Wrong Way Summer

by Heidi Lang

  But today, that particular Ronnie quality wasn’t so admirable. Today, it was simply irritating. “Look, can we leave space behind for a minute?” Claire asked. “My dad. Bought. A van.”

  “I guess that is pretty surprising.”

  “Thank you.” Claire shifted on her bed, her anger redirecting back toward her dad. “Hashtag vanlife. Can you even believe it?”

  “Hashtag vanlife?” Ronnie said.

  “It’s this thing online where people live in their vans and then post pictures of all their adventures. My dad is totally hooked.”

  “This is exactly why old people should stay off the internet. Gives them ideas.” Click-click. Click-click.

  “Ronnie,” Claire sighed. “Are you tapping a pen against your teeth again?”

  Silence.

  “You know what your mom would say.”

  Ronnie’s mother had spent a fortune on braces for Ronnie and was very protective of her teeth. Ronnie wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything with more than five grams of sugar in it, which was actually harder than Claire would have thought. And nothing chewy. Ever. Pen tapping? A definite no.

  Click-click-click.

  “Ronnie,” Claire warned.

  “It’s not me this time! I put my pen down.”

  “Really?” Claire listened. The clicking stopped, then started again, along with, “Mike, is that you?” No response. “Mike!”

  “Alright, alright.” Mike laughed. “It’s me. What gave me away?”

  “You’re a mouth breather,” Claire said. “We could hear you a mile away.”

  “No, you couldn’t. I’ve been listening the whole time,” he crowed.

  “Ronnie,” Claire said sharply. It was always Ronnie’s job to check the phone lines before they started talking. Otherwise her younger brother, Mike, would lurk there, eavesdropping on everything. Because, like Claire, Ronnie was stuck using a landline. Unlike Claire, it had nothing to do with finances.

  “As you’ll recall, someone refused to allow me any space, so I couldn’t check,” Ronnie said. “Besides, Mike’s gotten sneakier about it.”

  “Yeah, I have,” Mike said.

  “Don’t sound so smug,” Ronnie said. “We all know why you keep doing this.”

  “Why?” Claire asked.

  “Oh, you know, because he has a huge crush on you.”

  “What? No, I don’t!”

  “Whatever, Mike. Claire already knows.”

  “But I don’t!”

  Ronnie laughed, and a second later there was a soft click. “And that takes care of that,” she chortled.

  Claire’s face felt too hot, the phone sticking to her skin. “He doesn’t really, does he?” she asked. A boy had never had a crush on her before. Even if it was just Mike. He was only a year younger than Ronnie, but still, that was way, way too young. He’d barely turned eleven. It would be too weird.

  “Nah, I was just trying to get him to hang up. Now, about this van.”

  “The van. Right. Yes.” Claire coughed.

  “So, give me the details. How long are you gone for? You’ll be back for my birthday, right?”

  All thoughts of crushes vanished beneath the weight of the answer. “No,” Claire said slowly. “I’ll be missing your birthday this summer.” She put a hand against her chest, pressing against her heart. She had to tell Ronnie all of it. “I’ll be missing all of them.”

  “What?”

  “Dad’s planning on selling our house once the van’s converted. He thinks it’ll be the grandest adventure yet, the three of us living in a van.”

  “Forever?” Ronnie asked, and for once she sounded shocked. Like maybe time had sped up on her. “Like, permanently?”

  “I don’t think forever forever,” Claire admitted. “He hasn’t said as much, but I’m assuming eventually we’ll stop traveling and live somewhere.”

  “But not here.”

  “No. I mean, he hasn’t been able to get a new job since he got laid off, and that was months ago.” Actually, it was almost a year ago, but she didn’t really want to talk about that with Ronnie. Ronnie’s mother taught physics at the local university, and her dad did some sort of IT job. They claimed they weren’t rich, but compared to Claire’s family, Ronnie might as well have been the Princess of Wales.

  “I thought he was working?”

  Claire flopped onto her bed and stared at her ceiling. Her dad had painted it a deep purplish blue years ago and helped her paste glow-in-the-dark stars on it. She remembered him holding her up so she could press the small shapes into the ceiling herself, both of them checking and rechecking the star chart they’d made earlier that week.

