Girls of July

by Alex Flinn

  “Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo. Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo!”

  Meredith yelled, “Harmon, quit it! It’s not—”

  “Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo. Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo!”

  “I think it’s an owl!” Britta shrieked as something swooped through the air behind them.

  “Oh, God!” Meredith tossed the paper onto the fire. “What do I say? I offer this up to the fire, so that it may be cleansed, so that it may be destroyed, so that it may be forgotten and I can move on to the future. Accept it into the fire!” She scurried to a tree.

  “Should we go inside?” Spider said.

  “You haven’t burned anything,” Britta said. “Besides, I think the owl’s gone.”

  They listened. Crickets. The wind. No other sounds in the starlit night.

  Spider stood. Britta could tell from the way she lurched up that she was in pain, probably from clearing all the brush away. Britta felt a stab of guilt for not helping.

  “It’s largely symbolic.” Spider held up a paperback book about living with arthritis. “I’ve memorized this, and my problems aren’t going away anyway. But like Meredith, like Britta, I guess maybe like all of you, I’m tired of letting this one thing define me. I want to—”

  “Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo. Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo!”

  “God!” Spider said.

  “Maybe we should . . . ?” Britta ducked.

  “Yeah!” Spider chucked the book onto the fire. “I offer this book up to the fire, so that it may be cleansed, so that it may be destroyed, so that it may be forgotten, and I can move on to the future. Accept it into the fire.”

  “Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo. Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo!”

  “And run!” Britta said.

  The girls scattered in different directions. When Britta came back with a bucket to put out the fire, she still heard the owl in the distance.

  55

  Kate

  WHEN KATE CAME in from the fire, she felt cleansed. She wasn’t going to debut. She was going to sit down with her parents and have a real conversation about the future.

  Then she noticed a letter on the front table. Someone must have brought it in. It was addressed to her, and she recognized the handwriting.

  She opened it with shaking fingers. The letter that fell out was written on notebook paper in that same familiar handwriting. In Latin.

  Katarina carissima,

  Quom tibi apud saltationem obveni, scivi me tecum in aeternum saltare voluisse.

  Quom primum tibi in schola Latina locutus sum, scivi te solam loqui linguam meam.

  Scio hanc aetatem esse tibi perdifficilem. Scio quoque te putare me non intellegere. Fortasse putas me te amare tantum pecuniae tuae causa vel familiae tuae causa, sed non est. Te amo, sine ulla illius. Omnes vos estis.

  Te exspectabo.

  Colin

  She took it to her bedroom. She wished she had her Latin–English dictionary. It was the one thing she hadn’t packed in those three suitcases! But, after about an hour of trying to remember what she’d learned in school, she thought she knew what it said. It wasn’t perfect, but she understood.

  Dear Kate,

  When I first met you at the dance, I knew I wanted to dance with you forever.

  When I first spoke to you in Latin class, I knew you were the only person who spoke my language.

  I know this is a hard time in your life. I know you think I don’t understand. I guess you think I only love you for your money or family. But that’s not true. I love you without any of that, for all you are.

  I will wait for you.

  Colin

  Kate read and reread the translation. She wanted to believe him, but could she? She folded the letter and slipped it under her pillow. Maybe her dreams would tell her what to do. Her conscious thoughts weren’t pulling their weight.

  56

  Spider

  INT. SPIDER’S BEDROOM — NIGHT

  Spider is lying in bed.

  SHE LOVED THESE girls. She loved this summer. She loved the smoky smell of the campfire on her “Save Ferris” T-shirt and even her hair as she lay in bed. She never wanted it to go away, ever. And yet, as sure as the scent of smoke would fade, soon Britta, Meredith, and Kate would leave. She’d be alone, as usual.

  When Spider had thrown the book on the fire, she’d wanted to say more. But she hadn’t known what. You couldn’t throw your pain into a fire. People acted like it was that easy. Take a pill, do some yoga, get your mind off it, suck it up, buttercup. But, the truth was, she would probably never not be in pain. Some people did get over JIA as adults, but she wasn’t counting on being one of those people. Some people got worse.

  What she really wanted was not to have people define her by her pain. She wanted to be like these other girls, the one who was smart and applying to Ivy League schools, the one who did drama and was fun, the one who did debate and was pretty and was still trying to decide who she was. She could be the one who was obsessed with film, the one who was good at writing and wanted to make her own movies. She could be a friend, an ally, an advocate. She could be—what had Harmon said—the annoying little sister who gets in the way, but everyone still loves. She could be the one who told stories that changed the world.

  That would be better than climbing Everest.

  She wished she could discuss this with someone, someone who would understand. But Ruthie was the only one who’d ever understood her.

  She had to make it right with Ruthie.

  It was harder to get up than to stay up. Her hips ached, and her arms felt stiff as she pushed herself up. Yet she did. She turned on the bedside table light, hoisted herself from bed, and walked across the room. When she entered the hallway, someone was there.

  “Oh!” they both screamed at once.

  “I was coming to see . . . ,” Spider started.

  “I was looking to see if you were awake,” Ruthie said. “But I thought you weren’t.”

