by Alex Flinn
“What, like an arranged marriage?” Meredith said.
“Well, not exactly like that,” Kate said. “But sort of. They want to make sure I meet the right kind of guy—rich, from a good family, with a couple of ancestors who fought in the American Revolution and a few more who fought for the Confederacy.”
“There are still people who care about that sort of thing?” Spider asked.
“Everyone I know does. My mother volunteers at the art museum and for the Junior League and for the Daughters of the American Revolution, all so I can be sure to be invited to walk around in a white dress at the country club in Atlanta.”
“So it’s sort of like a quinceañera,” Britta said.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is,” Kate said, thinking probably not.
“It’s like that, a party Latina girls have on their fifteenth birthday. They wear a big white dress like a wedding dress, and the girl gets presented by her father. Some of them are outrageous—with the girl showing up in a Cinderella coach or coming out of a clamshell—and some of them are classier. But yeah, you’re supposed to be introduced to society, I guess, so same type of thing.”
“I didn’t have one. I told my mother to spend the money on a car instead. My cousin’s quinces cost as much as a new Accord with leather seats. I said I’d be happy with a Civic, so it was a bargain.” She laughed.
“I wish I could do that,” Kate said, even though she already had a car. “And yes, I guess my parents expect me to get a job, for a while. I’ll go to a good college where I’ll meet someone rich and work, maybe at a museum or a charitable foundation, but I’ll quit to have a baby, and I’ll never go back. And then, if my husband leaves me or . . .” She hesitated, realizing what her father’s disgrace meant to her mother. “Or gets in trouble or can’t work, I’ll have no meaningful experience, no skills. But, that’s the dream.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Meredith looked skeptical.
Kate shook her head. “It’s what was always expected of me.” As she said this, she realized it was the first time she’d said it aloud. Her teachers didn’t really talk to her about her dreams, not even her debate coach. Oh, sure, they talked about college, but never about what she wanted to do after that. They were used to families like hers. She didn’t even know what she wanted to do. “I have to play by my parents’ rules, go along with the stupid ball, spend six months of my life talking about the dress, the menu, the flowers, the band, my escort.”
She stopped again, thinking of Colin. The one text that hadn’t been from Mother had been from him.
It said, Remember Tybee Island?
Kate did remember, too well. One night Colin had texted her telling her to bring her bathing suit and meet him outside at six the next morning. They’d skipped school and driven four hours until they reached the ocean. Close to midnight, they rolled back home, sunburned and stuffed full of local shrimp. It had been maybe the best day of her life.
Now Kate took a deep breath. Forget Colin. “Anyway, I told my parents that if I was going to do all that, I needed a break, so I came here. It’s the first time I ever stood up to them.”
Except it was a lie. She hadn’t. It had all been her father’s idea.
“But you’re still having the party?” Spider asked.
Kate paused, staring at the frilly green lettuce leaf in her sandwich. “I have to. I mean, unless they change their minds.” As she said it, she realized for the first time that could happen. Who knew if her mother was even planning the party anymore. Maybe her grandmother would offer to pay, but maybe she wouldn’t be invited if they were laughingstocks.
And suddenly, she felt soothed.
“It’s a tradition,” she said.
“Like the rebel flag,” Spider muttered under her breath.
“It’s not like that,” Kate said, even though she’d never thought about it. But she made her best debate team argument for being a debutante. “It’s not like they actually expect me to get married at eighteen. But my mother was a debutante, and my aunt. My grandmother has their pictures hanging in her house. It’s just a way to make the old people happy.”
“I get it,” Britta said. “My grandmother wanted me to have the quinces.”
“It’s pretty expensive for something you don’t really care about,” Meredith said.
Kate nodded. She wondered if her father was in trouble because he needed money for her to be a deb. “Anyway, I have to do what my parents want next year. But this summer is all for me, a real adventure.”
“So let’s do it,” Meredith said. “Let’s have a great summer, climb mountains, stand up to challenges.”
“Agreed,” Spider said.
“Agreed,” Kate said.
“Agreed.” Britta raised her Diet Coke in a toast. “To . . . we should have a name for our group.”
Meredith raised her bottled water. “To the Girls of July!” she said.
The others raised their drinks. “Girls of July!”
29
Meredith
Essay topic: Reflect on a time when you questioned or challenged a belief or idea.
WHEN THEY RETURNED, since they hadn’t hiked a single step, Meredith told the others she was taking a walk. She wanted to go someplace where she wouldn’t run into Harmon and that girl, but where was that? He was somehow everywhere, like a stalker, only one who didn’t like her.
So she decided to go to the only place she hadn’t seen him, Service Hill. She’d text her mother from there too.
She started uphill, feeling slightly breathless from the thin mountain air. More than slightly. Was she that out of shape? By the time she reached the top, she felt so tired she had to sit down on a giant lichen-covered boulder. Then she leaned back, fairly panting, closing her eyes against the sheer blueness of the sky. She felt the riffle of breeze across her arms.
And someone watching her.
She opened her eyes.
