by Jen Malone
“Do you think the Romitos will have any new ones this year?” Izzy asks as we walk toward the square.
I laugh. After our beach candles and the Berrys’ (who serve slices from a giant sheet cake in their driveway), the Romitos’ get the biggest crowds. Most houses hang tiny white fairy lights, or globe lights like the ones restaurants sometimes use for their outside areas. Some people line their porch railings with votive candles under hurricane glasses.
But not the Romitos.
They have a crazypants collection of lights that grows by the year. Like strands of lit chili peppers, or beach umbrellas, or miniature poodles, or Volkswagen vans. Last year’s additions were Hawaiian hula dancers and a strand of Easter egg–shaped lights. It’s to the point now where some of the tourists who come every year will bring ones from their own cities to donate to the Romitos’ collection. Their display is also my meeting spot with the girls if we haven’t found each other by then, and we always have to budget at least twenty minutes to make sure we see every strand. I basically love it.
I love everything about Illumination Night.
We find Lo, Becs, and Vi (who really is wearing a dress and has let her curly hair out of its ponytail, although none of us have the heart to tell her she missed curling a few spots in the back because we don’t want to discourage her) before the fish fry even starts this year. We chow down, then watch the little girls twirl around and around and the old people do old-timey dance steps. It’s just as fun as ever. Plus the Romitos have tiny guitar lights on a strand, which Becca oohs and aahs over.
So far, so perfect. My bad mood fades as fast as the sun does.
Izzy and I have to run ahead to get in place before people start to make their way over to the cove. Since I’ll be on the beach, she’s supposed to have her friend Morgan helping her give out candles, but when we get there it’s just us and another text from Mom. Running late. Who ever heard of so many wedding dramas? I can’t even believe she’d miss Illumination Night. The parties are one thing, but Illumination Night? It’s practically a holiday.
“Iz, I’ll help you as long as I can, but I have to light the candles on the beach. Can’t you call Morgan and see where she is?”
“No way will she be home.”
“Just try. Please, Izzy. It’s my first year lighting the candles.”
I hand her my cell phone and listen to Izzy’s side of the conversation, which consists of a lot of “Oh, nos.” This can’t be good. Izzy hits end and hands my phone back to me, saying, “Morgan’s sick.”
“What?”
“Her mom said she started throwing up right before dinner.” Izzy shrugs. “She was fine at camp this morning.”
I look around helplessly. “But . . . but people are gonna be here any minute and I have to be on the beach. Except I can’t leave you alone out here.”
“I bet you could ask one of the grown-ups to use the lighter.”
“That’s not the point. It’s finally my job and I want to do it,” I whine.
“Well, you don’t have to get mad at me. It’s not my fault Morgan’s sick.”
Plus Mom’s not here. Both of us are thinking it, even if neither of us says it.
“Fine. I’ll call the girls to help. I don’t know if they’re allowed to use the lighter, but at least they can sit with you.”
“I don’t want the girls to sit with me. I want you.”
“Izzy, don’t be a baby. I’m trying to get a job done here.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying all summer,” Izzy mumbles under her breath, but I catch it.
Whatever. She’s only ten. She totally doesn’t understand how much work—fun work, but still—it can be to run a company.
My phone buzzes and I check it. “Lo just texted me back. She’s right around the corner, and Vi and Becca are stopping off for a piece of cake, then heading straight over too.”
Izzy just shrugs and slumps in her seat. We sit in silence while we wait.
• • •
An hour later I’ve come to the realization that Mom and Dad exaggerated the importance of this job when they did it. I got to light the first few, but then everyone just turned to the person behind them and lit one candle off the other, so I’m entertaining myself by relighting any that have blown out. The beach is covered in tapers stuck into little hills of sand that people used to prop them up. Between their flickering, the water shimmering in the moonlight, and the blinking stars, it’s like one giant twinkle party out here.
