When My Sister Started Kissing

by Helen Frost

  on the table says “Cari’s candles” in Dad’s writing.

  Dad and I went out to the shed yesterday and

  brought in some boxes. Just a few. Not everything.

  I hand Pam a jar of glitter to sprinkle on a warm,

  wax-dipped pinecone. Thanks, she says. Do you want

  to help? Sure—why not? I look around the cabin.

  Blake’s (Tyger’s) things are scattered around. A plant

  Pam brought home the other day is blooming on

  a shelf they emptied. Dad told Abi and me to take

  what we wanted of Mom’s to our room. A few books.

  Her red sandals. Her painting of a sunset on the lake.

  A Haircut and a Kiss

  Claire

  Ever since Abi drew that picture, and gave me

  her hair clip, I’ve been using it in my hair. Now

  I decide to cut my bangs. I get a pair of scissors

  and hold a chunk of hair, just above my eyebrow.

  But when I cut it off, and then another, I look

  nothing like I thought I would. How do you cut

  your own hair, anyway? When I see myself

  in the mirror, it seems like it will be easy, but

  it definitely is not. There’s this zigzag line

  across my forehead, and not enough hair

  left to make it straight. What should I do?

  Forget it—I’ll leave it this way. I don’t care.

  I pull my cap down over my face, but I must

  have a funny expression, because Pam says, What

  happened? She gently lifts my cap to look

  at me. She doesn’t laugh. I appreciate that.

  I can fix this, she says. Not too long ago

  I might have stomped off and told her

  I did not need fixing, but today I say, Really?

  She says, Sure. On my laptop, I have a folder

  full of pictures of girls’ hairstyles. Have a look,

  and see what you like. She doesn’t hover

  over me, she just studies the picture I find,

  gets a hand-mirror, and a towel to put over

  my shoulders, and then snip, snip, snip,

  and she’s done. Dad says, You look more

  like an eleven-year-old this way. Pam shakes the

  towel outside. I sweep the hair up off the floor.

  Just as good as Chloe, Abi says. Pam takes my chin

  in her hand, tilts back my head. I don’t squirm away.

  She smiles, admiring her handiwork, then leans in

  to kiss my forehead. I have to admit, I look okay.

  Eleven

  Claire

  Happy Birthday, Abi says, as soon as we wake up.

  Then, early afternoon: Are you going to the beach?

  Jonilet might be there, and I bet she’s wondering

  where you’ve been. It’s not hard for me to reach

  two conclusions: Pam and Abi are planning

  to make my birthday cake—they’ve agreed

  it’s Abi’s job to get me out of the way. And

  Abi isn’t going to the beach herself, but she’d

  love to know if Brock is there and, if so, whether

  he’s sad and lonely—or not. Yes, I’m going, I say.

  I head out in the kayak, paddling through

  the water lilies, counting by elevens all the way.

  I pass eleven docks, and see eleven ducks.

  Eleven puffy clouds roam the clear blue sky.

  They seem to float in front of me as I cut

  through the water. When I get to the beach, I

  pull the kayak out and count some more:

  Eleven teenagers in the group Abi usually

  sits with—two girls wave to me as I walk past.

  Brock sees me and looks a little bit confused.

  Maybe he’s wondering where Abi is.

  Trinity walks over from the concession stand

  with an ice cream cone she gives to him.

  Good, there’s Jonilet. She waves, and

  calls out, Claire—Happy Birthday! Sit with me. Wow,

  she remembers my birthday from last summer. Hey,

  she says, we’re the same age again. What’s different

  about you? I shrug. Your hair, she says. I like it that way.

  Benjamin Bunny

  Abi

  From what Claire says, it sounds like Pam is right

  that I should try to talk to Brock before we leave.

  He might still be thinking he did something

  that made me not like him anymore. Which isn’t true,

  but I don’t know what more to say, or how to say it.

  Now Claire is sitting on her bed across from me,

  holding Benjamin Bunny and lecturing: I still say

  you should give him back to TJ. (Does TJ remember

  giving him to me?) I have an idea, says Claire.

  When they come over tonight, why don’t you

  leave Benjamin Bunny out on a chair and see what

  happens. If TJ doesn’t remember, he won’t even notice,

  and if he does, you can give him back. It’s logical enough,

  but there’s something I can’t admit to Claire. After all

  these years, I’m not sure I want to give this bunny back.

  Abi and TJ Sitting in a Tree

  Claire

  It’s crowded in our cabin with the whole

  Johnson family plus the five of us. Devon

  and the twins start to squish onto a narrow

  bench on one side of the table, but then, even

  though there are enough chairs for the rest

  of us, Abi and TJ offer to take the bench. It’s

  so obvious. Sadie and Sophia start singing

  that song: Abi and TJ sitting in a tree, K-I-S—

  But before TJ has a chance to stop them, Dad

  interrupts, What is it with children’s songs and trees

  anyway—that one, and the other one about a cradle

  with a baby in it, falling down from a treetop? These

  days, would anyone really rock a baby in a treetop?

