Dancing with Molly - Lena Horowitz Page 0,81
balcony outside my parents’ bedroom and watch the fireworks down the coast. You can see the display at the pier really well, and the ones in the cities just up the coast shoot off too. Last year Cam (nobody calls him Cameron except Mom) climbed onto the roof from the front porch so he could get a better view, but Mom freaked and said, CAMERON! Get. Down. This. Instant. Mom’s big on safety.
I got a lot of cool presents yesterday. Mom got me the swimsuit I tried on at the mall last week. It’s a really cute two-piece with boy shorts, and this fun, twisty top. Dad’s present to me was that he’s taking me to get my license this week. I’ve been practicing with him in the parking lot near his office at the college. He gave me a coupon for one “Full Day with Dad.” On the back it says, “Good for one driving test at the DMV, followed by a celebratory meal at the restaurant of holder’s choosing, and a $100 shopping spree/gift card to store of choice.”
He made it himself out of red construction paper and drew this funny little stick figure on the front. It’s supposed to be him. He draws curly hair on the sides of the round head so the little man is bald on top like he is. The coupon is sort of cheesy, but so is my dad. I think it’s funny. And cute.
Cam got me this journal. We’ve been going to this yoga class together, and the teacher is this woman named Marty with bright eyes who talks about her birds a lot. She told us to get a journal and spend a few minutes each day writing down our thoughts and feelings.
I just looked back at everything I’ve written, and it’s mainly thoughts. Not very many feelings. I’m not sure how I feel right now. I mean, I guess I feel fine? Happy?
No, just fine. I feel fine.
I also feel like people who have birds are sort of weird.
July 6
It’s funny that Cam bought me this journal. It’s one of those things I would never have bought for myself but secretly wanted. I don’t know how he knows that stuff. I guess that’s what older brothers are supposed to do: read your mind. I mean, who actually goes out and tries the stuff that their yoga teacher says to do outside of class?
Cam got way into yoga last summer when he had a crush on this exchange student from England named Briony—like Brian with a y. (Really? Who names their kid that?) Anyway, she wouldn’t give Cam the time of day, so when he found out that she went to this yoga class, he started going to the same one. He bought a mat and this little bag to carry it in and just happened to show up in her class like, Oh my God! Wow! What a coincidence. Briony never went out with him. I didn’t even know she’d gone back to London until I was teasing him about how he should be glad Briony didn’t do something like synchronized swimming. He was like, Briony moved back to London right after school got out.
I asked him why he was still going to yoga, and he said he really liked it. And he said I should come.
I’m not sure why I did, really. I guess I was just bored last summer. But now we go to yoga together. It’s this really great studio a block off the Promenade, and they run it on donations. You just pay what you can or what you think the class is worth. I didn’t think I’d like it at first. It was hard, and I got sweaty and slipped on my mat and couldn’t do any of the poses. But I sorta like spending time with Cam.
Who am I writing that to? It’s not like anyone is reading this but me. This is exactly how it feels when Grams asks me to pray over dinner. I feel like I’m saying all this stuff that is bouncing back at me off the ceiling and landing in the spinach salad.
Cam probably didn’t have to read my mind about wanting a journal at all. He’s really smart. His early acceptance letter to this great college up north came last week. He’s going to be a biochem major, which just makes me want to lie down on the floor and curl up in a ball. He’s a