by P. G. Kain
“Oh, and I’ve been waiting to tell you something about our trip to the beach.”
“Yeah, what?” I ask, taking the T-shirt from her and smoothing out the fabric with my hand.
“Well, I was chatting with Ming-wei the other day, and . . .”
“And . . .,” I say, excitement building in my voice.
“Oh, it’s not that big a deal, but it turns out that he’ll be at the Jersey shore the same time we are. He’ll be just a town away from us.”
“WHAT?” I shout, throwing the T-shirt on the bed and jumping up and down to show my excitement. “That’s awesome! Not a big deal? Are you crazy? That is a huge deal,” I tell her.
Ginger bites her lip and wrinkles her forehead. “It is a big deal, isn’t it? If I see him, it will be the first time I’ll have any interaction with him outside of class. You know, in real life.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time,” I say, and put my arm on her shoulder.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” Ginger says, and she put her arm around me. “You better get changed if you still want me to do your hair like that picture I showed you online.”
“Thanks, Ginger.” Sometimes having a best friend in charge of wardrobe, hair, and makeup is better than any professional in the world.
CHAPTER 39
Five. That is the number of words Rory has spoken to me since I’ve been at the concert. Specifically he said, “Hey babe. Glad you’re here,” when I first arrived. Then he went to hang out with some guy friends, and then five minutes later the band started. They have now been playing for forty-five long, ear-deafening minutes.
The only word I can use to describe this band is LOUD. I stand on the edge of the crowd, far enough away from Rory that he can’t have a conversation with me, but not so far away that he can’t glance at me every now and then. I try to make sure that when he looks over I appear like I’m really enjoying the music. I move my hips and head to the beat (if you can call it that), and sometimes when I’m sure he’s looking over at me, I close my eyes so it looks like I’m really connecting to the music. Actually, when I have my eyes closed I’m praying that each song will be the last song we have to endure. There are car alarms that sound better than this band. Seriously, I’d rather have someone beat my ears than listen to this band.
However, I seem to be in a minority. This girl taps me on the shoulder and screams, “They’re amazing. What’s their name?”
Rory told me their name, but the relentless sound has drained any memory of it from my brain. I think it’s some name related to food, but I scream back, “I DON’T KNOW.”
Then the girl says, “IDA’S TOE?”
“NO,” I scream. “I DON’T KNOW!”
She nods her head and screams, “THANKS!” Then she puts both arms in the air and screams, “IDA’S TOE ROCKS!”
I remember in that moment that I have an Aunt Ida and that I’ve seen her feet. They are nothing to celebrate.
At one point Rory looks over at me and waves. I wave back and smile just a bit. It’s my commercial smile and not my real smile. I wonder which of his smiles he’s using. Then he mouths something and gives me the thumbs-up sign. I shake my head and squint my eyes, indicating that I’m not sure what he’s saying. He puts his thumb up and mouths the phrase again, only this time it is much slower. The second time I think the first word is “I.” Then he does it again, and I think he’s saying, “I love you.” I practice saying the phrase to myself, and all the movements fit.
Freeze everything.
What am I supposed to do? Rory has just told me he loves me on our first date. That is insane. It’s too much. It’s too fast. I’m not sure how I feel. Sure I like him, but love?
I keep my mouth sealed tightly but give him a thumbs-up. I figure that’s the best compromise until I decide how I feel. The band announces their last song, and despite the fact that my ears are ringing, I want them to keep playing, because once the show is over I know Rory and I will have to talk to each other, and what am I supposed to say to a boy who has just told me he loves me? Well, actually, he mouthed it, or at least, I think he mouthed it.
As I suspected, the band stops, and Rory starts walking over to me, nodding his head and mouthing, “I love you,” over and over again with his thumb up. Oh, this is too much! I can’t believe this boy is declaring his love for me with so much enthusiasm. I just put my thumb up and nod.
