Coming to a dead stop, Frances is frozen in place, her mouth wide open, her eyes big.
“What is it?”
“Shhhhh!” She waves her hands wildly in front of her face. “Don’t you recognize that car?” She points to an old Mustang.
“No, not really, I—”
“Shhhhh!” Frances tugs on my arm. “Come on. Keep walking.”
“Are you gonna tell me whose—”
The front door of the RV flies open and out walks the source of Frances’s mental meltdown.
“Well, hello, ladies.”
Nash Griffin, a fellow sophomore at In Between High, saunters our way. I take in his vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt, all holey and wrinkled, his long, baggy shorts, the scruffy hair hanging near his chin. He always looks like he just rolled out of bed.
“Ohhh, he’s the cutest,” Frances whispers out of the side of her mouth.
The cutest what? Cutest dude with bed head? Cutest guy whose clothes have never been touched by an iron? Or maybe most attractive boy in need of a deep conditioner?
“Hey, Nash. What’s up?” I give scruffy boy a big smile, my eyes darting to Frances, who has yet to unfreeze.
Nash holds out a fist, and I make one of my own and lightly bump his. He then greets Frances in the same manner.
Frances just stares.
“You gonna leave me hanging?” He tries again.
She blinks.
“OK, how ’bout one of these?” His hand goes up for a high five.
Frances’s eyes are glazed over, like she’s just seen something shocking. Such as Maxine streaking through the forest.
Our classmate clears his throat. “So what brings you ladies out to the lake? Gonna do some fishing? Some boating? Maybe work on your tans?”
Hysterical laughter bubbles from Frances. “Oh, that’s a good one. You’re so funny, Nash.” More wild giggles.
Oh, no. I have to get her out of here. She must’ve gotten too much sun already. Maybe she’s dehydrated. Or distraught over not making any bat discoveries.
Nash shakes his head then directs the rest of the conversation to me. The one who currently does not sound like a hyena.
“You ladies camping?”
“Yeah, we’re here with my foster parents. Gonna stay through Saturday.”
“Camping . . .” Frances begins a sentence then spaces out. The giggles start yet again.
I roll my eyes and force a smile. “I think she’s inhaled some bad fish or something. We better walk on. See you around?”
His eyes linger on my friend, the one I am currently dragging along beside me. “You know it. I’m here ’til Sunday afternoon, so I’ll see you later.”
My free hand flaps out in a parting wave. “Later.”
We round a corner, and I steer Frances toward a swing set area.
“OK, just take some deep breaths now, Frances.” You space cadet.
I push her into a swing and plunk down in one myself.
“What was that all about?”
My friend hangs her head and moans. “Oh, my gosh. I’m gonna die. Seriously, I’m gonna die.” She puts her head in her hands. “Please tell me it wasn’t as bad as I think it was. Tell me I didn’t just make a total idiot of myself.”
This gravel sure is interesting. So many different shades of brown here. There’s light brown. A few pieces are almost white. Dark brown. Medium beige. Or would these rocks be considered tan?
“Katie!” Frances jerks on my swing chain.
“What?” I laugh. “What do you want me to say? Frances, it was like you were having an out-of-body experience. I’m afraid it was just as ugly as you think it was.”
“It was ugly?” she squeaks. “How ugly?”
“Like sumo wrestler ugly.”
“Oh, no.”
“Like uni-brow ugly.”
“You can stop now.”
“Mole hair ugly.”
“Enough!” Frances’s voice echoes through the camp. “Can we go home now? Would James take us back?” Her face is pitiful.
“No. Look, I’m sure Nash didn’t think you were being weird.” If he hails from a planet in which drooling excessively while repeating the word camping over and over are considered normal.
With a big stomp of her feet, Frances puts herself in motion, like she’s trying to swing away the last ten minutes. Or maybe she’s hoping she’ll take to the air and magically fly far, far away.
“Look, I know Nash isn’t exactly eye candy, but he’s a really nice guy. You could’ve tried to make some polite conversation with him.”
