When My Sister Started Kissing

by Helen Frost

  used to, when he took us fishing. I hope the weather

  will cooperate—we only have one more week

  before we leave. We sit for a while, dangling our feet.

  Then Abi says, I wish I knew what Brock is thinking.

  I tell her about seeing him. You should go to the beach,

  I say. Maybe he’s embarrassed about being

  rescued the other night. He might want to talk

  to you about that. If he’s with that girl again,

  you could just leave his clothes by his bike and walk

  away before he sees you. When I think about that,

  it seems kind of childish, but Abi listens to me,

  nodding as if she’s considering everything

  I say. I guess I could try asking him who he

  likes best—her or me, she says. But then … what if he picks

  me, and it turns out I like … someone else better?

  I don’t answer that. Does she mean TJ? Probably.

  This seems like something I should let her

  figure out on her own. We dry our feet,

  put our shoes on, and go back to the cabin.

  Dad holds Blake’s hand up in the air and says

  in a squeaky baby voice, Hi, Claire! Hi, Abi!

  A Fawn and Its Mother

  Claire

  I set my alarm last night before I went to bed

  so I’d wake up early, like Abi does.

  But it’s the steady sound of a gentle rain

  I’m hearing now, before the alarm goes

  off. Which means no canoeing or early-morning

  swim. That’s okay. It turns out to be a good

  day for all of us to stay inside together. I get out

  our old Legos, and Abi asks, Claire, would

  it be okay if I sketch you while you’re putting

  that spaceship together? Sure, that’s fine—

  why not? I don’t pay much attention

  until she finishes, and shows me her line

  drawing. She’s good. It looks a lot like me,

  except she’s done something to make my hair

  look like it’s pulled back from my face.

  I ask, What’s that black thing right there?

  She reaches in her pocket and shows

  me a hair clip like the one she’s drawn,

  then pushes back my bangs and puts it

  in my hair. The rain has stopped. A fawn

  steps out of the woods, and the mother

  deer stands over it. The fawn starts to nuzzle

  for its mother’s milk. As I walk over to the window

  to watch them, Pam looks up from the jigsaw puzzle

  she’s been working on and says, That looks nice.

  She’s talking about my hair, and Dad agrees.

  While my whole family, even Blake, is looking

  at me, the fawn disappears into the trees.

  It Rises in the Yeast

  Claire

  After yesterday’s rain, the air today is clear

  and bright. Abi and I wake up early, and Dad

  helps us make hot chocolate for our canoe trip.

  As we walk down to the canoe, Abi says, I’ve had

  Brock’s clothes for six days now. I know—they’re

  still in the bag, at the back of our closet. Maybe

  we should take them to the beach today, she says, after

  we go to see the swans. I like that idea. Abi

  and I start paddling east toward the sunrise,

  remembering an old Dad-joke about east and west.

  How is the sun like a loaf of bread? I ask, and Abi smiles

  and answers, It rises in the yeast, and sets behind your vest.

  My Form of Rest

  The lake

  I love these early-morning

  hours when hardly anyone is up,

  everything calm on my surface, while below it’s

  all so full of life—underwater movement is my form of

  rest. Yesterday was stormy, but now, here are these girls

  in their canoe, with hot chocolate and oranges.

  They’re up early, out exploring.

  I recall the first time they tried canoeing—

  neither of them could steer. Claire leaned over the edge,

  tipping the canoe right over. Their father quickly rowed out to

  help, but didn’t tow them in. He calmly talked them through it, and

  eventually, they made it back to shore—laughing by then. Abi

  doesn’t know that all the cygnets have hatched. Yesterday

  evening, they were tucked beneath their mother’s wing

  enjoying a ride on her back. This morning, as a

  pink-and-orange sunrise streaks the sky, the girls

  head toward the channel, slowing to watch an

  egret fish in the shallows,

  and the flock of

  rooks fly from the rookery. Now

  they have reached the channel, and the mother

  swan swims toward them, as if to introduce her babies. She’s

  carrying three cygnets now—the fourth swims along beside her.

  Oh, Abi whispers, as the swans glide past. Claire whispers back,

  Remember the story of the ugly duckling? Baby swans are

  even cuter than baby ducks, if you ask me.

  Ring the Bell If You Need Me

  Claire

  We sit in our canoe watching the swans

  for a long time. Then Abi says, This is how

  it was the other day with TJ. Neither of us wanted

  to leave. It was quiet and peaceful, like it is now.

  When we’re paddling back, the whole lake

  seems like it’s greeting us. Two beavers come

  up close to our canoe. A dragonfly rides

  on Abi’s shoulder most of the way home.

  Halfway up the path to the cabin, we meet

  Pam walking down, carrying Blake

  in a baby sling, all wrapped around her.

