by Alex Flinn
“Sheesh.” He looked down. “Sorry about your dad.”
“I know. But on the other end of the spectrum, a lot of people at my school don’t seem to care about anything. Like they take videos and selfies and work out and watch Real Housewives. Those people don’t like me.”
“Maybe you just think they’re like that because you don’t know them.”
Meredith took another bite of blondie. She’d probably thought Britta was like that before she knew her. But she wasn’t. Maybe everyone had an inner life. Some people were just jerks about it. Finally, she said, “Maybe.” The kid in the next car had ascended the roof.
“So you figured I was shallow?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m shallow.” She breathed deeply, enjoying the cool night air.
“Shallow people probably don’t think they’re shallow. They don’t worry about it at all.”
“True.” She’d never thought about it that way.
“I totally get what you’re saying about being good at something you’re not usually good at. When we learned to read, I was in the bluebirds group, when all the smart kids were redbirds. And I wasn’t even the smartest bluebird. Turned out I had dyslexia, but the school didn’t figure it out right away, and even when I got help, reading wasn’t my favorite. Like, I wouldn’t read if I could do something else, like playing with my dogs or collecting rocks or, you know, staring blankly into space, because that was still more fun to me than reading.”
Meredith laughed even though she loved reading. “That’s how I felt about PE.”
“But then, in fourth grade, my teacher gave me this book about a kid named Hank Zipzer. He had dyslexia too, but he was smart, and he was always doing silly things like putting his report card in the meat grinder. I was obsessed with those books. Even though it still took me longer than it took other people, I read all of them. They made me feel less dumb about reading—the same way bowling makes you feel less dumb about sports.”
“Exactly.” Meredith felt a little guilty because, in elementary school, she’d always judged those bad-at-reading kids. But now, some of them were in AP Calculus. “Is being dyslexic why you’re so good at photography? Like, do you see things differently?” She finished the last bite of her blondie. She kind of wanted another one.
“Maybe. They say people with dyslexia make good photographers. But I don’t know if what I see is different than what you see.”
“I’d love to see your photography.”
“I’ll have you over and show you.”
The movie was starting. Harmon took another blondie and offered the container to Meredith. When she started to take one, he said, “Oh good, I was worried you’d think I was a pig if I had two.”
“I wouldn’t even think you were a pig if you had three,” she whispered.
“Done.” Harmon took a third. As he did, his hand brushed hers. Everything was quiet now, even the kids in the next car, except for the big radio Harmon had brought to hear the movie, which was about a gang of animals who get lost (as gangs of animated animals tend to do). The air was cool, and Meredith shivered.
“Need a blanket?” Harmon whispered. “I brought one. I just didn’t want you to think I was . . .” His voice trailed off.
“I’m okay for now.” She wasn’t about to lie down in a truck bed with a boy with blankets. She resolved not to shiver. It was July! But the more she thought about not shivering, the colder she felt, until she was shivering from the effort of not shivering. She tried to watch the movie. Someone was chasing the animal gang down a street.
She shivered, then tried to turn the movement into a laugh.
Beside her, Harmon laughed too. “You like this movie?”
“It makes me nostalgic.” As she said it, she realized she hadn’t seen the previous movie with a friend or even her mother. She’d watched it at school, after some standardized test. She was actually nostalgic for school. What a weirdo!
Harmon nudged her. When she turned, she saw that he was holding out his hoodie.
“Oh, no, I don’t—”
“You’re shivering so much I can’t concentrate.”
The cartoon lion was pretending to be fierce. Meredith pulled the hoodie over her head. It was feather-soft and smelled of air and pine needles and some sort of masculine deodorant. She inhaled deeply, then side-eyed Harmon to see if he’d noticed. He didn’t seem to have. She was wearing a guy’s sweatshirt. She’d have to give it back. Spider would freak if she saw it. It had the name of Harmon’s school on it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was her boyfriend.
Still, it was very warm.