No one there. Only a hawk making languid circles above. She drew out her phone. She’d photograph the hawk and send it to her mother, possibly with a note about how she was reaching for the sky in her college essays. Her mother loved stuff like that.
As she held the phone up, she heard the open-close of a camera shutter.
She felt a frisson of . . . something. Excitement? Maybe fear. No, neither of those. She knew who it was, knew the emotion he caused in her.
It was annoyance.
Couldn’t she get a moment by herself?
Why did she even care? He was just a boy, an overgrown, stupid boy with eyes the color of a sun-dappled river. Stop it! Since when did she care so much about boys?
There was no reason Harmon Dickinson should prevent her enjoyment of this beautiful place. She raised the phone, waited for the bird to circle again, then quickly snapped the photo.
As she did, she heard a flurry of the shutter, a burst of photos. She checked her own. The hawk was missing a wing. She raised the phone again.
“You’d do better up here,” a voice said.
Meredith started, dropping the phone. It bounced—bounced—off the rock and fell downhill. With an expletive, she scrambled to get it.
“Language!” He was up in a tree!
“Oh, who asked you?” Meredith yelled back, picking up her phone. Fortunately, it wasn’t cracked. “Why are you always wherever I am?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He was climbing down the tree now, a giant maple. He had on jeans and a green T-shirt that blended with the leaves and sky. He reached the lowest branch and dropped down with a light thud. “Are you following me?”
“Why would I do that?”
He smiled. Meredith looked down. “Maybe you want photography tips. Or maybe you think I’m cute.”
“Unlikely.” She was still looking down.
“Of course not.” He walked around to get into her field of vision. “A serious girl like you doesn’t look at guys.”
“I’m not that serious.”
“So?”
“You’re not that cute.” Though she wondered if he thought she was cute.
He chuckled. “I’ve been told I’m cute.”
“Who told you that? Your mother?”
“Absolutely. I have five brothers, and she says I’m the cutest. It caused controversy at Christmas last year.”
Meredith suppressed a smile. “How about your girlfriend?”
“What girlfriend?”
Meredith examined her phone, pretending to check if it was broken. She was so stupid. Mentioning a girlfriend was akin to asking him if he had one, which in turn was akin to admitting she’d been watching him. Which she hadn’t.
“I just figured a cute guy like you had a girlfriend,” she said.
“Oh!” He clapped, and his eyes lit up. “You mean Hope!”
“That’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“That is my cousin’s name—the girl I was with at the lake yesterday.”
The girl was his cousin. Meredith’s concentration on her phone became more immersive, but she said, “Cousin?”
“My cousin, Hope Ann Bradford, just finished her freshman year at SUNY New Paltz. She is here for a few days, ostensibly to enjoy the lovely scenery.”
“Ostensibly?” She was surprised he knew such a big word. Most people—even some of her AP class friends—wouldn’t. Or they’d make fun of her for using it, even if they did.
“Yeah.” Harmon started clicking through the photos in his camera. “Really, though, she’s here as a good example. Hope struggled in school, but dammit, she kept her nose to the grindstone so hard she practically has a snout. So now, as a reward, she gets to study more. She is here to convince me that college is a good idea.”
“Of course it is.” Meredith didn’t know anyone who thought otherwise. “What would you do without college?”
“Save a lot of money. Become a nature photographer. I’ve already sold some photos.”
“To whom?” Probably some local magazine with a circulation of fifty.
But he said, “Tourists. I showed my photos to the manager of Telly’s Diner in town. He displayed them, and people wanted to buy them. I took the money I got, bought some framing supplies, and talked this touristy store in Bolton Landing into taking them on consignment. They sold three in June—June, before the real tourist season even began!—and they want more.”
“Wow. I’d never have the nerve to do something like that.”
“It’s good money, and I’m entering a photography contest in Adirondack Life magazine. First prize is tuition at a photography workshop, but it’d be a good way to get my name out there. And by the way, sure you would.”
“Would what?”
“Have the nerve. I’ve seen you be brave. You were brave with that bat.”
Meredith thought about it, and about what Kate had said about standing up to her parents and taking the trip. She’d been brave to come here too. She straightened her shoulders. She wanted to ask him more about why he didn’t want to go to college, but she realized it would come off as snobby. So instead she said, “That picture you left for me . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I liked it. But why’d you take it?”
“Why do you think?”
She thought he’d taken it to flirt with her. But she couldn’t say that. Could she?
She could not.
“I guess I thought you were being nice,” she said.
“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “Yeah. I was being nice. I should go. The hawk’s gone.”
He started down the hill. So much for that. She started to send the hawk photo to Mom.
“You know what?” he said, turning back.
“What?”
“I’m not that nice. I took the photo because I thought you looked beautiful.”
“Oh, sure.” He was making fun of her. No one had ever called Meredith beautiful. Her mother would actively disapprove of the idea, the same way she disapproved of Disney princesses. She was smart, not beautiful.
But Harmon went on. “The look on your face when you saw that bat—same as when you saw the hawk just now—you looked so fascinated by it all, like you’d been living in a box all your life like Skinner’s daughter, and suddenly you got out.”
