She smiles. “I like where this is going . . . Go on.”
She stops at a stop light as I reach into my back pocket, then unfold my summer list. “Ooooh, what’s that? I love lists. I’m definitely a list-maker. For pretty much everything. I don’t usually use paper, though. Don’t you put everything on your phone? Then it will all be in one place.”
“My phone? No. Paper.”
“Why? Technology trumps everything.” The light turns green and we start moving again.
I smooth down the paper, noting the lack of sunshine in the car. The sky is overcast again and it’s kind of weird not having the sun shine through the window, warming my arm like it normally did in Wyoming. Still. The scenery makes up for it. I focus on Mira again. “I disagree. What if your phone dies? You have to find a charger to turn your phone on again and what if you don’t have one in an emergency?” I pat my list. “Paper never fails.”
“Unless there’s a fire,” she says with a smirk. “I still choose my phone.”
I smirk right back. “Tell me that again when all the power on Earth goes out and all we have left are pens and paper. Who will be laughing then? Oh, that’s right. Me.” I think of my favorite mug stuffed full of pens and the dozens of notebooks I keep stashed in my room. Maybe I’ve gotten just a bit carried away.
“You watch too many movies,” she says, laughing.
“Maybe. But just you wait. It’s gonna happen someday. Paper and pens forever.”
“Right . . .” Another chuckle and I grin. “And when we lose power and can’t use our electronics anymore, all we’ll want to do is sit around writing in notebooks with pens.”
I consider that a moment. “We’ll forage for food a bit, too, I’m sure.”
“Forage?” She laughs. “While we’re fighting off zombies in the meantime.”
“Just give me a weapon and I’ll take care of them. But nothing stupid like a shovel or a hoe. A real weapon. Like a sword or something. Or a gun. But then I’d have to find bullets.” I frown. “Scratch that idea.”
“A sword? Since when do people use swords?”
“Trust me. They’ll come back when the zombies come and we run out of bullets and our firearms are no good. I’ll be ready with my swords.”
She shakes her head. “That I would love to see. I bet you can’t even carry one. I bet Jack couldn’t even carry one. Do you know how heavy swords are?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
She laughs. “We’ll stick together then, you and I. Fighting off zombies with swords and writing love notes to other survivors.”
“Deal.”
Her smile is huge as we pull into the store parking lot. “Seriously, you’re officially my favorite.”
“Salem Center?” I ask as I look up at the brown building in front of us.
“Yep. Lots of stores means lots of shopping.”
“So it’s a mall then.”
“Yep.”
“Cool.”
We get out of the car and I follow her inside. As we walk through the doors, she glances at the list I’m still holding in my hand. “Now, about this list. On paper.” She smirks again. “Tell me about it.”
“Just a list of things to keep me busy this summer. Or, it’s like a . . . I don’t know what to call it. A try new things list? A summer bucket list I guess?”
“I love this! Details, details!”
“Oh. Okay. It’s kind of dumb, but—”
“No, not dumb. Nothing is dumb, besides ex-boyfriends, but we’re not gonna go there. Now spill. What’s on your list?”
I stare at her. “How many ex-boyfriends do you have?”
She shrugs, then glances at me. “A few. Maybe.”
I laugh. “Me too.”
“Anyway, enough about my nonexistent love life. Spill!”
“Okay. So, these are just things I want to try. If I get enough courage to do it. Like, meet someone new was one of them, since I didn’t have any friends here.”
“Check,” she says. “Cross that baby off. Next?” She turns into a store and starts searching through the sales racks for shirts. She holds a few up in front of the mirror on the wall, then puts them back and moves on. “So? List?”
“Oh. Um, let’s see. Do something new with my hair, or style, go swimming in the ocean at night, find a great hike, do something crazy that I’ve never done before, go to an outdoor concert . . .” My face turns red. “See? They’re stupid things. I didn’t know what else to put. Especially being in a place that’s so unfamiliar.”
“They aren’t stupid at all! We should do one today! Like the hair one. What do you want to do with it?”
“I’m not sure. It’s been long for as long as I can remember, but I’m afraid to cut it.”
“Then cut it!”
A few people look over at her since she pretty much yelled that through the store. I don’t mind, though. I don’t know them and they don’t know me.
“That makes no sense! Why would I do something if it scares me?”
“Why wouldn’t you? If people never did things that scared them, nothing would ever get done in the world.”
I nod. She has a point. “So . . . you’re saying I should cut my hair then?” I twist at my ponytail, wrapping it around my finger. What would I look like with shorter hair? Could I really go through with it? What would Mom do? I don’t know if the consequences are worth the action.
“No, I’m saying if you want to do something different, then don’t be scared of it, just do it.”
“You don’t seem like you’re scared of anything.” She doesn’t. She seems content and happy with life. Confident with who she is.
“Oh, I’m scared of things. Trust me. I’m just good at keeping my cool in front of people.”
I stand there, contemplating what I should do. Hair can grow back. If I don’t like my new style, I’ll just wear a hat the rest of the summer while it grows back. Unless it doesn’t grow as fast as I’d like.