  “I was. I was sitting in the dark thinking about you.”

  “Me too, about you.” Ruthie reached over and patted Spider’s shoulder. “I loved the video. It was beautiful, and I know you worked very hard on it.”

  Spider shook her head. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say that. I’m not a child. I know it was a dumb idea.” Making the video was like something a little kid would do, a child who thought all the world’s problems could be solved easily. She saw that now.

  “Your heart was in the right place. It’s just more complicated. I have to think of the feelings involved with something so public.”

  “I know. I just wish you could do what you want. Or, rather . . .” She realized she wasn’t sure what Ruthie wanted at this point. That was the whole problem. “I wish you could have done what you wanted fifty or sixty years ago.”

  Ruthie laughed. “If I had gotten what I wanted fifty or sixty years ago, you’d never have been born.”

  “True,” Spider said. “I’ve just always thought of you as so brave. You’ve been like an inspiration to me.”

  “I hope I still am.”

  Spider thought of all the times she’d been here, to this place, with Ruthie, all the times she’d been hurting and her grandmother, despite her age, had taken care of her, been the only one who really understood. “You are.”

  “Maybe I’m just too old to change at this point,” Ruthie said.

  Spider didn’t think so, but she had to respect Ruthie’s space. She knew from experience that you could never fully understand how someone else was feeling. There would be other days to discuss it. “Do you want to play Rummikub?” she asked.

  Ruthie smiled. “Yes. That’s a great idea.”

  “Get out the game. I’ll see if Britta’s awake.”

  57

  Britta

  BRITTA CAME BACK from an hour of playing Rummikub with Spider and Ruthie. She was glad they were all getting along now, but she was wiped. She collapsed on the bed with the lights still on, smelling the campfire scent on her hair. It took her back to camping as a child. But
the pine scent in the air, they didn’t have that in Miami.

  The campfire had been fun, but she had wanted to do more of a ceremony. She’d even written a song for them all to sing. But there would be other days.

  As she lay there, her eyes found the little chipmunk pillow. It was green and white, and the chipmunk itself was brown. It held a lighter brown acorn. In the corner, something was embroidered in darker green. Britta noticed and read it for the first time.

  Oh.

  She remembered the woman who had made the pillow, her stories.

  She had to go back there.

  58

  Meredith

  Essay topic: What would you contribute to SUNY Albany?

  THE NEXT MORNING, on her walk, Meredith could still smell the burned branches in the air. She headed in the opposite direction of the hill, toward Route 9, which also meant she was going to pass the Dickinsons’ street. She told herself she wasn’t looking for Harmon.

  But she wasn’t really surprised to see him.

  He wore the same green fleece jacket from the night they’d gone stargazing. She still had his hoodie. In fact, she was wearing it. She didn’t want to give it back, but she should.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.” She slowed her step. “I have your hoodie.”

  “Yeah, I see that. Keep it.”

  She wanted to. But she said, “I should return it.”

  “It’s better if you keep it. If I have it, I won’t want to wash it because it’ll still have the lingering smell of your hair on it, and eventually, people will be like, ‘Dude, stop sniffing that jacket like a weirdo and wash it for God’s sake—it’s got mustard stains on it.’ And I won’t stop, and it’ll ruin my life, so please keep it.”

  She laughed without thinking. “I could wash it before I give it back.”

  He mimed horror. “Nooooooo!”

  “Okay.” She’d put it in a box under her bed where she could look at it when she wanted.

  “But, in exchange for the gift of this gorgeous high school hoodie with a picture of a guy with an ax on it, I wanted your help with something.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  He pulled some typewritten pages out of his pocket and presented them to her. “College admissions essay.”

  She started to laugh again, thinking he was messing with her. Then, she saw the look on his face and the essay title, “What I Would Contribute to SUNY Albany.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. Because you’ve said five hundred times that you weren’t applying to college. You’ve said it to me and your mom and all your brothers and your cousin, Hope.”

  He shrugged. “I changed my mind.” The papers fluttered in the morning breeze. “It’s the least you could do, considering you’re the one that made me feel like I wouldn’t crash and burn and embarrass myself the first semester.”

  “Maybe not the first semester,” she joked.

  “Thanks.” Awkward pause. “Will you look at it?”

  When she nodded, he stuffed it in her hand. Then, he turned and strode away in the manner of Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, if Mr. Darcy wore Old Navy fleece. Meredith sort of expected his letter to start, “Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you.” It didn’t. It was actually a college essay. About her.

  What I Would Contribute to SUNY Albany

  I feel like I should be straight with you up front: 90 percent of the reason I’m applying to college at all is to impress a girl. That might seem bad. What if she broke up with me? Good news for you is she already did. I’m still applying.

  I come from a family of smart people. One brother is a doctor. Another is an engineer, the other three are in college or grad school. My dad tries to be an invenntor and my mother illustrates childrens books. Most went to Albany except my mother who went to some art school in NYC and one brother who went to RPI for engineering. I’m like the mascot. But maybe their smartness has rubbed off on me. Maybe.

