by Sarah Ockler
“Won’t the housekeeper tell your parents?”
“Probably. But it doesn’t matter, as long as I clean everything up. Same thing every summer. They don’t have time to care.”
I turn to tell Frankie. See? There’s a whole world of parents who don’t care. But then I remember that Frankie isn’t next to me and, by the way, I hate her.
I offer to help Eddie start the cleanup effort, but he declines.
“Maggie will come back,” he says. “It’s this little game we play. She pretends to be all surprised and concerned, then she leaves. I wake up and kick everyone out. Then she comes back and helps me put it all back to normal.”
“She must like you.”
“Not really. She likes the hundred bucks I’ll tip her later.” Eddie puts on some coffee and starts the task of waking the dead who are laid up around the house, pool deck, and yard. I ask him if he saw Frankie come in earlier.
“Yeah, she’s upstairs. You two musta drank last night. You both look like shit!”
I force a smile. “I’ve been called worse.” Just a few hours ago, actually.
I help myself to a cup of black coffee in the kitchen and wait for Princess Perino. I can probably name a good seven thousand people I’d rather walk down the beach with this morning, but we can’t risk showing up at the house separately. As far as Uncle Red and Aunt Jayne know, we had a super-fun time at Jackie and Samantha’s super-great sleepover, staying up so late giggling and pillow-fighting and Cosmo-quizzing that we need a few hours in our own beds to catch up on sleep.
An hour later, Frankie stomps down the stairs, full makeup covering up any evidence of turmoil. For my benefit, she makes a big show of hugging Eddie goodbye and thanking him for the “rockin’ ” party. Then, without turning her head even remotely in my direction, she hefts her backpack over her shoulder and heads out the back door and down to the beach, chin up, stomach in, shoulders back, chest out — a ferocious auburn-haired phoenix rising from the ashes of her best-friend breakup.
twenty-six
I keep pace a safe distance behind her, my twisted-up feelings wavering between sorry and angry, spending more time in the latter camp. Frankie doesn’t look over her shoulder once, confident that I won’t let her get too far ahead. She knows as well as I do that if we don’t show up together acting natural, we’re going to have a lot more explaining to do.
I sprint the last thirty feet to ensure we walk up the stairs to the backyard together, smiling, picture-perfect rays of sunshine coming home from our girls’ night. Red and Jayne are in the kitchen chopping up something for lunch, right on cue.
“Hey, girls!” Aunt Jayne says, drying her hands on her shorts. “How was the slumber party?”
“Good.” We both answer in dead monotone.
“Doesn’t look like you got much sleep,” Uncle Red says from behind his newspaper.
“Dad, you don’t actually sleep at a sleepover.”
“Forgive my ignorance,” he says, folding up the paper and dropping it on the table. “What do you do?”
“Tons of stuff. Right, Anna?” Frankie’s voice is high and contemptuous.
“Oh, you know,” I say, grabbing an apple from the counter and taking a huge, exaggerated bite. “Booze. Boys. The usual.”
Frankie’s eyes bulge, but Red and Jayne just laugh. It would never occur to them that I’m telling the truth.
“In that case, I’m coming with you next time.” Aunt Jayne winks and sets out sandwiches and tortilla chips on the table, looking at me a second too long. After that first night on the porch, we didn’t talk about Matt and Frankie again. I wonder if she can see the distance between her daughter and me now, blowing in like dizzy seagulls after another all-night bender — another failed attempt at forgetting.
We drop our bags in the living room and take our places around the table, striking the most natural poses we can manage. I’m so tired that I may start hallucinating. My heart feels like it’s pumping molasses in my veins, and my neck is hot as I wait for Frankie’s next biting comment.
It doesn’t come, though. She shoots me a few nasty looks when Red and Jayne aren’t paying attention, which I wholeheartedly return, but her mouth is shut. I force myself to eat most of my sandwich and a few chips before excusing myself to our bedroom for a much-needed nap.
