Maggie Bean Stays Afloat

by Tricia Rayburn

  “But I won,” Maggie practically whispered.

  “Every single time.” Aimee smiled and put her hands on Maggie’s shoulders. “It’s time.”

  Unable to speak, Maggie nodded.

  “It’s time,” Aimee said again, shaking Maggie gently as her face broke into a wide smile.

  And it really was. Any hesitation she’d had about revealing her feelings to Peter then—and not some other time in the fuzzy, distant future, when maybe, for some reason, she’d feel more sure of herself—was squashed by the fact that this might be the only chance she had. If her parents were seriously considering buying a house in another town, and if she had to seriously prepare for the possibility that she might have to switch schools, then things would change. And if things changed, there was no way they’d ever be as good as they were right then. Plus, if all the stars actually aligned in a way that Peter shared her feelings, she wanted that established before the stars shifted. It’d be hard to stay a couple if they went to different schools, but it’d be impossible to make the very initial foray into coupledom after she’d already moved.

  “Let’s go.” She bit into a piece of cinnamon gum.

  Her head swirled as she followed Aimee out of the bathroom and down the hallway. She’d been nervous countless times over the past few months—listening for the buzzer to sound before every swim meet race, waiting for test, paper, and report card grades, and watching the metal bar balance during Pound Patrollers weigh-ins—but this was different. Normally, being nervous was only mildly physically uncomfortable as her heart raced and stomach flip-flopped. But being nervous on the verge of revealing her feelings to Peter Applewood affected every inch of her body. On top of the expected heart racing and stomach flip-flopping, her palms sweat, her face burned, her skin tingled, and her internal voice repeated, “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.” It was hard to believe she’d ever been more nervous in her life, even while wearing a bathing suit in front of half the school during Water Wings tryouts—a truly mortifying moment that, up until this one, had held the title of Most Embarrassing Moment Ever, and still made her squirm whenever she thought about it.

  They followed Peter’s and Arnie’s voices and stopped short just outside the kitchen. Despite her nerves, Maggie couldn’t help but smile when Peter laughed at something Arnie said. He had a great laugh—higher pitched than his normal voice, and contagious—and she hoped that what she was about to do ensured them laughing together for months to come. Encouraged by the thought, she grabbed Aimee’s hand and squeezed it gently.

  She was ready.

  “Arnie,” Aimee said sweetly, shaking Maggie’s hand gently before letting go and entering the kitchen. “You said you have three other bathrooms?”

  Standing in the doorway, Maggie watched Aimee lean against the marble counter, where Arnie and Peter hovered over a steaming pepperoni pie.

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “Do you think you could show me their towels? Your mother’s decorator clearly has exquisite taste, and I’d hate for Maggie’s parents to make a rash decision without considering all options.”

  “Now?”

  Without answering, Aimee looked at him expectantly.

  “But the pizza’s here,” Arnie explained weakly. “And talk about exquisite. All cheesy and meaty, and smelling like heaven, and—”

  “It’s too hot. Your mouth will melt if you eat it now.”

  Maggie smiled apologetically when Arnie glanced at her for help. She knew Aimee’s request didn’t seem especially time-sensitive, but hoped he simply chalked up her persistence to best-friend loyalty.

  “Fine.” Arnie cast one more longing look at the pizza before closing the box. “But this better not take long. Reheated grease is so not worth the calories.”

  Aimee’s arm brushed lightly against Maggie’s as they passed through the doorway, and Maggie clasped her hands behind her to keep from reaching out and yanking Aimee back in the kitchen. She knew that in order to do what she wanted to do, she needed to be alone with Peter. And being alone with Peter was one of the things she was most excited about when she imagined them as a couple. But besides the accidental between-class locker rendezvous, when they barely said hello while frantically looking for whichever books they’d forgotten, they hadn’t really spent much time together without Aimee, Arnie, or a hundred swarming classmates. Which made this either the first time, or the first and last time.

  “Thirsty?”

