Fifteenth Summer (25 page)

Josh and I approached the Dog Ear tent, where lots of books and big piles of blue Dog Ear T-shirts and baseball caps had been transplanted for the day. E.B. was stationed out front, panting smilingly at the passersby.

I put a hand on Josh’s arm.

“Maybe we should go the other way,” I suggested. “You know
if you go in there, you’re gonna start working. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

Josh didn’t answer. He just quietly watched what was happening in the tent.

His dad was stationed at the front table, working the cash box. His gray hair was hidden under a Dog Ear baseball cap and he was chatting amiably with one customer after another. He didn’t look like he was talking about philosophy or academia or anything very serious. He also looked like he was having a ball.

Meanwhile, Stella was hand-selling in the back of the tent, chatting up various books. She pointed one teenage girl to Josh’s Allison Katzinger poster. Clearly she was urging her to come to the book party.

“They’re kicking butt in there!” I said.

“I know!” Josh replied, staring in awe. “But how . . .”

“I told you they’d surprise you,” I said. “Parents sometimes do.”

I craned my neck to see if my parents were still where I’d left them a few minutes earlier, talking to some of their friends. They were. In fact, my dad had just told one of his awful jokes. I could tell by the way my mom was rolling her eyes and the way the other couple were shaking their heads as they laughed.

“Aaaand,” I added, “sometimes they don’t.”

“Josh?”

At the sound of a girl’s surprised voice, Josh and I turned. A sweet-faced girl with a blueberry beanie was trotting toward us.

“Hi!” she gushed, giving Josh a quick hug. “How’s your summer been?”

Josh smiled and slipped his arm around my waist.

“Really good,” he said. “Chelsea, this is Aubrey. We go to the same school.”

“Oh my God, you guys are
cute
together,” Aubrey said.

“Um, thanks,” I said with a shy smile. “Hey, didn’t I see you at the lantern party? You had that pretty lantern with the dog.”

“Yeah!” Aubrey said. “That was me. And
this
guy has been AWOL ever since!”

She gave Josh a poke in the ribs.

“I guess we have you to blame for that, Chelsea?” she said.

“Well, I—”

“Actually,” Josh said, looking down at me with an easy smile, “I just got an e-mail about a post-festival party at the dock. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go.”

“Really?” Aubrey and I said at the same time.

Josh held up his hands defensively.

“Hey, I’m not
that
antisocial,” he said.

Aubrey and I looked at each other with matching one-eyebrow-lifted looks of skepticism, which made us both dissolve into laughter.

“Well, maybe I’m feeling a little
more
social these days,” Josh said, giving my hair a quick stroke. “For some reason.”

“We’ll be there,” I told Aubrey quietly. Then I shot a quick look at Josh. He seemed a little different, suddenly. More confident, more comfortable in his skin.

Was it all because of . . . me?

“Awesome,” Aubrey said, breaking into my thoughts with her bubbly response. Then she cocked her head like a dog listening for a distant whistle. “Music’s starting. Let’s go!”

She pushed through the crowd toward the gazebo, where a band was indeed setting up. It was a quartet of hipster dudes with lots of facial hair and old-timey instruments—an accordion, banjo, and fiddle.

“Ooh,” I said, fluffing up my purple poodle skirt. “My kind of band!”

A crowd gathered before the gazebo steps. Josh and I made our way toward its center. As soon as the band started up with a twangy rockabilly tune, everyone around us started dancing.

Josh looked at me with a touch of panic in his eyes.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” he admitted.

“Me too,” I said.

Then I started wiggling my hips around and pumping my hands in the air. Josh threw his head back and laughed, then shrugged and joined me.

Did we find each other’s rhythm and start twirling around as a beautiful unit, our love making us effortlessly graceful, perfectly synchronized?

Not even close. We were even more awkward dancing together than we were on our own. We were the absolute antithesis of Emma and Ethan.

And I was beyond fine with that.

At the end of the song, we fell into each other’s arms laughing. We pushed our way out of the crowd, and Josh said, “Let’s find the Pop Guy. I’m dying of thirst.”

We were headed to his rainbow umbrella when we were intercepted by Abbie and . . . Hannah! Hannah’s eyes were red-rimmed, and one of the spaghetti straps on her tank top was ripped. She was using her hand to hold her top up.