He gets closer and closer, and only when he’s directly in front of me do I realize the depth of my stupidity. I can actually hear him saying, “Olive Juice! Olive Juice!” and I instantly remember the name of the band. He wasn’t telling me he loves me. He was just saying the band’s name.
When will I learn that things are not always what they appear to be?
CHAPTER 40
After the concert everyone decides that it would be cool to walk along the path by the Hudson River. My curfew is not for another hour, so I have plenty of time to make it home. As the group moves en masse from the park where the concert was held across town to the river, the couples slowly begin to peel off like some kind of urban square dance. At one point we are two groups, girls and boys, and then as we arrive at the water we are about half a dozen boy-girl couples. Now the night begins to feel like a date, or at least what I think a date should be like, since I’ve never actually been on one.
Even though it’s night, the moon gives off enough light so you can make out the edges of the few clouds that hang in the sky. Once we get to the river, the expanse of the sky opens up, and I am reminded once again that Manhattan is actually an island. We start walking down the path along the river, and Rory is still talking about the band.
“The thing that is so awesome about Olive Juice is that they play all different types of music.”
“Yeah,” I say, even though I couldn’t really tell one song from the other. It all just sounded like static to me. For a second I consider telling Rory this. Why shouldn’t I? It’s what I really think, but when I look over at him and his sweet smile and sunburnt cheeks I change my mind. Why ruin this moment with what I really think? Do I really owe anything to reality? What has it ever done for me?
I listen to Rory as we walk along the water and then something unexpected happens. He asks me a question. “So what’s up with you?”
I have no idea how to respond. I was really getting into a listen groove, so responding feels strange and alien at the moment. I don’t know what to say. We walk in silence for a few steps, and the seconds pass like pushing a giant boulder up a hill. I tell myself to say something. Say anything.
Then something truly terrible happens. I start to think about Nevin and how easy it is to talk to him. How he’s the only person I’ve really talked to about all the stuff that is going on with my family. Then I make a conscious effort to move Nevin out my mind.
“Everything is great,” I finally say. “I’m having this totally awesome summer just hanging out with my friends and my family. I just like having fun and chilling.” Of course I hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I really don’t believe that I’m speaking them. I sound like a complete idiot. Where did I come up with this? Who talks like this? Actually. I know exactly who talks like this. Commercial Cassie. What I just said sounds like an ad for me rather than plain old me. Not to mention that it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“That’s cool,” Rory says, and then points out over the water. “Look, a cruise ship.” Out in the distance I see a gleaming white rectangle with soft, glowing lights. “Hey, have you heard anything about the Happy Family Cruise spot?” he asks. Another question, but this one I can answer.
“No,” I say.
“Me either, but it shoots in, like, a few days so we better find out soon.”
“Oh,” I say, realizing that at least not booking the spot means I will be able to go to the science museum and complete my final.
“Yeah,” Rory says. “I’m glad it’s not next week, because that week my family goes to
our house in the Hamptons.”
“You have a house in the Hamptons?” I ask, even though he just said he did. It’s clear that my mind and my mouth are not on the same team tonight.
“Yeah, it’s amazing. It’s only a few blocks from the beach, and we have this saltwater pool.”
“It sounds great,” I say. I’ve never been to the Hamptons, but I’ve always wanted to go. Once I had a callback for a commercial that was scheduled to shoot in the Hamptons, but I didn’t book it.
“Maybe you should come for a day that week. It’s easy to take the train, and my mom could pick you up and drop you off at the station on, like, Wednesday when she’s not playing tennis.”
Is this an invitation? It sounds like an invitation. It’s not a concrete invitation, but he is inviting me. Isn’t he?
“I’d like that,” I say, and even though we’re walking side by side I can tell that Rory is smiling. Then suddenly our arms that have been swinging next to each other brush against each other, but instead of moving farther away from me or giving me more room, Rory moves closer. He stops walking for just a second, takes my hand very gently, and then continues walking along the river.
