uncomfortable descent.
I imagine myself in the tiny space, maneuvering the hydraulic arms, taking samples, and recording data. I could make a difference in the world by what I discovered.
“Come on, Bean,” Dad calls. “We can come back later.”
“Okay,” I say and climb back down, but not without one last glance in the pod. As I step onto the shop floor, I hand the clipboard back to Rodger.
“She’s starry-eyed, Gerard. We may have another marine biologist on our hands,” Rodger says to Dad.
I shrug, but it’s surprising. I didn’t just study the specs or marvel at the engineering of the vessel this time. I’m amazed by the scientific discoveries uncovered by scientists because of the Alvin.
We pick up the boxes in the foyer and head to Dad’s office on the second floor. Last year, I wanted every little spec of the Alvin upgrade. I was obsessed with the construction of the titanium alloy and how many ports would be installed. This year, I couldn’t care less about the specs. I almost tell Dad that but don’t.
I almost explain that this year, I want to be the one to go inside and explore.
“Happy Birthday to you . . . Happy Birthday to you . . . Happy Birthday, dear Beanie. Happy Birthday to you!” Scarlett and Mom sing to me at the dinner table Friday evening. Our meal was a small roast and a few cupcakes for dessert. Nancy had to go to a Cape Cod Arts Committee meeting and Dad ended up stuck at WHOI. I split my cupcake with Mom. Scarlett has been out every single night this week, and every single night I wonder if she sees Andrew.
“So, what did you do last night?” I ask when Mom brings our dishes into the kitchen. She refuses to allow the housekeepers to help us every single night.
“Bonfire party on the beach. It was kind of lame in the end,” she says with a delicate scoop of her spoon to the top of her cupcake. She always just eats the frosting.
Lame? I would have given anything to go.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, really punctuating the ease in my voice. “How come?
Scarlett sighs and sips her coffee. She never spills. I always drink too fast and accidentally dribble down whatever I am wearing.
“Because all the tourist girls come and throw themselves at the lifeguards. It’s pathetic. And because the tourists are so loud, the cops find out and we have to break the party up. If it hadn’t been for Andrew, some of us could have gotten into trouble.” I perk up at Andrew’s name.
“What could you get in trouble for?” I ask.
“For underage drinking. Hello, most of us aren’t twenty-one. And none of the desperate tourists are either.”
“Aren’t we considered tourists? We only come to Nancy’s house in the summer.”
“We have a history here. And I come out way more than just the summers. We know the locals. Or I do, anyway. The tourists don’t know about the good spots so they latch on to us for the fun parties.”
Us.
I don’t have an “us” except for Ettie and the Pi Naries.
My suggestion to go to touristy Nauset Light seems so stupid now. I should have let Andrew pick the spot. Mom comes back in but brings her coffee to the couch, flipping through a Projo, as she usually does every single evening.
The rules that Andrew mentioned gnaw at me. I haven’t had a chance to research because Mom has been job searching.
“So,” I say slowly and concoct a believable story. “Ettie asked me how long she should wait to call a boy if he gives you his number.” Act casual.
“Ha, a boy gave Ettie his number?” Scarlett scoffs and stands up.
Scarlett considers me. “Forget it,” I say.
“You always make a boy wait two days. At least. Or he’ll think you’re desperate.” She brings her plate to the sink. “I need to get ready for tonight,” she says.
“I want to know exactly where you’ll be, Scarlett,” Mom calls.
Once Scarlett is gone, I slap my hand to my forehead.
Andrew must think I’m completely desperate.
What took you so long? he had said. I slap my forehead again.
Two days? I had waited eight hours to call.
TEN
“SO,” I SAY TO MOM AND LEAN OVER THE SIDE OF the couch. “I’m going to go to the beach tonight. The comet is set to come through on July third. A field dress rehearsal is crucial so close to the execution of the actual experiment.”
“Sure,” Mom says. She scrolls through