Wild Swans

“Connor,” I correct. Jules is Mrs. Summers’s daughter who works over at the SunTrust. She is at least forty years old, and you’d think she would have better things to do at work than notice who I walk down the street holding hands with.

  “He seems real nice,” Mrs. Summers says. “And things are different than they were when I was young.”

  Meaning what? That Connor and I can date, even though he’s biracial and I’m white? That it’s not the fifties, so I won’t be disowned and he won’t be run out of town—or worse? “Thanks. Well, I don’t want to keep you. Bye!”

  I scurry away. This is the part of Cecil I’d be happy to escape. The small-mindedness. The gossip. I was stupid to think I could keep our relationship secret. Nothing stays secret in this town for long. Didn’t I tell my mother that?

  By the time I meet Connor at our bench, it’s almost dusk.

  He’s scribbling in his Moleskine again, but he shoves it in his back pocket and scrambles to his feet when he sees me.

  “Hi.” I smile up at him bashfully, then go up on my tiptoes for a kiss. Which turns into a couple kisses. “I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”

  “Me too. Nice dress.” His eyes scan me appreciatively from head to toe, and I spin around to show the dress off. Claire helped me pick it out for the sports awards banquet, so it’s a little sexier than anything I would have chosen on my own. The front is a modest halter, but the back dips down low, then swirls out and ends right above my knees.

  “Thank you. You look pretty nice yourself.” He’s wearing jeans and a button-down red shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, that sets off his brown skin. I lace my arms around his neck. He smells piney, like maybe he went home after work and shaved and did whatever boys do before a first date. “You also smell nice.”

  Connor buries his nose in my hair. “You always smell like summer. It drove me crazy when we were working together at your house that day we made lunch. Your hair smells like coconut.”

  He presses a kiss to the hollow of my neck, and a shiver runs up my spine.

  He gestures at the cove. “You want to go over to the party?”

  “I guess. I mean, yes. Claire is dying to meet you.” Abby’s at the Crab Claw till close; I might not get to see her because of my curfew. I look down the marina, to the restaurants that jut out over the water. Their decks are full of tourists and boaters and couples out for a nice dinner, all enjoying the pretty weather. There’s no chance of her getting off early. “But I like being alone with you.”

  And I don’t want to run into Charlotte Wu or Katie Griffith or anyone else who witnessed the scene with my mother—or has heard about it second or thirdhand.

  “Me too.” Connor’s voice is low. “We could leave early and go back to my place for a while. If you want. No pressure.”

  “I want,” I remind him, pulling his head down for another kiss. His arms go around me, his fingers tracing little circles on my lower back, and we don’t break apart until some guys walk past and holler at us to get a room.

  “Jesus. Are we that couple?” I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed.

  “The ones who can’t keep their hands off each other? I’m kind of okay with that.” He grins.

  “I’ve never been that couple before. Not that I have a lot of experience being a couple.” I went out with Jake Usilton in ninth grade for a couple weeks. We went to the movies once and he held my hand and bought me a Coke. Then he decided he liked Riley West better. That’s pretty much all of my dating experience. “Do you? I mean, have you had many girlfriends?”

  Presumably he learned how to kiss like that from someone.

  “I had one girlfriend in high school, my junior and senior years. Ruby. We were pretty serious,” Connor says, and I wonder if “pretty serious” means they had sex. Probably. I mean, two years is a long time to date. “We broke up last fall. She was up at NYU and the long-distance thing didn’t work. I applied to some schools in New York too, but I got a better scholarship to come here. Couldn’t pass that up, especially with my parents looking at…” He frowns.

  “Looking at what?” I ask.

  He runs a hand over his closely shaven hair. “Grams has her own apartment in our basement, but if she keeps getting worse, my mom’s not going to be able to take care of her, even with a part-time nurse to help out. They’ll have to hire somebody full time. Or put her in an Alzheimer’s unit. Stuff like that’s not cheap.”

  “I’m sorry.” I bite my lip, feeling guilty that I don’t have to worry about money. And feeling jealous of Ruby, who was talented enough to get into a performing arts high school and then brave enough to go to NYU.