“That’s not it.”
“I know he’s all into the skateboard thing, and there’s his whole alternative band he’s got going on. But it’s not like you to totally clam up and shut down on someone just because you don’t hang out in the same social circles.”
“That’s not it either.”
Understanding dawns. “Oh, it’s his hair, isn’t it? You were so engrossed in the dead ends you couldn’t focus on conversation?”
Frances drags her feet in the rocks, her swing slowing to a stop. She inhales loudly. “I have had a crush on Nash Griffin since the first grade.” She looks for my reaction.
“And that’s how you show a guy you like him?” I gesture toward the distant RVs.
Frances wrings her hands. “I’m no good at that stuff.”
“What stuff? The acting like a normal human being stuff?”
“Boys,” she sighs. “The male species. Gentlemen. Dudes. Hotties.”
“Okay, for starters, nobody says hotties anymore.”
“See!” Her dark eyebrows disappear in her bangs. “That’s what I mean. I’m clueless. Is there a book for this sort of thing? Like a manual?”
Oh, if only. In fact, I wish there was a manual for every aspect of teen life. Guys, zits, school, waxing. Parallel parking.
“I . . . I seriously can’t believe you’re into . . . Nash.”
“I know! He’s nothing like me. He’s totally not my type. My parents would freak if I brought him home to meet them.”
Frances’s parents, her dad an overly protective Mexican, and her mother, an ultraconservative woman of a proud Chinese culture, would bar the doors and windows, not letting Frances out ’til she’s forty, if they knew she had the hots for Nash. “Well . . . this thing with Nash . . . you’ll get over it.”
Frances’s face crumbles. “I don’t want to get over it. Help me, Katie.” She grabs my swing and gives it a shake. “Make me cool—somebody the boys will find irresistible. The magnet that attracts all the guys with an invisible force they are powerless to resist.”
I turn away, desperate to get my composure and not laugh. Think of serious things, Katie. Hunger in Africa. War in the Middle East. Days without my flatiron.
Swiveling back around, my face is stern and composed. “Look, I don’t know a whole lot about the men-folk myself. I’ve only had a couple of boyfriends, and I don’t think most of those even count.” Like Jesse Cantrell, a boy I briefly dated in the sixth grade just because he would share his Twinkies with me at lunch. “But you are the smartest girl I know. And I think between the two of us, we can have you struttin’ it like a Victoria’s Secret model.”
“Oh, I would never be allowed to wear—”
“With the flair of the girls in the Abercrombie ads.”
“My mom says those ladies don’t wear enough—”
“With confidence, Frances,” I nearly shout. “With confidence. Look at everything else you tackle. You succeed at everything you do, and never have I seen you act unsure of yourself.” Until today.
“You’re right. I can do this.” She smiles for the first time since the incident.
“Sure you can. Now you put that giant brain of yours to work. Start brainstorming some things we can do for damage control, and I’m gonna go right over there and use the bathroom.” I point over my shoulder.
“In the shrubs?”
I point further to the left. “The b
athrooms.”
I lift myself out of the swing, briefly wondering at the way my rear doesn’t fit in those things like they did when I was five. As soon as I round the shrubbery and near the concrete bathrooms, the smell hits me.
Lake bathrooms. An aroma like no other.
Pulling my shirt over my nose, I take a giant breath, swing the door open, and enter into the ladies bathroom. Finding the first stall empty, I make a toilet paper wreath around the seat. Okay, here goes nothing.
“And I told you we would tell the family when I was ready.”
My ears perk at that voice.
“Well, then I guess I’m not ready . . . What? . . . Well, of course there isn’t anyone else. How can you even ask? Have you been inhaling paint fumes again?”
I’ve just found Maxine. On her cell phone with Sam. On the toilet.
“Awww, I miss you too, sweet muffins.” She makes kissie noises into her phone. “No, I miss you more. No, I do. No, I miss you the most.”
The breath I’m holding bursts out of my cheeks, as I fail miserably at containing a laugh.
