When I get inside the community center, I look around to see who’s here. Most of the kids are a couple of years younger than me. Actually, there doesn’t seem to be anyone my age here. I think Corey is my best hope. She’s two years older, but she’s never been rude to me. And she’s looking around, too, like she’s desperate to find someone her age.
I decide to get something to eat before I go talk to her. Just as I’m grabbing an almond croissant, someone behind me says, “Hey, Alberta.”
Oliver is standing behind me with a cup of orange juice.
“Hey.” I rip off a piece of croissant and stuff it in my mouth. Ever since Edie asked if I have a crush on Oliver, it’s the first thing I think of when I see him. I felt like I was going to disappear in a ball of flames when I saw him yesterday at school, like he’d somehow know we’d been talking about him.
“No Laramie this year?” he asks, looking closely at the boxes of pastries. He finally settles on a jelly doughnut.
I try not to frown. “She’s not in surf camp.”
“Duh. But she always goes to watch her brother, right? Is she going up to Pismo with her family?”
“No, she’s going to Nicolette’s birthday party.”
Oliver takes a huge bite of his doughnut, barely catching the red jelly before it drips onto his shirt. And he gets powdered sugar everywhere. But at least he doesn’t talk with his mouth full, like Fletcher. “Why is she hanging out with eighth graders all the time now?”
“I don’t know,” I say. And I don’t want to talk about it, so I change the subject. “Hey, would your parents let you compete?”
He licks a drop of jelly from the side of his finger. “I don’t want to compete. I just like surfing.”
“But if you wanted to, would they let you?”
“I don’t know.” Oliver shrugs. “I guess. My parents don’t really care about surfing. Just soccer. My dad, mostly.”
“Do they make you play?” Oliver is on the team, and he’s supposed to be pretty good, but I’ve never seen one of his games.
“No, I like it. But my dad played, growing up. He still plays in leagues. And my abuelo played in Club América, back in Mexico City. So it’s kind of a family thing.” He looks at me, wiping powdered sugar from his chin. “Why? You wanna compete?”
“Yeah, but my dads won’t let me until I turn thirteen.”
He shrugs. “So you can do it next year, right? That’s not so far off.”
“Ugh,” I say, walking away from him to the jugs of juice on the other side of the table.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“You sound exactly like my dads.”
The beach is already bursting with surfers and spectators by the time Jed lets us out with Irene and goes to park the van. Booths selling everything from tacos to surf gear to beer are set up along the boardwalk, leading down to the pier.
Everywhere I look, people are in wet suits and rash guards, holding their boards. My arms ache to hold my own, feeling the empty space beneath them. I’m starting to wonder if I should have come at all, because I can’t help feeling jealous no matter where I glance.
We find a space big enough for all eight of us and spread out beach blankets on the sand. I sit next to Oliver, who seems scared to say anything after I got annoyed with him. Irene is on my other side, already reapplying sunscreen to her face.
The groms are up first, which is what they call little kids who surf. Leif used to call me that when he first met me. In this contest, it’s kids ten and under. These kids are really good, riding waves that would have terrified me at that age. A few of them even pull off some tricks that make everyone on the beach clap and cheer.
“Did you ever think about going pro?” I ask Irene when the next age group is up. Girls, eleven to seventeen. The group I’d be competing in.
She glances around us, as if to see if anyone is listening. Then she leans her head close to mine. “Between you and me, yes.”
“But why is it a secret? I bet you were good enough.”
Irene has shown us videos of her surfing when she was a teenager. Maybe so we’d believe she knew what she was talking about as she coached us.
“Because I wasn’t good enough,” she says with a sigh. “Almost, but… the truth is, I didn’t have the discipline to go as far as I could have. I was more interested in parties and boys. And I didn’t want to get up early on the weekends to practice.” She looks at me and shakes her head. “Silly, huh?”
“But it’s not too late, is it?”
Irene gives me a wry smile. “I’m afraid so. But, also, it was different for young women back then. Nobody really encouraged us to do anything with our talent. It was seen as more of a hobby rather than a sport we wanted to compete in, too. Of course women surfers have been around as long as the sport has, but it’s only been in the last couple of decades or so that we’ve been given our due.”
“My dads think I’m still too young to enter a contest,” I say, digging the toe of my sneaker into the sand.
“I know.”
I look at her. “You do?”
“I asked Kadeem about it a few months ago. I thought you’d be perfect for this competition, and I was sure of it after the way you performed at camp this summer.”
“But he said no.” I sigh.
“He said they’d feel more comfortable if you took another year before you started to compete. That they just want you to have fun with it for now.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what they tell me,” I mumble. “But… you really think I’m good enough, Irene?”
“You know I do,” she says, nudging me with her elbow.
“No, I mean… seriously? You wouldn’t just say that to make me feel better?”
She fixes her eyes on me sternly. “Have you ever known me to lie?”
“No, I just… I wouldn’t want you to say that because I’m… different, or whatever.”
“Different?” She frowns. “I know a good surfer when I see one, Alberta. Skin color has nothing to do with it. I’ll always be honest with you, okay?”
