But Pete doesn’t want to talk about my sister at all. He wants to tell me that Mr. Winston said they’d miss me these two days—that I’ve been providing them with exceptional service. “Really,” said Pete. “You’ve been their favorite waitress.” He says it as though he’s surprised.
I laugh. “I guess they’ve had some bad experiences in the past,” I say.
Pete laughs too. “You did have a rough start,” he says. “But you work hard, Nola. I appreciate that. Thought you should know that others do too.”
Carly and Song appear at the staff dinner talking of blueberry picking and a trip to the infamous dump where seagulls flock in huge numbers—clouds of flapping white scavengers. I have yet to do either of these things and feel a bite of jealousy. But at the same time I can’t deny that Carly has made the day special for Song. I look at Carly and see the girl I swam with on her first night here, the girl who created our mermaid’s den, and feel an unexpected pang of sadness.
Song and I head up to the barn while the others wait dinner, and she lies down on my bed. I can see she’s tired. Her skin is even paler than usual and she has dark circles under her eyes.
“Don’t you even think of jumping off the ledges tonight,” I tell her. I am part serious, part joking. She is the least likely to jump. She doesn’t like heights any more than I do, and unlike me, she’s never had the opportunity to become a good swimmer.
“I thought Harrison was your boyfriend,” she says, ignoring my order.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Carly told me that he’s always had a thing for her. That she tried not to encourage him, but it didn’t change his feelings. He kissed her, you know.”
“I know, Song. Last night. While I was up here with you.”
I watch this fact register. “So is it my fault?” she asks, suddenly alarmed.
“God, no!” Tears spring from my eyes. “That’s not what I meant at all. Of course it’s not your fault. Move over,” I say, and lie down next to her. We stare at the ceiling the way we do at home when it gets too hard to figure anything out.
“You smell like fried fish,” she says. “I know.”
When I come out of the shower, Carly has appeared. “Better hurry up,” she says. “Or you’ll miss the first jump.”
“We’re not going,” I say, pulling out my sweats, feeling a moment of solidarity between me and my sister.
“You wouldn’t make Song miss this, would you? This is her last night, Nola. Song-o-lo, you didn’t come all this way to stay in your big sister’s room.”
Song sits up. “I could just go and watch, Nola.” She reaches into her backpack and pulls out one of her multitudinous skull shirts.
I have a queasy feeling. I hear Bridget’s warning: Nola, be careful. And I want to pull Song close, protect her—not from the ledges, but from the likes of Carly Whitehouse.
Song is looking at me with open, pleading eyes. How can I refuse?
“Let me get dressed,” I say.
“We’re ready,” says Carly. “Right, Song? We’ll meet you there.”
Chapter 30
I have to find my sister.
It isn’t hard. I had expected her to be standing some-where at the wood’s edge watching kids cajole one another into jumping. Instead, Song seems to be at the center of a group of counselors with the sea as her backdrop.
I look at Mariah for some sort of explanation.
“They’re from another boys’ camp,” she explains. “Visiting Robin Hood. Dom brought them over.”
Carly is standing next to Song, her hands stretched toward her as if to say, Behold my lovely specimen.
I move in, expecting Song to be sharing some opinion on the best alternative band or maybe doing one of her spoofs about doctors and hospitals.
But no, Carly is egging her on to recite haiku. “Do the one about the skydiver,” she says.
Song takes a deep breath:
“He finally jumps
Plunging, diving toward earth
Whoops! Can’t find the string”
Oh, God. The crowd is silent.
Except for Carly. “Come on, guys! You know that was funny!”
The last line is funny—but in a little-kid, pathetic way. Most don’t know what to do. They don’t want to encourage her (it’s too embarrassing), and they definitely don’t want to hurt a bald kid’s feelings.
“Do the one about the love note!” Carly says, all the time smiling at the guys.
Just then Harrison arrives with his goggles and towel. “What’s going on?”
No one says anything.
Song looks to Carly for direction.
“Keep going,” says Carly.
Song recites:
“Recognizable
Your printing will always be
‘Cause I heart you too”
Even I cringe without meaning to.
Dom counts the syllables out on his fingers. “Yup! It’s haiku,” he says.
“Wow!” says Jason, the guy from the laundry shack. It’s sarcasm, intended to go over Song’s head.
Carly laughs. “Give her a topic,” she says. “She can do these on the spot.”
“Let’s dive,” says Harrison.
My throat catches. Doesn’t he know this is Song? Doesn’t he care?
“Poseur,” Carly says slowly, looking directly at me. “That’s your topic. Poseur.”
“What do you mean?” asks Song.
“You know,” she says, turning back to her. “Someone who’s pretending to be something she’s not. Like someone pretending to be punk.”
“Ouch,” says someone in the crowd.
“She’s only a kid,” shouts Lucy.
“Poseur,” says Carly. “That’s your haiku topic.”
Song suddenly seems undressed, raw—out of her league. Her face registers confusion. The word “poseur, poseur, poseur,” moves over her lips. She steps back, but there’s nowhere to go.