Suddenly, a woman’s scream ripped through the night air. Then, crying. The kid in the next car! He’d fallen off the roof!
Before Meredith could even say it, Harmon had jumped out of the truck bed and was rushing over. Meredith heard him ask if the boy was okay, heard the boy yell, “My leg!” Meredith ran to join them. She saw the boy’s leg was strangely bent out of place.
“We need a doctor!” the mother said.
Harmon looked at Meredith. “Go get my brother! Do you remember where he was?”
“He’s a doctor?” Meredith said, surprised.
“Yeah, a pediatrician. The blue CR-V.” He pointed.
Meredith hustled toward the car. When she got there, she knocked on the window.
“Hi. I’m Meredith, Harmon’s friend. There’s a little boy who might have a broken leg.”
Colt was out of the car. “I’ll come look. Can you stay with the kids?”
Meredith nodded and took his spot in the driver’s seat. Daisy was beside her, and Noah in the back seat. “Hi,” Daisy whispered.
Meredith had lost the thread of the movie, but she tried to watch it anyway. Noah leaned his face between her and Daisy. “I get to be in front for the second movie,” he said.
“Got it.” Meredith wondered if Harmon was coming back soon.
“Is that Harmon’s sweatshirt?” Daisy asked, a little accusingly.
“Um, yeah. He let me wear it. I was cold.”
“Isn’t he cold?”
“He said he wasn’t.” He probably was cold, out in the night air with his brother.
Daisy quieted down and watched the movie, nestled against Meredith’s arm. The movie was short, so it was almost over when Harmon came back and knocked on the window.
“Hey, sorry. Colt’s helping take the boy to the hospital,” Harmon whispered. “He asked if we could bring the kids home.”
“Sure.”
“I know it’s sort of a bust. We could just stay for the first movie, and—”
“No, we can’t!” Noah yelled. “I get to sit in front for the second one!”
“It’s fine,” Meredith reassured him. “We can stay.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” Harmon took his seat in the back with Noah.
Both kids were asleep by the time the second movie started. Harmon scooped Daisy up and carried her to the back seat. Meredith waited until Daisy was safely in back before saying, “Look at you, uncle-ing. That’s so cute.”
“That’s me, Mr. Cute.” He pulled the car out slowly, careful of people on lawn chairs.
“So your brother’s a doctor?” she asked.
“Yeah, we have those up here, hospitals too.”
“I wasn’t saying you didn’t. I just thought it must be hard to have six kids and send one through med school.”
“Colt was always the smartest one. He was in college when I was a kid, got a full ride to SUNY Albany. Teachers always asked my older brothers if they were related to Colt, but by the time I came around, they knew I was one of those wild Dickinsons—my brother Brodie once rode a motorcycle down the hallway at school—so I was neither the smartest nor the craziest.”
“That’s nice, though.” Meredith wondered if her teachers would remember her when she was gone. Probably not. In a big school like hers, there was always another Meredith coming up behind her. She wondered what it would be like to have
people know her for her.
They pulled into the driveway of a colonial-style house. Harmon’s sister-in-law came out, and together, they carried the kids inside. When Harmon returned, he said, “Okay, so this wasn’t the most fun date you’ve ever been on. Can I have another chance?”
“It was fun.” It was her most fun date considering it was her first date that didn’t include Alaric and his SAT printout. Also, Harmon was nice. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Harmon pulled out of the driveway. It was dark and quiet.
“Friday night, then?” he asked. “Same time, same place?”
Meredith listened to the sound of tires on the empty road. “The other movie?”
“Nah. Maybe next week. Friday’s a new moon.” He said this like it meant something.
“Are you going to tell me what the plans are?”
“I’d rather surprise you.”
Meredith supposed if he’d intended to murder her, he wouldn’t have introduced her to his extended family, so she said, “I like surprises, nice surprises.”
“It’ll be nice. Bring my hoodie. It might get cold.”