“All right,” Uncle Red says. “We’ll wake you up later for dinner. You two decide where we’re going — anywhere you want.”
“Thanks, Uncle Red.” I put my dishes in the sink and head upstairs. Coming down with a sudden deadly illness to avoid faking my way through an evening with Frankie is probably out of the question, so I resign myself to it, force it out of my mind, and crawl between the cool white sheets of my bed, temporarily erasing the last few hours from existence. Poof!
A few hours later, Frankie wakes me up by kicking the side of my bed.
“What?” I snap.
“Get up. We’re going to dinner in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, thanks for the advance notice.”
“Whatever.”
After the lovefest, Frankie and I get ready for dinner in silence, working around each other as though the next person to speak or make direct eye contact will turn to stone. Every few minutes she looks in my direction, and I in hers, waiting for an opening, a smile, a sympathetic tilt of the head — any indication that we will ever speak again.
But none come.
Not from Frankie, who would probably forgive the events of the universe for taking Matt before she’d consider forgiving me for not telling her about what happened between us.
And certainly not from me. As much fun as I’ve had with Frankie, as much as I loved her and wanted to spend all the summers of tomorrow with her, as much as I wanted to take care of her for Matt — I know it will never be that way again.
After several uncomfortable minutes, Frankie finally breaks the silence, tears welling up with scratchy whispers.
“I just don’t see how you could not tell me about that!”
“Oh, really?” I shout-whisper back, yanking a comb through my hair. “I should have told you about Matt, but it’s okay for you to lie about Johan and Jake?”
“That’s totally different and you know it!”
“Quit trying to justify your bullshit, Frankie! I’m sick of it!”
“Girls, let’s go!” Red calls from downstairs. “We’re going to dinner, not to the prom!”
“Five minutes, Dad!” Frankie yells, turning back to me. “Oh, so I suppose I’m just a horrible monster of a friend, huh? I made you come on this trip and I made you lose your stupid virginity and I made you lie about Matt?”
I grab her wrist and meet her eyes, almost nose to nose. “You know something, Frankie? I’m done.” I throw her arm away and quickly check my face in the mirror.
“Don’t bother,” she says to my reflection. “No one will notice.”
All night, Frankie is a picture of good times and sunshine, telling Red and Jayne about girls who don’t exist, games we never played, and movies we didn’t watch, occasionally looking to me to add a supporting detail or an “Oh, I remember that! That was so funny!” Red and Jayne look on amused, a perfect snapshot of a normal summer vacation with their normal daughter and her normal best friend. What could be better?
“I’m so glad we took this trip together,” Aunt Jayne says, reaching for Frankie’s hand across the table at Shelly’s Seaside Bistro. “We might just have to come back again next year.”
“Maybe we can even get Helen and Carl to come,” Uncle Red says.
“That sounds great, Mom!” Frankie shoots me another nasty stare. “Too bad we can’t stay another few weeks, huh, Anna?”
I think about Sam and smile. “Yeah, it is too bad.”
After dinner, the Perinos take us down to the pier. It must be everyone’s last weekend on the beach — the place is packed.
“Crowded tonight.” Red sidesteps to avoid colliding with a baby stroller. “Why don’t we cross over
to the other side of the beach. We haven’t been down that way yet.”
Well, maybe you haven’t. But your daughter and I are practically natives by now.
We walk up the boulevard slowly, Frankie and I a few steps behind with clenched fists, our forced smiles betraying none of our private drama.
Aunt Jayne asks if we’d like to stop somewhere for dessert, and since nodding and smiling is easier than shaking our heads and inventing a reason for not wanting dessert, we okay it without thinking.
