Instinctively, I shook my head. ‘No thanks.’
‘You can’t say no,’ Leah yelled as she grabbed Maggie’s hand, then spun her out and back again. ‘Employee participation is mandatory.’
Then I quit, I thought, but already they were moving on, back to the conga line, this time with Maggie in the lead, bouncing up and down, Esther snapping her fingers behind her. Leah, bringing up the rear, glanced back at me one last time. When I didn’t say or do anything, she just shrugged, following the others as they wound around the displays, and headed toward the door.
I went back to the office, sitting down at the desk. I was sure they thought I was a total stick-in-the-mud, not that I cared. It was just like all the activities I’d walked past at my old schools during lunch – fake sumo wrestling, pie-eating contests, mass games of Twister on the quad – always wondering how, exactly, you did stuff like that. Maybe if you’d done it as a kid, it was all nostalgia, and that was the appeal. But I hadn’t. It was all new to me, and therefore more intimidating than anything else.
I picked up my pen, going back to my 1099s. A moment later, the music stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. Another hour passed, in the silence of numbers, and then there was a tap on the door.
‘Closing time,’ Esther said as she came in behind me, a bank bag in one hand. ‘Can I get in the safe?’
I pushed out my chair, making room as she dropped down to a squat, sticking the key she was holding into the lock. I watched as she put the bag in, then swung the door shut before pushing herself up again.
‘We’ll be out of here in about ten minutes,’ she told me, brushing off her knees. ‘You coming with us, or staying late?’
I wanted to tell her that, to me, after ten wasn’t late. But I knew she wasn’t really looking to make conversation, so I said, ‘I’m almost done.’
‘Cool. Just come out front and we can lock up when we’re all out.’
I nodded. She left the door open behind her, so as I finished up the last few things I had going, I could hear her and Maggie and Leah, out by the register chattering.
‘Where did these Skittles come from?’ Esther asked.
‘Where do you think?’ Leah told her.
‘Really.’ I could tell by her voice, slightly teasing, that Esther was smiling. ‘So, Mags. More candy from Adam, huh?’
Maggie sighed. ‘I told you guys, it means nothing. He’s a store-goer, just like all those boys.’
‘That may be true,’ Leah said, ‘but just because he goes to the store doesn’t mean he has to buy something for you every time.’
‘He doesn’t do it every time,’ Maggie grumbled.
‘Sure seems like it,’ Esther said. ‘And with a store-goer boy, that is the first sign, anyway. It’s how you know.’
‘True,’ Leah agreed.
‘Not true,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s just candy. Stop reading so much into it. You guys are ridiculous.’
I could second that. It amazed me that they’d been together all night, and yet they still, seemingly, had something to talk about. Even if it was, predictably, candy and boys.
When I came out, they were all by the front door, waiting for me. ‘I understand if you don’t want to get involved with him,’ Leah was saying. ‘I mean, he is a high school boy.’
‘He graduated just like we did, Leah,’ Esther told her.
‘True. But he’s not a college boy yet. There’s a big difference in that one summer.’
‘How would you know? You refuse to date anyone but college guys.’
‘Why does that bother you so much? I mean, in college, we’ll all be dating college boys anyway. So what’s the harm in starting early?’
‘It’s not that it’s harmful,’ Esther replied as we all filed out, Maggie swinging the door shut and pulling out her keys. ‘I just think that maybe you missed something, you know, by refusing to date anyone your own age.’
‘What would I have missed?’
‘I don’t know.’ Esther shrugged. ‘There is something kind of nice about having the age thing in common.’
‘Says the person who hasn’t dated in over a year,’ Leah said.
‘I’m choosy,’ Esther told her.
‘Picky,’ Maggie said. ‘Nobody is good enough for you.’
‘I have high standards. It’s better than dating just anyone.’
There was a sudden, awkward pause, noticeable enough that even I felt it. Maggie, putting her keys in the door, stiffened. Esther said, ‘Oh, Mags. You know I didn’t mean Jake.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Maggie said, shaking her off. ‘Let’s not even talk about it.’
