Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,65
over my shoulder and laughs so the woman can’t see and we escape back out to the street. Hundreds of beach chairs litter the green. Red balloons hover and sway from the pillars of the gazebo and it smells like cotton candy and popcorn. Little carts are scattered about the field and the same lady who has sold the neon, glow-in-the-dark bracelets for years is still here, selling them for fifty cents.
People have been saving their seats since breakfast, so we walk through a maze of beach chairs and picnic blankets. We head back toward Main Street where we finally find a vacant bit of grass by the stone wall. The wall separates the field from the main road. I sit closest to the wall but lean back on my hands. Claudia and Chelsea sit across from me in the boys’ laps.
“What’s Rhode Island like?” Gabe asks. “Never been, only drive through every year.”
“It’s exactly like Connecticut,” Claudia says before I can answer. “I’m from Old Lyme,” she adds.
“That’s, like, ten minutes from me,” I say. We share a smile and I immediately hope we can hang out in the fall.
“Do you come every summer?” Will asks me.
I’m not sure what to say exactly, I don’t want it to seem like I don’t have friends here. I want them to think I have tons of options for tonight. But at the same time I want them to hang out with me.
“Yeah, it’s fun,” I say, “but there are no parties so I’m bored a lot.” As I am talking, I feel ridiculous. This isn’t me, but they are captivated. I throw my hair back again and it’s so long it touches the grass.
“God. I couldn’t care less about parties,” Claudia says.
“At home it’s just the basketball players barfing in the field near the 7-11,” Chelsea adds. “Claud and I don’t even go.”
She doesn’t go?
Claudia tells us about her theater company in Old Lyme and her role as both Dorothy last winter in The Wizard of Oz and the lead in Cabaret in the spring. We move from the grass up to the stone wall because we can’t see the band and a woman nearby changes her baby’s diaper. The whole field is swarming with people.
My cell reads eight thirty. I glance down Main Street toward the Goosehead Tavern. No red pickup.
“So I guess I’ll audition for Our Town this year, but I really love musical theater,” Claudia explains. I’m still surprised that she’s not a Becky Winthrop type, a cheerleader or party girl.
I would never have approached these girls, never would have believed we could have had a thing in common.
Dad is totally right. I do assume. I thought I had Claudia figured out but I never gave her a chance.
I make a point to listen.
“What about you? Where’s your boyfriend?” Claudia asks. “You were pretty dressed up the other night to see him at that party.”
“Oh, him. What do I need a boyfriend for?” I say and shrug. “Guys take up too much of my time.”
Claudia and Chelsea laugh. Chelsea nudges Will in the ribs. “She’s smart. I should lose you.”
“I make them think I like them,” I say. “I’m sort of seeing this guy and I guess we’re ‘seeing where it goes.’” I make air quotes. “I’m not into the blond hair, blue eyes look,” I say, remembering the talk with Scarlett. “But I do love his body. So, he’ll do for right now, I guess.” I add a shrug.
The group snickers and holds their hands over their mouths. Claudia and Chelsea focus on something behind me and Gabe gestures for me to turn around.
But I know. I immediately know because this is too much like a movie. No, it’s not a movie, it’s Murphy’s Law. My gut clenches.
Andrew is frowning but flinches, shaking himself out of the moment.
I hop down from the stone wall onto Main Street.
“Andrew,” I say, because more complex sentences seem hard right now. “This is Claudia, Chelsea, Will, and Gabe.” I’m all breathy and high-pitched.
Andrew simply nods and gives a polite smile.
“We’re going to watch the fireworks on Nauset Light,” I squeak. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Claudia.”
Claudia and her group say good-bye and stifle their own laughter. Andrew and I walk together, but he’s silent. I want to say I’m sorry immediately. Actually, I want to curl in on myself, into a little ball. I could be daring and take his hand, but he keeps his in his pockets.