  Claire, she says, why don’t you and I take

  Blake down to the water for a few minutes. Abi—you

  have a guest. A few minutes ago, there was a knock

  at the front door, and a very nice young man

  introduced himself. He said his name is Brock.

  Abi says, You mean he’s here—all by himself?

  I have to smile. Does she think he’d bring

  his new girlfriend along, or what? Yes, he is,

  Pam says. I can see Abi’s thoughts swing

  back and forth as she looks from Pam to me.

  Should she say, Come on, Claire—you come, too?

  Or not? She settles on “not,” takes a deep breath,

  and turns toward the cabin. Ring the bell if you

  need me, I sort of joke. We haven’t used that bell

  since we were too little to tell time, and Dad

  would ring it to call us in for meals. We knew

  exactly where our boundaries were—we had

  to stay between the driveway and the row

  of pine trees; we couldn’t go near the road. We

  wore whistles around our necks, so if we did

  get lost, we could whistle for Dad and he

  would come and find us. I wonder if Abi

  ever misses those days, like I sometimes do.

  Pam looks at Blake, then at me, studying our faces.

  You know, Claire, she says, he looks a lot like you.

  I look at him to see if I can see what Pam sees, and

  that poem comes into my mind. Hey, Tyger, I whisper,

  kissing him on the top of his head. What a

  great nickname, Pam says. If your dad and sister

  like it, too, maybe we should call him that, at least

  while he’s a baby. When he gets a little older,

  he can tell us what to call him, like Abi has.

  Pam likes my idea? I’m glad I told h
er.

  More Lemonade?

  Abi

  I find Brock sitting on the porch.

  Pam gave him a glass of lemonade,

  and put one on the table for me, too.

  We both start talking at the same time,

  saying the exact same thing: Umm …

  and then we both stop and wait,

  hoping the other will speak first. Here’s your hoodie,

  he finally says. Oh, thanks, I say. And you left your

  shoes and clothes on our dock. I was bringing them

  to you the other day, but then … Never mind, I’ll be right back.

  I get his clothes and give them to him. Thanks, he says,

  then, Why did you and your sister turn your canoe around

  instead of paddling over so I could introduce you to Rachel?

  How am I supposed to answer that? I don’t know, I say.

  Awkward silence. Do you want some more lemonade?

  I wish Pam and Claire would come back. No thanks,

  says Brock. I’m good. I should go. My cousins are leaving

  this afternoon. I didn’t know his cousins were— Wait.

  Is Rachel … your cousin? I ask. He gives me a funny look.

  Yeah, he says. They come every summer for about a week.

  She’s my age, almost like a sister. We get along great.

  I try to act like: Oh. Right. I knew that.

  But my face gives me away. Abi, Brock asks,

  did you think…? I start to say, It looked like …

  But I’m not sure what it did look like. I

  didn’t stop to look. Brock, I ask, what did you

  think, when Claire and I turned the canoe around

  like that? I think he blushes as he answers,

  I thought you didn’t like me so much anymore, after

  you found out I couldn’t swim as far as you. That was

  horrible—your little sister rescuing me, and all.

  I hadn’t thought of it from his point of view. I don’t

  want him to think that’s true. No, I still like you, Brock,

  I say. Then he smiles, and I smile, and we laugh

  a little bit. He puts his arm around me, tries

  to pull me close—I’m not sure why I turn away.

  An Idea for Pam

  Claire

  As Pam and I walk along the lakeshore, she

  picks up a pinecone and says, Maybe I could

  do some “Pointers” about this for my blog. How

  could this be used? I have an idea: the wood-

  stove is sometimes hard to start—I look at

  all the pinecones on the ground: Dip them

  in candle wax and use them for fire starters?

  When I see how easy it is to make Pam

  happy I feel a little guilty for not trying to do it

  before now. Yes! she says. (Is this even an original

  idea? I might have seen it online somewhere.)

  I think harder—“Pointers from Pam” in its final

  form has to be more elaborate. Maybe, I say, you

  could add glitter to the wax, so it would be a table

  decoration before you use it for the fire. Pam looks

  surprised. Does she think I’m not capable

  of having ideas? Or—this would be worse—is she

  surprised to be having a friendly conversation

  with me? Thank you, Claire, she says. Maybe Pam

  and I could just enjoy what’s left of our vacation.

  The Truth Starts Pounding

  Abi

  I wish I had an answer when Brock asks,

  Why? I told him I still like him—and he

  still likes me. We both enjoy kissing.

  So it must be confusing when I turn away.

  I try to explain: When I thought you liked another

  girl, I felt bad. And I don’t want you to feel like that

  if I like someone else sometime. Not that I do, but …

  I stop, because I’m trying to tell the truth, and I

  might be starting not to. Brock waits for me to finish.

  This is way harder than I thought it would be. Abi,

  he says, I like you for a lot of reasons. You’re really fun.

  You’re smart. You’re pretty. And, boy, can you swim.

