by Jenn Bishop
“Sure.” I take his library card and stick it in my pocket.
Cammie and I grab bikes from the garage. There’s an old blue Schwinn that’s just the right size for me. The only bike for someone Cammie’s size is a Barbie bike, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s convinced this Barbie is actually a Superspy Barbie, with secret ninja powers.
I take a left up the hill.
“That’s not the way to the library,” Cammie shouts from behind me.
“Just a little detour.” My legs strain to bike uphill, but we only have to go a few houses further.
I come to a stop in front of our lot. The sun is low in the sky, and the few remaining trees cast weird shadows in the bare spots of our yard.
The lot is almost completely clear. A clean slate. That’s what Mom said. It makes me think of the whiteboard at school first thing in the morning. But even then, it’s not really clean. There are still little black and green bits from the writing all the days before.
Building again in the same spot as our old house, it’s like we get to keep the memories. Like our old house isn’t truly gone.
“Mommy said I can paint my new room any color I want,” Cammie says.
“Oh yeah? What color do you want, then?”
Cammie sighs. “It’s a really big decision.”
I turn my bike around to go down the hill. “You’ll figure it out. Come on. We’ve got some work to do.”
My fingers are clenched against the brakes the whole way down.
—
I follow Cammie’s lead as we make our way over to the library’s bulletin board. There are lots of postings for people looking to mow your lawn or babysit your kids. Somebody is looking for a tutor. Somebody wants to be a tutor. I wonder what they would say if I called both of them up and said, Hey, I solved your problem, how about slipping me ten bucks?
I’m putting the second pushpin into our poster when someone says, “Hey, Maddie?”
I turn around and find Gregg. He’s got a sunburn on his nose and the tips of his ears, probably from the swim camp they have at the YMCA this week.
“I’m sorry about your house.”
“Thanks,” I say. “How did you hear?”
Cammie realizes we’re done with the poster and runs off to the children’s room down the hall.
“Avery.” He’s bouncing a little bit on the balls of his feet. “Hey, so, are you going to that pool party?”
I nod. “Kiersten put me in charge of decorations. How do you even decorate a pool?”
“Hmm,” Gregg says. “I guess you could fill it with rubber ducks or something, maybe in the school colors?”
Why didn’t I think of that?
“That’s a good idea,” I say. “Maybe you should be on the committee.”
“When’s the meeting?” That wasn’t what I meant.
“Um, I’ll have to check with Kiersten.”
Gregg keeps standing there, looking at me kind of funny. Like he’s staring at my nose or my eyes or some freckle on my face. Or is that just how Gregg looks when he’s not talking? (When is Gregg ever not talking?) I don’t know. What I do know is that my palms feel sweaty all of a sudden.
I clear my throat. “So, I actually have to go and pick up a book for the guy we’re staying with.”
“Oh,” he says. “Well, see you around?”
“Okay. Yeah.”
I’m halfway to the checkout desk when I hear Gregg calling out my name again. I turn and see him holding something in his hand. One of the slips from the missing-dog poster, with my phone number and email.
“I hope you find Hank soon.”
“Me too,” I say.
Two days have passed since I posted the missing-dog signs at the library, and still not one person has emailed me.
Well, that’s not exactly true.
Nobody has emailed me about Hank, but Gregg has emailed me about a thousand different things. I wish I were exaggerating.
First, it was the video of the cat being scared of a cucumber. My mistake was writing back: LOL. Funny one. Later! Maddie.
That was it. Just five words, if “LOL” even is a word. But by the next time I checked my email, there were ten messages from Gregg. Actually, eleven, because while I was reading them, he sent me another one. True, most of them were links to different YouTube videos, and it wasn’t like I was the only recipient, but then there were three that he sent just to me. Even though they were about the party—so really, he should’ve sent them to me and Kiersten and Gabriella, who Kiersten says really wants to help out—they were only addressed to me.