Would I really hate a haircut that bad, though? I frown. If I hate my hair, I’ll just avoid mirrors for a year. But if I like it . . . it could be the best thing that ever happened to me.
If hair can actually be a best thing that could ever happen to someone.
I clear my throat as I make a decision. “Know any good salons?”
Mira grins and grabs my arm, pulling me along with her. “I know just the place.”
CHAPTER 11
“We must prove to the world that we are all nincompoops”
—Baroness Emmuska Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
“My Mom’s gonna kill me,” I say as Mira and I walk up the porch steps to my house.
Mira runs her hand down the back of my head and flips my hair up. “Now why would she be mad? You look amazing!”
I touch the newly cut strands of my short hair near my shoulders. “It’s so short.”
“It’s not that short. It still goes past your shoulders. Just not much.”
“She cut eight inches off!” I twist a little strand around my finger, biting my lip at the thought of Mom’s reaction. She’s gonna freak out. “And the color . . . I should have left it at just the cut and not worried about the color. I’ve never colored my hair before. Never. And then I do it without even asking her?”
“It’s only on the ends. She’ll barely notice the purple since your hair is so dark. Oh, it’s so gorgeous! I love it! What’s a summer without a little color?”
“You’re right. I do feel good. I feel . . . brave, actually. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s daring and new. Thanks for the motivation.”
“You’re welcome.” She nudges me in the side. “You big rebel, you. And those boys at the hardware store were totally checking you out.”
“Uh . . . pretty sure they were checking you out.”
She waves my comment away. “Lies. You ready to go in? Oh, you need to cross your new hair off your list. That’s two down, right?”
“Right.” I smile
, happy at how excited she is to help me with my list. I haven’t exactly told her everything on the list, only a few things. Hopefully she can help me with more of them.
“Let’s go in now. I can’t wait to see the look on your mom’s face!”
“I can,” I say with a sigh. I open the door. “Mom?”
“Oh, you’re home!” Her footsteps come from the kitchen. “Did you have—” Her voice cuts off as she stares at my hair with wide eyes. “Oh!”
“Mom . . .” I start. “It’s not permanent. I mean, it’s kind of. It stays in for at least a month. But . . . it will wash out later. I hope.”
She’s still staring, probably not listening to my rambling, then walks up to me and pulls on a strand. She studies the purple and, to my surprise, she smiles. “I like it.”
“What?” Mira and I both say at the same time. Then Mira starts laughing hysterically. “I knew I liked you, Mrs. N.!”
Mom is still studying me. “It’s a surprise, for sure, but I really like it. The pop of color is pretty.”
I stare at her, then put my hand to her forehead. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need to see a doctor or something? Where’s my mom?” I knock on her forehead. “Are you still in there?”
“What do you mean? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you think it’s totally fine that I colored my hair without talking to you first?”
She stares at me a moment. “Well, you’re getting older. You’re almost eighteen, so you can make some of your own decisions now.” She frowns. “I’m not sure you can go to school like this, though. And if you ever got a tattoo or pierced something not meant to be pierced, there would be lots of words. And lots of grounding.”
“Don’t worry about those things. I’m too scared of needles. And it’s June. I still have two months, Mom. The color won’t last that long anyway.”
“That’s good.” She hugs me. “I’m just happy you’ve found some friends. I’ve been worried about you. It’s nice to see you happy and taking some chances. Even if you really should have asked me first.”
“Mom,” I say with a groan, since Mira is still standing there, giving me a sly grin.
Mom pulls away. “I need to get back to work. You can hang out upstairs or whatever. Your room needs one more coat of paint, so don’t touch the walls.”
“Thanks,” I say. I gesture for Mira to follow me upstairs.
“But we’ll still talk about this later,” she says as she walks in the kitchen. “About a few more things we can and can’t do without asking permission from parents.”
“Great.”
I knew it was too good to be true.
CHAPTER 12
“The dearest ones of time, the strongest friends of the soul—BOOKS.”
—Emily Dickinson
The first thing Mira does when we get up to my room is stare at the disaster. When she recovers, she gestures to the books stacked in various places. “Wow, you have a lot of books.”
“Yeah. They’re usually on the bookshelves, but since we’re painting, I kind of had to move them. Sorry it’s a mess in here.”
She steps around piles of books and somehow makes it to my bed.
“No worries. You’re obviously remodeling. You should see my room.” She cringes. “Favorites?” she asks, running her fingers along the spines, stopping every now and then to pick a book out of a pile and look at the cover.
“Hmmm . . . that’s the hardest question. I have a deep love for the Harry Potter series.”
“Who doesn’t? What house?”
“I’m a Ravenclaw.”
She jerks her thumb toward herself. “Hufflepuff. All about that puff pride.”
“Oh, I’m seriously so happy right now that you know what your house is.”
“Of course I do! Who doesn’t?” She laughs. “Do you lend your books out?”
I hesitate. “I’m weird. I only lend them out to really good friends who will take care of my book babies.”