Off to one side a few of the kids from the high school built a bonfire, but they got bored and left it. A bunch of my classmates swooped in and claimed it and now someone is strumming a guitar. The fire smells like summer nights.
“Sades!” Becca gathers the skirts of her maxi dress in her hands and carefully takes a giant step over a circle of candles to stand beside me. “Do you ever get that feeling where everything is so perfect and you’re so totally happy to be exactly where you are that it makes you sad, but you can’t explain why?”
I really, really do.
We’re quiet for a few seconds and then Becca squints over at the bonfire.
“Who’s on the guitar?”
She, Lauren, and Vi have been taking turns helping Izzy, so she hasn’t watched any of the action on the beach. I follow her eyes. “Actually, um, I think it might be Ryan.”
“Oh.” If Becca’s surprised, she doesn’t show it.
“Do you want to go over there?”
“Nah.”
Now I try to hide my surprise. I mean, I know she’s been really mellow about Ryan since we had our talk the other week, but I figured that would change once we were face-to-face with him.
I’m about to protest when Lance calls out to us. He must have noticed us staring at them. “Hey, y’all! Come on over!”
I wave at him and grab Becca’s hand.
“C’mon, we’ll just say hi.” She looks like she wants to protest, but she doesn’t say anything, just follows me. When we reach the group, everyone says hi and we drop to the sand. “Hey. Are you taking requests?” I ask.
Ryan laughs. “I’m not good enough to know whole songs yet.”
Then he glances up, sees Becca beside me, and promptly ducks his head.
Poor Becs. I know she’s halfway mortified thinking back on how she’s been acting around Ryan, even though she doesn’t have to be. She’s really quiet (soooo not like Becca) while the rest of us chat softly and Ryan picks at strings.
After about twenty minutes I hear my name being called and spot Lauren waving at the beach entrance. I stand and brush sand off the backs of my legs, then reach out a hand to tug Becca up. We only get two steps before Becca says, “Hang on. I just need to tell Ryan something.”
Oh, no. This can’t be good. Either she’s gonna be all flirty, which is pretty counterproductive at this point, or she’s gonna apologize or something, which would be worse, considering about a quarter of the seventh grade is hanging out at the bonfire and would overhear it.
But before I can stop her, she’s crouching in the sand next to Ryan. He looks resigned, like he couldn’t believe she’d left him alone as long as she had, but it’s not normal flirty Becca who says, “Hey.” This Becca’s soft and quiet. “I just wanted to let you know your low E is out of tune. Also, when you’re playing your open chords, you’re not playing on the very tips of your fingers, so some of the notes are getting lost. Just move your wrist forward and roll up to the tips and you’ll solve it.”
Then she straightens, jogs in the sand a few steps to catch up to me, and tucks an elbow through mine. I don’t want to chance glancing back at Ryan, but I definitely don’t hear any music as we walk away, so I’m thinking he’s probably got his jaw hanging open.
But I don’t even have a chance to mention that to Becca, because Lauren’s waving with both hands now. Only she’s not smiling.
We have to weave through candles, so I can’t run. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Izzy. I think
she’s sick!”
We pick our way across the rest of the beach as fast as we can, then follow Lauren down the path to Cove Street, where the tables are set up. As soon as we come over the little hill, I see Izzy clutching her stomach. Vi’s offering her sips from a water bottle.
“Iz?” I race up to her and put my hand on her arm. “What’s up?”
She looks at me and a tear slips down her cheek.
Vi speaks instead. “She just completely puked in the grass over there. I offered to take her to lie down, but she said she only wanted you.”
“I don’t feel so good, Sade.” Izzy sounds terrible.
I share a glance with the other girls and put my arm around my sister.
“We’ll take care of the candle cleanup,” Lauren offers immediately. The others nod enthusiastically.
“Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll handle it,” Vi says. She’s already pulling her new curls into a ponytail holder and knotting the bottom of her dress at the knees.
I give them grateful smiles, then walk my sister gingerly back to the house, where I tuck her into cool sheets and place a damp washcloth on her forehead.