“What’s going on?” I said. “I thought you were with Liam.”

“She was,” Abbie said fiercely, “but she’s not anymore!”

It didn’t take me long to figure out who was behind Hannah’s torn strap.

“Hannah?” I said, my voice thin and scared. “Are you okay?”

Hannah nodded quickly.

“I am, I promise,” she said. “But I won’t be seeing Liam anymore.”

Abbie whispered into my ear so Josh wouldn’t hear, “He might not be walking for the rest of the day either. He got the big ol’ knee from Hannah!”

My mouth dropped open.

“You didn’t,” I gasped.

“I did,” Hannah said, glancing down at her broken strap. “He deserved it.”

I turned to Josh regretfully.

“I think I need a little sister time,” I said.

Josh nodded quickly.

“No problem,” he said, giving me a quick, sweet kiss. “I’ll see you.”

Hannah seemed a little shaky, so we went to sit on a bench that was hidden behind a cluster of tents.

“I’m getting you some blueberry lemonade,” Abbie declared. “Back in a minute.”

Hannah pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her free arm around her shins.

“I’m such an idiot,” she said, shaking her head.

I hated to agree, but . . .

“Why
were
you hanging out with that guy?” I said.

“I don’t know. It felt nice to get all that attention,” she said. “It’s been kind of a lonely year, you know.”

“But why did you want
Liam’s
attention,” I asked. “I mean, he’s cute and preppy and all, but he’s not exactly a brilliant conversationalist.”

“Yeah.” Hannah shrugged. “He’s just, you know, kind of normal. Average.”

“Hannah,” I said, “you’ve never made a C in your life. You need above-average.”

Hannah leaned her head back and groaned.

“So I’ve been told for forever,” she said. “I’m kind of over it! Or let’s just say I felt like taking a little break from my pigeonhole. Studious, serious, smart Hannah, you know?

The thing was, I
didn’t
know.

“I always thought it would be cool to have a
place
,” I said. “Like, an identity. Abbie’s an athlete, and you’re this pre-premed whiz. You know, you’re
defined
.”

“But if you’re not, you can do anything!” Hannah pointed out. “You’ve got freedom!”

As she said this, Abbie returned and handed Hannah a plastic cup of purple-tinted lemonade. She sat down on the bench so that Hannah was sandwiched between us.

“Is that what you want?” she asked Hannah. “Freedom? Do
you regret choosing such an intense school? Because you could always transfer to UCLA.”

She rested her head on Hannah’s shoulder.

“Please?” she added.

Hannah tipped her head to rest on Abbie’s.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” she said. “But no, U of C
is
what I want. Liam proved that to me. I mean, besides being
way
too handsy, the guy was a
bore
. Have you ever met somebody who’s never heard of the Human Genome Project? I didn’t think that was even
possible
.”

Abbie and I rolled our eyes at each other.

“Yeah, she’s ready for U of C,” I said.

Hannah shook her head in disbelief.

“It is coming up really soon, though,” she said. “I’m kind of terrified.”

I was too. Unlike Hannah, I’d never known a world without my two sisters in it every day.

So many endings were looming. This summer in Bluepointe. Hannah.

Josh.

But then my eye wandered across the square to the Dog Ear tent. It was still spilling over with people, many of them immobilized because they were so absorbed in their books. I thought about the blank journal Granly had left me.

I’d already filled a few pages. And it had started me thinking—maybe this summer wasn’t just about endings and good-byes. Maybe it was a beginning as well.

C
hoosing my outfit for the Allison Katzinger party required major strategy. I knew that she was super-stylish from the pictures she sometimes posted on her blog. She always wore big colorful jewelry and cute little dresses. She had a huge collection of funky glasses, not to mention rotating choices of hair colors.

I didn’t want to just look pretty when I met one of my favorite authors. I wanted to look memorable.

(Well, to say I’d be
meeting
Allison Katzinger was a stretch. What I’d really be doing was waiting in line for half an hour before I got to stand in front of her for ten seconds. She’d read my name off a sticky note and inscribe my book before giving me a quick smile. Then Isobel or Stella would usher me away so the next person in line could have his or her ten seconds. But still, even ten seconds with Allison Katzinger called for a killer outfit.)