This wouldn’t be easy, though, as I realized when I looked to my right, to the bike shop, where I saw the curly-headed guy, sitting on a bike and talking to two boys I didn’t recognize. Right behind him, pulling a jacket over his shoulders, was Jake. When he turned, he looked right at me.
Great, I thought, hurriedly turning my back, which left me facing Esther and Leah, who were trying to decide where to go from here. ‘There’s always the Tip,’ Esther was saying. ‘I heard something about a keg there tonight.’
‘I am so tired of the sand and flat beer.’ Leah groaned. ‘Let’s go to a club or something.’
‘You’re the only one with an ID, remember?’
‘I can get you guys in.’
‘You always say that,’ Esther told her. ‘You never can. Mags, what do you want to do?’
Maggie shrugged, dropping her keys into the bag she had slung over her shoulder. ‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘I might just go home.’
Leah shot a glance at Jake, then at me. ‘Nonsense. Let’s at least –’
This thought was interrupted by the curly-headed guy, who suddenly rode up right beside us, braking to a stop with a screech. ‘Ladies,’ he said. Leah rolled her eyes. ‘Anyone want a ride to the jump park?’
‘Oh, God help us,’ Leah said. ‘Please, no more nights involving bicycles. What are we, twelve?’
‘They’re not just bicycles,’ the guy said, offended. ‘How can you even say that?’
‘Easily,’ she replied. ‘And anyway, Adam –’
‘I’ll go,’ Maggie said, interrupting her. Adam smiled, then sat back on his seat as she climbed onto the handlebars, arranging her purse in her lap. ‘What?’ she said to Leah, who sighed. ‘It’s better than some club.’
‘No,’ Leah said flatly, ‘it really isn’t.’
‘Oh, lighten up,’ Adam told her as he pushed off the boardwalk, starting to pedal. Maggie leaned back, closing her eyes, and then they were on their way, the other guys on bikes in front of the shop following behind them. Leah shook her head, annoyed, but allowed Esther to link her arm in hers as they brought up the rear on foot. Which left just me and Jake.
I tried to turn and start for home, but no luck. Two steps in and he was beside me. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what was all that about the other night, anyway? You took off awfully fast.’
He was too everything: too confident, standing too close, wanting too much. I said, ‘It wasn’t about anything.’
‘Oh,’ he said, his voice low, ‘I think it was. And could still be. You want to take a walk, or something?’
It was all I could do not to cringe. I’d already regretted what we’d done, and that was before he was Maggie’s ex and Eli’s brother. And how strange was it that I, who wanted to know as little as possible about anything here, now knew all this?
‘Look,’ I said to him. ‘What happened the other night was a mistake, okay?’
‘You’re calling me a mistake?’
‘I have to go,’ I told him, and started to walk away.
‘You’re messed up, you know that?’ he said as I ducked my head down, focusing on the end of the boardwalk. ‘Freaking tease!’
More steps, more space. I’d just stepped off the boardwalk onto the street, and finally let myself sort of relax, when I saw Eli up ahead, coming toward me. He was walking slowly behind a group of older women dressed for a
night out, all of them too tan and wearing bright colors. I tried to make myself too small to be seen, but just as he passed me, he looked over. Please just move along, I thought, fixing my gaze tightly on the plaid shirt of the guy walking in front of me.
But Eli was clearly different from his brother, in that he took direction well. No words shouted, nothing said. In fact, he didn’t even look at me twice, just walked on.
Chapter
SIX
‘Auden? Have you…’
I stopped. Listened. Waited. But, as usual, nothing followed this but silence.
Sighing, I put down my econ textbook, stood up, and opened my bedroom door. Sure enough, there was Heidi, Thisbe in her arms, looking at me with a perplexed expression.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘I had a concrete reason why I came up here! And now, I have no idea what it was. Can you even believe that?’
I could. In fact, Heidi’s forgetfulness had become as much a part of my routine as my morning coffee and late, late nights. I had done the best I could to keep myself segregated, my own life in Colby as separate from hers and my dad’s as possible, considering we were living under the same roof. But it was no use. Two weeks in, and I was hopelessly intertwined, whether I liked it or not.