  Nodding gratefully, Maggie forced her feet to shuffle away from the door and across the tiled floor. She took the water bottle he held toward her and, trying to look casual (but mostly because she was too nauseated to stand and speak at the same time), sat on a stool near the kitchen’s enormous center island.

  “Can’t believe the time has finally come.”

  She’d taken a sip of water to be polite, and suddenly had to focus intently on the stainless-steel rooster clock above the stove to keep from snorting or spewing.

  “It feels like we just started, doesn’t it?”

  “Started?” Maggie asked after managing to swallow without gagging.

  “School.” Effortlessly draining his water bottle in three long gulps, he sat on a stool on the other side of the island, directly across from her. “It feels like we just showed up for the first day, and now it’s already summer.”

  “I know,” she agreed, even though, for her, it had actually felt like the longest year in the history of time.

  “Did you change?”

  “Change?” Surprised at the seriousness of the question, Maggie looked directly at him, her eyes meeting his big, beautiful, blue eyes. “This year? Well, I guess you could say—”

  “You grew an inch taller?” He grinned. “I meant your outfit.”

  She laughed. “Thanks for clarifying. And yes, I did. I went shopping this weekend, and Aimee asked me to model my purchases.” The truth was, she’d gone shopping every weekend for the past two months in preparation for this very moment, but she and Aimee had decided that this explanation was far less frightening.

  “You look nice. Cool shoes.”

  “Thanks.” She fiddled with the water bottle in front of her. Aimee was the one who thought they’d better come up with a reason for her sudden wardrobe change; Maggie had simply assumed that because he was a boy, he wouldn’t even notice. And not only had he noticed, he’d actually complimented her. Nowhere in the rulebook of teenage boys (which she’d mentally compiled after extensive magazine research) did it state that they appreciated such details, let alone vocalized their appreciation. That had to mean something. “I like your hat.”

  He took off the faded green baseball hat with the frayed brim and looked at it, presumably to make sure he was still wearing the same one he’d put on that morning.

  “So, anyway,” she said quickly. “It was a good year. I’m really glad we all got to be friends.”

  “Yeah.” Sliding the hat back on, he smiled. “We had some fun.”

  “Definitely.” She swallowed. “And I was actually wondering if you’d want to have more fun? And maybe hang out sometime?” Forcing herself to look at him, and not let on how embarrassed she already was that she’d spoken too quickly and didn’t sound nearly as casual as she’d intended, she held her breath.

  “Well, sure.” He shrugged. “Now that school’s over, we all can hang out even more.”

  We all. “Actually,” she said, wishing she’d been initially clearer so she didn’t have to correct his automatic assumption that she’d referred to their regular foursome, “I kind of meant just us. You and me.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, no big deal. I just thought maybe we could see a movie, or play miniature golf or something. But there’s no reason we can’t do those things with Aimee and Arnie, too. That’d be fun. That’d be great, really great. In fact—”

  “Maggie.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, looked at him, and nearly melted. He was looking right at her, not for the nearest exit.
He wasn’t even squirming uncomfortably. Maybe she’d just surprised him. Maybe he’d just needed a second to absorb the good news. Maybe he was about to tell her that he’d thought the same—

  “We’re friends.”

  Or maybe he’d just needed a second to figure out the gentlest way to break her heart into a million little pieces.

  “Good friends,” he emphasized when she nodded without speaking.

  “Absolutely.”

  “So.” He sighed.

  “I don’t want things to be weird,” she said, hoping to save them both from further embarrassment. “We can totally pretend this conversation never happened.”

  “I don’t want to pretend it never happened. I’m flattered.”

  She wondered if he could see the outline of her heart physically sink to her stomach through her black tank top. Flattered? Not that there was really any question, but that definitely answered that. There was no chance.

  “It’s just...” He paused, his face a combination of thoughtful and concerned. “It’s just not a good time.”

  “No problem, I totally understand.” She stood suddenly.

  “Maggie, really, I—”

  “So I don’t know the difference between Turkish and Egyptian cotton.”