“Who’s there? . . . Sam, gotta go.” Her voice lowers. “Don’t even think of following me out here.”
Maxine’s stall door is thrown open, banging against the wall, and her head appears below my door.
“Hey! How rude!” Just when I thought lake bathrooms couldn’t get any worse.
Her yellow head disappears. “You got five seconds to tinkle, wipe, and flush, little missy, then I want you out here where I can see you.”
Five seconds pass.
“Are you gonna go?” she barks.
“Well, now I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t pee under this kind of pressure.” I flush and exit the stall.
“How much did you hear?”
Turning the sink on, I put my hands under the cool stream. “Who cares? Your relationship with Sam is so yesterday.” Though I’m proud to say I am instrumental in bringing Sam and Maxine together. “I have a new focus.”
She hands me a rough, brown paper towel. “And what might that be?” Her eyes glisten with interest.
“Operation: Get Frances A Boyfriend.” I nod at her raised eyebrow. “Are you in?”
She taps a hot pink nail to her lips. “Oh, yes. I’m in.”
Chapter 6
Ahh . . . This is the life. Frances and I are each sprawled on lounge chairs next to the lake. I’m sunny side up, with one arm over my face, the other holding a paperback. I pull my light jacket closer and shut my eyes. Out here next to the water, with the sun warming my skin, there’re no problems. No mom in prison. No foster parent waiting to hear if she has cancer. It’s just me and the lake. Birds call overhead. Fish jump in the distance. Boats roar far away. I could get used to this camping stuff.
“Make way for the queen!”
Frances and I sit up, gasping as Maxine throws her lime-green inner tube into the water. She locks her hands into dive position, squats, then launches her body toward her float.
Landing flat on her stomach.
A spray of water covers both Frances and me.
I wipe my face, smearing my sunscreen, and shiver. “Are you crazy? Maxine, that water has to be freezing!”
Maxine adjusts her bathing suit straps and treads toward her tube. “For babies maybe. This builds character. Strength. Separates the wimps from the—”
“Insane lunatics?” I wipe my book off with my jacket.
She flips the raft under her, so she’s sitting in the center hole, her legs in the water for all but her freshly painted toes, sticking straight up. “That’s a fetching hat you have on there, Frances.”
Frances touches her wide brimmed hat. She looks at Maxine, then over to me. At my shrug, Frances regards Maxine again. “Um . . . thank you. I think.”
“Yes, when I first met my husband, Mr. Simmons, God rest his soul, I was sporting a beautiful wide-brimmed hat as well. It makes us women look mysterious. Of course I was also in a totally sexy bathing suit. I was dancing at the Circus Circus casino in Vegas, and in between the matinee and evening shows, I had decided to visit the pool.” Maxine kicks her legs out. I notice they’re covered in goose bumps. “One look at these gams, and it was all over. Yup, sometimes you just have to be willing to show a little leg, you know?”
Frances nods her head slowly. “Sure. Okay.” Her eyes close and her head returns to her chair.
“I’m full of tips.” Maxine crosses her arms as a breeze ripples the water. “Yes, indeed, I’m a wealth of information on many topics. Dancing . . . fashion . . . dating.”
“Dentures.”
Maxine gives me the stink eye. “As I was saying, the social graces have always come to me so naturally. But you know, the Lord does not bless everyone with such skills.” She clutches her chest. “My heart breaks for you young people today. So many girls these days rely on their outer beauty instead of their inner poise.”
Frances sits up so fast her chair buckles, her legs shooting to either side. “Katie Parker! You told her!”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but Maxine beats me to it. “My dear, your secret is safe with me. Katie simply took your little situation to heart and knew to go to the ultimate authority for help. Moi.”
“If you tell anyone, Maxine, I will make sure the story of you and Sam is front page news. I’ll post it on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. . . the billboard downtown!” Frances sputters.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. There’s no need for the theatrics. I’m here to help.”
My friend’s eyes narrow. “And in return?”
