Frannie and Tru (15 page)

Tara and the groupies all had tickets to a concert that weekend, so that left the seven of us—the band, me, Tru, Sparrow, and Kieran. Just enough to fit in our old monster of a van.

Kieran and I had taken Friday off, and Tru was ditching class. Sparrow drove over with the boys that morning. We spent half an hour shoving all the gear into the trunk until it was a solid block of tents and bags and coolers. Then, to my horror, Mom appeared. She had come home early from work, and she made us unpack the whole thing so that she could check it for beer while we sweated on the sidewalk. She found nothing.

I wondered where in the world it could possibly be hiding.

After she gave the okay for us to reload it all, I thought we were finally free. Not yet. While I stood there red-faced and mortified, she lined up Devon, P.J., and Winston and stood before them
with arms crossed, her face an angry mask, full of that look she always got before the twins went out: peremptory disapproval.

“I've already talked to my kids and Truman, and I know Sparrow is an adult who knows how to be good, but let me tell you boys—
you are going to behave.
There are rangers
all over
that island. If you do anything, they will be on you, and you will be sorry.”

Winston just stood there in shock. P.J. drummed his fingers worse than ever and was driven into an uncharacteristic silence. Devon looked simply solemn, nodding along to every word. When she was done he was the only who managed to speak.

“I think you would like my mother, Mrs. Little. I got almost that exact same speech this morning.”

I saw a flicker at the corner of her mouth that could have been the start of a smile.

The whole time, Tru had been standing down at the end of our block, talking on the phone to one of his parents, his body stiff and turned away from us. He came back just as we were climbing into the van. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, seemed to be composing himself.

Kieran drove, with Sparrow next to him, Tru and I in the middle, the three boys stuck in the back. As soon as Kieran left our street, we realized that no one had CDs, only phones and iPods, which our van had no way to play. So we were stuck with what we were always stuck with: U2, Bruce, and the Stones. P.J. and Devon had no problem with that, yelling out requests for “Gimme Shelter.” Kieran warned everyone to roll down their windows, because the air-conditioning barely worked. He then
turned the music to a very specific, and strategic, volume: just loud enough that he could talk to Sparrow but no one else could hear them. That meant the only person I could really talk to was Tru, but he had his earbuds in.

As we made our way south toward the highway, P.J. tapped my shoulder, and I turned around. He tried to tell me something, but it took several times for me to catch it over the wind and the music.

“Your brother is taller than ever. And your mom is scary but also kind of awesome.”

We both settled back into our seats, and behind me, the boys became wrapped up in their own conversation. I gave silent thanks for this little blessing: a three-hour car ride that I would be able to spend with my thoughts, searching out the window and readying myself for whatever might come.

We joined a long line of cars chugging over the bridge and onto the island, water sparkling and sloshing below. At the guard booth, Kieran handed them our pass, which Tru had mysteriously provided, and the attendant told us how to get to our designated square of campground. He warned us the wind was supposed to be bad tonight. In fact, it had been getting steadily worse the whole way down. Now it was actually rocking the car.

“Tru, how'd you get a spot so last-minute?” Kieran asked as we pulled into the parking lot. “Usually they fill up a few weeks in advance.”

“Weren't you there? It was at The Mack's party last week. Some kids from your school—drama kids, I think. They'd gotten two,
but then some people bailed, and they said we could have one. So I guess I should apologize. We're probably going to be stuck next to a bunch of insufferable, attention-starved star wannabes.”

“Um, did you forget where Devon and I go to school?” P.J. asked.

“We don't know anyone
but
insufferable, attention-starved star wannabes,” Devon said.

“Well, they brought our beer, so we should all be thanking them anyway,” Tru said.

I whipped my head toward him. “So that's how you did it.”

He gave a little shrug, looking proud of himself.

Kieran asked which drama kids, and Tru said Kylie Bennett and Rachel Bobbins. Kylie was the fresh-faced, perky girl who was always the lead, and Rachel was her cute, chubby friend who usually got stuck playing some old lady. Kieran said they were nice girls, and Sparrow teased him, asking whether they were special friends of his. He whispered something back that made her laugh.