  She turned on her side so she wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. “He’s gotten a few contract positions,” she said, “but nothing permanent. Nothing with benefits.” Her dad had struggled to hold on to a full-time job ever since the steel mill closed a few years ago.

  He’d once described working in their city of Marsdale, Michigan, as standing on the edge of the beach. The ground would feel solid beneath your feet, you’d get your toes pressed in firmly, and then one little wave would suck that sand right out from under you. If that wave didn’t get you, the next would, or the next, and eventually you’d be up to your ankles in water and looking for another job again.

  Ronnie didn’t answer, and beneath the heavy silence that followed were the distinctive sounds of a mouth breather.

  “Mike?” Claire said. “You’re eavesdropping again, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Mike said.

  “Mike,” Ronnie sighed. “Hang. Up. The. Phone.”

  “You need me,” Mike said.

  “We need you?” Ronnie said. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

  “Claire, your dad’s gone full bohemian,” Mike continued, ignoring his sister. “I was afraid this might happen.”

  “Full bohemian?” Ronnie snorted.

  “You saw this coming?” Claire added.

  “Oh, definitely. Your dad has always had the soul of a true vagabond. But don’t worry. We’ll stop him. Right, Ronnie?”

  “Um, sure . . .”

  “How?” Claire asked.

  “Wait right there. We’re coming over.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The van towered over Claire as she approached, like some kind of metal beast ready to swallow her whole. When she realized her dad would love that description, she immediately discarded it.

  “Dad?” she called over the thrumming bassline of his newest band obsession. She poked her head through the open side door.

  Her dad and Patrick were crouched beside a bucket full of suds, their pants rolled up, both of them scrubbing at the rubber flooring and belting the chorus together. Claire watched them for almost a minute, her heart aching. She used to embrace her dad’s Grand Adventures, too. Starlit skies and spaceships and anything is possible . . .

  Her dad looked up. “Claire-bear! Come to join us?”

  She took a step back. “No. Just, uh, Mike and Ronnie are coming over.”

  “Awesome possum.”

  Claire winced.

  “Can you take our picture?” Patrick asked. “For our hashtag vanlife project?”

  “What?” Claire shook her head. “Oh, Patrick, not you, too.”

  “Please? Please?” Patrick had soap in his hair and a smear of dirt down the left side of his face. It would make a pretty cute picture actually, especially with the two of them wearing matching plaid shirts.

  “Fine,” Claire sighed. She looked around for her dad’s phone but didn’t see it.

  “It’s right there,” he told her, pointing with one soapy finger to a cell phone perched precariously on the outer step of the van. “I got a new one for the trip.”

  “It’s about time,” Claire muttered. He’d hung on to his old flip phone forever. She turned on the screen, and a text message icon flashed in the corner from an unknown number. All Claire could read was the start of the message:

 
The kids are def going to be a problem—no openings here for them, but check w/Jul . . .

  Her finger hovered over it. The kids? That didn’t mean her and Patrick . . . did it? And no openings for them . . . that almost sounded like—

  “Everything okay?” her dad asked, and she tapped the camera icon instead, leaving the message untouched.

  “Aside from the fact that you think we’re going to live in a vehicle—”

  “We are going to live in a vehicle.”

  “—everything’s just peachy. Smile.”

  “Hashtag, hashtag!” Patrick chirped as Claire snapped their pic.

  Their dad wiped his hands on his shirt and took the phone from her. “Look at those handsome fellas, eh?” He showed Patrick their pic, then frowned. “A message?” A second later his frown deepened, turning into an ugly scowl, the same kind of look he wore that one time Mr. Truxel showed up with all those forms from the bank.

  “Dad says we’re going to the Studebaker Museum in Indiana first so we can see all the old carriages. You know, before there were cars.” Patrick was practically bouncing, he was so excited. “Right, Dad?”

  Their dad shook his head, his thumbs moving rapidly as he typed some response. Still scowling, he looked up, his eyes widening as he caught both kids staring at him.