Hi Maddie,
New idea!!!!!!!!!!!! What if we fill the pool with goldfish? They’re really cheap. I’ve got $25 saved up, which could buy at least a thousand goldfish. What do you say?
—the G man
Maddie,
Scratch that. Better idea! Kiddie pools filled with slushies. I can round up at least four kiddie pools from my neighborhood. Again, $25. That’s gotta buy enough slushies to fill at least two pools, right? Maybe three.
—Triple G
Maddie!!!
OK, not my best idea. But I have like a thousand more. Maybe we could meet up at the library and write them all down and then you can take the best ones to your meeting.
—Greggggggg
Meet up at the library? Just me and Gregg?
Was that…a date?
All I knew was that reading his emails made me super flustered, and I was pretty sure that if Avery walked into the room right then, I would die.
For the rest of the week at camp, every time I thought about telling Kiersten about Gregg’s emails, I chickened out. It felt like if I said it out loud, that would make it real.
Did I really want to be the person that Gregg had a crush on? A potentially massive crush, judging by the volume of emails.
No. I didn’t want to be that person.
It was easier not to say anything. At least for now, I told myself.
I decided I would tell Kiersten at the Fourth of July fireworks. In the dark, while the fireworks exploded over my head. No chance that anyone else would hear. It would just be the two of us.
Somehow, it always felt easier to tell the truth in the dark.
—
I’m not sure what’s so spectacular about Hitchcock’s Fourth of July Spectacular, the Sunday after our first week at camp. It’s pretty much just everyone in town setting up their blankets on the town common to watch fireworks shoot off from the other side of Hubbard’s Pond. Plus, this year it isn’t even on the fourth of July. It’s on the second.
“Maddie! Maddie!” Cammie tugs on my hand, pulling me toward one of the vendors selling glow-in-the-dark swords.
“How much are they?” I ask the teenage seller. He has a big pimple on his nose that I try not to stare at, but it’s hard.
“Five dollars each…or two for eight.”
Do I look like I’m five years old? “Just one, thanks.” I pull a wad of bills out of my pocket—money from babysitting Greta and the Germ last night—and count out five.
Cammie chooses a blue sword and slices it through the air. “Hiyaa! Chaa!” In the dark, if he does it fast enough, the glowing leaves little trails. It actually looks kind of cool—not that I want my own sword, though, thank you very much.
Together we walk back over to where Mom and Dad have spread out their blanket and set up some folding chairs next to Dr. Shanahan and her family. Dr. Shanahan’s son, Aiden, is right around Cammie’s age, and the two of them start duking it out with their play swords. I let Mom know I’m going to meet up with Kiersten over on the other side of the bandstand, and then I’m off.
As I walk over there, I keep my eyes peeled for Avery. And Gregg. I wonder how many emails he’s sent me since I last checked ten minutes ago. Five? If only. Probably more like five million.
Someone grabs me from behind and I squeal.
“Gotcha!” Kiersten laughs. I whip around and find not just Kiersten but Gabrie
lla, too.
“Oh, I didn’t realize—” I stop myself before I actually say it out loud. That I didn’t think Gabby was coming. Meeting up at the fireworks every summer is something Kiersten and I have done forever. Just us two.
They’re wearing matching blue glow necklaces. Gabriella has a third in her hand. “Got this for you,” she says. I pull my ponytail out of the way, and she snaps it around my neck.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the night of the dance, the night everything changed. She’s wearing a New England Revolution T-shirt, soccer shorts, and flip-flops, but when I blink real fast, I can almost see her the way she looked that night. Dancing with Avery. His hands on her waist.
“So, how’s your summer going?” Gabriella asks.
I hesitate. Well, let’s think. I lost my house in a tornado. And you danced with Avery. So, not very well, thanks.
Kiersten grabs my arm. “How can you resist telling her about your victory? Come on, Mads.”
“Oh, that’s right. I won the Most Improved Award on the last day of tennis week at camp.”