Meredith touched the hoodie. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can give it back.”
“No, keep it. That way, you can’t cancel on me.” He pulled onto the street that led to the house. “Do I get to drive you all the way back, or is Spider staying up to call you out for dating me?”
He’d known why she had wanted to meet at the hill.
“You can drive me back. I don’t care what she thinks.”
“You cared earlier.”
“I didn’t know you earlier.”
“If you did, you’d know my mother didn’t raise me to dump girls off half a mile from their door—or pick them up there either.”
“I could tell that.” Finally, they reached the house, and he came around to open the car door. She waited this time until he got there and offered his hand. It felt big and a little rough, a man’s hand, and as she squeezed it, Meredith wondered if he was going to kiss her.
Instead, he said, “Look up.”
She did and saw what he meant—so many stars, even more than the first day they’d met.
“Wow.” She realized she’d been holding her breath. Also, she could hear his breathing.
“There’ll be even more Friday, darkest night of the month.”
He put his arm around her shoulder and led her to the door. What was she supposed to say? Thank him for the date? Tell him she’d had a nice time? She’d never been at a loss for words before, but now, alone with Harmon under a circus tent of stars, they failed her, and she almost wanted to burst out in a chorus of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” or something. She wanted to say something to make the evening last longer.
“I’m really . . .” She felt his side pressed against hers. She thought she could feel his heartbeat. Then, she realized he was shivering. “You’re freezing, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “Just a little.”
“You’re freezing, and you’re too polite to ask for your hoodie back, but you want me to go inside so you can run to the car.”
“Run makes me sound like a wuss. But otherwise, yeah.”
“Okay.” She slipped out from under his arm and hurried up the steps. “What time?”
“Same time.”
He waited for her to open the door, go inside, and close it. The house was dark and, once inside, she hurried to the living room window. Despite the darkness, she could barely make out his silhouette. He stood there a moment longer. Finally, he turned and walked to the car. Meredith watched, nose buried in his hoodie, until his taillights disappeared into the night.
34
Britta
BRITTA HAD GONE to bed at eight and pretended to be asleep in broad daylight, to avoid Spider. But really, she’d been awake, sitting up on the quilted chipmunk pillow she’d purchased at that lady’s house, reading the old hiking book and listening to the click of Rummikub tiles. She wanted to play too. But she didn’t want to deal with Spider and her mood swings. This was supposed to be a vacation, not a sentence.
She had also stayed up late enough to realize that Meredith had done more than take a walk last night. Unless she’d walked to Albany. Britta bet she was out with that guy!
She’d finally fallen asleep close to midnight.
Britta wasn’t someone who held grudges. She could have a fight with a friend and, the next day, embrace her and let her borrow her favorite top, as if nothing had happened. But she knew most people weren’t like that.
That was why it surprised her when Spider greeted her with, “Hey, Britta, do you like blueberries or chocolate chips in your waffles?”
“Um, chocolate chips. Why?”
“Ruthie and I are making waffles. Hold on. I’ll tell her.”
Then, after she sat down to a perfect Belgian waffle, which she was sure Ruthie mostly made, Spider said, “Are we going hiking today?”
Depends. Are you going to make me want to hurl myself from the mountain?
But Britta didn’t say that. She wanted to go hiking. She needed the exercise and, besides, what was the point of coming here if she was only going to sit in the house?
So she said, “I guess,” because she wasn’t going to give in that easily.
“Come on.” Which was what people said when they didn’t want to say please. “Meredith’s still sleeping. She came in at, like, midnight from her ‘walk.’” She made air quotes around the word walk.
“Yeah, I noticed.” Britta went into gossip mode. “You think she was out with Bat Boy?”
“Ugh, I hope not. Anyway, she’s asleep. And Kate’s babysitting, and I can’t go alone.”
“So what you’re saying is, you don’t want me to go and talk or anything; you want somebody to go in case you break your leg?”
