Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,55
is a guy in the tightest pair of leather pants I’ve seen since Mom took me to a Broadway play in New York City.
He’s hot, too. If you like that longhaired, tight pants, amazing mouth thing. Tucker does not have any of that. Actually, neither does Andrew. Well, except for the amazing mouth.
“Jim Morrison!” Mom says later that evening. She sits next to Dad and her tea steams next to a book on résumés. “I was too young, but Gran loved him.”
“Gran?” Granny Levin likes dried herbs hanging upside down in her kitchen and tie-dye T-shirts.
“Yeah, Gran went to a bunch of their concerts.”
It is necessary I speak to Gran about “swim to the moon.” I think she’ll like that phrase. I can tell her a little about Andrew. Just like I did with Ettie, I’ll leave out the part about his age.
I am supposed to call her and Gracie once a week. But because she’s been at her silent meditation retreat, I haven’t been able to. The fact that she’s spent seven days not speaking to Gracie seems impossible to me.
As I walk to the telephone to call Gran anyway, Mom’s phone chimes.
I am dialing on Nancy’s portable house phone when Mom says, “Looks like Tucker isn’t coming to the party. You’ll get your wish after all.”
I freeze and draw a quick breath. I grip the phone hard. My index finger hovers over the last few digits of Gran’s number.
So that’s it. Tucker really isn’t changing his mind about us breaking up. I hate that in some sick way, I thought he would and I was, even for a second, excited about it. It’s like Tucker’s decision not to come to the party is another jab to hurt me. Coward. He doesn’t want to see me and have to own up to what he did behind my back. He probably thinks I’m still crying. He’s probably pitying me right now.
“Beanie? Did you hear about Tucker?” Mom says.
“It’s completely fine,” I say and clear my throat. “Totally and completely fine.”
I dial the last of Gran’s number with a slam of the keys.
“Fine, huh?” Mom says with a slight smile.
I head out to the patio and close the door so she can’t hear me.
Even though Gran has a couple days left on her retreat, when she gets home, she’ll listen to her messages and call me and we can talk about Andrew. I want to hear her voice even if it’s on a message machine.
It rings three times and I hear Gran’s familiar honey tone.
“This is Jean and Gracie. I hate these things.”
“We hate, dear. We,” Gracie’s voice says.
“We hate these things, so make it quick. If you’re selling something, our answer is no.”
“Gran,” I say into the receiver. “It’s Bean. When you can speak again we gotta talk Jim Morrison. I have discovered him and his leather pants. Call your granddaughter.”
I don’t say anything about Andrew on the message because if Gran hears me mention a new guy, that might mess up her silence. I don’t want to tempt her back into the world of noise.
I head up to my room for Comet Jolie position charts. My math must be exact to impress the scholarship committee—each epoch marks a moment that the comet has traveled. Consistency is key. I will punch in the coordinates and the telescope will slew to that spot in the sky. If it doesn’t match the exact location I determined—even if it’s a mere degree higher than what I calculated—all of my observations will be for nothing.
Everything I’ve been working for will be on the line out on Nauset Light Beach, the night of the perihelion.
This scholarship is my ticket out of Nancy’s vice grip. My ticket to show Tucker that he can’t win.
Maybe this is actually my ticket to a real future at MIT. Maybe one day, my lie will be my real life.
That night, after downloading a Doors album, I lie down in the darkness and listen to “Moonlight Drive.” I rub some of Mom’s lotion over my legs. My bed is comfy, the rain taps the skylights, and I stare up at the thousands of drops running down the glass. Scarlett has perfect skin. She’s always putting on some lotion or cream, so they must do something.
Let’s swim to the moon . . .
Beep. I think I hear something over the music in my headphones. Beep. Oh! It’s my cell phone.