Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,15

mouth. He even dips her. He’s tall, with shaggy hair that would have been dark had it not been lightened by the sun. The way the boys look at Scarlett and her friends you’d think they were hungry or something.

She pushes him back with a laugh. “Get off!” she says. “Don’t even. I am not slumming it this summer, Curtis.” Scarlett saunters away from the boys, but Curtis, the brown-haired guy, grabs her hand and pulls her back.

“I’m only joking, Miss Scarlett. Come to Lighthouse Beach; we’re starting a bonfire.”

Scarlett runs a hand through her hair so it fans out on her shoulders and back. She does that all the time and especially loves to do that when her hair has been up in a bun. It gets tons of looks from guys. I’ve seen it. Okay, so I guess I need to excessively play around with my hair.

Scarlett looks to her friends, who I can see even in the reflection of the window, are dying to go with Curtis and his friends. Hell, I am dying to go and I’m across the street. Her friends look at Scarlett, eyes wide, waiting for her to make the executive decision.

“Okay. Fine. But do not bring that crappy light beer again. I’m strictly drinking vodka this summer.” Scarlett side glances one of her friends. “I need to watch my calories,” she adds with a shrug. Okay, good. This is a clear, observable behavior I’ve seen Scarlett do. If I act like I don’t care, or show disinterest when I am actually interested, people will think I am even more interesting.

This is complicated.

Curtis agrees to grab some vodka and runs into the liquor store a few buildings down from where we stand.

This gives me time to find a different vantage point before she crosses the road to where Curtis’s Jeep is waiting.

The side street that runs down to Main is very steep. I turn the corner and run up so I am looking down on Main Street, just where Scarlett is standing. A couple of ladies head into the diner, the Bird’s Nest, which is next to Pleasantries.

I lean against the building and keep checking for Scarlett and her group of friends to cross the intersection to the Jeep.

I slip out a flip notebook from my pocket. I scribble down some Scarlett observations underneath those from the beach earlier today:

1. Scarlett’s confidence seems to be the biggest influence. Zebra bikini. Asks for boys to tote her around because she knows they will say yes.

2. Toss hair around.

3. If you act like you’re not interested in people they will actually be more interested in you.

Scarlett can just throw her shoulders back and not care what people think. I’m only confident when recounting things like the complex theories of black holes.

A red truck pulls up the side street from Main and stops just beyond me at the top of the hill. A sticker on the back of the rusted bumper says, “If the Doors of Perception Were Cleansed, Everything Would Appear to Man as It Is—Infinite.”—William Blake.

Who the hell is William Blake?

“I thought you were paying!” Scarlett’s voice carries up the hill.

Curtis must have come back with the vodka. They are going to pass before me any second. I tuck deeper behind the Bird’s Nest Dumpster and peek around to look down the street. I guess this vantage point isn’t so great after all. A door closes from the pickup behind me and a familiar frame gets out of the car. I think—I think it’s the blond guy from the beach? The one who laughed and smiled at me. He carries a shirt or a team jersey in his hand.

The guy ties the arms of the shirt around the tree so it seems to be hugging the bark. It’s not that dark out with the street lamps, but I have to squint. He presses his palm onto the tree trunk and after a moment bows his head and brings his other hand to cover his eyes. His back shudders.

It clicks—he’s crying. I immediately put away my notebook. It’s wrong to be watching this. This is a very private moment and I should not be here. I step out from behind the Dumpster to hurry down Main Street, away from this guy, and leave him to his privacy. The damn flip-flops crunch on something and echo loudly in the little alley. I try to make a run for it, but my foot shoots out from under