“Okay.” I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them, wrapping my arms around myself so she won’t see my huge, relieved smile.
I walk down to the edge of the sand when Leif is up.
When he’s in the water, it’s hard to believe he’s the same guy who dirties up the kitchen with his ridiculous culinary creations and wears a silly paper hat while he’s scooping ice cream. He gets this super-focused face where he squints his eyes and presses his lips together into a thin line. And he moves around on the board like he’s never met a wave that doesn’t like him.
Some of his friends from school are here, cheering him on a few feet away from me. I scan the crowd behind me, looking for his and Laramie’s mother. She’s standing next to a blanket, wearing sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat as she watches Leif surf. It’s weird not to be standing next to her. I turn around before she can see me.
Leif is amazing on the board, pulling a couple of tricks I hope to perfect someday, like a roundhouse cutback so beautiful it makes my breath catch in my throat. He can’t stop grinning as he paddles back in. His friends crowd around him, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him good-natured punches in the arm as droplets of water drip down his wet suit. He starts to walk away, then sees me and stops.
“Alberta, hey! I didn’t know you were coming,” he says, his teeth shining in the sun.
“I wouldn’t miss it!”
“Oh, I thought maybe you were at that party Laramie went to.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t invited.… But I’d rather be here, anyway. You were so, so good.”
“Thanks, grom,” he says, and it makes me smile even though I’m too old to be called that now. “Haven’t seen you around in a while, Alberta. You know, I bet I can scrounge up a free scoop of butter pecan even if you drop by when my sister isn’t there.”
I want to know what Leif means by that. Does he know things have been weird be
tween Laramie and me lately?
“Seventh grade has been keeping me pretty busy.”
“I bet. That’s when all the real homework starts. Who are you here with?”
“Just some people from surf camp.” I gesture to where Irene, Oliver, and everyone else is sitting.
“That party Laramie went to must not be so great if you’re here. Who wouldn’t invite you?” he says, shaking his head. “Good seeing you, Alberta. Stop by Coleman anytime.”
My skin warms from Leif’s words. At least he still thinks I’m fun to hang out with.
He tucks his board under his arm and heads back to where Mrs. Mason is sitting, waving a damp hand as he leaves.
I wish I could see into the future. Will I be here next year—competing? And will Laramie come to see me if I am?
BFF
WHEN I GET HOME FROM PISMO, LARAMIE IS SITTING in the kitchen with Dad and Denise, watching them make dinner.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, then clap my hand over my mouth. It’s never been strange to see Laramie in my house… until now.
“I was at Nicolette’s, so I thought I’d stop by.” Her eyes meet my face briefly before going down to her hands.
Elliott drops his keys on the kitchen table and squeezes Laramie’s shoulder before heading to the stove to investigate.
“Oh. Right.” I stand across the room, looking at her. “How was the party?”
“Fine,” she says quickly. “How was the competition? Mom texted to say Leif came in second in the boys’ group.”
“He was really good. He probably only missed first by, like, a couple of points.”
Laramie finally looks at me again and nods. “Cool.”
“Why don’t you girls go hang out while we finish up dinner?” Denise says, looking over at us. She catches my eye before she asks, “Laramie, you’re staying, right?”
“Um, I can.” She glances at me. “If it’s okay.”
“Of course you’re staying.” I grab her hand to pull her up from the table. “We’re going for a walk.”
“We’ll be ready to eat in thirty minutes, Alberta,” Dad says over his shoulder. “Be back by then, please.”
Laramie and I head out the front door, and I do my best not to look at Nicolette’s. It’s hard to believe Laramie was just there, not even a hundred steps from my house all afternoon. When we’re a few houses down, she says, “Stephan McKee was terrible today. Like, I can’t believe they even allowed him to be in the house. Rebekah was watching him, but he kept running down from the playroom to see what we were doing at the party. And when they lit the candles, he blew them out before Nicolette and grabbed a handful of cake before anyone could stop him.”
I can’t help it—I let out a laugh. “What did Nicolette do?”
“She was pretty mad.” When I look over, a smile teases at the corner of Laramie’s lips.
Somehow, that little anecdote makes me feel better about my best friend being at a party I wasn’t invited to.
“I have to tell you something,” she says after a few moments.
Oh no. Is she going to tell me she doesn’t want to be best friends anymore?
“But you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”
I give her a look. “Laramie. I’m your best friend.”
At least I hope I still am.
“I know, but you—you can’t tell Edie, okay?”
“I don’t tell her everything.”
“I don’t know… you guys are together all the time now.”
“Only as much as you’re with Nicolette,” I reply.
Laramie sighs. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay?”
I cross my fingers over my heart. “Promise.”
She taps the cat-shaped mailbox that sits at the end of the Garrisons’ driveway. “I like someone.” And then, before I can even take a guess, she whispers, “Gavin.”
“Whoa.” I stop right there on the sidewalk.
“Yeah.” She stops, too, looking down the street at nothing. “Sometimes… I think he likes me back.”
