. Susannah’s not home, though. She and my mom went to Dyerstown to visit some galleries.”
“I see.… How are the boys?”
“Good…” I never knew what to say to Mr. Fisher. “Conrad’s at work and Jeremiah’s still asleep. Do you want me to wake him up?”
“No, no, that’s all right.”