We are walking and holding hands. No one is around to yell, “CUT!” and that’s fine with me.
CHAPTER 41
I check my watch before turning the key in the lock on the apartment door. I am a full seven minutes early for my curfew. I don’t want this feeling to end, so I consider walking around the block before heading home, but I figure coming home early will score me points for when I tell my mom I want to go to see a boy she doesn’t know in the Hamptons for a day. I’m sure his parents will call and work out the details, but for now all I can think about is a day in the Hamptons.
I open the door, expecting all the lights to be off, but instead every lamp is turned on and my mom is standing in the middle of the living room.
“Cassie, did you have a nice time with your friends?” she asks.
“Yeah, it was great,” I say. I take a few more steps into the apartment and realize empty cardboard boxes are everywhere. I assume they’re going to be used for some new craft project. But tonight even my mom’s obsession with crafting doesn’t bother me.
“Did you like the band? What was their name again? Uh . . . Orange Juice or something?”
“Olive Juice,” I say, and remember the silly mistake I made with Rory. I’m grateful that now it’s just a funny story. I tell my mom about how horrible the band was, and she laughs at my description of their performance. Then I tell her how we took a walk along the water, and she listens to every word I say. She’s good at listening when it’s important. She doesn’t ask a lot of prying questions, and she respects my privacy. I want to tell her about being invited to the Hamptons, but it suddenly hits me that our apartment is full of empty boxes. “Mom, what are all these?”
“Cassie,” my mom says, and sits down on the couch. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for a while. Sit down next to me.”
I take a seat next to her and say, “You’ve been wanting to talk to me about boxes?”
“Not exactly. Look, you’re not a baby anymore. You’re growing up, and I need to have a mature conversation with you.”
I immediately put my head down and stare at the floor. Why is it that “growing up” is always on grown-ups’ terms? It’s like, when I want to do something, I always get told I can’t because I’m not old enough, but when my mom wants me to act mature, it’s for something she wants me to do.
I don’t look at her. I keep staring down.
“These boxes are for your dad.” She pauses. I can tell she’s waiting for me to have a reaction, but I don’t. I just keep staring down at the wooden floor. “He’s coming to move his stuff out so he can get his own place.” Another pause, but I don’t blink. “After the . . . divorce.”
There’s the word I was waiting for. It’s like a light switch. The moment I hear it, I turn off. I don’t want anything to do with it.
“Look, Mom. I’ve got to study with Nevin tomorrow for our big final at the science museum. I better get to bed.” I go to get up from the couch, and my mom gently puts her hand on my thigh.
“Cassie, you can’t run away from this. It’s happening. I’m sorry it is. It’s hard for me, too, but I need you to understand what’s going on.”
I don’t say anything. I continue to stare at the floor.
“I know you think we’re pretty different, Cassie, but I’m worried we’re actually too much alike.”
“What do you mean?” I mumble, my gaze not leaving the floor.
“Look, I know you love going out on auditions and booking spots, but I worry that it’s too much of a distraction from living your real life. When I was your age, I was the same way.”
“You wanted to be in commercials?” I can’t even imagine my mom wanting that.
“Oh, no. Not in that way. I’ve always loved numbers and equations. But Cassie, I realized I sometimes love a good mathematical problem and pay more attention to it than other things because it’s something I know I can solve if I work really hard at it. For me, math is an escape from reality, and lately I’ve started to think I rely on it too much. I worry you use commercials in the same way.”
For a second, just a mere second, I take in what she says, and then I push it out of my mind. I fake a huge yawn and then stretch and cover my hand with my mouth. This time she can’t stop me.
“Mom, no problem. I get it. I understand. I’m just really tired.” I get up off the couch without looking at her. I walk directly to my room and close the door behind me. I’m not about to let reality get a hold of me tonight when I have to start planning for my day at the beach with Rory next week.
