Second Chance Summer (13 page)

“Taylor!” Gelsey’s voice was suddenly sharp. I glanced back at the road and then slammed on the brakes, hard, causing a loud screeching noise.

There was a girl on a bike directly in the middle of the road. She was riding fast, steering with one hand, the other holding a phone to her ear.

“Jesus,” I muttered, my pulse pounding hard, as I checked the other lane, then gave her a wide berth. As we passed her, Gelsey
leaned over and honked my horn. “Hey!” I said, pushing her hand away. The girl swerved, her bike wobbling dangerously for a second before she righted it and glanced at the car. In an impressive move, she transferred her phone to her ear and gripped the handlebars with her opposite hand, so that the hand closest to my car was free to give us the finger. Her face was obscured by a curtain of dark hair, but there was no question as to how she felt about us at that moment. As we drove past, I looked back and saw her in my rear-view mirror, becoming reduced to a dot in a purple T-shirt.

“Don’t do that,” I said as I swung into the recreation complex parking lot.

“She was taking up the whole road,” Gelsey said. But her voice didn’t sound nearly as confident anymore as I pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. The building looked exactly the same, a tall wooden structure with
LAKE PHOENIX RECREATION CENTER
carved into the awning. Just beyond the entrance, you’d have to show your badge to the employee inside to access the pool and tennis courts.

I looked at my sister and saw that her hands were gripping the straps of her tote bag so hard that her knuckles had turned white. She glanced over at me and I realized that she was scared. I knew it was probably up to me to say something, something encouraging and big-sisterly, but I had no idea what that would be.

“I should go,” Gelsey said after a moment, taking a deep breath
and pushing open her door. “I’ll call Mom for a ride home, or walk, or something.”

“Okay,” I said. “Have fun.”

Gelsey rolled her eyes hugely at that, got out of the car, and walked up to the entrance stiffly, like she was facing a firing squad and not a tennis lesson. I looked down at the clock, cursed, and put the car into gear. I peeled out of the parking lot, now officially five minutes late for my first day of work.

I hadn’t gone to the beach since I’d been back, but as I got out of the car, I could see it hadn’t changed much. There were picnic tables and benches on the grassy area nearest to the parking lot. A small incline (there was a set of steps if you didn’t want to roll down the hill, as I’d been fond of doing when I was around eight) led down to the sand. The beach wasn’t very full—there were only a handful of towels and blankets spread out, with some families and sunbathers staking their claims. A few ambitious kids were already mid–sandcastle construction, but the water was free from swimmers. When I saw the tall white lifeguard’s chair perched at the edge of the water was empty, I realized why there was nobody swimming—the lifeguard wasn’t on duty yet. The far right side of the beach was the marina area, with sailboats up on their wooden pallets, and kayaks and canoes stacked in wooden structures. The lake was the main feature, stretching out almost as far as you could see. A large wooden raft, complete
with ladder, was anchored beyond the roped-off swimming section that kids weren’t supposed to go past, and the bobbing round yellow buoys by the raft demarcated where adults were supposed to stop. The lake was bordered on all sides by pine trees, and the three islands scattered across it were also covered in them. The sky above the lake was clear and a bright blue, with wispy clouds streaking across it. Looking back, it sometimes seemed like I had spent all my childhood summers at this beach. The pool had never held as much charm for me, with its rough concrete and smell of chlorine. The beach had always felt like home.

“Are you Taylor?” I turned around and saw a short man with a very red face, in his forties or thereabouts, wearing a Lake Phoenix polo shirt and squinting at me.

“Hi,” I said, hurrying over to him, trying to simultaneously smooth down my hair and come up with an excuse for why I was late for my first day of work. “I mean, yes.” I held out my hand to shake his—the night before, Warren had given me a tutorial on making a good first impression, and he seemed to rank a strong handshake very highly—but the man was already turning and walking down the steps toward the snack bar, gesturing for me to follow him.

“Fred Lefevre,” he said over his shoulder. “This way.” The snack bar was in the building that was adjacent to the Clubhouse, where the bathrooms, equipment rooms, and administrative offices were, and Fred headed through this building’s open doorway and to an office
marked
BEACH DIRECTOR
. He pushed the door open and motioned me in, but as soon as I crossed the threshold, I stopped short.

There were fish everywhere. None alive, but stuffed and mounted fish were affixed to most of the available wall space, and a fishing calendar hung behind the desk, the surface of which was covered with framed pictures of Fred holding up huge trophy fishes. There were tackle boxes and fishing poles scattered all over, and as Fred took the seat across from me, behind his desk, I noticed that he had the permanently sunburned look of someone who spent most of his time outside. Fred leaned back in the squeaky leather chair, the kind on wheels with casters, and looked across the desk at me. I immediately sat up straighter on the metal folding chair that was cold against the backs of my legs. “So,” he said. “You’re our late hire.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that I had been hired late, or if he was talking about the fact that I’d been late for work today, so I just nodded. Fred picked up the frame closest to him and gazed at it for a moment before turning it to face me. In the picture, Fred held up on his line a fish that looked almost as tall as he was. “Know what that is?” he asked. My knowledge of fish was pretty much limited to what I got on seafood menus, so I just shook my head. “It’s a threespine stickleback,” he said wistfully. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Mmm,” I said with as much enthusiasm as possible.

“That was two years ago,” he said, setting the picture down, continuing to stare at it. “I haven’t caught one as big since. And that’s why you’re here.”

I blinked at him for a moment, then glanced at the picture of the large, disgruntled-looking fish, as though it would somehow help me out here. “Um, what?” I asked.

“I like to fish,” Fred said, tearing his eyes away from the stickleback and looking at me. “And June and July are my peak fishing months. And I can’t put in my time on the lakes if I have to be micromanaging this place.”