“That was the day every ball she hit stayed in the court, which is basically a miracle. If you could only see us, Gabby. We might be the worst tennis players alive.”
“I hope I don’t leave you in my dust next year,” I joke. “Could the Terrible Tennis Twins actually split?”
Gabby stares back at us, not laughing nearly as much as me and Kiersten. I guess that’s the thing about inside jokes: they’re not so funny from the outside. “How about you?” I ask. “How’s your summer so far?”
We start heading over to where the high school football team is selling popcorn as a fund-raiser. Gabby fills me in on how she’s been waking up at six every morning since school ended to go for a run. Sometimes she even runs four miles. I’m not sure I could walk four miles without stopping.
We get into the line for popcorn, and I spot a booth raising money for the Hitchcock Tornado Relief Fund. It’s so strange, seeing the name of our town and “tornado” in the same phrase. It’s been a little over a week, and I still haven’t gotten used to it.
Gabby pays for a huge bag of kettle corn, and before we’re out of earshot of the football players, Kiersten says, “Can you believe how cute Gregg’s older brother is?”
“Which one was he?” I ask.
“The one Gabby gave the money to.” Kiersten sucks in a deep breath. “Oh my gosh, I don’t think I could’ve done it. My hand would’ve been shaking like crazy. Or worse—drenched in sweat.”
Gabby laughs. “Kiersten, you’re nuts.”
“Wait—do you think Gregg’s going to be that cute by the time we’re in high school?” Kiersten asks.
Gabby looks at me, as if somehow I can see into the future.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing,” Gabby replies. But she has this weird smile on her face.
Wait, does she think I actually like Gregg back? That I danced with him on purpose? Sure, Gregg is kinda cute. And yeah, we’re friends. Gregg is friends with everybody in our grade. But Gabby wasn’t here back when Gregg burped the Pledge of Allegiance on the bus ride to Plimoth Plantation! My first boyfriend cannot be Gregg.
Headed straight toward us is Mr. C. with an ice cream cone in his hand. “Hey, Kiersten, Maddie. And…” It takes him a second to come up with Gabby’s name. “Gabriella. How’s the summer treating you?”
“Good,” Gabby says.
“Great,” Kiersten says.
I’m the only one who stumbles over my answer. “It’s…”
Mr. C. palms his forehead. “I’m sorry, Maddie. What kind of a question is that after what happened in your neck of the woods. How are folks doing out on Hollow Road?”
I fill him in on how the cleanup crew had taken over this week while I was at camp, clearing out the lot so the construction company could start the frame for our new home. When he asks where we’re staying in the meantime, I explain how my family and Avery’s are staying with the McLarens for the rest of the summer.
“Sounds like you’re banding together in hard times,” he says. “Good for you. I hope you and Avery aren’t driving each other too crazy in that house. It’s probably better in the summertime. Less to compete over.”
He means the word problems in math. During the school year, he ran a contest every week, and Avery and I were always trying to outdo each other. The longer and wackier, the better.
“Yeah,” I say. “Totally.”
Mr. C.’s ice cream cone is dripping down his hand from too much talking and not enough eating. He licks some chocolate off the side of his hand. “Well, I don’t want this thing going to waste. Enjoy the fireworks! And, Maddie, say hi to your mom and dad for me. Tell them I’m thinking of them.”
“I will.”
“Bye, Mr. C.,” Gabriella says.
The high school marching band starts playing in the bandstand: our two-minute warning for the fireworks display. We hurry over to Kiersten’s blanket and sit down as they’re playing the final notes of “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” Kiersten sits in the middle, with me and Gabby on either side of her. Gabby opens up the popcorn and we pass it around, stuffing our faces with our eyes to the sky, waiting for the fireworks to go off.
From across the pond, there’s a hissing sound, and then they’re off. First, the big circular ones. Red, white, and blue. Cammie’s favorite. I plant my hands in the grass behind us and lean back.
