Surfside Sisters(10)
And, shamed to put it in black and white, she wrote about her envy of Isabelle, who was popular with all the girls in every grade, even though Isabelle said it was only because Sebastian was her brother.
Keely and Isabelle and the Smart Girls sometimes went places with a bunch of guys—to the movies at the Dreamland, to beach parties on autumn nights, to talks at the library. Out for pizza. Up to Boston to visit the MFA and see a play, with adult supervision, of course. Sledding at Dead Horse Valley at night, with a full moon.
Keely waited every day for a phone call from Sebastian, maybe asking if she liked the book. It never came. She even, hopelessly, ridiculously, checked the snail mail every day—nothing. She lingered in the school halls, hoping to run into him, but no such luck. She spent more time than ever at the Maxwell house, but Sebastian was always out—soccer practice, swim team, basketball practice. When she did catch a glimpse of him in his house, he quickly said, “Hey,” before running down the stairs and out the door. She didn’t know what to think. Why would Sebastian bring her a present and then ignore her?
Maybe he had liked her, just a little, but now he was a senior, dating popular senior girls.
During the long Christmas break, Mr. Maxwell took his family to New York to see all the new plays. The old familiar jealousy stung Keely. She didn’t care about Europe that much, but how she longed to see New York, the city packed skyscraper to skyscraper with writers, editors, and publishing houses!
She shoved away the jealousy and allowed herself to enjoy the familiar traditions in her own home. Her parents rarely had free time, but the Christmas season was one they cherished. Two weeks before Christmas, the Greens had a tree-decorating party, with friends of all ages enjoying eggnog—spiked and natural—and bacon-wrapped scallops and pumpkin spice cookies. Christmas Eve they watched Home Alone, which never got old. They raced off to church for the “midnight service,” which started at ten-thirty and made Keely cry (quietly) at the laurel-decked sanctuary and the soaring hymns. Christmas morning they opened presents, nothing surprising now that Keely could no longer be thrilled by the sight of a doll or a bike, but a fun tradition all the same. Of course Keely received books. She helped her mother stuff the turkey and set it in the oven. For the rest of the day, the three of them did exactly what they wanted, where they wanted. Her father watched football on the living room television. Her mother luxuriated in bed, watching the Hallmark Channel. Keely curled up in her own bed, reading. She thought they were like a kind of bee family, each with its own cozy spot in the same honeycomb. The family sat formally at the table to eat the extravagant turkey dinner, but her father ate his pumpkin pie in front of the TV. It was a lazy, cozy, luxurious time, when Keely felt as safe as a little bear cuddled by her parents in a warm cave.
Real life resumed December 26. Friends called, came to her house, took her to their house for marathon games of Monopoly or poker. Or they all went to the Dreamland to see a new movie. If a winter blizzard roared over the island—and everyone wanted one to come—they piled on their warmest coats and boots and went out to the beach to scream with the howling wind.
* * *
—
“Sebastian is disgusting!” Isabelle snarled as she and Keely walked home from school. It was spring of their sophomore year, when they needed coats in the early morning but not in the afternoon.
“Why, because he’s dating Sherry?” Keely suspected what Isabelle would say, but she knew Izzy needed to vent.
Also, she needed to know that it was true. If it was really happening.
“Because he’s having sex with Sherry!”
Her breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to act nonchalant. “Give the guy a break. He’s seventeen.”
“I don’t care. I don’t like her. I hate it when he brings her to eat dinner with us! I can’t believe my parents allow it. They’ve got to know what’s going on!”
Keely wanted to weep. Ever since last summer when Sebastian gave her the book, she’d expected something else to happen between them. Something romantic. And he had kissed her. Twice! Once on the forehead and once—it made her shiver to remember—on the mouth.
“He’s just a normal guy,” Keely said dismissively. “What can you expect?”
“At the least, I’d expect him to date someone smart.”
Keely laughed. “Yes, because that’s what guys like in a girl. Come on, Isabelle, you’ve seen Sherry in the girls’ locker room. She’s got enormous breasts!”
“Oh, you’re disgusting, too!” Isabelle fumed. “I’m not going to get all hung up on some guy. I’m going to concentrate on my writing.”
“Me, too.” Keely noticed the Andersons’ yard, strewn with daffodils. She nudged Isabelle. “Pretty.”
Isabelle couldn’t be bothered about someone’s yard. “It’s the way Sherry twinkles her fingers at me in the hall. As if she thinks I like her. SO not true!”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Keely said, rolling her eyes at herself for using an expression her parents used, although in this case it was kind of pertinent. “School will be out soon. You and your family and your precious Sebastian”—she blushed just speaking his name—“will be traveling off in France somewhere.”