“I hadn’t seen one before.” He knew Skinner too. Who was this guy?
“Sure you have. Hawks are common.”
She looked into his eyes. “Maybe I never noticed one before.”
He said, “Maybe. This place has that effect on people. That’s why I never want to leave.” He showed her the photo he’d taken of the hawk. Unlike Meredith’s, it was perfectly centered, the hawk’s wings spread wide as it glided downward against the clouds.
“Incredible. Can you teach me to take better photos?” She wanted to see through his eyes.
He pointed to her phone and scoffed. “With that?”
“I got the one that was supposed to have the better camera.” Meredith turned away, embarrassed. “A simple no would have been nicer.”
He touched her shoulder. “I’m not saying no.”
“What are you saying?”
“I gave you the picture because I hoped maybe you’d go out with me.”
“Out? Like on a date?” She felt a chill. She didn’t know if it was because it was cool out or because he had asked. Her. Out. On. A. Date. People in Miami didn’t go out on dates. They “hung out.” And Meredith didn’t even do that. She was serious. Focused. She didn’t have time for things like dating.
He laughed. “Yes. Like on a date.”
And yet, wouldn’t going on a date be a new experience? Wouldn’t it—as the essay prompt said—question or challenge the idea or belief that she didn’t date or didn’t care about boys? Wasn’t that the point of traveling? It wasn’t like she had to settle down and have five kids with the guy. Also, she was supposed to be on vacation.
“Let me cut to the chase,” Harmon said. “Movie? Tonight? Pick you up at seven thirty?”
She looked at her watch. It was five, plenty of time to have dinner and be ready by seven thirty if she didn’t spend too long getting ready. Meredith never did.
“Yes, I’d like that,” she said.
They made plans. Harmon offered to pick her up at the house, but Meredith didn’t want to discuss it with the others. She had a feeling Spider would have some things to say about Harmon. “Why don’t we just meet at the bottom of the hill?”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“I have to go now,” she told him. “For dinner.”
He nodded. “Hurry back.”
She started down the hill. “I will!”
She waited to be out of his sight, even checking the trees to make sure he wasn’t up in one, before she broke into a run.
30
Britta
BRITTA HAD VOLUNTEERED to cook again, though it wasn’t her night. So she was surprised when Spider showed up at the kitchen doorway.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“I’m just making meat sauce,” Britta said. “It’s pretty easy.”
“Easy’s good.” Spider looked around. “But if you got it . . .”
“No.” Britta recognized the peace offering. Britta also realized that Spider might be so pathetic around the house because she’d never tried due to her health issues. Maybe she wanted to try now. “I’m just adding some ground beef and onions to a jar of sauce. I could show you how to brown the meat.”
She suggested it with the tentativeness of someone approaching a feral cat. But Spider didn’t scratch, so Britta opened up the package of beef. “Put the burner on medium high, then in a minute, add the meat.”
“Okay.”
“This was actually one of the first cooking things I learned. When my mom went back to work, she wanted me to be able to start dinner.” She gestured toward the beef. “Okay, so you put it in and break it up with a fork.”
“Like this?” Spider cut it up with the tines.
“Right.” Britta
got out a pot and filled it with water. “I remember I was really proud because we went on a Girl Scout campout that year, and I was the only one who knew how to make taco meat.”
Spider kept stirring.
“Now you add the onions when it’s almost brown, and be sure to stir that too.”
Spider picked up the cutting board with the onion. Fortunately, it was already cut up this time, so they didn’t fight over it. She added it to the pan.
Britta had returned Ruthie’s scrapbooks to the bookshelf. Now, to make conversation, she asked Spider, “So, when I was in Ruthie’s room the other day, I noticed she had some photos of a friend of hers from summer stock, Janet. Does she ever talk about her?”
“Why do you ask?”
Britta shrugged. “It’s just weird when you think about it, how you know someone so well, and then, you might never see them again. She had a framed photo of just her, and then one of the two of them.”
Spider paused, stirring the onions with the meat. “That is weird. I don’t think she ever mentioned Janet to me. But you seem to have bonded more with my grandmother in a few days than I have in my whole life.”
She was letting the onions get too crisp. “I doubt that’s true—keep stirring it. I’m probably more interested in the theater stories than you are, but you’re an artist too. She’d probably rather talk to her granddaughter.”
“So you’re saying I’m not being nice to Ruthie?”
“I didn’t—can you mix that, please?”
“I’m the one hanging out with her, here when my brother and sister and cousins all can’t be bothered, all have better things to do.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t being nice.” Britta got another spoon from the drawer, pushed past Spider, and stirred the meat and onions, then took it off the burner. Talking to this girl was like being on social media when people seem to want to misunderstand you. “You’re great.”
Spider didn’t answer, and Britta drained the fat off the meat into the garbage can, then added a jar of sauce. She returned it to the burner.
“Can you turn it to low when it boils?” she asked.
“Sure. I guess I’m competent to do that. I might even be able to boil pasta. I’ve made Kraft mac and cheese before.”