  “Studebaker?” Patrick asked.

  “Everything okay?” Claire added.

  “Oh, absolutely.” The scowl vanished beneath another bright smile. “But I’m wondering, now, if we shouldn’t just skip Indiana and go straight to Ohio.” He glanced back at his phone once, his smile flickering, before he shoved it away in his back pocket.

  “No museum?” Claire raised her eyebrows. Her dad loved museums. He tried dragging her and Patrick into them any chance he got, so for him to decide to skip one when he’d actually gotten Patrick’s vote to go was very unlike him.

  “Oh, there will be plenty more museums in Ohio, I’m sure.”

  “But, Dad—” Patrick started.

  “No, west is the wrong direction. We must go east. East, my son!”

  Patrick tilted his head, considering. “What’s east?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. Now, who can tell me what three things make up your typical troll?”

  “Aww, that’s easy. They are,” Patrick stuck his finger in the air, flinging droplets of soapy water, “rocks!” Another finger up. “Moss!” He grinned and threw up a third finger. “And pure, cold spite,” he and their dad said together.

  “Did someone mention spite?” Ronnie rolled up on her bicycle, her brown hair in braided pigtails trailing beneath her bright red helmet. “Hey there, Scotland.”

  “Veronica!” Claire’s dad hopped out of the van and gave Ronnie a fist bump. “And how is my second-favorite girl?”

  “Claire’s still the favorite, huh?” Ronnie said.

  “Always.” He nudged Claire in the shoulder.

  “I’m so honored,” Claire muttered, even as she tried not to be.

  “So, you got yourself a van,” Ronnie said.

  “I sure did! She’s a beaut, too, eh?”

  “Hey, you jerk!” Mike yelled.

  “Dang. He caught up.” Ronnie took off her helmet and hung it on her bike handle.

  “What did you do?” Claire whispered.

  “Nothing,” Ronnie said, but she was doing that thing with her face she always did when she was lying. Claire could never figure out exactly what it was, something about how she held her jaw. And all of a sudden it hit her: if they moved, she might never see Ronnie’s lying face again.

  She wanted to cry.

  She wanted to kick this stupid van.

  Mike ran up the driveway, then bent over and put his hands on his legs, panting. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, his dark hair sticking out in all directions.

  “Nice afternoon for a run, eh?” Claire’s dad said.

  “My bike tires were flat,” Mike wheezed. He glared at Ronnie. “I told you so.”

  “So, what? I was supposed to let you use my bike?”

  “You’re a better runner than I am.”

  Ronnie smirked. “That’s definitely true.”

  “You weren’t that far behind her,” Claire pointed out.

  Ronnie shot her The Look. It was a look forged through years of sleepovers and shared secrets and it meant one thing: you are breaking a core rule. Right now, Claire was breaking the rule of never siding with Mike against Ronnie. Ever.

  Claire could feel her face heating. “I was just saying, he ran pretty fast. You know, for him.”

  “Hmm,” Ronnie said.

  “So, Scottie.” Mike straightened, pushed his hair back, and stuck his scrawny chest out. “You’re planning on ripping your family away, stuffing them inside this tiny box on wheels, and taking off for parts unknown. Is that about right?”

  Scottie laughed. “You turn a phrase better than anyone I know.”

  “Thanks.” Mike beamed.

  “My dad also says things like ‘awesome possum,’ so I wouldn’t be too proud of that compliment,” Claire said.

  “You’re saying I should consider the source?” Mike asked, still grinning.

  Claire’s stomach tightened, and for some reason she couldn’t look away. He had a nice smile, actually. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He has a huge crush on you . . .

  Claire turned away, then froze.

  Ronnie was staring straight at her, brown eyes narrowed. “Hmm,” she repeated, and it felt like an entire story was hidden within that one sound. Claire was actually relieved when her dad interrupted.

  “So, whattaya think?” He knocked on the side of the van with his fist.

  “This is a really cool van.” Mike trailed one hand along the side as he circled it.

  Ronnie cleared her throat. “Are you sure about that, Mike?”