“Noted. I have a love of books, too, just not so many in my actual house. I prefer e-books.”
“Print is my jam.”
“They take up so much space, though.”
“They do, but remember when the apocalypse comes? Paper will trump technology. I don’t have to plug my books in to make them work.”
She laughs. “True, true. I still like reading them on an e-reader. You can have hundreds of them on it and e-readers aren’t as heavy, so my hand doesn’t cramp. When did you start buying all these?”
“I started collecting them a few years ago when I started really getting into reading. I have a lot of classics. I actually adore them. Well, most of them. And I do have an e-reader, but it usually just sits there and the battery runs out before I get to use it, so I always end up plugging it in and letting it run out again. I rarely remember to use it.”
She chuckles and reads the spines of my Classics pile, since I kept them all together. “Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Little Women, To Kill a Mockingbird, Black Beauty, Moby Dick. You do have a lot!” She doesn’t read the rest but continues to skim the titles. “Oooh, Anne of Green Gables!” She pulls it out of a pile on my bed and flips through it. “Obviously you haven’t liked this one.” She rolls her eyes at the worn pages.
“I adore Anne. But that one’s my mom’s old copy.”
“I’m more of a Gilbert fan myself,” she says, a sly smile on her face. “Speaking of Gilberts and all . . .” She pauses, shooting me a grin. “What do you think of Jack?”
My cheeks heat. “What?”
“Jack. You know. Cowboy hat, tall, my cousin?”
“He’s nice.”
“Nice? Well, yeah. But he’s super cute. Even though he’s my cousin, I can tell you a lot of girls like him.”
“Why do you want to know what I think of him?”
She sighs. “Jack’s had a rough year. He just needs a friend. And most of the girls his age don’t deserve someone like him. He’s a good guy, loyal to a fault and treats everyone better than they should be treated. I just want him to be happy.”
“He seems like a good guy. From what I’ve seen.” I missed hanging out with him today. Even though he’s quiet, I like when he’s there.
“He is. He’s also a Gryffindor.”
I laugh. “Is that a deal-breaker or something?”
“Maybe.” She pulls her phone out and glances at the time. “I’ve got to go. Tuesdays are always crazy for me.”
“What do you have going on?”
“Oh, nothing to worry about. I just have a meeting to get to. I’ll call you when I get home, though, okay? We were thinking about going to the beach tomorrow. Would you want to come? It will be a bunch of our friends, so you’ll get to meet new people, and I promise you can ride with me. I won’t leave you to fend for yourself.”
“Yeah, that sounds fun. I’d love to check out Oregon’s beaches. I’ve heard they’re beautiful. And I do need to go swimming in the ocean at night.”
“We’ll cross that baby off your list then!” she says, beaming. She heads toward the door. “I’ll call you later then, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll let you know what my mom says about that. She gets worried, so she may not let me go.”
“She has nothing to worry about.”
“I’ll tell her that then.” I smile.
I walk her to the door and tell her goodbye. She gets in her car and drives away.
I wonder what she had going on but know she has no obligation to tell me. We barely met two days ago.
Still, I do wonder.
I’m also curious about Jack. Why he’s had a rough year. Does he have a girlfriend? It sounds like he doesn’t, but I have no idea.
Right now, I have to convince Mom to let me go to the beach with my new friends. I’m pretty sure how that conversation’s going to go.
Not well.
CHAPTER 13
“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers,
who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.”
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment
I make sure I’m awake early and ready before Mira picks me up the next morning. After a long discussion and more painting the night before, Mom finally gave in and let me go to the beach. I just have to text her every now and then so she knows I’m safe. Which, I will be. What does she think I’m going to be doing? She’s so paranoid sometimes.
I’m just stuffing my towel in my beach bag when the doorbell rings. “I’ve got it,” I yell as I hurry downstairs. I pull open the door and my breath catches.
It’s not Mira. It’s Jack.
“Hey,” he says.
“Oh. Hey.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, embarrassed at my crazy excited door opening.
“Um . . .” He shuffles his feet. “Mira asked me to pick you up. She’s running a bit late, so we’re meeting her at Ashton’s house. There are a few other people coming with us. She probably already told you all this, huh?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “It’s okay, though.”
“I thought so. You ready to go?” He glances at the bag in my hand.
“Yeah. Just a sec.” I hurry to the kitchen where Mom sits at the counter, working on her laptop.
She looks up when I enter. She looks tired. Worried. But she smiles to make up for it. “Was that a boy I heard?”
“No. Definitely not a boy. Nope.”
“It’s that one boy. Jack, isn’t it?” She gets up, a huge smile on her face.
“No. Mom,” I hiss, panicked. I try to grab her arm to stop her, but she’s already half way across the kitchen and into the entry way before I can stop her. And what’s worse? She’s in her pajamas.
At least she’s in a good mood, I guess.
But still. She’s in her pajamas.
“Hi, Jack. I’m Lucy’s Mom. I didn’t really introduce myself the last time you were over here, since Mira and I were talking.” She shakes his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The Summer of Lost Things Page 8
