late, but it could be an important night.”
Mom shrugs. “Sure,” she says.
Seriously? That’s it?
“Great!” I say. “And I was sort of wondering if I could come back a little later. You know? Like, eleven?”
I check the clock: 9:40. Scarlett’s barely been at the party an hour.
Mom is quiet, her eyes focused on the page. She’s considering this so I talk fast.
“Because the darker it is, the better the view of the night sky. And I’ll bring my cell phone and—”
“Bean, make sure to put your presents up in your room?” Mom asks, her hand on the next page of her book. She still hasn’t looked up at me for more than a few seconds. I blink a couple times. She isn’t considering my curfew—not at all. “I don’t want to hear it from Nancy,” she adds.
The moonlight shines through the panoramic windows and all I see is the harbor in the distance. I don’t want to look at Mom because I don’t want to see her not looking at me.
“I think it’s fine if you research tonight,” she says.
“I’ll make sure to be here at eleven. On the dot.”
“See you then,” Mom says, nose still in the book. She isn’t coming up for air, she and Dad have that in common when they are engrossed in something they like.
I decide to run with this good fortune. I snatch the dress and sneak up the stairs. As I pass Scarlett’s bedroom and make my way to the third floor, an uneasiness nibbles at me. As I close the door to my bedroom and tuck the tag into the inside of the dress, that feeling I had at Viola’s dress shop prickles over me again. The one when Nancy and Mom decided on ballet flats without even checking to see what kind of shoes I would want for the party. The uneasiness lingers as I zip up the dress and pull my hair back into a low ponytail. Only when I call out, “See you guys in a bit! I have my cell!” does it float away. I hate when I can’t pinpoint my emotional reactions.
I have a Scarlett Levin plan in place: I stash pajamas in a bag under an Adirondack chair. At midnight, I’ll walk around the back of the house, grab my PJs, change in the darkness of the patio, and come inside. I grab a little black sweater from the front closet. I think it might even be Mom’s. I send Andrew a text.
ME: Where did you say this party was?
ANDREW: Are you coming!?
ME: Maybe. Trying to get out of family stuff.
ANDREW: Break Away Café. Want me to get you?
I can’t tell him to leave and get me yet. Scarlett could be there and I have to try to scope it out first. Break Away is the bistro that overlooks the runway at the tiny Orleans airport. It’s literally about four blocks away. It’s definitely walkable.
Crap. I forgot the actual restaurant is on the second floor. I won’t be able to scope it out first to see if Scarlett is there. Whatever. I’ll improvise.
I tiptoe over the gravel in Nancy’s driveway. It crunches beneath the flat bottoms of my sandals.
I move as fast as I can in this tight dress.
I turn onto Mooring Street, where the Break Away is located. I pass by a group of girls sitting on top of a picnic table outside of the country store. I know those girls. I recognize the one with the long black hair. These were the girls in the Seahorse. They wave at me, so I stop. I could go over—they’re smiling.
I pull my sweater over my shoulders and the click of my sandals on the pavement stops at the edge of the sidewalk.
“I like your dress,” one of the girls says. She is small with a shock of short platinum hair.
“Did you ever get that necklace?” the girl with the black hair asks. I’m surprised that she remembers me.
“Thanks. It’s my sister’s. And no, not yet. I want that necklace, though; it’s amazing, right?”
“Definitely.”
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“Meeting up with some guys we talked to on Nauset Beach.”
I could see myself hanging out with them.
“Nice,” I say. The girl with the black hair seems like she can talk to boys on the beach without needing to wear her sister’s American flag string bikini. She probably has her own.
“I’m meeting a friend at a party,” I say. “Well, I guess he’s more than a friend.”
The girls ooh