  “I like the tall roof so you can stand inside it. A Sprinter crew van, I see. Very nice. Sleek. Like a shark.”

  Claire’s dad practically glowed with pride. “Thanks, Mike. That means a lot, coming from a smart young man like yourself.”

  Mike’s face twitched. He was smart. So smart he’d been moved up two grades, which he used to mention whenever he got a chance. He knew it bugged Ronnie that he was a year younger and a grade ahead. But something had happened during this past school year. Ronnie had told Claire that a month into it, he’d tried to get moved back down into a lower grade. Their mother had refused to even consider it.

  These days, he never bragged about being smart. He never bragged about anything, really.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, and it was like he was putting on a mask, all his earlier approval vanishing beneath it. “I see you chose the 144-inch model, though. Honestly, that seems a little too short for converting into a home. Not like the 170.”

  “You know your stuff.”

  “I did my research,” Mike said. “Naturally.”

  “When?” Claire whispered to Ronnie. She’d just told them about the van.

  “You know Mike, he’s always looking up weird stuff.” Ronnie shrugged. “Probably looked up vans on a whim months ago.”

  “Well then naturally,” Claire’s dad continued, “I’m assuming you would have been pretty thorough in this research of yours.”

  “Of course,” Mike said, standing up a little straighter.

  “Then I’m sure you also know that the 144 will be much more fuel efficient, not to mention easier to park in cities.”

  “Okay, that’s true,” Mike said reluctantly. “But still. I don’t see any way this can be a comfortable home for three people.” He glanced at Claire. She gave him a subtle thumbs-up, and another smile flashed across his face. And Claire knew she’d miss that smile almost as much as she’d miss seeing Ronnie’s lying face. Not that she’d ever tell Ronnie that.

  Her dad sat down inside the open side door of the van. He nodded twice, like he was deep in thought. It was an act, though. Claire had seen him do the same thing a
hundred times, pretending he might be swayed one way, when they all knew he’d already decided and wouldn’t let a little thing like “reason” or “logic” stop him. “I’m not disagreeing with you,” he said now. “It’s definitely an unusual idea, and I don’t blame you for not liking it. Not everyone recognizes when unusual is a good thing.” He waited a beat. “But I think you do, Mike. You of all people would understand.” He patted the space next to him.

  “Mike,” Claire said warningly.

  “Hold up, Claire.” Her dad raised a hand, palm out like a stop sign. “We’re talking here.”

  Mike hesitated, then sat down. Uh-oh.

  Claire and Ronnie exchanged looks.

  “There’s a reason I tried leaving him behind,” Ronnie muttered.

  Claire scowled as her dad turned back to Mike. “We’re going with the minimalist model of conversion, so think more sleeping space and less . . . all those fancy bells and whistles. So plenty of space to make this into a comfortable enough home for us. My real question is . . . can I do it in fifteen days?”

  “Fifteen days?” Mike’s eyes widened.

  “From van to home in fifteen days. That’s the grand plan. Think it’s possible?”

  “It’s going to be a stretch, Scottie,” Mike said, all serious. Claire’s dad had always insisted that Ronnie and Mike call him by his first name. He said his dad was Mr. Jacobus, and one in the family was quite enough. Claire used to think he just said that because he didn’t want to feel old, but now, watching him with Mike, she suspected he had another motive.

  Her dad was a master at figuring out what another person wanted, and making them think they could find it . . . if they would just. Just dig that hole, hike that hill, climb that tree. Whatever it was, it would surely be a Grand Adventure. Just like it would surely benefit her dad. And Mike wanted friends. Claire knew that was the real reason he eavesdropped on his sister’s conversations and followed them around. Calling her dad “Scottie” made Mike feel like they were buddies, which made him easier to manipulate.

  “A stretch, eh?” Her dad made his thinking face, then nodded. “You know, I think you’re right about that. Still, people told my great-great-grandfather,” he winked at Claire, “good ole Wrong Way Jacobus, that he’d never be able to marry Evangeline Rose, on account of she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And also on account of how she’d attracted the attentions of the town marshal, a man with a quick gun hand and the blackest heart that side of the Mississippi.”