“For the girl who saved Cameron’s life?” Mr. Rathbone said. “How could I say no?”
“Thank you so much,” Zinnie said. “I promise I can sound just like a Cape Cod native.”
“Just relax and be yourself,” the casting director said. “And have fun with it.”
“Okay,” Zinnie said. “No problem.” Then she inhaled a deep breath and rolled her neck. Gathering her props, she took a few steps away from the table to her original starting position. Massachusetts accent, Massachusetts accent, she thought, silently reviewing how Ashley had taught her to pronounce the words: Hee-ahs ya cuppa cawfee.
“Are you ready?” the casting director asked.
“I’m ready,” Zinnie said.
“Okay then, we’re rolling,” Chloe said.
“Action!” Meg said.
Once again, Zinnie took purposeful strides toward the table, ready to be the best dang waitress these people had ever seen!
“Here’s your cup of tea,” Zinnie said boldly, in an accent that wasn’t British or Massachusetts. It was Southern! And she’d gotten the line wrong again! “Did I say ‘tea’? I mean ‘coffee.’” She was sounding more like a sassy girl from the South with every syllable! “Coffee’s what we serve here! No tea for us! In fact, if it’s tea you want, you’d better skedaddle!” Oh gosh, what was happening? Her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own! But out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Mr. Rathbone was smiling. Maybe he liked this Southern waitress! She kept going. “There’s no tea in these here parts. Just good American coffee. As strong as the day is long! In fact, I’m going to pour myself a mug right now.” She picked up the mug, and in her enthusiasm, spilled it down her shirt.
“Whoa. Are you okay?” Meg asked.
“Yes,” Zinnie said, feeling her face burn with embarrassment. Her shirt, stained with coffee, clung to her body.
“Well,” Meg said as she handed her a paper towel. “That was even more . . . interesting.”
For a moment Zinnie wished the floor would just swallow her up. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel her T-shirt sticking to her lower back where she’d been sweating. It had taken a lot of courage to ask to audition again, and it had only served to make her look like a total idiot! She swallowed, but her mouth was completely dry.
“I liked it,” Chloe said cheerfully.
“Really?” Zinnie asked, pulling her shirt away from herself.
“Yeah,” Chloe said. “You made me laugh. I think I have an extra shirt in my bag if you want to borrow one.”
Zinnie smiled back at her. There was something about kindness coming so swiftly after humiliation that made it that much sweeter.
“That’s okay,” Zinnie said. “I’m going to the beach after this so I’m about to change into my bathing suit anyway.”
“You’ve brightened our day, Zinnie,” Mr. Rathbone said.
“I’m happy to help in any ol’ way I can,” Zinnie said in a purposeful Southern accent this time. Mr. Rathbone, Chloe, and even Meg chuckled. Zinnie curtsied and added a “toodle-oo!” on her way out the door.
Unable to stop smiling, and wondering if perhaps she’d changed their minds just a little with this flamboyant good-bye, she waited for Ashley to finish her audition. When Ashley wandered out of the building, also smiling, the two of them went to the town beach, where the snack bar had a sign hanging on it: “Back after TV audition.”
“Like I told you before,” Ashley had said when they’d taken a shortcut through the library’s garden. “Whenever you come to town you bring adven-cha!”
Zinnie tried to capture every detail in her blog post. She paused for a moment as she typed, “It’s funny how everything can go wrong and yet feel exactly right.” She buzzed a little as she read that line over, simply because it felt so true. She had found the words that matched the experience—and none of them were what Mrs. Lee called “ten-dollar words.” Just plain, simple language.
She checked her email one more time, and to her delight there was a message from Max in her inbox. She felt herself break out in a huge smile. She’d be seeing him so soon!
Hey, Zinnie,
Italy is awesome, but I can’t wait to be back in Pruet. I have a surprise, but I’m going to wait until I see you to tell you what it is. So hope you enjoy a good mystery, haha.
See you soon,
Max
“Whatever you’re reading must be really good,” Marigold said, standing in front her with her hands on her hips.
