Suddenly there’s a loud, long whistle and I go toppling over onto the ground. Grady strides past, giving me the eye. “Nice undies.” He laughs.
I dust off my skirt, fit the fisherman’s cap back onto my head, pick up my things.
“What’re you up to, Claudette?”
And for a second I’m like, Why is he calling me that? But then I remember that it’s the name I gave him.
I almost make up something now, wild and outlandish, but instead I tell him, “Trying to get a phone signal.”
“You know if you need service, you can come by the Dip.”
“I thought this was the only place you could get service.”
“Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we can reach the outside world over there.”
There’s something in the way he looks at me, kind of sideways and heavy-lidded, and the way he says it—come by the Dip—all guttery but smooth.
“No thanks,” I say.
“Your loss.”
I hop on the bike and wobble away from him.
I hear him call after me, “Or maybe it’s mine.”
* * *
—
On my way home, I pass a group of campers scattered off the trail in the thick of the trees. I almost stop to ask if they’re lost, but then I see that they’re collecting debris and dead limbs, victims of some recent hurricane, and piling them on the side of the road. One of them glances up at me and then bends back over and keeps working.
I start to move on when I hear a shout. I look upward and it’s Miah, shirtless and perched high up in one of the live oaks, at home there as Tarzan, holding on with one hand as he points something out to the campers, who must not be campers after all but Outward Bound kids. He yanks at a dead limb, lodged in the branches of the tree, and I watch the way the muscles of his arms and his shoulders tense. In a second the limb gives way and goes falling toward the earth.
I can’t help but stand, feet planted on the ground on either side of the bike, and watch him, the way he’s completely lost in the work. He looks peaceful and happy. So happy that I don’t call out to him, because I don’t want to disturb him or bring him out of it. I want him to stay right where he is.
* * *
—
I eat an early dinner at Addy’s so that I can meet Miah for a sunset dune walk, which means we wander the canyons and hollows of this other world between the dunes. When the path narrows, I fall behind him, watching the way the gold of the dying sun catches his hair and skin and holds it.
I’m pretending we’re actually in another world when he says, “I want to spend the night with you. The entire night, start to finish. You in my bed. I want to wake up next to you and see what that hair looks like in the morning. And I have other questions, like are those real freckles or do you paint them on? And how loud do you snore?”
“First of all, the freckles are real. You should know by now that they don’t come off. Two, I don’t snore. Three, my mom will never go for it.”
“So I’ll stay with you.”
“I don’t think she’d like that, either.”
“Why don’t you invite me over and we’ll see what happens from there?”
DAY 18
The first and only party I’ve ever thrown was in seventh grade. Saz and I spent days making the decorations and invitations and creating a Twister-size board game that combined Seven Minutes in the Closet and Spin the Bottle and Never Have I Ever all in one, guaranteeing we would get to, at the very least, second base. We invited everyone in our class and spent the entire night watching my crush (Zachary Dunn) and her crush (Harriet Loos) making out in a corner.
I find Jared in the kitchen at the inn, at the sink, washing and drying dishes.
“I’m having people over tomorrow night and I want you to come.”
“Just tell me what time. I can bring drinks.”
“My mom’ll be there, so I’m not exactly sure how much drinking there’s going to be.”
“Sodas, then, and maybe I can liberate some dessert.”
Wednesday appears, dumping more dirty plates into the sink. “ ‘People’ as in Jared, me, you, and Miah?”
“And Emory.”
I catch a whiff of something—weed, maybe. And then I feel this little rush of air on my skin as Grady goes walking past. “I can’t wait,” he says.
“Great.” Even though I wasn’t planning to invite him. “And Grady, apparently.”
Wednesday looks at Jared. “He’d be hotter if he didn’t try so hard.”
Jared says to me, “We’ll be there.”
* * *
—
Just after six, my mom finds me as I forage in the kitchen, taking inventory of what snacks we have and whether I need to order anything from the mainland for the party. She starts helping, holding up a bag of chips. I nod. She holds up almonds. I shake my head. We do this for a while, a perfectly orchestrated dance we’ve done since I was little.
She clears her throat. “So. Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah. Sometimes known as Miah. But never as J.Crew.”
“Good to know. You’re seeing him a lot.”
“You told me not to mope around the house.”
“I don’t think I used the word mope, but it’s good to see you getting out of the window seat.”
I open a soda. Pour her some. Drink out of the can. Wait for what she’s going to say next.
“It’s been a long time since we had the talk.”
And there it is. “I remember it. We’re all good here.” Fifth grade. My mom came to my room and sat down on my bed and answered every question I had about sex. The next day she gave me a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves, and I learned to masturbate. I did it almost every day for all of fifth grade, like this miraculous secret hobby that only I knew about. I used my hand, my electric toothbrush, my stuffed animals, anything I could rub up against. My stuffed animals developed crooked necks from all the rubbing.