And since the universe has worked in its own mysterious way all vacation, tonight shouldn’t be any different, which is why neither of us is particularly surprised to discover that Jayne is craving a smoothie.
twenty-seven
A jolt of simultaneous panic and excitement shoots through my body. At the moment, my head and my heart are duking it out, trying to decide whether I should be happy to see Sam or severely freaked out that if we don’t execute some sort of rapid-fire planning in the next fifteen seconds, our entire Jackie-slash-Samantha cover will be blown. Frankie turns to me in utter fright, the first her expression has changed all night, and I curse myself for not thinking to lay the ground rules with Jake and Sam in advance.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Anna and Frankie’s Hour of Lying Liars! We hope you’ve enjoyed our show thus far. In the unlikely event that we should happen upon you at your place of employ with Red and Jayne Perino in tow, simply pretend that you do not know us, or that you are the gay older brothers of our new best friends, Jackie and Samantha. Thank you, and good night!
Frankie’s baby-bird eyebrow is all twisted up and afraid, and all I can do is shrug.
There’s a long line to get a table at the Shack tonight but that doesn’t deter Jayne. Thinking fast, I announce that I need to use the bathroom and push my way to the front of the line amid an angry series of “The line starts back there!” and “No cutting!”
Sam is at the counter, turning out smoothies in record time. It takes a few minutes for him to notice me, and I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure Red and Jayne can’t see me from their spot at the back of the line.
“Anna!” He finally sees me as he sets two gigantic Strawberry Short-Shakes on a tray for an impatient waitress with a platinum blond ponytail and way too much eyeliner. “How’d you get out so early?”
He wipes his hands on his green Shack apron and comes around the counter to wrap me in a hug. I feel that same frightened-yet-thrilled electricity again and force my brain to quiet its emotional counterpart long enough for me to break free of Sam’s embrace and tell him the five-second version of why he can’t know I exist.
“Got it,” he says, laughing. “But it’s gonna cost you. You better come back tonight.” I promise him that I will and head back through the line to find the Perinos, hoping the color in my cheeks returns to normal before they notice.
After telling twenty minutes of made-up stories about our chaste adventures on the beach, we’re sitting in a cozy little booth, carefully examining the two-page smoothie and shake menu.
Frankie catches me staring at Sam and rolls her eyes at me above the menu.
I’m thinking about killing her.
The impatient platinum blond I saw earlier takes our order without once looking up from her pad. A few minutes later, Sam stands at the edge of our table, winking at me as he passes out our drinks.
Frankie kicks me under the table but I ignore her, reaching up to take my Va-Va-Vineapple smoothie (vanilla ice cream, fresh pineapple, and ginger ale). Sam’s fingers brush against mine, sending a shock through my hand that I feel all the way up my arm.
Uncle Red thanks Sam, and seeing them breathing the same air and responding to each other’s polite small talk is like seeing Frankie’s fingers on my journal again — two very different and intentionally separate worlds colliding. I want to crawl down my smoothie straw and disappear in the sea of ice cream and ginger ale.
Once Sam returns to his post behind the counter, Frankie stops kicking me and we slurp down our drinks in about two minutes, anxious to get out of here before anyone recognizes us. Uncle Red and Aunt Jayne, on the other hand, act like this is the last smoothie shop they’ll ever see, like smoothies are an endangered species to be appreciated and savored and drawn out as long as possible. With each passing minute, Frankie and I sink lower in our chairs, praying to the God of Annoying Coincidences that Jake doesn’t show up and blow our cover.
After what feels like three hours, Red pays the bill and we’re on our way back out to the anonymity of the crowded beach. I know it’s risky, but I can’t resist sneaking in one last goodbye. I suddenly remember that I have to use the bathroom again and wind my way back through the undulating smoothie line to get up to the counter. After confirming that I haven’t been followed, I kneel on an empty counter stool and call Sam’s name.
“So, midnight?” I ask.
“How about eleven?”
“Eleven-thirty,” I say. “And that’s final.”
“Deal.” He leans in and quickly kisses me on the lips, barely touching them before the frantic waitress shouts out another order for Sam.
“See you tonight.” He smiles and turns back to the pastel buckets of ice cream behind the counter.
Frankie’s waiting for me alone outside. “Took you long enough,” she snaps. “My parents are getting postcards.” She nods toward a newsstand.