After Kieran eased the van into a parking spot, we all tumbled out, stretching and marveling at the madness of the weather. Sunlight glinted dimly through gray clouds, while the air whipped us violently, blowing as if it wanted to rip our clothes from our bodies, our feet from the earth.

We divided up most of the gear, deciding that we'd come back later for the rest. Burdened with our loads, we made our way slowly down the path toward our designated campsite. The island was spotted with tents, many bending in the wind like sails, some already tipped or collapsed. Barbecues were smoldering. Portable
speakers sent out thin music. Kids were running around and screaming like savages.

“Where the hell are the horses?” Tru asked.

“We'll probably only see a few,” Kieran said. “Maybe closer to the beach.”

The wind blew and blew. My hair whirled around my head, snaking tendrils covering my eyes. Half-blind, I did the best I could to keep up.

Our designated spot was a little patch of land about the size of our dining room at home—lot number 367. We were much more isolated than Sparrow had implied to my mother. We could hear the din of other people, but were mostly shielded from them by patches of thin, young trees. The only campsite we could actually see was the one right next door. Kylie and Rachel's. A big red tent bowed in the breeze, and there were three beach chairs held down by rocks placed on the seats. No people around. Tru kept looking over there, arms folded, annoyed.

Dropping our things, we got our bearings. A concrete bunker of bathrooms and showers was a two-minute walk to the east. The beach was just south of us. We had one small tent for Sparrow and me, one giant tent for the boys. Everybody was jumpy and jittery, staring reluctantly at our hopeless jumble of equipment.

Kieran looked at our impatient faces and laughed.

“Jesus, I thought this was a vacation. Apparently I'm a permanent
camp counselor. Get out of here. I'll set up.”

Sparrow offered to stay and help. The boys took off and I
started after them, then looked back for Tru. He was coming slowly, glancing back at the other campsite.

“Is that Kylie and Rachel's?” I asked. “Is it just the two of them?”

“Hmmmm?” He gave me a look like he had no idea what I meant, then breezed by me, following the boys.

The five of us walked single-file down the skinny path that ran through the woods, thick greenery blocking out the sky. There were roots and rocks to dodge, and we had to walk carefully.
Like a tightrope walker,
I told myself, thinking back to the beginning of the summer.

I could not believe how much had changed. I could not believe I was here.

The leaves shushed together overhead, and we hurried along, rushing toward the break in the trees. One by one, the boys slipped from the woods. Last in line, lagging several steps behind, I finally reached the path's end, hovering there to take in the view of the beach, the way it opened before me like a picture book, an expanse of perfect sand with the ocean brewing like an angry cauldron behind it. There was no one here but us. Tru was just a few steps away, hands in front of his face, like maybe he was trying to block the sun. Winston, Devon, and P.J. were farther off down the beach, and they were laughing like mad. I couldn't figure out why it was so empty, why they were cackling like that, until I actually stepped out of the protection of the trees and stood next to Tru.

The wind had taken over. Sand flew everywhere, stinging our
skin. I put my arms up instinctively, but that did nothing. We were battered from all sides. I yelled to Tru, asking if we should go back. He looked toward the trees, swatting at the air as if the sand were a swarm of gnats he could shoo away. Then he shrugged.

“Too late to stay clean and pretty, I think.”

He was right. I already felt hopelessly grainy. My hair was blown to hell. The two of us stumbled down toward the boys, who waved us over and shouted about the weather—“Look at this; oh my god, can you believe it?” Winston got out his phone and took a picture of all of us, hair and shirts flying, shielding our eyes as the water churned behind. He started to put it away, but then P.J. said, “Wait, get this!” and tried to launch himself into a handstand. Halfway up, he failed, crumpling into a ball, while we all shrieked and laughed. Devon tried next, managing to hold on for a moment, though his knees were bent.

Before he fell his shirt slipped down and showed his chest, lean and smooth.