She says now, “I’m not going to ask, but you know I’m here for you. And please just tell me you’re being safe.”
“If anything was happening, I’m being safe. I’m not stupid.”
“I know that.”
And she’s gone as short with me as I’m being with her.
“Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
I sit next to her and we drink our sodas, the Llewelyn women. Same way of sitting, same way of bouncing one foot as if we’re listening to music. Still alike, even with all this space between us.
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
“No.”
“How old is he?”
“My age.”
“He looks older.”
“He’s not.”
“Is he going to college?”
“I think he’s taking a gap year. He came here to work with Outward Bound because he wants to help people.” I don’t mention that it was originally that or juvie. “He’s a really talented photographer. He takes photos where there isn’t much beauty and makes them beautiful.”
I’ve clearly made him sound like a mother’s dream, because my mom, who could earn her living as a psychic due to her ability to see through people—especially me—goes, “Wow. Sounds serious.”
“It is and it isn’t. It’s only for the summer.”
“I remember my first time,” she says.
“Oh God.”
“His name was Ryan and he was a year older, and I thought he was the most amazing thing ever. I was going into my senior year, and he went off to college in Texas and said he wanted me to still be his girlfriend. I think he only called me, like, twice after he left. He was always too busy, and later I found out he’d come home to see his parents but hadn’t told me. I was devastated. He tried to win me back over the summer, but by that point I was done.”
>
“Do you wish you’d waited for someone else?” I ask, thinking about my dad, about the life that might have been.
“No. At the time, he was everything. But that’s a very personal decision. I haven’t been with a lot of men, Claude, but I’ve been lucky that they were good men.”
She falls quiet and I know she’s waiting for me to say something.
“I’m not talking about him with you.” But I wish I could say, I think I love this boy. But I don’t want to love this boy because I’m going to have to say goodbye in two weeks and I’ll probably never see him again. So I’m trying not to love him. I’m trying to just hook up with him and have fun with him and not get too attached. That’s how I’m supposed to do it, right? That’s how Alannis does it, and she’s been dating since she was twelve.
“You don’t have to, as long as you know you can always talk to me.”
We stare down at our bouncing feet.
She says, “Addy’s coming to see us.”
“When?”
“Sunday.”
I don’t know what makes me ask, “Dad isn’t coming, is he?”
“No.”
“Good.”
DAY 19
I sit on the living room floor playing Jenga with Jared, Wednesday, Emory, and Grady. His white hair falls in his eyes and he’s wearing three skull rings on his left hand. His fingers are long and thin and make me think of a spider.
Emory says, “I was fifteen the first time. I thought it was mind-blowing. But I look back now, experienced man of nineteen that I am—”
Wednesday coughs loudly in his direction as she sits forward, tapping on the blocks, light enough so that she doesn’t knock over the tower.
Emory bumps her arm and she pulls her hands back, away from the tower, which wobbles but doesn’t fall. She play-slaps him on the shoulder. “Asshole.”
He laughs. “As I was saying. I look back now and I’m like, Yeah, it was actually a disaster. Neither of us knew what the hell we were doing.”
Miah walks in from the bathroom and settles himself next to me. “What’d I miss?”
Wednesday says, “How You Lost It. Specifically when and, if you feel like offering it up, who.” She smiles at Miah, at me, and my whole body goes rigid because of course she’s doing this on purpose. She says, “I was seventeen. His name was Nicholas. I waited as long as I could. My sisters are saving themselves for marriage, and I’m pretty sure my family assumes I am too. I can’t talk to any of them about it because I’d probably be cast out or something.”
I go, “Is that why you cast yourself out first? Before they could?”
She freezes, fingers on a block. “Maybe.” One of the blocks gives, and she pushes it out and places it on top, then sits back. “What about you?” She looks at Miah.
“What about me?” He leans back, studying the tower through one eye and then the other. He tickles my foot.
“How old were you the first time?” Wednesday looks back and forth between us. I have this sudden urge to get up and run for the bathroom because I don’t want to hear about all the girls before me.
He says, “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” and his voice is polite but cool.
She stares at him and he stares back, and neither one is blinking.
“I do.” Grady sits up, reaches in. Pulls out a block and drops it on top as if he doesn’t care whether the whole thing crashes down. “I was thirteen. I think her name was Bridget. Maybe Brittany.”
Jared shakes his head. “Dude. A little respect.”
Grady just blinks at him. “What?”
“Either you’re really good at pretending to be a douchebag or you really are a douchebag.”
Emory says to Grady, “Strictly girls?”
Grady grabs a handful of chips. “Mostly girls. I actually have a girlfriend.” This makes us all go quiet. “She lives on the mainland. We’ve been off and on for, like, five years.”