“Everything okay?” Jayne asks when we catch up.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just a little stuffed from the shakes. Frankie’s worried that if she tries to get in the car too fast, her skirt will explode.”
“Actually, Mom,” Frankie says, “Anna was hanging back trying to get Smoothie Boy’s cell number, but he dissed her.”
“He didn’t like the looks of my ugly stepsister,” I say. “That, and Anna doesn’t have any boobs.”
“Girls!” Jayne laughs. “What is with you two tonight? Is there a full moon or something?”
“I don’t know, is Anna howling at it?”
“Okay, Twinkies.” Uncle Red hands his postcards to Jayne and digs out his keys. “Let’s head out. We still have tomorrow — I have something fun planned for our last night.”
I nod. From behind Red and Jayne’s trusting backs, Frankie Perino, journal-killer and two-time virgin liar — goes middle school on me and sticks out her tongue.
The time for thinking is over.
I am going to kill her.
Back at the house, Frankie spends over an hour in the bathroom getting ready for bed. I use the opportunity to set the vibrating alarm on my cell phone. I don’t want to alert her when I’m trying to sneak out — the last thing I need is another stupid argument that could potentially wake up Red and Jayne. Alarm set, I stuff my phone under the pillow, turn out the bedside light, and pull the sheet over my head so I don’t have to look at her tonight.
I don’t remember hearing her come back from the bathroom, but suddenly my phone is buzzing against my cheek, shaking me from a light sleep. I use the display light on the screen to locate the flip-flops and sweatshirt I stashed under the bed earlier and notice that Frankie’s bed is still made.
That means either she’s asleep on the couch downstairs or she just can’t stand the fact that I had sex before she did and she’s out giving it up to Jake right this instant, determined to take back the center stage.
Downstairs, the empty couch and unlocked front door confirm it. I entertain the idea of locking her out and sneaking out the window over the deck, but I can imagine how that scene would play out. She’d come back and realize what happened, bang wildly on the door to wake her parents, and convince them that I threatened to sneak out to meet the Smoothie Boy and she was only trying to go after me and prevent me from doing something stupid (sniffle), just as a best friend ought to (sniffle), when she accidentally locked the door behind herself (sniffle-sniffle-sigh).
I follow the path we’ve taken so many times this summer — across the front, down the s
treet, cut back through a neighbor’s yard, down the stairs to the beach, past the pier, through the campfire labyrinth, up to the deck of the Shack, and straight into Sam’s arms.
Without speaking, he kisses me hard on the mouth and I kiss him back, sobbing and crumpling into his chest like a broken puppet.
twenty-eight
“Anna, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Frankie. And. I. Aren’t. Speaking!” It comes out in a string of hiccups.
“Did you have a fight?”
I nod, opening my mouth to tell him about it, but my brain intercepts with an urgent telegram: Hey, dummy. Stop. Sam doesn’t know about Matt. Stop. Cover blown. Stop.
“There’s so much I haven’t told you, Sam. I don’t even know where to start.”
I pull away and lean against the deck railing to take a deep breath, watching the moon over the ocean. I wanted everything to be different here. I wanted to be someone else. Anna, cross-continental traveler, woman of passion and adventure! Not Anna, pathetic friend who breaks promises and writes letters to dead boys.
“Let’s walk,” he says, his hand warm and reassuring on my shoulder. “And when you feel okay, you can tell me whatever you want to tell me.”
“Okay.”
We walk all the way up to Eddie’s house before I’ve worked it out enough in my head to start talking.
“It’s a long and crazy story, Sam.”
“It’s cool, Anna Abby. I’m here.”
“Okay. So just over a year ago, there was this guy. I really liked him. I mean really — since I was a kid.”
“Did Frankie know him?”
“The three of us were best friends. We basically grew up together.”
“Complicated.”
“Very. So anyway, last year on my birthday, he finally kissed me.” Sam stays quiet, focused on his feet taking off and landing against the sand. It feels strange to tell him about this for so many reasons, but the words are coming too fast for me to stop, even if I want to.