CHAPTER 42
Sunlight pierces through the blinds in my room as I slowly open my eyes. The level of brightness makes me think I am either going to be very late for class or I’ve missed it altogether. I reach my arm over my head to turn the face of my alarm clock toward me and confirm that even if I leap out of bed immediately, I will still be very late for class.
For a brief moment my biggest concern is a tardy mark in my summer class. I try to hold on to the half-conscious state for as long as I can, but then I begin to remember the reality of my life and all its complexities. Worrying about a tardy mark seems blissful by comparison.
I pull my blanket over my head, but the sunlight still penetrates the fabric. After a minute the air under the covers begins to feel heavy and thick. I want to stay hidden in my bed, but the physical need for fresh air forces me to pull the covers off my face, and in that moment I make a decision.
“That’s it!” I say out loud. “Enough!” I just can’t take it anymore. I feel like this statue I’ve seen at Rockefeller Center of this man with the shape of a body builder struggling to hold up a globe on his back. His face is twisted in anguish, and his arms seem to shake from the pressure. I’m going to deal with reality and throw that globe off my back. I get out of bed, grab the cord to the blinds, and pull so hard that they almost snap off the window frame. Sunshine fills the room, and the intensity of the light makes me squint, but I feel determined. I will accept the fact that no matter how perfect my life is at a go-see, the reality is that my parents are getting a di—
My cell phone vibrates underneath my pillow. I shove my hand under my pillow and grab my phone. There are six missed calls, and I see that Honey is calling.
“Hello,” I croak into the phone, sounding like I’ve been asleep for days.
“Cassie, kiddo, this is my third call this morning.” Well, that accounts for half my missed calls. “Where are you? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What matters is where you’re going!”
“What?” I’m not sure whether I’m still half-asleep or whether Honey is not really making any sense.
“Cassie, you booked the Happy Family Cruises spot. Do you realize how huge this is? They plan to run this spot both national and international. They’d probably air them on Mars i
f they knew how to.”
“This is . . .” I’m not sure how to finish the sentence.
“FANTASTIC!” Honey shouts, finishing the sentence for me. “Cassie, you are the Happy Family daughter.”
Actually, I’m the exact opposite, but if I accept this booking it means I will indeed be her for at least one day.
CHAPTER 43
I accept the booking and go back to sleep.
By the time I actually get out of bed I realize it’s too late to go to class for any reasonable amount of time. I decide to do some damage control and head out to Solazzo’s Bakery to buy some protection. Surely a few of their delicious cannoli will help me tell Ginger and Nevin that I’m going to the Hamptons instead of the Jersey shore. Of course, it might take more than cannoli to smooth things over with Nevin, since booking this spot means I won’t be at the final for our science class, but I’ll just deal with that when the time comes.
From two blocks away I can see the line in front of Solazzo’s. It wraps around the block and stretches for at least another full block, and people seem to keep joining it. But this line isn’t for Solazzo’s Bakery. It’s for the Pretty Perfect Cupcake Café, which opened about a year ago. It was featured on a reality TV show, because the owner of the bakery is this very pretty young woman who loves to scream at her staff behind the scenes but is all smiles and giggles at the counter. The cupcakes are smothered in a garden of brightly covered flowers and are featured at events like celebrity weddings.
A few months ago Ginger and I put on dark glasses and waited in line just to see what all the fuss was about. We didn’t want Mrs. Solazzo to see us patronizing her biggest competitor. I don’t think we even came close to finishing the cupcakes. The icing tasted like eating sugar right out of the box. The cake was dry and resembled sawdust more than anything edible. One bite and we tossed them away, vowing never to stray from the chocolate-covered cannoli at Solazzo’s Bakery, where we’ve been going since we were kids. I know the cupcakes from Pretty Perfect look, well, both pretty and perfect, but they taste pretty awful. What’s the point of a cupcake looking so nice if it tastes so bad?