Because of this, I was now fully aware of the fact that my dad’s mood depended entirely on how his writing went that day: a good morning, and he was cheerful the rest of the day, a bad one and he skulked around, sullen and muttering. I knew all the ups and downs of Heidi’s ongoing postpartum issues, such as the forgetfulness, insane mood swings, and how she worried on multiple, complex levels about every freaking thing the baby did, from sleeping to eating to pooping. I was even fully versed in Thisbe’s dayto-day life, from the crying (which was ongoing, it seemed) to her tendency to get the hiccups right when she was finally falling asleep. Maybe they were equally aware of me, as well, but I doubted it.
Because of all this, I’d actually come to kind of enjoy – sometimes even crave – the few hours I spent at Clementine’s every day. It was a chance to do something concrete, with a beginning, middle, and end. No wild emotional swings, no wondering aloud about someone else’s bathroom habits, and no hiccuping. The only thing that kept it from being perfect was its close proximity to Esther, Leah, and Maggie and all their various dramatics. But at least they left me alone when my door was shut.
Now, I looked at Heidi, who was still standing there, her brow furrowed as she tried to remember why she’d come upstairs. Thisbe, in her arms, was awake and staring up at the ceiling, most likely debating when she wanted to start screaming again. ‘Did it have something to do with work?’ I asked her, as I’d learned that a few prompts could sometimes trigger her memory.
‘No,’ she said, shifting Thisbe to her other arm. ‘I was downstairs, and thinking that I had to get the baby down for a nap soon, but it’s been so hard because she’s been switching it up so much, so no matter what I do she gets overtired…’
I tuned out and began mentally reviewing the periodic table, which usually kept me occupied during these soliloquies.
‘… so I was going to try to put her down, but then I didn’t, because…’ She snapped her fingers. ‘The wave machine! That’s what it was. I can’t find it. Have you seen it around?’
I was about to say no. Two weeks ago, when I’d first arrived, I would have, with no guilt or even a second thought. But thanks to the intertwining, I said, ‘I think it might be on that table by the front door.’
‘Oh! Wonderful.’ She sighed, looking down at Thisbe, who was yawning. ‘Well, I’ll just go grab it and we’ll hope for the best. I mean, yesterday I tried to put her down at this same time, she was clearly exhausted, but of course the minute I did she started up. I swear, it’s like…’
I began easing the door shut, slowly, slowly, until at last she got the hint, stepping back and turning toward the stairs. ‘… so wish us luck!’ she was saying, when I finally heard the knob click.
I sat down on my bed, looking out at the beach below. There were a lot of things about being here that I did not understand. And I was okay with that. But the wave machine? It drove me nuts.
Here we were, mere feet from the real, actual ocean, and yet Heidi was convinced that Thisbe could only sleep with the sound of manufactured waves – turned up to the highest setting, no less – supplied by her noise machine. Which meant that I had to hear them all night long as well. It probably would not have been that big a deal, if it hadn’t made it impossible to hear the real sea. So I was there, in a beachfront house, listening to a fake ocean, and this just seemed to sum up everything that was wrong with this situation from start to finish.
Outside, I heard footsteps again, then a door opening and shutting. A moment later, sure enough, the waves began. Fake, loud, and endless.
I stood up, grabbing my bag, and stepped out into the hallway, moving past Thisbe’s barely open door as quietly as I could. At the top of the stairs, I paused, looking into my dad’s study, the door to which he always kept slightly ajar. He was at his desk, facing the wall, as usual, a Diet Coke can and a whole apple next to him. So it had been a good day.
Like I said, I’d become versed in my dad’s habits. And by using my talents of observation, I’d figured out that he took an apple up to his office every day after lunch. If it was a good day, he always got too immersed in what he was doing and didn’t eat it. On a bad one, though, the core was bitten down to nothing, nibbled to death, sometimes even in two pieces. On a whole-apple day, he emerged at dinnertime cheerful and talkative. On an apple-core day – especially a two-piece core – you did best to steer clear, if he even came down at all.