Normally, Mom would be worried about Hank. Fireworks always made him flip out—really, any loud sounds. He startled so easily. I blink my eyes fast for a second. The little fizzy fireworks go up next, the kind you can’t see at first, but then they zip and twist, shooting out in all directions. My favorite.
“So…have you talked to him?” Kiersten whispers into my ear.
I think of Gabby, right on the other side of Kiersten, and what Kiersten said earlier this week at camp. I can’t believe she’d talk about my feelings for Avery behind my back like that.
“Not really,” I say.
“Maddie.” Kiersten sighs.
“I don’t want to talk about it now. Can’t we just watch the fireworks?”
I wish I could tell Kiersten how I really feel. About Avery, the house, Hank, Gregg…Starting seventh grade was supposed to be the biggest change this summer. But now it barely makes the list.
The only thing that’s stayed the same is me and Kiersten. On this same blanket, like last summer, and the summer before, and the one before that, too. Our matching glow necklaces, like we’re in this together. Like we can conquer anything, even seventh grade.
But now that’s different, too. Sure, it’s dark, but I can’t pretend there isn’t a third person on the other side of Kiersten.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Probably another email from Gregg.
I let it sit there, dig my fingers into the grass behind us, and stare up at the sky.
Our second week of camp is field-trip week. It’s like they felt bad about making us suffer through tennis for a whole week and decided to reward us by putting us on a bus and taking us as far away from Hitchcock as we can get in an hour. Six Flags, Frisbee golf, kayaking at the state park.
The further away we get from Hitchcock, the easier it is to forget about the tornado. Each day, we settle into life at the McLarens’ more and more. I even catch Cammie calling it “home.”
By Friday, I’ve got about a dozen mosquito bites. The last day of school feels like ages ago. Kiersten and I are sitting in the rear of the bus, heading back to Hitchcock from laser tag, when I decide to finally tell her about Gregg.
I pull my phone out of my backpack and open the email thread.
Kiersten stares out the window of the bus—long rides always make her carsick—listening to music on her iPhone.
I tap her shoulder and she pulls out the earbuds.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
“You sound so serious. Did something happen?”
I shake my head and take a deep breath, my cheeks already flushing, and not from the sunburn upon sunburn this week at camp has given me. That’s the weirdest thing about the emails, how they always make me blush. Even though I don’t like Gregg, they still make me feel kind of…special, I guess, to have a boy email me that many times.
“It’s about Gregg.”
The tone in Kiersten’s voice changes, like she’s already ready to laugh. “What about Gregg?”
“You can’t tell anyone,” I say. “Promise. Promise you won’t tell Gabby.”
“Jeez, Maddie. What’s your problem with Gabby?”
“I don’t have a problem with Gabby,” I say. Why don’t I just trust Kiersten with this secret about Gregg, like how I always used to with all of my other secrets?
“Are you still mad at her about the dance?”
“No,” I say, surprised by how the word comes out, how it feels like a lie.
“That was two whole weeks ago. And it’s not like they’re suddenly boyfriend and girlfriend. You’re the one who lives with him.”
“I know.” I’m still clutching the phone in my hand like it’s some kind of weapon.
Kiersten lowers her voice, though there’s no way anyone can overhear on the bus. It’s so loud in here I can barely hear my own thoughts. “Anyway, so what did you want to tell me about Gregg. I swear I’ll keep it a secret, whatever it is.”
I hand the phone to her. “This,” I say. “All of them. It’s been going on for a little over a week.”
Kiersten scrolls through, laughing as her thumb swipes up and up and up. “What are you going to do?”
“You think I know? Hide under a blanket until it stops? File a restraining order?”
“Nah, you don’t want to get the police involved.”
“Kiersten, I was kidding.”
“Right.”
Now it’s real. Gregg did send me that many emails. I hadn’t exaggerated it in my head, like I sometimes could with Avery, like that time he sat next to me on the bus after school and I was so sure it meant something. There’s no reading between the lines here. Gregg doesn’t just like me. Gregg is obsessed. With me.