“But what about Nicolette?”
Her head turns sharply toward me. “What about her?”
“Well, you said you had to go with her to his party for moral support on Beach Night. And Edie asked if she liked him.…”
“And I never said she did,” Laramie responds, frowning. Then the frown drops and she sighs. “Look, you can’t tell anyone about this, Alberta.”
“I already promised I wouldn’t.”
“I just had to tell someone. I felt like I would burst if I didn’t.”
Someone? Wasn’t she planning to tell me anyway? Or is Nicolette the first person she goes to now?
“Well, what are you going to do about it? Tell him?” I look over at the yellow house across the street where Mr. Mortimer is standing on the porch watering his plants. He sees me watching and waves. I wave back.
“God, no,” Laramie says, starting to walk again. Her long legs are moving so fast I have to hurry to catch up to her.
“So you’re just going to keep it a secret forever?”
“I don’t know, Alberta! I’ve never liked someone I was actually hanging out with.” Her face is red as a lobster and she looks so frustrated she might cry.
“Well, he’s dumber than I thought if he doesn’t like you back,” I say.
“Uh, thanks?”
“Sorry.” I loop my arm through hers so we can walk at the same pace. “I just mean… you’re really cool. And smart. And pretty. He should definitely like you back.”
“Whatever. I don’t think Gavin would go out with a seventh grader anyway,” she says, waving her arm. As if the whole thing is just a silly confession she never should have shared.
“Yeah, but you’re Laramie,” I say with a smile.
She smiles back at me and squeezes my arm. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being my best friend.”
INVISIBLE MAN
EDIE AND I GO BACK TO THE LIBRARY AFTER SCHOOL on Monday. Mrs. Palmer has something for us.
“I couldn’t find as much as I would have liked,” she says as she sets up the microfilm at a table behind the reference desk. “But it’s better than nothing and might lead to more.”
She shows us how to load the microfilm machine, how to adjust the slides, and how to save and print out anything we find.
“I hope it’s helpful, girls,” she says when we’re all set up. “I’ll be around the corner shelving if you need anything.”
“I feel like we’re so close to finding out who she was,” Edie whispers at my side. I’m sitting in front of the computer screen. She said she felt more comfortable with me operating things.
“I hope so,” I say as we look at the first slide.
We spend the next couple of hours reading different articles written about people and places in Santa Barbara. There are a few mentions of Schiff’s Department Store, though a few of them are just ads for their beautiful, hand-tailored dresses. We find a marriage announcement for a Betty Graham, but she’s not the one we’re looking for. That Betty would still be living with her parents, wearing bunny costumes for Halloween.
I hold my breath when we get to the slides that mention a Constance. There’s another marriage announcement, an obituary, a few listings in the city directory. Edie copies down all the names I whisper to her: Constance Charles, Constance Miller, Constance Ferguson.… Then she dashes off to the computer bank to look them up while I go through the slides again to make sure we didn’t miss anything.
I close out of the last slide and push my chair up to the desk, then join Edie at the computer. She’s leaning forward, her nose so close to the screen it’s practically touching.
“How is it possible that none of these are the right Constance?” she mutters.
“Are you sure?”
“None of the information matches up. Most of them were born in California, or they’re way too old or young to be her.”
I si
t down next to her as she finishes searching the list of Constances. She’s right. None of them are the one we’re looking for.
We both sit back in our seats, dejected.
“Now what?”
“Well, we still need to read the rest of the journals,” I say slowly. “The later ones.”
“I’m so tired of reading the journals,” Edie moans. “No offense, but they’re really depressing.”
“I know,” I say. “But I want to find out who she is. And how she knew Mrs. Harris.”
Edie and I pack up our things, stopping to say thank you to Mrs. Palmer.
“I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for,” she says. I guess it’s pretty obvious by the looks on our faces. “But I’m here almost every day, so let me know if you girls think of anything else I can help you with before your project is due, okay?”
She goes back to typing something on her computer, smiling a good-bye as we walk out the door.
“Mom?” Edie calls when we step into the B&B.
“Back here in the library!”
The room is piled with books and smells like dust and—Denise is here. She’s poring over an ancient-looking book while Ms. Whitman sits cross-legged on the floor, running a rag and furniture polish over the bottom shelf of a built-in bookcase.
“How was school?” Denise asks, smiling.
I hesitate and then, after a moment, I walk over to give her a hug. She wraps me into her arms, the fabric of her orange caftan soft against my cheek.
“Good,” Edie says. She pauses, and I wonder if she’s going to tell them about the journals. We might be able to figure out who Constance is faster than we can alone, but I still hope she doesn’t. I like it being our secret. “I’m starving, Mom. Can we get a snack?”
“Of course. Denise, are you hungry, too?”
Denise rubs her belly with one hand. “We could eat.”
Ms. Whitman stands, brushing her palms on her jeans. “Denise was nice enough to come over and help me try to get this library organized. Mrs. Harris’s taste was… a little eclectic.”
The Only Black Girls in Town Page 13