  Or sit in a tree kissing, for that matter? By the time

  he’s said all that, nobody’s paying any attention

  to how close together Abi and TJ are sitting. I’m

  telling Devon where everything is on the table

  so he can help himself, as Sadie and Sophia try

  to get ketchup on their hot dogs, while Mom and

  Mrs. Johnson are— Whoa, stop right there. Did I

  just say “Mom” when I meant Pam? Not out loud,

  but still. I want to think about that a little more.

  After we eat, Dad and Mr. Johnson suggest

  a Frisbee game, and we all head out the door,

  trying to decide if boys-against-girls would be fair

  this year. As TJ goes out the door, I see him pause

  to pick up Benjamin Bunny from the chair that

  Abi sat him in. Abi, you still have this? Because

  I was thinking, we could give it to Blake—or should

  I say Tyger? Funny, I thought it had more hair.

  Abi laughs. I guess I kind of wore that off

  when I was little. He does look kind of threadbare,

  doesn’t he? She says “he” and TJ says “it.”

  TJ doesn’t care about this, and he knows Abi

  will enjoy sharing Benjamin Bunny with Tyger.

  So that’s all settled. After we play Frisbee,

  we make strawberry ice cream to go with the

  chocolate-marble birthday cake Pam and Abi made.

  We build a fire on the beach and sit around it,

  talking, remembering other times we’ve played

  Frisbee on people’s birthdays. Dad asks, What will

  we all remember about this summer, after we’ve gone

  home? Abi and I look at each other, thinkin
g of things

  we won’t say, but she does say, I’ll never forget the swan

  and her cygnets coming out of the channel. She lets

  it be known that TJ showed them to her, and once

  the twins hear that, it’s: When did you go? How come

  you didn’t take us? We want to see the swans!

  What a commotion. I tell them, This is why you two

  can’t go. When you get near the swans, you have to be

  quiet or you’ll scare the babies. Devon pipes up,

  I can be quiet. Can I go? Abi and TJ look at me,

  and we nod to each other. We could take Devon.

  The twins start yelling, No fair! We can be quiet, too!

  We laugh at them, and they get the joke and

  quiet down. Promise, Sadie whispers. One canoe

  could hold four people, but not six. We make a plan:

  TJ and Devon can take Sadie in their canoe, and Abi

  and I can take Sophia in ours. Sadie gloats,

  Sophia and I can go, but not Tyger. He’s a noisy baby.

  See You Next Summer, Maybe

  Abi

  Okay, I know I have to talk to Brock. I owe him

  some kind of explanation—as honest as I can be

  without hurting his feelings too much. This is

  when he usually goes running—I’m headed his way,

  hoping (kind of) to see him. Sure enough, there he is—

  he waves and slows down a little, lets me catch up.

  We run together for a few minutes without talking,

  then stop at a drinking fountain with a bench beside it.

  I want to get this over with—I sit down, and Brock sits

  beside me. I wish I knew how to begin. Then, before

  I say anything, he starts the conversation: Abi, he says,

  I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but— What? I was not

  expecting this—you’ll be leaving in a couple days,

  and I’ll still be here. I think Trinity might like me,

  so … He looks at me with a question on his face.

  Oh. That’s okay, I say. I understand. He looks surprised.

  You do? he says. I nod. Somehow, we’ve each said exactly

  the right words, and no more. How did we figure this out?

  Friends? he asks, putting up his hand for a fist-bump. I answer,

  Sure. Bye. See you next summer, maybe. Is this how Claire felt

  the other day, when she swam home from Anna’s Island?

  The Swans Swim Closer

  Claire

  Midafternoon, Abi and I paddle to TJ’s dock

  and get Sophia settled in the center

  of our canoe. Devon and TJ, with Sadie,

  lead the way across the lake. After we enter

  the channel we stay together as we get closer

  to the swans—the twins are ready to explode

  from the effort of keeping quiet. Is this

  exactly where you were when TJ showed

  you the baby swans? Sophia whispers.

  Abi points, No, they were right over there.

  We paddle carefully that way, but stop

  before we get to the nest so we don’t scare

  them. TJ brings his canoe beside ours

  and reaches out to take Abi’s hand,

  pulling our two canoes together. Sadie

  and Sophia hold hands, too, and

  I glance over at Devon to see if he wants

  to help, but he’s facing the other way.

  Plus, he’s nine, and probably thinks

  girls have cooties—which is okay

  with me. We stay together for a while. Then

  Abi and TJ drop hands so they can steer.