“I’m sorry, Iz. You probably caught whatever Morgan has,” I say.
“I got sick in front of your friends!” This time tears are streaming down Izzy’s face. I gape at her.
“So what? Like they care. Geez, Iz, you’re sick. You can’t help that. No one cares, I promise.”
“No one does care!” Izzy says with a giant sniffle. “Not you, not Mom. Neither of you are ever around when I need you. You’re both too busy with your dumb businesses.”
Wait a second, wait a second, wait one second. Mom is always busy with her dumb business. I mean, yeah, I have RSVP, but we haven’t even had a job in two weeks and before that we were . . .
Kind of busy. Not the whole time, but I guess even the times we didn’t have actual parties, we were meeting up at the Purple People Eater to plan them or getting stuff we needed together. And the last two weeks have been all about drumming up new business. So yeah, I guess I was busy, but it was a fun kind of busy and I was with my friends, so it didn’t feel anything like Mom’s kind of busy. Besides, Mom uses her job as an excuse for everything, and she’s way worse because she has other responsibilities. Like TWO KIDS.
I’m not missing out on anything I’m supposed to be doing, even when I have a million party-planning things to do. It’s summer. I don’t even have homework. I basically have zero responsibilities.
Except being a good big sister to Izzy. Dad made me cross-my-heart promise before he died.
I glance at Iz. She’s slumped back against her pillow and her eyes are closed. It’s like finally getting that off her chest took the last strength she had.
I watch her chest move up and down but really I’m in my head, replaying a bunch of times when Izzy wanted to help us or hang out and I ignored her calls or sent her away.
Izzy’s breathing gets soft next to me and I think she’s fallen asleep. But I just lie there in her bed, thinking.
Am I just like Mom?
GREAT SCOTS! ONE OF OUR OWN IS MOVING TO THE HIGHLANDS!
Please join us in wishing a bonny fare-thee-well to Mr. Charles Vernon
On Saturday, August 8, at five o’clock
Sandpiper Active Senior Living, 1101 Rosalinde Street
Wear your finest Scottish attire and get ready to dance a bagpipe jig in honor of our beloved friend!
Your fond memories are the only gifts Mr. V needs
Hosted by Mrs. Geraldine “Bubby” Simmons
RSVP to Sadie Pleffer at (910) 555-0110 or [email protected]
Lauren
camaraderie noun
a feeling of mutual trust and friendship among
persons in a group
Use in a sentence:
I enjoy the camaraderie I share with Vi, Sadie, and Becca, even when we’re chasing runaway dogs, wearing puffy old-fashioned dresses, and shopping at (ugh) Party Me Hearties.
Zach! Let’s GO, already. I have a ton of stuff to do before I have to be back at the marina this afternoon.” I give his bedroom door a good kick. Maybe too good of a kick, because I forgot I was wearing flip-flops and ended up whacking the hard wooden door with my bare toes. I hop up and down as I wait for him to answer.
“Go. Away.”
So I pound with my fist. “You promised you’d drive me over to the library.”
“Take the golf cart and leave me alone.”
“Jerk!” I give the door one last good thump, and turn on my heels toward the garage. Why do I get stuck with the lazy brother who can’t get up in time to drive me to the other end of the island? I mean, it’s not like it’s the crack of dawn or anything. It’s ten o’clock. But considering I was woken up by music blasting from his room at three a.m., I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s still asleep.
I pull out of the garage just as Mom drives in. She rolls down her window and blinks at me with bleary eyes. She got called into emergency surgery last night, which ended up taking hours. Her curly hair is starting to frizz, and she runs a hand over it as she asks, “Where are you going?”
“Party errands.”
“Can’t you ask Zach to drive you?”
“Zach is still asleep. I’ve been up since seven.” I decided a long time ago that the most successful people get up early every day, even on weekends. Mom’s always asking me if I get enough sleep, but if I’m going to do better than Zach or Josh, then sleep can wait.