“It’s just an email,” Zinnie said. Her heart skipped as she shut her laptop. The email she’d just read was definitely good! Max had something to tell her—something possibly mysterious—and that filled her with a delightful anticipation. She didn’t want to share this with Marigold, not yet anyway, because she just wasn’t ready to be teased about it. So she quickly changed the subject to one of Marigold’s favorites—clothes. “Nice outfit!”
“Thanks.”
Marigold did look awesome. She was wearing white shorts, a French-style striped shirt, and gold Sperry Topsiders. She had a crisp canvas tote, with blue handles and her monogram. She looked like she’d created an inspiration board to come up with this outfit: nautical chic. Zinnie also noticed that she had a muffin wrapped in a paper towel.
“Where are you going?” Zinnie asked.
“I’m helping out Jean with the tricentennial, remember? There’s so much to do. She really needs a good assistant. Like me,” Marigold said. If there was one thing Zinnie’s sister loved as much as acting, it was organizing. She liked making lists and checking things off and being prepared.
“I can help too,” Zinnie said.
“Great,” Marigold said. “I’m going to be so busy as her assistant that I’ll probably need an assistant of my own.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Zinnie said good-naturedly. This was normally the kind of comment that would get under Zinnie’s skin, but after getting that email from Max, it would take more than a bossy remark from Marigold to sink her spirits.
“See you there at nine? By that time I should have a list of stuff for us to do. Oh, and Mr. Rathbone isn’t using the little back room that’s behind the kitchen, so that’s tricentennial headquarters.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Zinnie said. As Marigold walked down the driveway, Zinnie opened her laptop and reread Max’s email about twenty more times. There was no doubt about it anymore—she liked him liked him.
14 • The Perfect Assistant
Marigold hardly recognized the yacht club parking lot. There were several equipment trucks for Mr. Rathbone’s production, as well as trailers, which Marigold recognized as being mobile dressing rooms for the actors. She felt a shiver run through her at the possibility that she might be in the cast—at least she would be if her audition went as well as she thought it had.
Was Chloe here now? Marigold looked around but didn’t see her—at least not yet. The yacht club wasn’t very big at all, and she was bound to run into her before long. If she saw Chloe today, she was going to ask her if she wanted to go to Edith’s with her some afternoon this week. They had so much to talk about, like if Chloe had liked middle school, and why she’d applied to Performing Arts Magnet, and what her concentration was going to be. At PAM, students were allowed to choose an area of focus, like dance, acting, or music. Marigold was obviously choosing acting, and she hoped Chloe was, too.
She also wondered if she might catch sight of Daryl Johnson, the star of the show and a major Hollywood actor. Of course, she would play it cool if she did see him. As an L.A. actress, she knew better than to ask stars for autographs. It was considered uncool, even though Marigold had never understood why. When she was a famous actress, she would definitely be happy to give out her autograph. Marigold made her way past a bunch of crew members drinking coffee and discussing the day’s schedule, and through the back entrance of the yacht club, which led to the small room where she was meeting Jean.
“Thank goodness you�
��re here,” Jean said, greeting her with a smile. The room was tidy, with a desk and two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a window with a view of the harbor. Marigold scanned the docks to see if Peter was anywhere in sight, but he wasn’t. “Mack and I have a meeting with the clambake committee in fifteen minutes, and there’s so much to accomplish today.” She gestured to a chair and handed Marigold a notebook and a pen. “Are you ready to take some notes?”
“Absolutely,” Marigold said. “I love making lists. Oh, and I brought you a muffin in case you needed some extra energy.”
“You’re doing a great job already,” Jean said as Marigold reached into her bag and pulled out the banana muffin wrapped in a paper towel. “Did your aunt Sunny make these?” Marigold nodded. “Lovely! Now let’s get cracking.”
Marigold could just feel that this was going to increase her chances of being named Eliza Pruet.