They told Tru to go, but he declined with a dismissive wave of his hand, heading toward the water. Then they turned to me. I tried to wave them off, too, but they started chanting my name and clapping their encouragement. I gave in, tucking my shirt into my shorts and putting my palms into the soft, shifting sand. One foot at a time, I pushed myself into a perfect line and counted slowly to five, holding on against the wind. I came down lightly. When I was back on my feet, rubbing my palms against my hips to dust them off, I saw that the boys were all staring at me, impressed—or maybe something more.

I wasn't embarrassed. It felt good.

“Are you, like, a gymnast?” P.J. asked.

“I was,” I said. “When I was younger. Then I got too tall.”

At first they just kept staring. Then Devon smiled.

“That's okay. Tall is good,” he said. “I'd kill to get too tall for things.”

A new gust came, stronger than before. I felt as though sand had infiltrated every part of me, working its way under my clothes, through every strand of hair, between my toes, behind my ears. P.J. put his arms out straight and collapsed backward to the ground.

“BURY ME!” he said.

For a moment, we all looked at each other, unsure. Then Devon shrugged, dropped down, and started to push a pile of sand toward P.J. I looked at Winston and he smiled. We dropped down and dug in our hands. As I was giggling, covering P.J.'s knobby knees and feet, I remembered Tru. I looked up and found him at the water's edge. He stood in the soft, puckering sand, not flinching when the surf reached his feet, not moving as it swirled around his ankles, up almost to his knees.

He looked small to me then—small but sure, standing strong against the rage and power and endlessness of the ocean.

Devon, P.J., and Winston went off to smoke their cigarettes, in search of some sheltered spot where they could possibly get some peace and strike a match. Tru and I had settled on a giant rock that rested where the trees met the sand. We were watching
Kieran and Sparrow, who had finished with the tents and joined us on the beach.

The two of them were down by the water, trying hopelessly to throw a Frisbee. Every time they released the red disc, it flew wildly, captured by the wind and whipped off course. They kept racing to retrieve it and couldn't stop laughing.

After a while they flopped down, looking exhausted. They, too, gave themselves over to sandiness, lying side by side, staring up and talking.

“Is Kieran cute?” I asked Tru.

The eyebrow cocked.

“Is he cute? I didn't realize that Maryland was the South. I'm not really into my cousins.”

“Shut up,” I said, kicking sand in his direction. “I'm just wondering. I'm his sister. It's hard to tell.”

Tru tented his fingers, leaned his head to the side, and thought.

“He's not handsome exactly, but he's nice-looking. He really needs to cut his hair. He's got that tall, broad-shouldered thing, though. That goes a long way.”

Sparrow jumped up and tried a cartwheel. She completed one perfectly, arms and legs straight as a windmill, then got knocked down by a roaring gust. Kieran clapped as she rolled back to his side.

“But he has no chance,” I said. “Right?”

Tru gave a playful shrug. “Actually . . . I think he might.”

I looked back at the two of them in wonder. “You said Jimmy had all the game.”

“With high school girls. Sparrow's in college. Or almost. Things change.”

Kieran's hair was flying everywhere. He tried to hold it flat with both his hands. He shouted something, Sparrow laughed, and in that moment I saw him so differently. As someone more grown-up than I realized. Someone with his own kind of charm. Someone who maybe had a lot to offer.

Tru turned and looked at me. “That's one good thing about life, Frannie. High school rules don't last forever.”

Back at the campsite we realized that lunchtime had long since passed. All of us were famished, and we dug into the coolers, making sandwiches and passing a bag of chips, a box of cookies. The wind hadn't stopped, and napkins and plastic bags were wrenched from our grips, tossed away and lost forever. Still we saw no horses.

On the walk back from the beach, I'd noticed that some families were packing up and heading for home, giving up in the face of the gale. We just walked around the tents and gave the stakes an extra push. Sparrow suggested that she and I set up our sleeping bags, doing so in a loud-ish way that reminded everyone the two of us would be together. No funny business, as my mother would have said. The guys followed suit, arranging their things in the other tent.