Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,80

sand and try not to meet her eyes. Empirically, I know this behavior expresses that I am nervous.

“I get that sometimes,” I say and take a swig of the beer. A few weeks ago I never would have touched the stuff. It’s not like I’m about to become a beer drinker or anything, but it’s nice to relax and have fun. I’m not used to it.

“You know, Scarlett’s little sister looks a lot like you. I’ve seen her before.”

“I’m not Scarlett’s sister,” I say and sip on the beer again.

Shelby raises an eyebrow.

Where is Andrew?

“I’ve met your aunt Nancy. That woman is a piece of work.”

I face Shelby directly.

“Wait a minute. You didn’t have dreads last year!” I say and slap my hand over my mouth. Damn.

“How old are you really?” she asks.

“I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks. I’m, like, eleven months younger than Scarlett.”

“Does Andrew know?”

“No. Scarlett doesn’t like to admit we’re close in age,” I say, really trying to convince her. “And in a few weeks it won’t matter.” Shelby raises an eyebrow again. I wish I were telling the truth more than I can possibly express.

“I shouldn’t have lied. I know that,” I add. “But, please keep this between us?”

“Okay, I get it,” she says. “I knew I had seen you before.”

I can’t confess the real truth to Shelby. I want to. I want to tell someone so badly.

Deep down where the truth is hiding I know I can’t tell Andrew I am Scarlett’s sister. I thought my lie about Scarlett was independent of the one about my age and MIT. I assumed that somehow it would be easier to confess that I was Scarlett’s sister—that it was safer somehow. I see now that all of these lies are connected. If Andrew finds out I’m Scarlett’s sister, he’ll tell Curtis, who will definitely tell Scarlett. It will get back to Andrew how old I am and everything will unravel.

Scarlett won’t back me up. She would never protect me.

“Why didn’t you tell Dickwad that you’re Scarlett’s sister? He’d kiss the ground you walk on,” Shelby says and nods to Curtis, who’s now standing by the shore.

I sip on the beer again. “I’ve lived in her shadow long enough.”

Andrew walks down the steep dune that leads from the parking lot. I turn to Shelby. I am sure my expression reflects that I mean what I am about to say, because my heart certainly does.

“I really don’t want to be associated with my sister,” I say. “It’s hard enough being almost the same age as her. She hates it. She hates me. So, if you could keep this between us, it would be, well, good for me. Me and Andrew,” I add.

Shelby’s eyes warm. “I have a sister too,” she says and pats my knee. “I get it.”

Andrew plops down on the sand and pulls me toward him, so I lean against his warm chest.

He kisses the nape of my neck and shivers rush down my arms. Across from us, Shelby joins Tate by the water. She picks up a shell and glances back at me. She winks, and I take this as a sign that she won’t tell.

The whole beach is lit in an orange twilight. The tops of the dunes are spotted with stars. I could walk up one, in a dream perhaps, all the way to the crest. I would stand up tall and proud and take one of those stars from the sky. Andrew’s arms squeeze around me almost as if he is reading my mind and telling me that yes, we’ll do that someday.

We’ll take a star from the sky together.

I hope there can be a “we” for a long, long time.

That’s all I can do—hope.

TWENTY-FOUR

ANDREW’S CAR DOOR SLAMS AND I SLIDE OUT too. The party left me with my head buzzing and my feet light. We’re at Andrew’s house. I step out of the truck before a traditional Cape Cod house: two stories, small, blue shingles.

“Not Seaside Stomachache,” I say.

“Star Girl, you can’t make fun of my humble abode. We’re not on Shore Road here,” he says.

“No. No. It’s perfect. Your house is perfect.”

I’m not drunk, just warm. Buzzed. Andrew’s house has a front porch with a grill sitting on it and a bunch of potted plants—most of which are dead. He unlocks the front door. I follow him inside and plop right down on a floral-patterned couch.

There are stuffed birds, ancient radios, framed vintage newspapers, and creaking floorboards, just like at home.