“First on the list is the sand castle building competition. We need posters in all the hot spots: the casino, the library, and Edith’s, to name a few. Art supplies are all in this closet. Oh, and we need someone to be the emcee, someone with a lot of flair and a loud voice.” Immediately, Ashley came to mind. “Can I put you in charge of that?” Marigold nodded again, jotting down notes. “There will be an ice cream social before the regatta out here on the lawn, and I’m hoping you can help me with some decorations.”
“I’m up for anything,” Marigold said. “And I know Sirens and Sailors are playing after the regatta, but do we have anything planned for music during the ice cream social?”
“We don’t! See? What would I do without you?” Jean asked.
“I’m sure I can come up with something great,” Marigold said, feeling very civic-minded.
“You and your sisters always do,” Jean said. “Okay, now I’d better going. I’d hate to offend the clambake committee. Maybe you can come with me on Saturday to meet with Edith about the ice cream social?”
“Of course!” Marigold said and then remembered her fun fourteenth. Her mood immediately dampened. “Actually, I won’t be here on Saturday.”
“That’s right! You’re going on a camping trip. How could I forget when it’s all your aunt Sunny has been talking about?”
“Unless you needed me here to help you,” Marigold said, brightening at the idea that she might have the perfect excuse to not go camping. “I’m sure Aunt Sunny would understand if it’s for the tricentennial.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jean said.
“Will Peter be able to sail today?” Marigold asked as Jean searched for something.
“Yes,” Jean said. “Isn’t it great? Mr. Rathbone will only be working inside today, so the docks and the lawn are ours—for now.”
“That’s wonderful,” Marigold said, imagining how happy Peter would be to be able to practice for the regatta. She was relieved Mr. Rathbone’s production schedule wasn’t keeping Peter from his sailboat, not only because she wanted the best for Peter, but also because she was really hoping he’d still be her boyfriend this summer.
Jean seemed to be searching for something. “Are you looking for your sunglasses, by any chance?”
“Have you seen them?” Jean asked.
“They’re on your head,” Marigold answered with a smile.
“For heaven’s sake,” Jean said, and then she was out the door.
15 • The Boyfriend Test
Marigold decided the best place to make the posters was at the picnic bench by the docks. That was the spot where she was most likely to run into Peter, and she’d also be able to keep an eye out for Chloe. Marigold gathered the art supplies, left a note for Zinnie on the office door, and then made her way out the back entrance, passing several crew members carrying lighting equipment as she walked down the gently sloping lawn to the picnic table.
The morning sun was already hot, and a light film of sweat pricked Marigold’s nose despite the breeze coming off the water. The water was a bright, sparkling blue, and it shimmered like tulle. She wondered if Peter was out on the water now or if he would be arriving later. Jean hadn’t said. Before she could think any more about it she heard her sister calling her name.
Marigold turned to see Zinnie waving and practically skipping toward her.
“It’s so weird to see all these trucks and stuff in the yacht club parking lot,” Zinnie said as she sat at the table.
“I know,” Marigold said.
“I wonder who they decided to cast as the waitress,” Zinnie said.
“Me too,” Marigold said, though she was a little thrown off that Zinnie thought she might have some competition. It’s not like she was sure the part was hers, but she expected that her younger sister would be. “I guess they’ll let us know soon. Anyway, our first assignment is to make posters for the sand castle building competition and hang them all over town. Here’s the information we need to include.” Marigold showed Zinnie the page in her notebook where she’d written down the date, time, and place of the contest. “Jean is worried that no one knows about it, so we need to make these posters really colorful and fun.”
“Got it,” Zinnie said.
As they each sketched out a design on their poster boards, Marigold noticed that Zinnie was grinning ear to ear.
“Who was that email from this morning?” she asked. “Was it Max?”
“Yup,” Zinnie said, her smile growing.
“Do you want him to be your boyfriend?” Marigold asked.
“I don’t know,” Zinnie said. She focused very hard on her drawing.
“I think you do,” Marigold said. “Your cheeks are pink.”
“That’s just because it’s so hot,” Zinnie said, shaking her head.
