Meet Me at the Boardwalk (9 page)

I
had a fairly sleepless night, I have to say. Not that it mattered. I didn’t have to show up anywhere Monday morning, so I might as well have stayed up. (Mom caught me in front of the TV at seven
A.M.
in my sweats. She left without even saying good-bye.) I was watching
Wolf
—an awful movie about werewolves, even though it does star Jack Nicholson. Yes, I suppose that’s the one benefit of insomnia and unemployment for that matter: You can catch up on all the movies you haven’t seen at least a dozen times.

By noon, though, the novelty had begun to wear off. I considered taking a nap. I decided against it. My eyes kept wandering to my cell phone, sitting on the side table like some kind of cursed amulet. I knew I’d have to call Jade at some point or reply to her text…but not right now. I just didn’t have the energy for something that intense. Weirdly enough, what I wanted to do most was apologize to Lily-Ann. I knew enough about her family dynamics to know that she’d catch a lot of crap from her dad (and total silence and absence from her mom)—and the whole thing really
was
my fault.

Screw it.
Just another unpleasant task that needed to get done. No worries; I used to clean houses for a living. I reached for the phone.

It rang before I could grab it.

ROTH
, read the caller ID. Second time in thirty-six hours!
Nice. Perfect. Maybe he was planning on suing my mom and me for damages done to his couch by Jade and Sean? I shouldn’t have been so quick to turn down Jade’s offer of all her earnings…

“Hello?” I answered.

“Megan?”

“Lily-Ann?”

“I’m just calling you to say that I am so, so sorry about everything that happened Saturday night. My dad is an asshole. Well, you already know that. But you’re so better off not working for him. Besides, why does someone as smart as you clean houses for the summer? You should be working with Jade’s sister at a law firm or something.”

I rubbed my left temple with my free hand.

All at once, I had a migraine. The longer Lily-Ann jabbered on and on, the more she sounded like Jade: relentless and nonsensical. I’d reached a crisis point. The neuroses, the talking, the mercurial behavior, never any steadiness, anywhere, anytime, the way a true friend should be—

“Lily-Ann?”

“Yes?”

I collapsed back onto the couch.

“Why did you really call me now?”

She sighed apologetically. “See, I told you you’re smart. I have some news. I…I…well, I guess I should just spit it out. My dad is taking your mom and me out Thursday night, downtown, to talk about the big Clam-Fest announcement. I said I wouldn’t go if I couldn’t bring a date.”

“So why don’t you invite Miles?” I asked, almost out of some bizarre instinct. (Actually, I knew the instinct; if she invited Miles, then I’d know he would be there and I wouldn’t have to obsessively wonder if they were together.)

“Um…because I’d rather go with you. No offense to Miles.”

I rubbed my temple again, feeling a
ping
of relief. “I don’t understand,” I said.

“I came to Seashell Point to cause trouble, Megan,” she said in a hushed tone. “I told you that. My dad has been riding me all summer long about not making the ‘right’ friends in this town. He actually said that I should go to some random party hosted by these lame boarding-school kids three houses down because I was getting too comfortable with the ‘locals.’ And here he is, presenting himself like the biggest, best local around.”

I shook my head, remembering the way he’d shouted at me on the phone. “I think this is a really bad idea, Lily-Ann. I mean, I appreciate that you called—”

“Of course, it’s a bad idea!” she said gleefully. “What have I been trying to tell you? Besides, what do you have to lose? You’ve already lost your job, right? At worst, it’s a free meal with your mom, some jerk who wants to rip down the boardwalk,…and me.”

I chewed my lip, clutching the phone and staring into the blank TV. I don’t think I’d ever heard her sound so plaintive. The problem was, Lily-Ann Roth was just a little too unpredictable—a hybrid of much too phony
and much too real—and generally wrong at the wrong times.

But considering how pissed at Jade I was, maybe Lily-Ann was my one friend left.

There was a beep.

“That’s my other line,” I said. “Hold on one sec.”

“I’ll let you go,” Lily-Ann murmured. “Just think about it, all right? Call me when you can, but definitely before Thursday. Bye.”

“Okay.” I clicked over to call-waiting. “Hello?”

“Meg?”

I swallowed.
Oops.
I really should have broken the habit of not checking the caller ID. I’d been way too distracted this summer.

“Hey, Jade.”

“Did you get any of my messages?” she asked breathlessly.

“I did,” I said. I gazed into the TV screen again, my warped reflection staring back at me, fish-eye-lens style. I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs,
Did you ever think I might be mad on some level that you hooked up with Sean, too?
(Not true, but still, it would make her feel guilty.)
And why am I mad at you? Do you really think I care about losing my cleaning job? Or does it still come down to the same stupid issue? That I’m jealous of how you and Miles have always been so comfortable together? How do you do it? What’s your secret? Can you share it with me?
The one question that finally popped out of my mouth, though, was: “Hey, how come you aren’t at work right now?”

She laughed softly. “That’s funny. Turkey just asked me the same thing.”

“And?”

“Well, I decided since you didn’t want my money, I wouldn’t work, either. I’m quitting my job. Like I said, there isn’t much point in taking tickets at the Jupiter Bounce if there isn’t gonna be a Jupiter Bounce anymore.”