Most days, though, I wasn’t around for dinner anyway, as I left at five or so to head to Clementine’s, where I grabbed a sandwich as I worked until closing. After that, I usually walked the boardwalk for an hour or so before coming home to get my car and taking off for another three or four.
I’d found one all-night place, called the Wheelhouse Diner, about thirty-five miles away, but it was no Ray’s. The booths were narrow and stank like bleach, and the coffee was watery. Plus, the waitresses all dirty-looked you if you stayed longer than it took to eat whatever you ordered, even though the place was usually deserted. So more often than not, I’d just stop at the Gas/Gro, the closest convenience store, buy a big travel cup of coffee, and sip it as I drove around. In just two weeks, I knew about every inch of Colby backward and forward, for all the good that would do me.
By the time I got to Clementine’s, it was almost six, and the shift was about to change. Which meant technically that Esther was done and Maggie was coming on, although more often than not – and for reasons I did not understand – whoever was leaving usually still hung around, unpaid, by choice. Then again, hanging around seemed to be all anyone did in Colby. The girls gathered at Clementine’s, crowding the register and gossiping, flipping though fashion magazines, while the boys were on the benches in front of the bike shop, gossiping and reading bike magazines. It was ridiculous. And yet it went on, every day, all day long.
‘Hey there,’ Esther, who was the friendliest of all of the girls, called out to me when I came in. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good,’ I said, my standard reply. I’d long ago resolved to be cordial but not overly so, lest I be sucked into some conversation about what celebrity was in rehab or strap versus strapless dresses. ‘Any shipments in today?’
‘Just these.’ She picked up a couple of slips of paper, handing them off to me as I passed. ‘Oh, we got an extra roll of quarters at the bank today for some reason, and I put the deposit slip under the bear.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
A minute later, I was in the office, door shut, all alone. Just how I liked it. If only the walls had been a cool white, everything would have been perfect.
Usually, my focus on my work allowed me to tune out anything that was going on out in the store. But occasionally, as I swi
tched tasks, I’d hear bits here and there. When Leah was working, she was always on her cell phone. Esther seemed to spend a lot of time humming and singing to herself. And Maggie: well, Maggie was always talking to the customers.
‘Oh, those look great,’ I heard her say around seven thirty as I started on the payroll for the week. ‘Petunia’s are the best jeans, I swear. I live in mine.’
‘I don’t know,’ a girl’s voice replied. ‘I like the pockets on these, but I’m not sure about the wash.’
‘It is a little dark.’ A pause. ‘But at the same time, I think it’s always good to have one pair of jeans you can always dress up, you know? And a dark wash guarantees that. Not all jeans look good with heels. But those will.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Oh, totally. But if the wash worries you, we can pull a few other brands. The pockets on the Pink Slingbacks are great. And then there’s always the Courtney Amandas. They’re, like, magic for your butt.’
The girl laughed. ‘Then I definitely need to try them.’
‘Done. Let me just find your size…’
I rolled my eyes at no one, punching a few numbers into the calculator. Every time I overheard her going on in such detail about stuff like this, the nuances of different brands of flip-flops, or the pros and cons of boy shorts versus bikini bottoms, it seemed like such a waste. Here you had the capability to know so much about so many things, and you chose shoes and clothes. Leah at least seemed smart, while Esther, who clearly followed her own beat, was an individual. But Maggie was just… well, she was just like Heidi. A girl’s girl, all the way, all pink and fluff and frivolity. Even worse, she was happy about it.
‘Here they are!’ I heard her say now. ‘Oh, and I grabbed a pair of these great Dapper wedges we just got in, so you could see how they do with a bit more formal look.’
‘Thanks,’ the customer said. ‘These look great. I love shoes.’
‘Of course you do!’ Maggie replied. ‘You’re human, aren’t you?’
For God’s sake, I thought. Where was the wave machine when you really needed it?