Genuine Fraud(47)

They threw their clothes in the sand, put on sunblock, and drank from cans they took from the cooler. Imogen lay on the blanket to read. The guy collected rocks and piled them, one on top of another, to build a delicate sculpture in the sand.

Jule walked toward them. A few yards off she called: “Immie, is that you?”

Imogen didn’t turn around, but her boyfriend poked her in the shoulder. “She’s calling your name.”

“Imogen Sokoloff, right?” Jule said, coming to stand over them. “It’s me, Jule West Williams. Do you remember?”

Imogen squinted and sat up. Fumbled for her sunglasses in the mesh bag she carried and put them on.

“We were at school together,” Jule went on. “At Greenbriar.”

Immie was special to look at, Jule thought. A long neck, high cheekbones. Sun-kissed. She was skinny on top, though, and weak. “Were we really?” she asked.

“Only for part of freshman year. Then I transferred out,” said Jule. “I remember you, though.”

“Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Jule West Williams,” said Jule again. When Imogen furrowed her brow, she added: “I was a year behind you.”

Immie smiled. “Well, good to re-meet you, Jule. This is my boyfriend, Forrest.”

Jule stood there awkwardly. Forrest was adjusting his lank hair back into its bun. A copy of the New Yorker sat next to him. “You want a drink?” he asked, surprisingly friendly.

“Thanks.” Jule kneeled on the edge of the blanket and accepted a can of Diet Coke.

“You look like you’re going somewhere,” said Imogen. “With the bag, carrying your shoes.”

“Oh, I—”

“Don’t you have beach things?”

Jule thought of the most appealing thing she could say, and it turned out to be the truth. “I came on impulse,” she said. “I do that sometimes. I hadn’t planned on the beach today.”

“I have an extra bathing suit in my bag,” said Imogen, suddenly warm. “You want to go for a swim with us? I’m so effing hot, I have to get in the water now or I’ll get heat exhaustion and Forrest will have to carry me back up that long-ass path.” She ran her eyes over Forrest’s narrow body. “I don’t know if he’s up to it. So you want to swim?”

Jule raised her eyebrows. “I could take you up on that.”

Imogen pulled a bikini out of her bag and handed it to Jule. It was white and very minimal. “Wiggle it on under your skirt and we’ll meet you in the water.”

She and Forrest ran laughing into the sea.

Jule put on Imogen’s clothes for the first time.

In Immie’s suit, she dove under the waves and came up feeling miraculously happy. The day was sparkling, and it seemed impossible to be anything other than grateful for the chance to stand in the ocean, looking out at the horizon while the salt water smacked them around. Forrest and Immie didn’t talk much but rode the waves, screaming and laughing. When they tired out, they stood on tiptoe beyond where the waves broke, jumping gently and letting the water carry them up and down. “Here comes a big one.” “No, the one after is even bigger. There, see?” “Oh, damn, I almost died, but that was excellent.”

When all three of them were blue in the fingers and shivering, they returned to Imogen’s blanket, and Jule found herself in the center of it. Forrest lay on one side, wrapped in a nautical-themed towel, and Imogen lay on the other, face up to the sun and still covered in water droplets.

“Where did you go after Greenbriar?” Imogen asked.

“After they kicked me out,” said Jule, “my aunt and I left New York.”

“They did not kick you out,” Imogen said gleefully. Forrest put down his magazine.

“Oh yes, they did.” Both of them were interested now. “Prostitution,” Jule said.

Imogen’s face went dark.

“Kidding. That was a joke.”

Imogen began laughing low and slowly, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Tina whatshername used to give me wedgies and say threatening shit to me in the locker room,” said Jule. “Finally I banged her head against a brick wall. She ended up needing stiches.”

“Was she that one with the curly hair? The tall one?” asked Imogen.

“No. The shorter one who followed that one around.”

“I can’t picture her.”

“Better off that way.”

“And you banged her head against the wall?”

Jule nodded. “I’m a scrapper. You could call it a talent.”

“Scrapper?” Forrest asked.

“A fighter,” said Jule. “Not for fun, but—you know. Self-defense. Battling evil. Protecting Gotham City.”

“I can’t believe I never heard about you sending a girl to the hospital,” said Imogen.

“They kept it quiet. Tina didn’t want to talk about it because of what she did to me before I made her stop, you know? And it made Greenbriar look bad. Girls fighting. It was right before winter concert,” said Jule. “When all the parents come. They let me sing in it before they kicked me out. Remember? That Caraway girl had the solo.”

“Oh, yeah. Peyton Caraway.”

“We sang a Gershwin song.”