Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,94

with Andrew: fried fish and seawater. I walk across the parking lot, replaying the memory of my skinny-dip in the ocean. At the docks, tourists take pictures of a couple of seals poking their little whiskered noses out of the shallow water.

Andrew jumps down from the boat to the dock and kisses me quickly.

“Attention whores,” Andrew says about the seals.

“Shameless,” I reply. Just tell him. It’ll be easy. You can stall on the MIT thing for just a bit longer.

Sweat beads on the top of his lip and he takes off a baseball hat covering his matted down hair. He wipes his forehead.

“We’re taking off in a few minutes,” he says. On cue, there are a couple high-pitched beeps, the motors go, and engine smoke billows from the back of the boat. “Just going in the local harbor. With the tropical storm we have to reinforce some lobster traps.”

Across the docks, the seals have ducked back under the water. I hope they swim out into the harbor where it’s safe.

“About tonight,” I say. “The party at my aunt’s house . . .”

“Oh, yeah, I have to go to that girl’s party tonight too. You just reminded me. I lost the invitation in Curtis’s Jeep, like, a month ago.”

“Yes, about that. My sister—”

“Andrew!” one of the guys calls from the boat and raises his hands in the air. “Come on!”

The boat pulls forward and a couple of the guys throw the line from the dock and jump aboard.

He kisses me quickly on the cheek. “The lobsters are calling. I’ll come by your house after this other thing. Ten thirty? I’ll sneak you out if I have to.”

I want to tell him so badly it makes my throat ache.

“Ten thirty,” I whisper.

He jumps from the dock to the boat, just making it within seconds.

“Good-bye!” Andrew calls out dramatically. He hangs off the boat like a guy in a Broadway musical. A chorus of male voices mock Andrew.

“Good-bye, fair lady! Good-bye, Maiden Sarah! I shall see you when I return to port,” some of the fishermen screech. A couple others hold their hands over their hearts. Six or seven guys, all in fishing gear, call my name and for the moment, I’m the princess of the docks. The princess who did not tell him what she needed to, the girl who has a mouthful of truth that she couldn’t say.

TWENTY-NINE

FOR THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON, I WALKED throughout town practicing all the ways I was going to tell Andrew about Scarlett. None of them sounded right.

Already a couple varieties of catering trucks and the usual smattering of BMWs and Mercedes make a small line in front of Nancy’s house. As I walk up the steps of Seaside Stomachache, I recount my plan. First, I am changing into the black dress.

Second, I will get Andrew cornered and tell him about Scarlett. The party should be too busy for him to find out my age. I can keep him distracted from that conversation. Yeah, that sounds perfect. An hour should be enough to make Nancy happy and—

“Bean!” Mom says when I walk in the door. “Oh good. You’re here.” I’m amazed she noticed I was gone, but this isn’t a typical day for Mom. “We need to take pictures in ten minutes.”

It smells like garlic and cooking spices.

In Mom’s hand is the cupcake dress.

Nancy steps up behind her. “I cannot believe how late you are.” Nancy wears a white dress that resembles a huge marshmallow.

Mom shoves the cupcake dress in my hands and the tulle scratches at my arms.

“Go up and get ready!” Nancy says and waddles away into the kitchen.

Waiters dressed in white button-down shirts and black pants shine the silver in the kitchen.

Mom puts a pair of gold studs in her ears.

“Your sister is getting dressed now; check on her, will you?”

I nod and look at the time. Six o’clock. The party is due to start in thirty minutes.

I climb the rest of the stairs to my room. I don’t want to check on my sister. She can take care of herself.

I lay the dress down on my bed—thar she blows. The tiered pink dress with enough tulle and padding to protect me in a motorcycle accident. I lift it from the hanger and stop at the full-length mirror behind my door. I let flashes of last night ooze through my mind. Our bodies under the warm sheets. Andrew touches me until I am writhing on the bed. Tugging and touching and placing