  “Anyway,” Connor continues, “I can write anywhere. And it worked out great because your grandfather is a pretty amazing mentor. I’d never get this kind of opportunity at a bigger school.”

  “I submitted a poem yesterday,” I blurt out like a completely self-absorbed idiot. “Of mine. To an online lit mag.”

  “Really? That’s great. Which one?” he asks, and we start toward the party, hand in hand, while I tell him about it.

  To our right, the sun sets into the Bay in a riot of cotton-candy blues and pinks, and the air is soft and balmy and tinged with salt and fish. I don’t know why I’m not happier.

  “You were so adamant about poetry not being your thing,” he teases me.

  “I was inspired,” I say, which I guess is true—he inspires me—but I pull him to a stop just short of the rocks that separate the cove from the marina. I could keep walking, keep pretending that he and Granddad know me better than I know myself. But that’s not what I want from this. “That’s not true. I freaked out because Erica and Granddad were fighting and she said some really mean things. I was proving a point by submitting that poem. Or trying to, anyhow.”

  “Ivy.” Connor leans in and cups my face in his hands. “You don’t have anything to prove with me. I’m not with you because you’re a Milbourn, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say in a small voice. “But why are you? With me, I mean?”

  I’m ruining this before it even gets started. I’m being too needy. You’re the kind of people who drive everyone away.

  But Connor grins that big, boyish grin that lights up his whole face. “Because you’re smart and beautiful and generous, and you love poetry, and you put up with a lot of shit from the people around you without losing yourself, and you don’t call me out for being pretentious, and you’re incredibly forthright but also shy, and you’re a really good listener.” He rattles it all off in a rush and then looks down at the sandy path.

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” He helps me over the rocks into the cove. “So, Claire. Is she the one who’s afraid of birds?”

  I laugh. “Yeah. But she’s also pretty fierce, so don’t let her scare you off, okay?”

  He threads his fingers through mine. “I don’t scare easily.”

  Claire sees us and comes running despite her strappy four-inch heels. She’s wearing this gorgeous emerald-green jumper with a plunging neckline, and I don’t know how she manages to pull it off but somehow she does.

  “Hi. You must be Connor. I’m Claire. It’s so nice to meet you.” She gives him a predator’s smile. “If you hurt my friend, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

  “Claire!” I groan.

  “Noted,” Connor says, letting go of my hand to shake hers. “It’s nice to meet you. I appreciate loyalty.”

  “Good. Would you fetch us some cheap wine, please, so we can talk about you?” Claire pulls some cash out of her wristlet to chip in for the collection.

  He laughs, waving off her money. “I’ve got it.” He brushes a kiss on my cheek and strolls off toward the keg and the coolers.

  “Chivalrous. I like it,” Claire says. “And you’re right. He’s hot. Do I need to give you the sex talk?”

  I groan again. “Jesus. No. You gave me the sex talk when we were eleven.”

  She smiles, remembe
ring. “You were horrified.”

  “I was eleven. And before you ask, yes, I am still on the pill.” Claire preached about the wonders of it regulating my cycle and helping with cramps until I asked Luisa to take me to her gynecologist.

  “Use a condom too. Just in case. You can’t be too careful. Do you know his sexual history? Has he been tested?” she asks.

  I blush. “Claire. This is our first date. We’re not having sex yet.”

  “Yet! You said yet,” she crows, and I glance around, making sure that no one is close enough to overhear us. I knew these questions would be forthcoming because Claire is Claire, but I didn’t think she’d bring it up right now. I shrug, caught between mortification and wanting to talk about it with her. Truth is, I’ve never thought about having sex with someone before. I’ve wondered what sex would be like, but the other person was always kind of…amorphous.

  If this lasts (please let it last), I could see Connor being my first. I could see him bringing the same passion and attention and sweetness to sex as he does to everything else. Which is pretty hot. I’ve had a lot of fantasies about it in the last twenty-four hours, honestly. Fantasies that I imagine will remain just that for a while. Fantasies that I don’t want to discuss in the middle of a crowded party.

  “Remember, if you’re not ready to talk about it, you’re not ready to do it!” Claire sings out.

  “I know, I know. And I’m not ready, so can we please change the subject?” I beg.

