Flushing, I resisted the urge to cover my face with my hands.
“—but if you guys want a lift home, Nick’s firing up the boat.”
“That’d be great!” Connor said before I opened my mouth. He promptly rose from the roof and descended the same way he’d ascended: a calculated leap.
“Smooth,” Luke noted once Connor’s feet hit the ground.
“Not smooth enough,” I swore I heard him say, and I tried to swallow a lump in my throat as I carefully climbed down the rope ladder.
There’s no point anyway, I told myself later, after stealthily climbing up to my bunk. I’d helped my dad, Nick, and Allison cut into and polish off a peach pie to give Connor space to get ready for bed. He’d taken the liberty of turning off all the lights.There’s no point whatsoever. Even if he could be casual, we’re only—
His voice in the darkness jolted my pulse. “We’re still on for tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I whispered after a beat of surprise, thinking of Annie and her Martha’s Vineyard memory book. She was far more important than whatever was or wasn’t happening with Connor. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
* * *
It was an overcast day, so most people were forgoing the beach in favor of town. Oak Bluffs was buzzing. “Look over there!” Bryce shouted and I turned in my seat to see him point toward thewater, to a beige-shingled restaurant. Big blue letters spelled out NANCY’Son the side, and underneath hung a great white shark sculpture. “It’s Nancy’s!”
I gave him a blank look. “So?”
“Teddy says they havethe besthot dogs.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Teddy sounds bound for a bigshot job at the island’s chamber of commerce.”
“What’s that?” my siblings asked as Connor chuckled.
I felt a smile twitch at the corner of my mouth. “A chamber of commerce is…” I began, but quickly lost the twins; they were all but craning their necks out of the Jeep. There was too much to see. Big Dipper Ice Cream, a bike rental shop, and more restaurants. Just the masthead for Martha’s Vineyard Chowder Company made my stomach rumble, remembering the amazing clam chowder I’d eaten before our ferry out here. Connor skillfully navigated around the other cars and black dog and menemsha blues T-shirt-wearing pedestrians, but he shrugged back his shoulders while inching up Lake Avenue. “There it is!” Maisie exclaimed. “Up ahead!”
And I had to beg you to come, I thought to myself.
The historic carousel was housed in a barn-esque building, red with white trim. FLYINGHORSESwas written just below the roofline in antique lettering. My heart turned with excitement, ready to see the merry-go-round in Annie’s picture come to life.
Connor’s voice made me blink. “How about I drop you guys off and then find someplace to park?” He scanned the street,which was tightly lined with cars. “Options here aren’t too promising.”
“A Mini Cooper literally just left,” Maisie pointed out. “You can definitely fit.” Pause. “Well, maybe.”
“And a Subaru is pulling out right now,” Bryce added.
Connor was quiet, and I knew what that meant. The parallel parking scene was too intimidating. “I’m happy to teach you Erica’s pizza steering wheel trick,” I told him, then I checked that the coast was clear before unlocking my door. Maisie followed suit.
But Bryce adorably offered to stay with Connor. “He might need me to spot him,” he justified. “And if we walk by Nancy’s, we can stop for hot dogs…”
“America’s oldest carousel,” Maisie read the sign aloud as we climbed the front steps. She turned to me. “How old is it again?”
“Almost a century and a half,” I said, recalling what I’d read on the Vineyard Preservation Trust’s website. “It was built in the 1870s, and originally was a ride on Coney Island. I think it was moved here ten years later, give or take.”
Maisie looked intrigued, oblivious to the modern-day arcade lobby we were passing through. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a pair of pinball machines. “Why?”
“I’m pretty sure there were plans to dismantle it so they could sell it off in pieces, and the Vineyard Preservation Trust didn’t want that to happen.” I nodded at the doors to the carousel’s ring. “Do you want to go in? Or wait for Bryce and Connor?”
“Go in,” Maisie said. “Otherwise, we’ll be waiting forever.”She rolled her eyes. “YouknowBryce is going to talk Connor into hot dogs.” She swiped my phone from my back pocket. How she knew my passcode, I had no clue. “I’m going to text him to get us some!”
“Don’t read my messages!” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“Why?” My sister grinned evilly at me. “Do you have a secret?”
“In your dreams.” I rolled my eyes, because I technically didn’t. I’d just sent an idiotic text to my friends this morning:This vacation might have a plot twist.