“Oh wow,” Marigold said. “Your ears are like . . . neon.”
“Well, now you’re embarrassing me,” Zinnie said.
“That means you really like him,” Marigold said in a singsongy voice.
“It does not,” Zinnie whined, trying to get Marigold off her case. “It just means I’m embarrassed by the idea of wanting a boyfriend, which I’m not even sure if I do.”
“Here’s the test,” Marigold said. “If you get a bunch of emails, do you read the ones from him first?”
“Yes,” Zinnie said.
“Do you spend at least five minutes a day wondering whether or not he’s going to email or text you?” Marigold asked. “Those minutes can be all together or spread out.”
“Five minutes? Hmmm.” Zinnie thought for a moment. “Um, yeah. I think so.”
“Okay,” Marigold said. “And finally, on a scale of one to ten, one being not at all and ten being a huge amount, how much are you looking forward to seeing him in a week?”
Zinnie smiled. “Nine and a quarter.”
“You like him like a boyfriend!” Marigold said, tossing her water bottle in the air and catching it with one hand. “You totally do.”
“Whaaaat?” Zinnie said, waving her off. “I don’t think that’s a very accurate test.” Zinnie turned and looked out at the harbor.
“Why do you say that?” Marigold asked.
“I’m looking forward to seeing Dad a huge amount, too,” Zinnie said. “Like at least a nine and a quarter. Oh, look. It’s Peter.”
“Really?” Marigold asked, and turned to see Peter walking toward the docks. She waved to him, hoping that his mood would have lightened with the news he could practice all day today if he wanted.
“Uh oh,” Zinnie said under her breath as Peter approached. “He looks mad.”
“Hi, Peter,” Marigold said sunnily. “We’re making posters for the sand castle building competition. What’s up?”
“What’s up,” Peter started, his voice threaded with distress, “is that these Hollywood people cast Vince as the dock boy.”
“Who’s Vince?” Marigold asked in a small, sympathetic voice.
“My skipper! The kid who’s supposed to sail with me during the regatta. Between Mr. Rathbone’s production schedule and when Vince needs to be on set
, whatever that means, I’m never going to be able to practice.”
“I’m really sorry,” Marigold said. “At least he’ll be available on the day of the regatta, right?”
“When we’ll lose because we haven’t been able to practice the course,” Peter said.
“Can you, um, practice with someone else?” Zinnie asked.
“I’m going to have to,” Peter said as a cloud moved across the sky. “For now, I’m just going to go out on my own to clear my mind.”
Marigold watched as he walked toward the dock with his head hung. Out of all the boys in Pruet, why had they chosen Peter’s skipper to be the dock boy? She sighed. Handholding did not seem to be in her immediate future. But maybe she stood a chance of being his skipper?
16 • Best Friend Potential
Zinnie was putting the final touches on the fourth poster when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see Chloe, smiling as she walked toward her. Marigold had gone to hang the first three posters in the casino, the general store, and Edith’s, leaving Zinnie to finish the last one, which she was instructed to put up outside the snack shack at the town beach.
“Hi,” Chloe said. “What are you doing?”
“Making posters for the sand castle building contest,” Zinnie said. Chloe was wearing jeans rolled up at the cuffs, loafers, an oversized T-shirt that said “Coffee, please,” huge, vintage sunglasses, and a book tucked under her arm. Marigold would love this outfit.
“Cool, I’m just on a break,” Chloe said, putting her sunglasses on her head so that they acted like a headband. “I liked your audition.”
“Really?” Zinnie asked, feeling her cheeks flush.
“Seeing the same thing over and over can get really boring. But you were funny!”
“I was?” Zinnie said, hopeful that she may have somehow turned that audition around.
“Anyway,” Chloe said. “I thought it would be fun to read by the water.” She held up her book. It was American Poetry: A Collection. Zinnie couldn’t believe her eyes. That was Mrs. Lee’s favorite book. There was a tattered copy on her desk, and sometimes she read aloud from it.
The Silver Moon of Summer Page 7