  “Okay. Do you think Cooper Sutton’s cute?” She nods to a blond guy wearing a white polo, Nantucket Reds, and boat shoes.

  “I don’t know. He’s not really my type,” I say.

  She tilts her head, considering. “He and Jenna broke up last weekend.”

  Jenna and Coop were the prom prince and princess. They are relentlessly popular and—like Abby and Ty—have dated since the seventh grade. If Claire even looks sideways at Coop, I guarantee Jenna will throw a fit. Unfortunately, Coop is totally Claire’s type: rich and pretty and kind of a douche bag.

  “Speaking of…” I nod as Jenna makes a beeline for us.

  “Ivy! Hey!” Jenna squeals as though we are friends. “Who’s the guy who came with you?”

  “Connor?” He would explain my sudden rise in social status.

  “Her boyfriend,” Claire adds helpfully.

  “Oh.” Jenna’s face falls. “I was hoping he was like your cousin or something. He’s really hot, and I’m single now, so—”

  “Sorry, he’s taken,” Claire says with not an ounce of sorry in her voice.

  “Got it. No worries. I don’t poach.” Jenna smiles at me, and I can see Claire bristling at the notion that Connor could be “poached,” but Jenna sails on. “Where’d you find him? Does he go to the college?” I nod and she purses her glossy red lips. “Cool. If he has any hot friends, let me know.”

  “Sure.” I nod again. Tonight is going to be full of bizarre conversations, I guess.

  Jenna starts to walk away, then hesitates. “Bummer about your mom being back in town. I heard she’s a total bitch.” She walks away without waiting for me to respond.

  “I have known Connor for all of five seconds, and I can tell he would never in a million years go for someone like Jenna,” Claire says.

  I smile. “I’m not worried. But hey, I thought we weren’t supposed to judge other girls.”

  “Busted.” Claire laughs, then nods in the direction of the keg. “Hey, did Alex bring a date?”

  I turn my head and gawk. “That isn’t his date. That’s my sister.”

  “That’s Isobel?”

  Iz is wearing jeans and a black tank top with a couple of long necklaces. She looks boho cute with her hair in two braids. I wonder if Erica asked Alex to bring her. And I wonder why he said yes. To be polite? To make me jealous because he’s hanging out with my sister and not me?

  It works. I watch as he introduces her to half the baseball team and their girlfriends. Katie Griffith says something that makes Iz laugh, while I remember the look of horror on Katie’s face at the coffee shop. Was Katie the one who told Jenna that my mom’s a bitch? Does everybody in our class know by now? Do they all feel sorry for me?

  Alex looks up as if he can feel my eyes on him, and I think he might smile. Wave. Nod his head in acknowledgment. Something. Instead, he looks away.

  “You two still aren’t talking?” Claire asks, but the answer is pretty evident. “I can’t believe he’s ghosting on you like this. You don’t think he’d hook up with Isobel to get back at you, do you?”

  “No. He’s not like that.” I’m questioning lots of things about my friendship with Alex, but not that.

  Connor returns, carrying two cups of wine and a beer tucked into the crook of his arm. He hands one cup to Claire and one to me and then slides his arm around me.

  I slip away from him. “My sister’s here. With Alex.”

  “Oh.” He frowns. “Is this not a date anymore?” I follow his gaze to Iz and Alex. Iz is laughing and holding a beer. She looks pretty, unfettered by the tension of home.

  “I’m afraid she’ll say something to Erica.” But I note the tightness in Connor’s jaw, the way he’s shifted away from me. “This isn’t about Alex. Alex knows—well, I don’t know if he knows we’re dating, because he’s not speaking to me. But I don’t care if he finds out. He knows I’m not interested in dating him.”

  “You sure about that? He seemed pretty possessive when he interrupted lunch.”

  “Oh, he knows,” Claire says. “Ivy made it clear last weekend when she told him it was none of his business who she kisses. It made my feminist heart go pitter-pat—especially coming from Ivy.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, especially coming from Ivy?” I ask.

  “That you don’t like telling people the truth when it will disappoint them.” Claire gives me a grin that shows off her dimples. “That you’re not a bitch like me. Hey, could you just ask Isobel not to tell your mom?”

