Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,26

and out of breath. I can barely look at my sister. She must be loving this.

Nancy motions to the kitchen help for our plates to be cleared away. “It’s cloudy tonight,” she says. “How are you going to track a comet in these conditions? What else are you going to do?”

“Dad, how could you make that decision for me?” My voice shakes.

“We thought it might be nice,” he says. I hate that he actually believes that. Does he know me at all?

“I hate large groups.” I will not cry in front of Nancy and make her case even stronger.

“You need new experiences,” Nancy insists.

“Give the dance a try, Beanie,” Mom says, taking a bite of carrots. I finally succumb to my sister for help. She isn’t smirking like I thought she would be.

She presses her lips together and looks back and forth between Nancy, Mom, and Dad.

“Tell them how lame school dances are,” I beg. I haven’t ever been to a dance on the Cape, but if it is anything like the dances at Summerhill, I can only imagine. I went to last year’s Snowflake Formal with Tucker and we spent the whole time making fun of everyone. “Please?” I say with my teeth clenched.

“They are kinda lame,” Scarlett concedes, and I could hug her and her white, bunny teeth.

“See? Even Scarlett thinks they suck!”

“And everyone who goes is really young,” she adds.

“See?!” I accidentally gesture wildly and my palm smacks the table. The silver and glassware shake. “Oops,” I mumble.

Nancy’s lips pucker tight.

My knee jumps up and down. I stop it by pressing down on my kneecap.

“We thought it would be fun,” Mom says, and Nancy breathes heavily through her nose. “You don’t need to get so upset. Don’t go if you don’t want to.”

Thank the heavens.

“What about wearing white to my party, Nancy? All white?” Scarlett suggests, and I know she’s changing the subject for me.

Nancy takes a second to reply but can’t help herself. “We can’t have red wine if everyone wears white.”

I cannot believe they were going to force me to go to that dance. They think I’m still a little kid. That they can just make decisions for me and I won’t even argue.

You should call me sometime, Star Girl.

Andrew didn’t think I was a kid.

After dessert, I leave Mom and Nancy in the living room to talk about dress codes and canapés. Dad is working at the kitchen table, and Scarlett was gone before dessert was cleared. I didn’t get to say thank you. I reach in my pocket and slide out my cell phone. Andrew’s phone number shines in the darkened stairwell.

I think you should call me.

My cell phone sits in the palm of my hand. With Andrew, it was easy to be like Scarlett. Too easy, actually. I was independent; I was cool.

I make it up to my bedroom, shut the door, and lock it behind me. I sit in the window seat and peer down onto Shore Road.

The only lights on the street outside Seaside Stomachache are from Nancy’s porch and a couple of street lamps.

Downstairs it’s Discovery Channel reruns, party talk, and questions about the Waterman Scholarship. Scarlett is out in town somewhere, having a great time. I wish I were with her, or Ettie, or even the girls trying on sunglasses from the Seahorse the other night.

I wonder what Tucker is doing and grip the cell phone tightly.

I am not going to spend my summer in my bedroom alone while Tucker makes out with Becky Winthrop all over Rhode Island.

Scarlett is living the life she wants. I want to live the life I want. In the spirit of the Scarlett Experiment, I am calling Andrew. It’s what Scarlett would do—it’s what she would do to have a life outside the walls of this house.

I dial Andrew’s number.

Eek! It rings. Once . . . twice. Oh God. Maybe I should hang up?

“Hello?” a voice says through the receiver. There is music and chatter in the background.

“H-hi.” I stand up from the window seat. Somehow, I need to be standing for this conversation. A chaos of voices and music echoes through the cell phone. “This is Sarah.” I have to raise my voice for him to hear me but try to keep the sound from traveling by turning my back to my bedroom door. “From today? At the beach?”

“Star Girl,” he says. His voice is happy, like he’s smiling. “What took you so long?”

“So long? We met this afternoon,” I say.

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