  My talents are I make an awesome playlist (which would be something I would bring to campus, if I went). I can teach anyone to fish. Just ask. I make a decent omelette. I’m a good friend and a better brother.

  What I’m really good at is photography. The newspaper teacher at school says I have an eye. I actually have two (Haha). I could probably take photos of the pep rallies or something if you have pep rallies. I just looked it up, and you do. Go Great Danes!

  Honestly, 90 percent might be a low estimate. I really want to impress this girl. But like I said, it’s too late. So what I want is to deserve a girl like this in the future. I mean, I get that she’s out of my leage. So if I came there, I would work really hard and study, and be involved in alot of activities. Probably photography-related. I would try to better myself.

  I would also make everyone omelettes if that would help. You provide the eggs.

  It took her about a minute to read and, as with Mr. Darcy in every movie version of Pride and Prejudice, he was barely a speck in the distance by the time she finished. Probably for the best. Had he been there, she’d have told him 1) she absolutely would admit him to her college, if she was on the admissions committee (and if he fixed the spelling errors before he sent it) and 2) she loved him.

  She wasn’t sure she should tell him either thing. She had no experience with brutal honesty on college applications. These essays were, by their nature, BS. You said that this one school was the only place you’d really fit. Then, you sent similar essays to fifteen other colleges. Her friend Lindsay was planning on majoring in business if she got into Penn, agriculture if she got into Cornell, and folklore and mythology at Harvard—and she had great reasons for each. Meredith was pretty sure Mrs. Rose, the lady helping her with her essays, would tell him to keep the parts about his family, the part about photography, and maybe the part about the playlist, to make him sound interesting. Cut the candor and don’t begin sentences with a conjunction. And yet, that was what made her like it so much, like him so much.

  She didn’t know how she was supposed to get this back to him. Throw it on the doorstep? Mail it? She didn’t want to talk to him, but she so wanted to talk to him.

  She hurried back to the house to read it three more times.

  59

  Kate

  KATE WOKE THE next morning excited. For a second, she couldn’t remember why.

  Then she remembered. Today was the day Ray-Ray could finally play in the finished treehouse. Except he couldn’t. Kate rolled over in her bed. Something crinkled.

  Colin’s letter. She read it over. Then she rose, dressed, and walked up Service Hill.

  “Kate?” His voice sounded husky, as if he’d just woken up. “Is it really you?”

  She took a deep breath of the cold, morning air. “You sent me that letter? In Latin?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, and Kate imagined him shifting onto his elbow on the blue sheets in his bedroom. “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “I couldn’t say everything I wanted to say in Latin. But I miss you, Kate. If you hate me, I guess I have to deal with that. But if you broke up out of some idea of, I don’t know, protecting me, you need to know I don’t want to be protected. I want to protect you.”

  It was what she’d wanted him to say. “I don’t want to be protected either.” I want to be loved. She sat on a rock. “Are people being . . . awful?”

  “Some people will always be douches,” he admitted. “But I’d rather be with you than them—if I get a choice.”

  Was he telling the truth? She thought of how long it must have taken him to write that letter in Latin. He had struggled for a B in the class, and that was with her help. Finally, she said, “I’m not going to be a debutante.” Then, she added, “Ainsi sera, groigne qui gr
oigne,” a quote attributed to Anne Boleyn.

  A pause. Then he laughed. “Grumble all you like, this is how it’s going to be, huh?”

  He got it. “I miss you, Colin.” She wished he was there. She wanted to touch him. “How did you find the address to send that letter?” She wondered if it was Mrs. Scott. Or the location on the photograph.

  But he said, “I just asked your brother. And once he was sure I wasn’t actually flying up here, he gave it to me.”

  “Blake!”

  “Don’t blame Blake. I was worried about you. A lot of people are.”

  Kate remembered the texts she’d gotten from her friends. “Greer invited me to a barbecue.” It was hard to believe that she’d be going home soon.

  “Yeah. I heard about that. And . . .” He stopped.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me,” Kate insisted.

  “Nothing.” She waited until he said, “Caroline Harper said she wasn’t going to go to the party if you were there, and Greer said she didn’t even know if you were going, but if Caroline felt that way, she should stay home.”

  Kate didn’t know what to say. It would be so much easier to ignore everyone. But was that the right way to go? Or was that being like Ray-Ray’s family, running from people who really cared? A cool breeze rippled across her arms, and Kate shivered.

  Finally, she said, “Tell Greer I’ll go to the barbecue.”

  “Okay,” Colin said. “With me?”

  Kate made a decision. “Yeah, with you.”

  “I’ll protect you from what they say,” he said.

  He was being sweet. And yet she didn’t want protection. She wanted to hold her head up. “Don’t protect me. Just be with me. Amor omnia vincit.” Love conquers all.

  She could almost hear his smile when he repeated, “Omnia vincit amor.”

  They stayed on the phone a little longer, her telling him about the place, the people she’d met, him filling her in on what was happening at home. When she glanced at her watch, it was close to nine. She said, “They’re probably waiting for me for breakfast—my mountain friends. But I’ll call you, maybe tomorrow.”