“Yes.” Spider hesitated. “No. Okay, I want whatever you want. If you want to be there in case one of us falls off a cliff, that’s fine, but if you want to chitchat, I’ll do that.”
People only said chitchat if they found her annoying. “Politely?”
“Sure. Of course. Why would I go out hiking and argue with you?”
“You’ve been arguing this whole time. What would we talk about?”
Spider shrugged. “Hiking things.”
Britta waited.
Spider acted out, “It sure is beautiful weather. How much farther do you think it is to the top? Did you see that rock or tree that looked like an animal?”
Despite herself, Britta laughed.
Spider said, “My sister always thought she saw a mountain lion, but it never was one. Also, we could talk about actual animals we see.”
“Will we see any actual animals?” Britta’s interest was piqued.
Spider shrugged. “Chipmunks. Some birds. But I’ve never seen a moose or a bear, if that’s what you mean.”
That was what Britta meant. She was thinking about the Abercrombie and Fitch logo, a moose. “We don’t have chipmunks in Miami. That sounds cute.”
“There’s a hundred-percent chance we’ll see cute chipmunks,” Spider said. “Please?”
She was saying please. Britta had bargaining power. “Okay, but . . .” How to put this? After what Spider had said about her arthritis, Britta was worried that Spider was overestimating her own abilities, wanting to hike such a tall, difficult mountain. What if she hurt herself with only Britta there? “Could we maybe try an easier hike? There are no hills in Miami, and I’m kind of out of shape.” Britta was lying. Sure, there were no hills in Miami. But there were treadmills, and she could run an eight-minute mile on an incline on one of those. But Spider didn’t know that. “I was looking at this guidebook and found this great trail.”
She slid the book across the table. It was open to a page about Buck Mountain, a trail the guidebook said was a little easier, and which looked close by. “There’s a waterfall.”
“No fire tower.” Spider flipped to another page. “How about this one?”
So
meone had made notations such as “sheer rock” and “straight uphill.” They’d definitely end up hanging from a cliff, surrounded by buzzards, like in a cartoon.
“I’ve never seen a waterfall,” Britta said.
Spider hesitated, so Britta added, “Please.”
Finally, Spider conceded. “I guess so.” She picked up the plates. “There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about too.”
Now it was time for Britta to wonder what that might be. But she didn’t ask.
35
Kate
HOW HARD COULD it be? That was what Kate had thought when she’d offered to take care of Ray, Ray-Ray, Racecar? How hard could watching one little kid for a few hours a day be? Play a few games, maybe read the kid a book. Then, down for nap time.
Turned out five-year-olds didn’t take naps. At least, not willingly and not naps that lasted more than two minutes at a time, which wasn’t even worth the effort it took to make that happen. Better to let the kid run around in circles until he dropped from exhaustion. At Kate’s suggestion, they were playing “the floor is made of lava,” hopping from the half-sectional sofa (the other half was missing) to an ottoman to a sort of precarious-looking rocking chair over and over and over. At this rate, it might be Kate who collapsed.
Ray-Ray jumped onto the rocking chair, catching the seat with only half his flip-flopped foot but managing not to fall.
This time.
“Careful!” Kate said. “Maybe flip-flops aren’t the best shoes for this!”
“Can’t change ’em.”
“Why not?”
“The floor’s made of lava!”
It felt like lava. The wall-unit air conditioner had tape over the controls and a sign that said “Don’t even think of turning on if temp is under 85 degrees.” The temperature, per Kate’s phone, was eighty-four. It didn’t seem to bother Ray-Ray. Lizzie didn’t “feel comfortable” with bringing Ray-Ray to the cabin, as Kate had suggested, so they were in this tiny house with an assortment of broken baby items, a hutch with no rabbit, and a weedy backyard. Kate wondered why she’d thought it was a good idea to spend her vacation here.
Oh yeah, to be nice, maybe out of some weird sense of guilt over Daddy.