  Maggie exhaled in relief and sank back to the stool as Arnie hurried into the kitchen, a panicked Aimee on his heels.

  “I do, however, know the difference between pepperoni and sausage.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aimee mouthed to Maggie when Arnie beelined to the marble counter and threw open the pizza box.

  “Thank you,” Maggie mouthed back, shaking her head slightly.

  “Oh, my God,” Arnie moaned around a mouthful of mozzarella and beef. “Mags, all your parents really need in their new house is the number to a good pizza place hanging next to the phone.”

  Maggie avoided Peter’s concerned stare as she slid from the stool and grabbed a plate from the counter. Ignoring the pang of protest in the bottom of her stomach, she loaded two cheesy, greasy slices of pizza onto her plate and made sure to grab any stray pieces of pepperoni and sausage that slid off during the move.

  She’d do a thousand crunches later if she had to. Right then, she didn’t think she’d ever needed comfort food more.

  5.

  “Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, eat-in-kitchen, new appliances.”

  “Seven bedrooms, nine bathrooms, kitchen, dining room, formal living room, den, pool, spa, tennis court, and guest house.” Summer nodded approvingly before drawing a big red circle around the newspaper listing. “That’s more like it.”

  “Please,” Maggie said from her uninvolved place on the couch. “There are four of us. What on earth would we do with all that space? And who would clean it?”

  “The maid.” Summer shrugged.

  “Oh, right. The maid will clean, and the driver will make sure our Bentleys are all shiny and pretty before he takes us to Applebee’s for dinner.”

  “And the pool man will make sure the water’s never too warm or too cold, and the gardener will make sure we always have fresh flowers in the house, and the private chef will make sure Mom never has to cook another dinner, ever.”

  “While that all sounds lovely, and while I’m very proud of your very vivid, active imaginations,” their mother said, looking up from a real estate brochure, “let’s try to be realistic.”

  “A helipad!” Summer exclaimed, circling another listing. “Perfect.”

  Maggie rolled onto her back and resumed channel-surfing. She wasn’t really watching television, just like she hadn’t really been watching television all day every day for the past week—her first of summer vacation—but staring at people whose fictional lives seemed better, worse, or, at the very least, different from her real life, killed time the way nothing else did. Despite her commercial-infused haze, she knew there were probably more productive ways to wile away the hours, but the way she figured, if she was just being lazy, and not devouring bags of chocolate while being lazy, then she was still ahead of the game.

  “Maggie, sweetie, we have a few more papers here if you want to help.”

  “I’m all set, thanks.”

  “Do you want to pick out furniture?” Summer offered, holding up a stack of Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel, Ethan Allen, and Restoration Hardware catalogs. “Or light fixtures or paint colors?” She added a Home Depot flyer to the pile.

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Summer, sweetie, I made a great whole-wheat, low-sugar banana bread this morning. Why don’t you go grab us a few pieces?”

  “And some iced green tea?”

  “Great idea.”

  Maggie was silently estimating the total value of a six-piece luggage set, home Jacuzzi, and new, cherry red Mustang for the final round of The Price Is Right when her mother plopped in the armchair next to the couch.

  “Maggie.”

  “Mom.”

  “Do you want to talk about anything?”

  Maggie shifted her eyes toward her mother without turning her head. “Not really.”

  “It’s all going to be fine, you know. Your father and I want yours and your sister’s input every step of the way. And wherever we end up, even if it’s another school district, I know you’re going to be very, very happy.”

  “Sounds great.” She turned her attention back to Showcase Number Two. “Keep me posted.”

  Her mother paused. “Aren’t you even a little excited? To have your own room, decorate it however you want, and know you won’t have to leave it anytime soon because we don’t have to worry about rent, or a lease?”

  “Mom, it’s fine,” Maggie sighed. “Just let me know when I have to pack my bags.” The truth was that she really didn’t care either way. In fact, after being rejected in record time by Peter, switching schools so she didn’t have to see him at their lockers every day—and be reminded that he didn’t think of her as anything more than just another person to hang out with in group settings—was no longer the worst-case scenario. It wasn’t like she had a choice, anyway, so she’d take everything as it came.