“What did Sarah say?”

“Uh…” Jade clucked her tongue. “Actually, I haven’t told her yet. I was hoping my absence would speak for itself. You know, like Brian Ashe’s absence did, when he dropped out of school for a month last year? Anyway, knowing Sarah, she’ll probably get a job running this casino boat or whatever it is. Can’t you see that?”

That wasn’t funny. Not in the least. But still, I cracked a smile and chuckled. “I hate how you always do that,” I heard myself say.

“Do what?”

“Make me really mad at you one second, and then make me laugh the very next.”

“Well, I’m trying to fix the first part, if that’s any consolation,” she said. “Besides, your two cutest expressions are those of furious rage and wanton hilarity.”

I sighed. “Well…thanks.”

“So am I forgiven?” she asked.

“In some ways, yes,” I answered. I stood and walked to the drawn shades. It looked gorgeous outside. I needed some
fresh air. “So what are you doing today, anyway? Maybe we should go surfing. We’re both unemployed.”

Jade laughed. “I would, but it’s too cold. Plus, um, neither of us ever surfed before. We could ask Miles to teach us, but he still has a job. Plus…”

I pictured Miles teaching us to surf. I pictured him finally giving up his fear of the water, and throwing that stickered skateboard aside, and taking out his surfboard and wet suit again. I pictured the three of us in the ocean—the way it used to be—with Jade and I just standing at the water’s edge, letting the tide roll over our bare feet, watching Miles paddle out to catch the next big wave.

“Hey, Meg?” Jade asked.

“Yeah?” I struggled to snap out of my moronic moment of nostalgic reverie.

“That’s not all.”

“That’s not all of…what?”

She clucked her tongue again, a little more loudly. “Um—Nana is coming to town. And here’s the thing. She’s coming on a Thursday night. So that means she’ll want to take Turkey and me out to dinner. And she’ll want to invite you and Miles, too, since she’s known you guys forever.” She cleared her throat. “Will you guys please come to Rupert’s for dinner with Nana and Miles and Turkey on Thursday night?”

The migraine returned, full-force.
Rupert’s with Jade’s Nana…and MILES.

Now that I was jobless, I couldn’t imagine spending an evening downtown at the fanciest and most overpriced seafood restaurant in town (and, I might add, the one most shamelessly geared toward tourists). It also didn’t help that the Seashell Point Tourist Board was on that same quaint, cozy, cobblestone block.

But I had an excuse.

“Actually, and I know this is going to sound weird, but I have dinner plans that night with the Roths and my mom,” I said.

“Are you
serious
?” Jade asked. I could tell by her voice that she was smiling. “That’s great! I mean, if the Roths invited you to dinner, it means they can’t be too pissed off about the whole me-and-Sean thing, right? Whew. Yes, please, by all means—absolutely. You are excused. Hit it. Where are you guys going?”

I thought for a minute. I thought about what Jade had asked, and what Lily-Ann had asked. And I knew with twisted certainty (the kind that only comes from sleeplessness and misery) that there was only one way to bring Miles in on the action, which he absolutely needed to be in on.

“I think we’re going to Rupert’s,” I lied. “But here’s a crazy idea. How about we all go together?”

“I love it,” Jade said.

“A
re you out of your mind?”

Megan laughed.

“No, seriously.” I fought to keep the cordless phone balanced between my cheek and shoulder blade—dumping out the millionth batch of sizzling clams with one hand into our sink, while wiping the sweat from my brow with the other. (Donny had taken a “sick day.”) At least, there was a weird summer cold front. If you want an idea of the temperature inside Sonny’s Clam Shack, take a reading of whatever it is outside, be it 60 or 103, and raise it 30 degrees. “You’re asking me to go to dinner with Jade, and Jade’s grandma, Jade’s sister, and you, your mom, Lily-Ann,
and
her parents? At Rupert’s? Who’s gonna pay for
me
?”

“Maybe I will,” a grown-up voice said outside the booth.

I dropped the fryer back into the fry pit.

Some of the burning grease splashed onto my apron. Great. Well, at least this wasn’t the first time this summer I felt like Megan, only in guy form.

Mr. Roth stood before me in his classic getup: rolled-up seersucker pants (only this time with white tennis shoes), blue button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and a sun hat. He probably owned forty versions of the exact same outfit. He must have, because he looked impeccably coiffed and crisp every single afternoon.

“Don’t mean to surprise you, just a little early today,” he said with a disarming smile. “How ya doin’?”

“Miles?” Megan’s tinny voice asked in the earpiece.

“Can I call you back?” I whispered. “I have a customer.”

“Sure, I’m sorry. But think about it. It really could be a great way for all of us to get through this weirdness and patch things up—”

I shut the phone and jammed it into my apron pocket.

“Hello, sir!” I said. My voice cracked twice in three syllables. I rubbed my palms on my pants. I tried to smile, shifting from foot to foot. “The usual? A two-dollar bucket?”