I can’t stand it. Pretending to be a photographer:
“Stop, poser, hold that
So beautiful, beautiful
The camera loves you”
I lean into Song with exaggerated movements, begging her to follow me.
“Turn again this way
Talk to the camera, baby
Favorite poser”
“How do you do that?” Annie says.
I do have speed.
Song stares at me. I don’t know if she’s going to run, lash out, or trust. I do know that she can do this. Come on, my eyes say to her. This is us, Song. You and me. We can take this moment up.
“Speaking of poseur …,” says Carly, looking at me. “Who’s going to dive?”
The night is still.
Song looks at Carly. Then she takes a breath and wags her finger at me:
“Call me a poser
But inauthentic, fakey?
Definitely not”
I smile and hold up my pretend camera.
Moving like a model, she performs again:
“Do not define me
By anything other than
What I choose to be”
I see Harrison counting on his fingers.
It scans, I want to shout at him. My sister is smart.
He looks up and sees me glaring at him.
Holding eye contact, he comes forward. He turns, stands next to us, and slowly recites:
“Suppose, you could pose
As anyone you wanted”
He stops, counts on his fingers, and then:
“I would choose brave too”
Oh my God. Did he just do that? The crowd gives a whoop.
Now lots of kids are counting syllables, trying to compose their own, competing for airtime.
I look at Harrison with intense gratitude.
He looks back at me with something brand new. Something so strong and so sweet, my first impulse is to hide.
But I hear my sister’s name again and turn.
Carly is peeling off her c
lothes.
I cry and reach out, reach for an arm, for fingers—
Too late.
Carly grabs Song’s hand and, running, yanks her off the edge of the cliff and into the breaking waves below.
Chapter 31
Never mind that I’m a chicken who’s never had the courage to high dive. I leap in after her. I slice feetfirst into the frigid ocean and surface as quickly as I can. Bodies land like bombs all around me, making it impossible to see. My clothes are wet and heavy, weighing me down. I can barely catch my breath. I unzip my pants and kick out of them while calling, “Song … Song … Song.”
“Nola!” It’s Harrison. He’s got my sister in a lifeguard hold, and he’s taking her in—not to the rocky shore, where it would be hard to climb, but to the nearest beach.
I swim after them.
I’m crying as I wrap my arms around my little sister, thanking Harrison over and over.
Song is frightened and shaking, but she lets me hold her.
Carly’s voice can be heard over the others, instigating a game of Marco Polo. She’s not thinking one thought about Song at this moment.
I grab a towel left behind by a guest and wrap it around Song. Then the three of us begin climbing the hill.
“They were making fun of me.”
“They’re jerks,” Harrison says.
She stops. “Not all of them,” says Song.
That’s it. I can’t hear one more word. I thank Harrison again for his help and practically drive Song up to the barn. “We’ve got to get you dry,” I say.
“They’re not all jerks, Nola,” she says again.
Still I ignore her.
“But Carly is.”
Chapter 32
Song is dry and warm—but too warm. She looks gray, and I’m pretty certain she has a fever. I know I have failed her, failed my parents. Do I find Pete to bring her into the Blue Hill hospital? Do I try to get her home? I decide that the worst thing would be to keep my parents in the dark. I call home.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.” I’m crying before I can even tell her the details. But she and my father are practiced. They go into emergency mode. Any anger will be saved for later. They ask if we can find a ride south. They will meet us partway.
I run back to the ledges to find someone with a car. I’m approaching Annie—to see if she knows where Mariah is—when Carly jumps out of the crowd and asks, “How’s that sweet little Song?”
“She’s sick, Carly. Seriously sick.”
Carly nods her head and then lowers her voice and speaks slowly, as if to calm an irrational drama queen. “A bad night?”
“You just plunged her into the Atlantic Ocean, Carly. She’s fighting cancer and she can’t swim. What the hell do you think?”
Annie giggles. A nervous giggle.
“I think she’s fine, Nola. She’ll talk about the experience for the rest of her life. Maybe,” Carly says, turning to walk away from me, “maybe you need to start thinking about what she really needs instead of trying to make yourself feel important.”
“Carly!” I shout.
She turns back around. “What?” She stands there impatiently.
I don’t know what. I’ll unveil all her secrets—expose her for who she is. I’ll …
And then I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. A belly-splitting laugh. In the past half hour I have gone from panic, to tears, to anger, to craziness. “Nothing,” I snort. “Just nothing.”
Carly walks off.
Annie looks at me as if I’m insane, but I know I’m more sane at this moment than I’ve been all summer. Suddenly, I see Carly as … sad. Not as strong, but weak. Someone to pity. Someone with no power over me at all.
I find Mariah, but she’s already tipsy.
So I race through the crowd to find Kevin. “How much have you had to drink?” I ask. If he’s been drinking, I’ll have to ask Pete.
“Hardly anything,” he says. “I just got here. Missed a good performance, I heard.”
He doesn’t hesitate to say yes—the distance doesn’t matter. We’ll drive until we meet up with my parents.
The three of us sit in the front of Kevin’s truck, Song huddled between us. She dozes on and off. I keep in constant contact with my parents by cell phone.