  Her mother leaned over and, without taking it from its permanent place in Maggie’s hand, pressed the remote.

  “Hey!” Maggie protested when the television screen went black. “I’ve won both Showcases three days in a row. I’m going for a record.”

  “So I stopped by Sound View today to pick up Summer’s uniform.”

  “And?” Maggie asked, immediately wary of her mother’s sudden cheeriness.

  “And I talked to the camp manager, who’s very excited about this season. He said they did a lot of renovations to the facilities, and that they’re introducing a bunch of new and exciting programs. I walked around a bit, and the place really looks great.”

  “Fantastic. I’m sure Summer will have a swell time.”

  “He said they do have one problem, though.”

  “Too many s’mores, too little time?”

  “Too many campers, too few swim instructors. They had some people bail and are having a tough time finding help on such short notice.”

  Sitting up, Maggie looked at her mother. “I hope you didn’t—”

  “No, I didn’t offer you up. At least, not officially.”

  “Good,” Maggie said, leaning back and crossing her arms over her stomach. “Because I have a lot going on this summer. I don’t even know that I’ll have the time to swim myself, let alone teach others how to.”

  Her mother looked at her.

  “What?”

  “Maggie,” her mother said, trying to be serious despite her obvious amusement. “Besides that new Pound Patrollers program, which, according to Electra and Aunt Violetta should only occupy a few hours a week, what do you have going on this summer?”

  “Well,” she began, wishing she’d actually made plans beyond spending every waking minute with her new, nonexistent boyfriend, “I have lots of reading to do, for one. All of Edith Wharton’s works, to start, and then probably Ernes
t Hemingway and William Faulkner after that. Plus, I’m going into eighth grade, if you recall—next stop, high school and my entire future. I really need to start researching colleges and their specific requirements, and planning my long-term academic calendar accordingly. On top of which, it really wouldn’t hurt me to volunteer again, maybe at the hospital or something. And then—”

  “Maggie.”

  Wanting to come off as convincing as possible, Maggie forced herself to look at her mother.

  “You’re thirteen years old.”

  “Exactly. The clock’s a-ticking.”

  “I admire your dedication, I really do. And I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished and plan to achieve. But, sweetie, you don’t have to do it all today. Believe me, the time will come when you’ll need to think about those things—about SATs and application deadlines and college tours. But right now, especially during summer vacation, you should just enjoy being thirteen.”

  Maggie bit back her retort, which was that she didn’t think there was anything particularly enjoyable about being thirteen, and that really, the years between now and the rest of her life couldn’t fly by fast enough.

  “I know you’ve never been to camp, and that’s probably a little intimidating. But how cool is it that you could start off in a position of authority?”

  “No fair.” Maggie pouted. “You know I love positions of authority.”

  “And Summer would be thrilled to have her big sister there, and you’d get to see Aimee every day. And since it’s only a day camp, you’d still have plenty of time at night to catch up on your American literature classics—which you could have even more of, as the job pays. Not a lot, but certainly enough to add a few more books to your personal library.”

  Unsure what to think, Maggie stared glumly at the black television screen. While she was proud of her usual ambition, and hoped to resume it eventually, she knew there was no way her recent rejection-inspired depression would allow her mind the freedom to focus. How could she think of a future without Peter Applewood, anyway? Plus, she really did love being in the water, and knew that especially after last summer, when she was forty pounds heavier and pretended that skirted bathing suits actually disguised her belly, it would feel great to wear a regular bathing suit without worrying about everyone staring. Now, if anyone stared, it would be to learn from her demonstration of the crawl, sidestroke, or butterfly. Besides, what were her other options? Did she really want to break The Price Is Right home-viewing records? Or know what Regis and Kelly did each and every night? Did she really want to let a boy—even the most beautiful boy in the entire world, whom she still loved more than life itself—turn her into a lifeless couch potato and ruin her entire summer?