  It’s my turn to say something. But when I try,

  the truth starts pounding in my ear. I can’t say:

  I do like you, Brock. It’s just that I like TJ more.

  For a second, I’m tempted to kiss him

  in order to fill this awkward silence. I don’t

  want to hurt his feelings. I don’t want to lie.

  But I don’t want to kiss him, either. I take a deep breath

  and say the best thing I can think of: Would it be okay

  if we just like each other … but don’t kiss anymore?

  He steps away from me. Stops smiling. Stands

  on one foot, then the other. I guess so, he finally says,

  (What else can he say?) but I still don’t understand why.

  Claire and Pam are coming up the path. I say, Thanks

  for bringing back my hoodie. Brock says, Thanks for these.

  He picks up his shoes and clothes. And then he leaves.

  How Should We Celebrate?

  Claire

  Abi is very quiet after Brock leaves.

  Not sad. Not happy either. More like

  she’s thinking about something. She

  goes off by herself for a long bike

  ride, and while she’s gone, Dad says, Claire,

  I can hardly believe that you will be eleven

  in two days. How should we celebrate this year?

  I’ve thought about this. The year I was seven,

  I say, we had the Johnsons over for a cookout,

  remember? And we made strawberry ice cream

  for dessert. Can we do that again? Dad says,

  I remember that night—the girls’ team

  beat the boys’ team in Frisbee keep-away. Maybe

  we should wait a few years before we try that again.

  Let Blake get big enough to give us some backup

  if the twins sit on the Frisbee, like they did back then.

  Later, after dinner, Pam calls Mrs. Johnson,

  and they agree they’ll all come over in two

  days. Abi offers to help Pam make my cake.

  Thanks, Abi, I whisper. I can count on you

  to be sure it’s chocolate marble—Pam might

  think carrot cake is healthier. I don’t know

  how Abi feels about us inviting TJ’s family.

  She doesn’t say anything about it, so

  it must be okay. At sunset, Dad wraps Blake

  in the baby sling, and he and Pam go for a walk.

  As soon as we’re alone, Abi says, Claire, can we

  talk about what happened this afternoon, with Brock?

  My sister wants to talk to me about her love life.

  It’s weird, but for some reason I’ve kind

  of gotten interested. We sit on the porch while

  Abi talks nonstop. About boys. And—I don’t mind.

  I Close My Eyes

  Claire

  I’ve had a good day, but I can’t get to sleep.

  Too much to think about: What is kissing

  like? What if you hurt someone’s feelings?

  (Or they might hurt yours.) Why am I missing

  Mom so much, even though I hardly knew her?

  I close my eyes, and she starts to appear

  as if in a dream, and then she comes closer, like

  she’s saying, Claire, it’s okay. The mother deer

  I saw with her fawn the other day steps into

  my mind. The swans. A dragonfly. The leap

  of a fish, only without a splash, just endless

  circles going toward shore as I fall asleep.

  If I’m Going to Try


  Claire

  Abi wakes up for her morning swim

  and shakes me out of my dreams.

  Want to swim to the island and back? she asks.

  We’ll be leaving in four days, which means

  if I’m going to try, I’d better do it now.

  Okay, I say. I hope TJ is up. He said he’d row

  along beside me. Abi says, I don’t think you need

  his help, but we can ask. That was an hour ago,

  and now here I am, feeling strong and happy,

  taking these last few strokes as we arrive

  at Anna’s Island. I stand on the shore and wave

  to TJ in his boat, then turn to Abi for a high five!

  I rest awhile before going back in the water. Will I

  be able to swim back, against the current? I want

  to do this while I’m still ten, I say as I start out. Abi says,

  You will, Claire. TJ calls, Remember, if you can’t—

  Abi interrupts him. No, forget that. Let’s go.

  We step into the water together, and I swim

  all the way home—with no help! I’m glad TJ was

  with us all the way, even though I didn’t need him.

  That Boy You Mentioned

  Claire

  Dad can be a few steps behind, but he always

  catches up eventually. Today, he’s cooking

  scrambled eggs for lunch, and says to Abi,

  You know that boy you mentioned—I’m looking

  forward to meeting him. Abi has to think a minute

  to remember that she told Dad about Brock

  the other day. Oh. Yes. That boy, she says. Well,

  you might not actually meet him. Dad gets this look

  that means he realizes he missed something,

  and Abi takes pity on him, answering the question

  he doesn’t ask. We’re still friends—I think—but no more

  than that. Pam looks up and offers a suggestion:

  Maybe, she says, you should talk to him one more

  time before you leave, to say goodbye. Just so you end

  the summer on a good note. That way, when we come

  back next summer, you’ll still have him as a friend.

  I notice that Pam says “when we come back.”

  We—she understands that she belongs here.

  I look more closely at what she’s doing—

  dipping pinecones in candle wax. Where

  did she get those half-burned candles to melt? A box