Wednesday says, “Does she ever come here?”
“She’s in Savannah. I’ll see her during the school year.” And that’s when we learn that Grady goes to SCAD, the Savannah College of Art and Design, and majors in sculpture and performing arts, which goes to show that you can’t always judge a book by its cover.
* * *
—
I’m in the kitchen with Jared, getting more drinks, and from there I can see the rest of them playing Twister. I try not to look as Miah and Wednesday cross legs and arms and body parts, try not to think about them using these same positions for other activities.
Jared glances into the living room, then back at me. “Don’t tell them, but I’ve only slept with one person. Last year. I was twenty.”
“I won’t. I actually think that’s pretty cool.”
“It was never going to be anything, but it was okay. I mean, it was sex. She wanted to. I wanted to. We knew what it was going to be. We kind of agreed what it was going to be. But I think the next time I do it, I want to be in love.”
I watch through the door as Wednesday collapses in a heap, nearly bringing Emory down with her. Miah is practically in a handstand, which makes me think of handstands on the beach, which makes me think of naked midnight swimming under the moon.
I say, “Love complicates things. People tell you that all the time, but it’s true.”
“I’d rather have complicated than nothing.” He adds ice to a cup and hands it to me. “So.” He gives me a look. “We don’t see you much lately.”
“We’ve been having adventures.”
“That’s cool. I’m glad he found you, because he’s a good guy and you make him happy.”
“I’m glad I found him, too.”
He helps me pour. A shout from the other room. Laughter.
He says, “You shouldn’t worry. About Wednesday, I mean. It’s different with you.”
“Thanks.” But as I say it, I wonder, What does it matter if it’s different with me? It’s not like I have a future with this boy.
Like he reads my mind, Jared says, “He’s leaving soon, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” In thirteen days.
“What are you guys gonna do?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it. We’re just concentrating on right now.”
“I hope you work it out. It’s funny. We’re like this weird little family here. Like the Island of Misfit Toys.”
More laughter as Miah and Emory topple over at the same time. Wednesday is snapping pictures with her phone while Grady does a victory lap around the coffee table.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” And I’m glad to be part of it.
* * *
—
Everyone leaves around midnight, and Miah’s the last one out. At the front door he says, a little louder than necessary, “Good night, Captain.” He aims his voice toward my mom’s room.
“Good night, Miah,” I say, even though my mom went to bed twenty minutes ago.
He kisses me and walks out into the night and I shut the door hard behind him, just in case she’s listening. I take my time turning off lights, pouring myself a glass of water. My bedtime routine. I collect my notebook from the window seat. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Give Dandelion some treats. Make my way to my room, shutting the door with a click.
A tap at the window, and Miah is on the other side. I push it open and he says, “I’m being eaten alive out here.”
* * *
—
I’m on top of him in my bed, and he’s laughing. I lean in and kiss him, and when I pull away, there’s this look on his face. It’s hard to read, but it’s like this mix of happiness and something else—love, maybe.
I say, “Why didn’t you play How You Lost It?”
“Because I’m not twelve.” He kisses me again, and that look is still there.
“I wish you hadn’t slept with her. It would be a lot easier to be her friend.”
“I wish I hadn’t slept with her either.”
“So how many have there been? Girls, I mean?” And as I ask it, my heart is racing, and I want to say, Don’t tell me. Please don’t tell me.
“Why?”
“I guess I just want to know where I rank.”
“First, I don’t rank. There’s no list, if that’s what you’re thinking. Second, there’s not much of a list. When I’m not on a deserted island, I’m pretty much a full-time caregiver to a grown woman and four younger siblings.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Do you want to tell me where I rank?”
“You’re the only boy I’ve slept with.”
“But not the only one you’ve fooled around with.”
“That seems like a long time ago. Like another person.”
And it does. Shane Waller and Matteo Dimas and Wyatt Jones seem like boys who happened to someone else.
I say, “Have you ever heard of the Viennese oyster?”
* * *
—
Five minutes later, we’re going through The Joy of Sex, studying the police drawings and reading misogynistic passages to each other in a whisper. He delivers his with the drollness of Mr. Hernandez, my tenth-grade Spanish teacher, and I bury my face in the pillow to muffle my laughter.
“Man, this book really is horrible,” he says. “But the positions are…interesting.” He holds one up. I shake my head.
“There are better ones.” I take the book from him.
We settle on the flanquette, which is like Twister, only without the board. The book doesn’t give us much to go on, and right away he gets a foot to the nose, to the eye, to the chin, and I get a cramp in my calf, which means we have to take time out while I hop up and down, wrapped in the sheet because there is no way I’m flapping around in front of him with my boobs hanging out.
Breathless Page 24