Maxine waves a careless hand. “Oh. Nothing in return. Well, I guess I would like you and your teenybopper friends to stay out of my church pew, but I don’t think that will be a problem, hmmm?”
Steam is practically coming out of Frances’s ears.
Maxine rubs her hands together. “I do so enjoy a good challenge. This will be fun. The three of us working together . . . to make you datable.”
See, I should be feeling badly. Maybe I shouldn’t have told Maxine about Frances and Nash, but I know Maxine. She’s all talk. All bluff. She’s like one of those cats that chase mice to play with, not to swallow whole. While Maxine will enjoy teasing Frances, she would never actually tell anyone about her long-standing crush on Nash Griffin. And we do need some help.
“I don’t need your assistance.” Frances lifts her chin regally. “But thank you.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to . . . oh!”
“What?” I ask, watching Maxine jump.
“The fish. They’re biting my tushie.” She jumps again.
Frances giggles with satisfaction, but I just roll my eyes. “Well, get out of the water.”
Maxine settles back into her float. “I didn’t say I minded it.”
The roar of a boat motor drowns out any further comments.
James stands at the wheel of a white and aqua striped boat, his hat perched backwards on his head. He cuts the motor and calls out to us. “Ready to hit the waves, ladies?”
“Where’d you get that thing?” I yell back.
“Found it at the dock. Surely no one will miss it.” He laughs at his little joke. “It’s a renter, so come on. Time’s a-wasting. Go get Millie, and let’s take a ride.”
Fifteen minutes later Millie, Maxine, Frances, Rocky, and I are all suited up in our life jackets, ready to take to the open water.
I tighten the clasp on my vest. “Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?”
James shrugs. “Don’t you think preachers and speed boats mix?”
Well, now that you mention it, no.
“This summer we’ll come back out and ski. Who’s gonna be ready for that? How about you, Maxine?” James puts the boat into motion and pretty soon it feels like we’re flying.
“Nope. I am officially retired from skiing. After last summer’s debacle at the senior citizen’s lake day, I’m through with water sports.” She leans
in close to my ear, her voice raised over the noise. “Let’s just say my top blew off, and I accidentally showed everyone how the Lord has greatly blessed me.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon in the boat. We eat the lunch Millie packed and take in the scenery. Maxine, Frances, and I see who can get the most waves from fishermen.
“How many did you get?” Frances asks, her black hair blowing in her face. “I got ten.”
I hold up eight fingers.
“Ha! Amateurs. I got fifteen.”
I push my hair back. “Well, I guess if we had blown kisses to every boat we’d passed, we’d have gotten fifteen too.”
The sun begins to drop in the sky, and James steers us back to the marina. I rest my head on the seat and watch Millie behind the black of my sunglasses. Her curly blonde hair is damp, and she sits next to Captain James. Every once in a while she looks over at each of us and gives a big smile, as if to say, “I’m so glad you’re here with me today.” That’s Millie. She could possibly have a major disease, and she still looks all peaceful and happy. Meanwhile, I’m completely in knots. I want to get home so we can get her test results. How can she stand to be out here? Isn’t she desperate to know? How do you just leave home for days at a time when you’re waiting to find out if you have cancer?
If Millie has cancer, I wonder if she’ll call her daughter. James and Millie have a twenty-five-year-old daughter who is MIA. She’s a long story, one I know little about, but apparently their only child Amy is a little cuckoo. At least that’s my primary theory. Millie sends her money and stuff, but Amy just continues to ignore her parents. Kind of weird. Amy’s an actress, so my other theory involves Tom Cruise, but I’m still working out the details of that one.
After docking the boat, we walk back to the campsite. I’m exhausted, but in a good way. My skin tingles with a little too much wind and sun (despite the fact Millie was coming at me every hour with the sunscreen), and my limbs feel heavy from all the motion. Maybe sleeping on the hard ground won’t be so difficult after all.
“Why don’t you girls hit the showers up the hill while James and I get the steaks on for dinner.”
“I’ll go with them,” Maxine says in a rush, pushing through us to get to her tent.
On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production) Page 4