“Okay,” I said, still waiting for an explanation of how I fit into all this.

“So I put in a request with Jillian for one more employee,” he said. “Someone here who can do what needs doing. Mostly the snack bar, but I also need someone to help figure out the movie-on-the-beach nights. Last year, they were…” He paused for a moment. “Not a success,” he finally concluded. “Basically, I need to be able to be away from this place and know that everything is going to be covered. So that’ll be you. Sound good?”

“Well,” I said, turning over my job description in my head. It wasn’t that it sounded bad—it was only that I wasn’t sure I was qualified to do any of it. “It’s just—”

“Good!” Fred said, standing up, this meeting apparently now over as far as he was concerned. “Let’s say four days a week. I’ll let
you work out the schedule with the others, figuring out where the holes are.”

I stood up as well, out of instinct, since he was looming over me and clearly wanted me to leave his fish-bedecked office. “But—”

“The job’s very easy, Taylor,” he said, coming around to join me on the other side of his desk, and then opening the door for me, in case I still wasn’t getting the hint that I was supposed to leave. “Just make my life simple. I want to fish. And I want to fish undisturbed. So if you can help me make that happen, you’ll be doing great work. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, taking a step out of his office, then another one, as he began to ease the door shut. “But where should I—”

“Start at the snack bar,” he said. “See what needs doing. Welcome aboard!” With that, he shut the door firmly in my face.

I looked around, and seeing no other options, headed to the snack bar. I had only ever approached it from the front, after scrounging quarters and pennies, or finding a crumpled, sandy dollar bill in my beach bag, usually to get a Cherry Coke or a frozen Milky Way to split with Lucy. But down the hall from Fred’s office there was a door clearly marked
SNACK BAR EMPLOYEES ONLY
, so I took a breath and pushed it open, hoping someone in there could tell me exactly what I was supposed to be doing, preferably without fish anecdotes.

From the other side of the counter, the snack bar was fairly
small and cramped. The soda fountain lined the one wall, along with a large silver refrigerator and two freezer cases. Behind that was a grill and fry station. There were shelves displaying the chip options and posters showing the ice-cream bars available, and there were individually wrapped pieces of candy, on sale for a quarter, on the counter.

“Don’t. Move,” a voice from behind me said. I whirled around and saw a guy sitting on the counter, perfectly still, a rolled-up newspaper raised above his head.

I had thought I’d been alone in the snack bar, and my heart was beating hard from the shock that I wasn’t. “Hi,” I stammered when I’d gotten some of my composure back. “I’m—”

“Shh,” he hissed, his voice low and steady, still not looking at me. “Don’t scare it away.”

I froze, and tried to see to what he was raising his newspaper at, but could only see the empty counter. I suddenly had a horrible fear that made me not only want to move—and fast—but also jump up on the counter with him. “Is it a mouse?” I whispered, feeling my skin begin to crawl. If it was, I didn’t care about what he said, I was getting out of there as soon as possible.

“No,” the guy murmured, concentration still on the counter. “It’s a fly. He’s been taunting me all morning. But I will have my victory.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. I shifted from foot to foot, wondering how long this was going to go on—and also what we were supposed to do if any
customers came. In the silence that soon fell between us, all his concentration focused on the fly, I took the opportunity to look at the guy. Something about him was ringing long-ago bells of recognition. It was hard to tell because he was sitting, but he looked short and somewhat stocky. He was wearing nerdy-cool glasses and had close-cropped brown hair. “I’ve almost got him,” the guy suddenly whispered, leaning forward, newspaper poised. “Just don’t move, and—”

“Oh, my
God
!” The door to the employee entrance was flung open with a bang, causing both me and the guy to jump, and the fly presumably to make his escape. A girl breezed past me and the guy, hanging her purse on a hook around the corner, talking loud and fast. I caught a glimpse of long dark hair and a purple T-shirt, and a feeling of dread crept into my stomach. “You are not going to
believe
what happened to me this morning. I was just riding into work, minding my own business, when this absolute
idiot
—” The girl came back around the corner to face us, and froze when she saw me.

I did the same. Standing in front of me was the girl in the purple shirt, the one whom I’d almost run off the road this morning, the one who’d given me the finger.

Who also happened to be Lucy Marino, my former best friend.

chapter ten

I
JUST STARED AT
L
UCY.
A
S WITH
H
ENRY, IT TOOK MY MIND A
second to reconcile her twelve-year-old appearance with the current version. Lucy and I had been around the same height when we were kids, but it seemed like she hadn’t grown nearly as much as I had, because she was now a good four inches shorter than me, and curvy, like we’d both once hoped to be. Her hair was still dark brown and shiny, but what had been an unruly mass of curls was now sleek and straight. Her olive-toned skin was already tan, and she was wearing expertly applied makeup, clearly at some point in the last five years having moved on from our clumsy first attempts at eyeliner.

Lucy blinked at me, then narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, sounding equal parts baffled and angry. The guy on the counter looked to me and raised his eyebrows.

“I… um,” I started. I gestured behind me in the direction of Fred’s office. “Fred told me to come in here. I’m working here now.”

“Really.” Lucy didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Really?” The guy on the counter did. He hopped off and relinquished his weapon, dropping the newspaper on the counter.

“Yes,” I said, without as much conviction as I would have preferred, since I was beginning to wonder if this was really such a good idea. And it hit me a moment later that Lucy’s presence at this job explained Henry’s hesitation when I’d told him I was working here.

“Excellent,” the guy said. “Reinforcements.” He held out his hand and shook mine a little too firmly, maybe having read the same book as Warren. “I’m Elliot.”