“You know, clams are slang for dollars, too,” he said, reaching into his pocket and forking over two crumpled bills. “Did you know that, Miles?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I did. There are bunch of stores down at the south end that use that same exact joke…you know the south end of the board…” I decided not to complete the sentence. I whirled around and snatched a cup, scooping up the hot clams from the sink just like I’d scooped up cups of punch on Saturday night—

“That’s a soda cup, Miles,” Mr. Roth said. “I’d like a bucket. Unless you’ve changed your policy?”

“No, sir!” I laughed again. I didn’t sound like a laugh; it sounded like the Jupiter Bounce cushion when it cracks a hole. “I’m just…” I dumped the cup into a bucket, then immediately scooped out another, and another—until finally the bucket was spilling over. “Here. And you know what? Keep the clams, sir. Ha! Get it?” I shoved the dollars back
toward him across the counter. “These are on me. I mean…you know, if you were serious about paying for me at Rupert’s.”

He stared at me, unblinking, a curious grin on his lips.

My heart thumped inside my chest.

“What would your boss say if you gave me a freebie?” he asked.

“Um…probably that you deserve it?”

He leaned across the counter, flabby elbows right on the grease stains, his craggy face a little too close to my own. (Also, now I realized he didn’t look so much like a flabby George Clooney, but more like some dude who may have been good-looking once…a long time ago.) “Why would I deserve it?” he asked. “You can do better, Miles. Your boss is one of the most vocal protesters against my plan.”

I straightened, fighting to smile with all my might. “What plan is that?”

“To replace this piece-of-crap boardwalk with a dock and floating casino.”

“That’s um…that’s—I don’t know. Grown-up stuff. But if you’re a regular—I mean, you stop by literally every day—so…it’s a Sonny’s Clam Shack policy to give you a freebie every now and then. I’m sure Donny would agree.”

Mr. Roth winked at me and grabbed the clams. He left the money sitting on the counter. He turned away, stuffing a few into his mouth, crunching loudly. “By the way,” he said, still chewing. “I can’t make it to Rupert’s that night. Besides, the truth is, I prefer your clams to the gourmet stuff they
serve there. But I’m sure you’ll have a great time. My daughter is a big fan of yours. I guess you know that, though.”

I wondered what it would be like to plunge my head into the deep fryer.

“Miles, I’m just busting your chops,” he said with a light smile. He popped another clam into his mouth. “Have a good time Thursday night. And I’m sure your boss will come around. We’re gonna need these clams on
The Royal We
!”

I watched, slack-jawed, as he waddled down the boardwalk, disappearing down the stairs at the very far end.

Then I yanked the phone out of my pocket and dialed Megan. Hooking up with Lily-Ann Roth had been the hugest mistake of my life. And—of course—whenever I make a huge mistake (say, breaking my leg on a surfboard in order to make Megan happy), the very first person I want to call is…well, you get the gist.

“Hello?” Megan answered in the middle of the first ring.

“All right, so Mr. Roth isn’t coming Thursday night, and he also knows that I hooked up with Lily-Ann—not that it meant anything—or I’m pretty sure I think he does.” It all came pouring out in a rapid breath, basically one long incomprehensible word.

“Um…hello to you, too, Miles,” Megan said drily.

“Am I talking to Jade?” I asked. “This is serious!”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. So are you going to come to dinner or not? I called to invite you to dinner, if you remember. So I think the fact that Mr. Roth isn’t coming is a good thing. It is for me, anyway.”

I glanced at the deep fryer. It was starting to sizzle again. And I still had a batch of clams in the sink. Why did Donny have to take
today
off, of all days? I tried to breathe evenly. “I…I guess I should come to dinner. I should at least talk to Lily-Ann and tell her that kissing her was a mistake. And that kissing…” I didn’t finish.

Megan laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“I would think about how you want to phrase it. And, if you look back, it probably
wasn’t
the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in your life. Not even close.”

“What do you mean?”

A series of mistakes flashed through my head: Riding the wave that broke my leg and made me petrified of the ocean; giving up surfing; agreeing to work in this steaming hellhole of a clam shack for another summer; making out with Lily-Ann (not the biggest, agreed)…but kissing Jade. That was the biggest. And neither of us had told Megan. On the other hand, no: The biggest was basically making out with all the girls I
shouldn’t
have been making out with for the last three years (some that are best left unmentioned)—and not making out with the one that I should have.

“Miles?”

“Listen, Megan…”

Before I could go on, a trio of twelve-year-old tourists appeared at the counter. All three were blonde. All were
way
underdressed for their age. They were pretty much younger
clones of older siblings who’d collectively decided to strip down to their bikinis at the pact party.

“Hey, are you the guy who had that surfing accident?” one of them asked. The other two were whispering to each other and laughing. “I heard Cheryl Roth talking about it. You know, at the Lopezes’ party down the beach.”

Who are the Lopezes’? What kind of party were you at with Lily-Ann Roth’s mother?
I wanted to scold.
You should be at home rereading
Harry Potter
!

“Miles?” Megan asked. “Are you there?”

“You know, I’m not even sure. I’d definitely rather be somewhere else. But in answer to your question—yeah, I’ll come to dinner. Looking forward to it.”

Then I turned to face the onslaught of tourists.