  “I don’t think we’re sharing sisterly secrets yet.” Honestly, I don’t know if we’ll ever get there. Will the girls stay around long enough for us to start feeling like a real family? Or will Erica get fed up with Granddad’s rules and take off? I’m practically holding my breath, waiting for the fight that takes them out of our lives again, maybe forever.

  I don’t know how I’d feel about that anymore. I’d be glad to see Erica go, but Iz? Gracie?

  “I don’t like keeping you a secret,” Connor says.

  “This isn’t some possessive alpha-male thing, is it?” Claire asks, sipping her wine.

  “No, this is an ‘I’m crazy about this girl and would like to hold her hand in public’ thing,” Connor says, and I think even Claire’s icy heart melts.

  I hold out my hand. What the hell. If Jenna Martin and Mrs. Summers know Connor and I are dating, it won’t be long before all of Cecil knows—including Erica and Granddad.

  Connor looks at me, his eyes hopeful. “Are you sure?”

  I lean over and kiss him, and his grin afterward is its own reward.

  But I dart another worried glance in Iz’s direction. “I can’t believe Erica let her come… No, I totally believe it. But it seems like a bad idea, right? She’s only fifteen, and she’s mad at the world. Anger and beer and our family’s history do not go well together.”

  “Do you want to talk to her?” Connor asks.

  I shake my head. “She wouldn’t listen.”

  “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. While I’m keeping an eye on Coop,” Claire says, with a fiendish smile. “You two have fun, okay?”

  “Claire. Do not hook up with Coop, or Jenna will murder you in your sleep!”

  Claire laughs. “No promises!”

  “Josh is over there with Jay and Nia. You want to go say hi?” Connor asks.

  “Sure. I’d love to meet more of your friends,” I say, gripping his hand a little tighter, hoping they’ll be nice. Hoping they’ll like me and not think it’s dumb that he’
s dating some high school girl. Hoping Granddad hasn’t failed any of them. Connor guides us to a corner of the cove, where his roommate is sitting on a blanket with another guy and a girl.

  “Connor! Ivy! Hey,” Josh says, scooting over to make room for us. He’s tall and skinny with floppy, dark hair and glasses and a Superman T-shirt—the kind of adorkable I expected Connor would be before we met.

  “Ivy, this is Jayden, this is Nia, and you’ve already met Josh,” Connor says.

  “Girl, that is an amazing dress,” Jayden says. “Twirl for me!”

  I oblige and he whistles and Nia elbows him. She’s tall and pretty, with a gorgeous Afro. “Ignore Jay. He’s had one too many peach chardonnays.”

  “You’re drinking peach chardonnay? Seriously?” Josh shakes his head.

  “Like your hipster IPAs are better?” Jay frowns as we sit down. “Oh shit, I bet Ivy’s going to be good at this game. I had your grandfather’s Southern Women Writers class last semester and he was hard-core. The man gave me a B!”

  “He gives everybody Bs. Except for Connor,” I point out, and they all laugh and then Josh explains the rules. They’re playing some kind of drinking game that involves a deck of cards with picture prompts on them. The goal is to tell a story based on the picture cards in your hand. Every time you falter, you have to draw another card and drink. I’m nervous that my story will be stupid, but then Josh starts telling a tale of a wizard trapped in a castle with a poisoned apple, which makes absolutely no sense after only three cards, and my competitive urge kicks in. This is going to be fun.

  • • •

  I don’t win the first game (that would be Connor), but I don’t lose either (that would be Josh). My worries about being too awkward or too, I don’t know, high school are unfounded. Everyone in the group is totally nice and welcoming. Apparently, last year they all lived in the creative arts dorm as freshmen. Nia’s a dance major. Josh and Jay are both potential English majors.

  Jay is telling a story about two hot African princes that is only loosely inspired by his card and lamenting how finding another cute gay black man in this town is like finding a needle in a haystack. Connor is holding my hand, tracing circles on my palm. The air smells like roasting hot dogs and burnt marshmallows, and the breeze blowing in off the Bay sends clouds scudding over the half-moon. Taylor Swift plays on someone’s speakers, and a few feet away, the waves sing a lullaby to the pebbly shore. I think I could stay like this all night. Maybe forever.