say they’re falling in love? When they feel it with their body and their heart? I realize the heart is an organ, but this has got to be what they mean.
I cannot think of oral sex while sitting in the car next to my father. Think of Jim. Jim Morrison facts. First song, “Moonlight Drive.” Zodiac sign? Sagittarius.
“So are you ready?” Dad asks, and my head whips to him.
“For what?”
“Waterman Scholarship? Think you have a shot at defeating Tucker?”
“Definitely,” I say, and the moment I see Tucker in my mind, I am sure. “Oh yeah. I have a shot.”
My stomach drops.
I should have been prepared. I knew this would happen. But it still sucks.
I come to a complete stop in the maintenance shop doorway. The Alvin. My Alvin has been completely disassembled. Strewn into hundreds of specific piles, the Alvin is categorized throughout the room in black and white lettering. Dozens of marine biologists in white lab coats walk through the maintenance shop talking to one another and making notations on their clipboards. So much for a holiday.
A side panel lies on the floor; it’s a piece of the Alvin, which makes up the body of the machine. In my mind, Andrew runs his fingers along the titanium.
Rodger seemingly comes out of nowhere and joins me at my side.
“It’ll take all summer,” we say almost in perfect unison.
I want to walk around the room, pick up all the metal parts, and hold the Alvin’s guts to me. The top of my toes almost touch the pile of viewports, the twelve-inch portals the scientists look through into the underwater world. I squat down and as my fingers graze the acrylic plastic, Dad says my name.
We head toward his lab on the second floor and I wave good-bye to Rodger before disappearing behind the double doors.
“You know you don’t absolutely have to help me catalog today. You could celebrate. Go to town. I think I saw some people your age hanging around in the café.”
“I don’t know them, though. And I don’t think they’d want to hang out with me,” I say as I follow behind Dad up the stairs to his office.
“Why would you automatically assume that they don’t want to hang out with you? That you have done something wrong?”
I don’t assume that.
Do I? Do I assume people don’t want to spend time with me before actually checking to see if they do? I’ve never actually sat with Becky Winthrop or any of her friends. With Andrew I have been pretending to be like Scarlett because I assumed he wouldn’t want to hang out with me. It’s true. He liked me at least initially because of the Scarlett Experiment. People purposefully spend their time with my sister. I have one best friend and one former boyfriend. That’s it.
“I don’t assume that people don’t like me,” I say under my breath.
I follow Dad into the air-conditioned office. I sit down at the desk and Dad plops a binder before me. I was surprised Claudia wanted to talk to me. Maybe other people have invited me to do things and I’ve said no before giving it a chance. Maybe all of this is my fault, just not in the way I thought.
You watch the world, Bean.
Tucker’s right. I do watch the world. I do assume.
I do all of those things—alone.
NINETEEN
ME: Happy Fourth of July!
During our Fourth of July barbecue, I send a text to Claudia. It’s weird, I’ve never been nervous to send a message to a girl who could become one of my friends. Girls like Claudia, the ones who always know what to wear and what to say to guys, don’t usually want to talk to a science girl like me.
My phone chimes.
CLAUDIA: We’re in town already. Text me when you get here.
I text below the table so Nancy can’t see. She’s been making small comments lately whenever my phone beeps or chimes.
“I love this barbecue sauce,” Mom says and licks the tips of her fingers. She hums a little as she eats, stopping only to pop another piece of chicken in her mouth. The wind breezes through Nancy’s small barbecue party. We’re outside in the backyard. I’m in a short skirt and black tank top. The skirt is mine, which means it’s fifty thousand years old and too short. The tank top is Scarlett’s. Nothing I own has spaghetti straps.
We sit at the edge of the property at a table that Nancy imported from some company in Maine. Apparently,