They meet us at a Panera right off the highway in Augusta. Mom takes the sleeping bag I’ve kept wrapped around Song and hands it back to me. “I’ll call you,” she says.
“What do you mean?” I say. “I’m not going back.” I hadn’t even thought of what comes next—my only goal was to reach my parents. But at this moment I know what I’m saying is true.
“No, Nola,” cries Song. “You have to go back. You have to be in the play. You have to talk to Harrison again!”
“You have your job, Nola,” says my father.
I stop to think. Is it right to break my commitments? What about my job, the play? What about the rest of the summer? I think of all that might happen if I do return.
And then I look at my sister and know I will have no regrets.
“Pete will understand,” I say. “And Carly knows every single one of my lines—she’ll happily take over for me. I’m staying with Song.”
“Don’t let me wreck this for you,” Song says.
“You’re not. I’m not staying because I think I should. I’m staying because this is what I choose—this is where I want to be.” We don’t have the time or energy to argue. I walk Kevin back to his truck.
“You’re a very good friend,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says. “And you know what, Nola?”
“What?”
“You so deserve me.”
I hug him long and hard.
Somehow we come to believe that life gives us what we deserve. But that isn’t true, is it? Does Song deserve to be sick?
Song sleeps until we reach the Boston area, and then she whispers, “Tell me a story—a Rocky Cove story.”
I decide to tell her about the night before she arrived at Rocky Cove. How everyone had spontaneously congregated, after a rehearsal, in the dining room late at night. We sat at the messy tables and retold silly summer stories. Kevin had made cream puffs with ice cream and fudge sauce. If Pete and Susanna heard us hanging out in the inn, they didn’t shoo us out. And then, wouldn’t you know it, Cheffie walked in. Walked over to the tables and looked down at the food there. Food from his kitchen. He didn’t say a word. He just reached out and grabbed a cream puff from the platter. “Damn good,” he said, and walked out. We all cheered.
“Was Carly there?”
“Yes, she was there.” But I don’t tell Song that Carly accused me of acting tired and bored—precisely the opposite of what I was feeling. Someday I will tell Song the complete history of why I hate Carly Whitehouse, but not tonight.
Chapter 33
The hospital is quiet at this hour and could feel quite frightening. But it is so familiar to all of us, being back almost feels like coming home. Song is immediately hooked up to tubes and monitors. It turns out she has an infection—an infection that was likely growing in her when she came to Rocky Cove but was exacerbated by lack of sleep and the cold ocean. Her body lost the energy to fight it. She has to stay here at General for an indefinite amount of time, and her chemo sequence will have to be changed again.
I blame myself, my parents blame themselves, but Song tells us to cut it out, it’s not fair. Other teenagers get blamed for doing stupid, irresponsible things—she’d be a lot happier if we’d do what we’re supposed to do and blame her. “Geesh,” she says. “Give me a little credit for acting out, won’t you?”
But she looks so little and fragile. I read to the end of Pride and Prejudice, which was tucked in my purse, and watch her sleep.
Near dawn, before the breakfast rush, I call the inn to tell Pete I won’t be back. As predicted, he’s pretty understanding, and he calls back a few hours later to say not to worry, my stuff will be delivered to my front door. Thank God I packed light.
Over the next few days, when I’m not at the hospital, I’m on the computer reading messages from Rocky Cove. The performance was a huge success, though everyone has been really careful to play it down. They know how much I was looking forward to the big night.
Nigel attaches photos he took this summer, and in a short note says he made the decision to defer his acceptance to Colgate. He probably won’t return to Rocky Cove next summer either. He wants to try something new, to set his own course. Go, Nigel!
Susanna mails pictures from Stella—one for me and one for Song.
I feel stabbed when I recall what I’m missing. I think of Carly getting to play Vera and I feel downright murderous. Then I think of Harrison and the way he looked at me after reciting the haiku, and I come close to crying.
Carly hasn’t communicated with me at all. But I guess after our last conversation that’s to be expected.
Annie has hinted at the fact that she’s losing her best Rocky Cove friend to Carly. I want to warn Annie, to warn Mariah, but would it make a difference? I doubt it.
But when I’m hit with pangs of longing—longing for Rocky Cove—I remind myself that what I want most in the world is for Song to get better and that I’m here not because this is the life I’ve been handed or the life I’ve been forced to live, but because this is the life that is mine.
“Can I pull you away from that computer?” my mother asks, standing in my bedroom doorway.
“Nope,” I say, kidding.
“Not even to tell you that someone’s here with your things?”
“Someone’s here?” Kevin, I immediately know. I thought Pete was sending my stuff by UPS. I fly down the stairs.
So when I get to the front door, my heart stops. So does my breathing. I don’t know what to say.
Chapter 34
Harrison.
“Bet you didn’t expect me,” he says, and just stands there on my front stoop, grinning.
“I had no idea. You have my stuff?”
“Yup.”
“But—,” I say, searching for something, anything to understand how this camp counselor from Maine could end up on my steps in Walpole, Massachusetts. “But that’s not very Taoist,” I say.