I chuckled. “He’s kind of retired.”
“Already?”
“He was old when I was born.”
He gave me a crooked smile. “Were you a camp counselor?”
“No, but that would have been fun.”
“A lifeguard?”
“No, but that would have been even more fun.”
“I give up, Suzie Withers. What’s your job?”
I considered making up something glamorous—telling him I’d been on the Cypress Gardens waterski team all summer or had had an internship at Sun Records—but I’d decided to give up lying earlier in the day, so I told him the truth. Something about Leon gave me the courage to be honest. “I worked as a bra clerk at a fine department store,” I said, with a definitive nod. “And no. It wasn’t in the least bit fun.”
If the way he gawked at me wasn’t so hilarious, I might have cussed myself for not lying.
“Whoa!” he said, throwing his head back. “I was not expecting that.”
I leaned toward him. “It wasn’t my choice. All the cool departments were full.”
His face glowed like a harvest moon. He tapped his chest. “It would have beenmychoice.”
I sat up straight with a glow of my own. “Why’s that, Leon Wright?”
Thrusting a finger at my breasts, he sang a line from “My Favorite Things,” then hung his head. “I told you I can’t sing.”
“Stop saying that. Yes, you can.”
He looked up, touched the tip of my nose. “Better be careful, Pinocchio. Your nose is gonna grow.” At that exact moment, we heard a loud thunderclap. “See there. God’s warning you.”
“He is not,” I said, giving him another push.
He grabbed ahold of my wrists. I wriggled. I pulled. I yanked. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t move my hands from his grip. He twisted my arms behind my back, pulling me into his chest with his chin resting on my shoulder. “Sayuncle,” he said.
“No.”
He pulled tighter. “Say it.”
“No.”
“You better say it.”
“Uncle!”
He let go, and we beamed at each other just as it started to rain.
11:00 p.m.
It had never once crossed my mind it might rain at Woodstock. It started out light, but thirty minutes later it poured. Instead of raincoats, all Livy and I had were the light jackets her dad had insisted we bring. And mine was getting soaked. Come to think of it, Livy had said Nick would be in charge of our rain gear. And our tents. And our food and drink. Nick the no-show. What in the heck would we do now? He was even more untrustworthy than I’d thought.
“Don’t look at me,” Livy said as the rain made splotches on her brand-new suede hat. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and yelled into the night sky, “Dammit, Nick. This is all your fault!” When she opened her eyes, she caught me peering at her with frustration brimming from every pore on my face. “I don’t know why you keep looking at me like that,” she said.
“I’m not looking at you like it’s your fault; I’m looking at you because ... Okay, I’m frustrated. I wish we’d brought our own rain gear and not relied on your untrustworthy boyfriend.”Untrustworthyjust slipped out. I felt a little bad for saying it, but it’s not like I hadn’t warned her.
“I’m much more frustrated than you are,” said Livy. “Trust me.”