  In this almost perfect silence, Devon picks up

  some small sound that none of us can hear

  and points in a direction we weren’t

  looking. Sadie lets out a squeak of delight,

  then claps both hands over her mouth

  as the whole swan family—the two white

  parents and four gray balls of fluff—come

  into view. Sophia is so quiet, I glance

  back to make sure she’s okay. She whispers,

  Claire, I never thought we’d get a chance

  to be this close to them. The swans swim over

  to where we float in our canoes. No one speaks—we

  don’t need to. It’s like we’re all one person. One

  heart beating. At least that’s how it feels to me.

  This Day

  Abi

  I love everything about this day.

  The swan family, our two canoes

  coming home late in the afternoon,

  Devon offering to put their life vests away

  and take the tired twins back to the house.

  And Claire paddling our canoe home

  by herself without saying why. She knows

  TJ and I want to be alone for a little while,

  to say goodbye. She guesses that we’ll kiss.

  When we do, it’s different from last year.

  A thousand memories, a million maybes,

  a flash of joy—like lightning, only softer.

  Heartstones

  The lake

  One more day

  before they leave. Ah, a heart-shaped

  red stone—let me move it close to shore.

  Abi’s head is in the clouds today, but

  Claire sees the stone right at the

  edge of my water, and

  stoops to pick it up. She

  turns it, admiring its lines and colors.

  Eleven years I’ve known her—from baby, to

  rambunctious toddler, to this strong young girl

  now beginning to consider the possibility that

  even she might want to kiss someone—not

  right away but, maybe, someday?

  Today she’s content to find and

  hold this stone. She lifts it to the sun to let it dry,

  and dips it back into the water. After she does that several

  times, she puts it in her pocket so she can take it home. Every

  summer, she searches for a perfect stone, and often finds one on

  the last afternoon before they go back home. I’ll always

  remember the words she said the first time she found

  a heartstone and proudly showed it to her dad:

  Is this from Mom? Since then, I always try to

  nudge one to shore for her to find.

  Until We Come Back

  Claire

  I show Dad and Pam the heartstone I found this afternoon,

  and Dad gives me a hug. I’m superstitious about this now:

  It brings me luck until we come back next year, I explain to Pam.

  She turns the stone over in her hand, thoughtful. Is that how

  the lake got its name? she asks. Yes, I say. I find a heartstone

  every year. You’ve seen them, in my room at home, in a bird’s-nest

  I keep on my dresser. Dad says heartstones are a sign of love—

  we should find one for you. Abi jumps up, missing the rest

  of the conversation as she bounces out the door. I bet she’s

  going down to the lake to look for one to give to TJ.

  Sure enough, she’s gone for over an hour, and comes back

  smiling. I found a heartstone, she announces, and gave it away

  (to TJ of course), and then TJ gave this one to me!

  Dad, she asks, when will we be coming back to close

  the cabin this year? Dad laughs—Abi and I usually

  hate that weekend, and from her expression, he knows

  she’s looking forward to it. Sometime around Halloween,

  as usual, he says, and then he adds, just to tease

  her, You could stay home this year if you don’t want to help.

  She says, No, we’ll come. Right, Claire? An
d then, Please,

  Dad, could we come up for Thanksgiving and Christmas, too?

  I want to see what winter is like up here. Dad says, It’s cold!

  But he adds, We’ll see. I’ve been thinking we should

  winterize this place pretty soon—before I get too old

  to do the work. I think he’s joking about that—he’ll be

  young for a long time—but it makes me wonder

  if Abi and I will still be coming up here years from now

  when Dad is old. Our babies crawling around under

  the table, Abi and I and TJ and Devon and the twins

  all grown up. Tyger and the Johnsons’ new baby

  might be the age we are now. Dad interrupts this

  line of thought with a reminder: Claire and Abi,

  when your own things are packed, could you help

  clean up the kitchen and get things in the car?

  We go in our room and pack things in boxes, to stay

  here, or in suitcases, to go home. Abi picks up the jar

  of rice and fishes out her phone. I guess I’ll

  have to tell Dad my phone went for a swim,

  she says. She gave up on it about a week ago,

  but she tries once more. I wish I didn’t have to tell him

  about that, she says. I hope he’ll get me a new one. She points

  the phone at me, something clicks, and she waves it in the air.

  Look! she says. The rice dried it out—at least the camera

  works. Abi-luck strikes again. In the picture, my hair

  looks different than I’m used to, but I don’t hate it.

  Which really means, I have to admit, I don’t hate Pam.

  If she’s not too busy being Tyger’s mom to make time for me

  and Abi, and if she wonders if I’m ready to accept that—I am.

  As for Abi—when I saw her start to change so much,

  I missed her. I felt like she was leaving me behind.

  But it’s interesting to see where she’s going, and if I

  ever head down that path, I won’t be traveling blind.

  After we get our room packed, I ask Pam if she needs

  help in the kitchen, and she says, Thanks, Claire. I sure do.

  I can’t get anything done while Tyger needs all my attention.

  Could you try to keep him occupied for half an hour or so?

  And that’s how I come to fall in love a little bit myself.

  Pam wraps him around me in the baby sling and we