The other problem was that for six hours before Allison’s party, I’d be at Mel & Mel’s, slinging supper. So my outfit also needed to be mayonnaise-proof.

That was why I might have gone a little overboard with the patterns. Nothing would show up on a tropically flowered skirt with gray, yellow, and purple in it, right? To tone the skirt down, I went with a simple gray tank top, but then
that
needed jazzing up, so I threw on one of Granly’s chunky costume necklaces and stuck some glinty chopsticks into my bun.

And
then
I felt so overdone that I wanted to change completely, but it was too late.

Luckily, I didn’t have time to be nervous/excited about the party, because we were slammed at Mel & Mel’s. I hustled for two hours straight, serving a group of office workers who’d come in after playing in some goofy kickball tournament.

I was just rushing a giant order of artichoke dip to the kick-ballers when Ginny swept over and lifted my tray out of my hands.

“I’ll take that, hon!” she said. “You’re on break.”

“Break?” I squawked. “What are you talking about?”

Melissa scooched up next to me, untied my apron, and looped it around her own waist.

“We’re covering for you, Chels,” she said. “No arguments. Josh has it all arranged.”

She nodded at the coffee shop door. I spun around and saw Josh peeking through the glass. As always, I felt my face light up at the sight of him.

“Josh!” I said as he opened the door. “What’s going on? I’m going to see you in just a few hours at the par—”

I choked on my next word. Because walking in behind Josh was Allison Katzinger!

She looked much smaller than I’d imagined. She was wearing a fabulous silky wrap dress and a chunky necklace just like mine. Her hair was a warm blond, and her glasses frames were red.

As soon as she walked into the coffee shop, with these long, purposeful strides and a big wide-mouthed grin, I realized she was bigger than she seemed in her pictures too. Personality just radiated off her.

She hustled right up to me and gave me a hug.

Allison Katzinger. Hugged. Me!

“Hi!” I blurted. “Um, hi! Wow, it’s really nice to meet you.”

I gave Josh a hurried
What the heck is going on?
look, so he explained, “Allison is here for a late lunch.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, nodding quickly. “Okay. Let me get you a menu.”

“No,” Josh said. “A late lunch . . . with you.
And
me. And my mom’s going to join us soon. She’s just finishing up some work at the store.”

I gaped at him.

“There are so many awesome things in that sentence, I don’t even know which to respond to first,” I breathed.

“Well, let’s choose lunch, shall we?” Allison said. She rubbed her hands together hungrily. “I hear you’ve got a lot of mayonnaise here. I’m Southern, so I speak mayo fluently. Lay it on me.”

I laughed loudly—because Allison was funny, but also because I was crazy nervous. I smoothed back my hair and adjusted my skirt as Melissa led us ceremoniously to the best four-top in the house.

“You look fabulous,” Josh whispered into my ear as I sat down.

I shot him a grateful look.

Then I stared across the table at Allison Katzinger and wondered what I could possibly think of to say to her.

Luckily, she had that covered.

“So,” she said, after ordering a pimento cheese sandwich and a sweet iced tea from Melissa, “Josh tells me you’re a writer.”

“I am not!” I gasped. “I mean, I jot stuff down here and there.”

“What else is writing but a lot of jotting?” Allison said. “With a
narrative arc and subplots and lots of dialogue and drama and . . . I’m exhausted just thinking about it. Why do I do this again?”

“Because of people like me?” I suggested. “Who love to read your books?”

Allison grinned and nodded.

“That’s definitely the happy by-product, yes,” she said. “But believe it or not, I don’t think about you readers when I’m writing. I write because, well, I have no choice. The stories are in me, and I
have
to get them down. Just like I have to read myself to sleep every night.”

“I do too!” I said. “I’m always falling asleep with the reading light on.”

“I hear ya!” Allison said in her twangy Southern accent. “LED bulbs. That’s the solution.”

Then she asked, “What are you reading now?”

“Well . . .” I was little embarrassed because it seemed so fawning. “You! I’m rereading
Apples and Oranges.
I love it.”

“Oh, so you like the star-crossed lovers thing?” Allison said. “Is that you two?”