“Then what about your bike?” Mom asks.
“Too much to carry,” I say as I twist the seashell key ring hanging from the ignition of the golf cart. “And I have to go to the library.”
“The library? That’s way over by the cove.” Mom’s eyebrows knit together, and I’m sure she’s picturing me splatted out in front of Sadie’s house or something.
“It’s fine, Mom. It’s not that far away. And I promise to stay on the side streets.”
She sighs. “I wish your dad never bought those carts, but all right. Be careful.”
“Of course,” I tell her before I roll on down the driveway. I’m going to hit the library first to rent some movies, and then the bank to finally deposit the money I made on Bubby’s dog birthday party, and last of all Marks Makes Cakes, since Vi flat out refuses to set foot in there again. What I really should be doing is a marathon read of the last two books on my summer reading list, but Sadie’s been staying home with Izzy all week, so without me, it would’ve been just Becca and Vi getting everything ready.
Because we finally booked another party. I don’t know if “booked” is the right word, since even though Becca’s been chatting up every single weekly who comes into the Visitor’s Center, and Vi made this awesome page full of pictures and captions from the parties we’ve already done to include with the flyers, and Sadie’s been making calls to everyone we know who has a birthday coming up this month, no one’s actually booked us for anything. Until last night, when I got a text from Bubby.
Lo baby, my life iz over!
Since she’s seventy-two years old, when she says something like that, I kind of picture her in the hospital. What happened? Where are you? I typed back.
My apt. But I’m sooooo sad! Mr. V is moving on.
Mr. V is in the hospital?
Nooooo . . . wish he wuz tho b/c then I’d still have a chance w/ him, she wrote.
What are you talking about?
He’s moving 2 Scotland!
Ohhhhh . . .
And that’s when Bubby had the bright idea that if Sandpiper Active Senior Living (meaning her) threw Mr. Vernon a going-away party, then he might notice her and realize how wonderful she is and change his mind.
Guess who she wanted to plan the party?
So I know I should be grateful that we have another party. It just feels as if it doesn’t count because Bubby is my family. That’s like if you paint some amazing work for the elementary-school charity art auction, feel all proud abo
ut it hanging up in the school gym, and then your mother buys it. (And yes, that happened. May second, three years ago. The painting is still hanging in our living room. It’s practically the only non-boat thing in the room.)
I roll into the square (careful to look in all directions just in case Mom’s stats on golf-cart crashes are correct), and then turn right, around Merlin and the gazebo and toward Lava Java and the bridge.
“Lo! Wait!” Becca comes running from the Visitor’s Center, her sparkly red purse flying out behind her.
I pull over in front of Lava Java and wait for Becca.
“Whew! I’m so glad you’re here. I have to go to the photo counter at the pharmacy to print these pictures for the collages. Our printer’s dead and Dad’s using the one at the Visitor’s Center to print out a gazillion and two flyers about the Founder’s Day stuff next month. Plus I have to buy all the stuff to make the collages. So where are you going?” Becca leans on the golf cart and waits for me to answer.
“The library first.” I check the time on my phone. Ten fifteen. I have to move if I’m going to make it to all my stops and back across the island to the marina before noon.
“Awesomesauce. We can stop at the pharmacy on the way.” She slips into the passenger seat of the golf cart and tucks her purse between her feet. And then looks at me, like she can’t figure out why I’m not driving yet.
“Um, no. I can’t drive friends, remember?” I wait for her to get out, but she doesn’t budge.
“C’mon, Lauren! You’re a really, really good driver, and the pharmacy isn’t that far away. And besides, how am I supposed to carry all those pictures and glue and construction paper and markers on my bike? Pleeeeease?” She widens her eyes and blinks them, like she’s going to cry big, fat tears if I don’t agree.
“I can’t, I’m sorry. If my parents see, I’ll be dead.”
“Your dad’s at the marina, right?”
“Yes. He’s got some contractors coming at eleven to look at replacing part of the dock.”
