Surfside Sisters(18)
Jasper Childs was a good guy, low-key, undemanding. Keely felt comfortable with him. Isabelle and Jeff and Keely and Jasper hung around in a clump, and when people started dancing at the edge of the water, the four of them took off their shoes and danced, too, slipping and tilting in the cold sand, singing with the music, laughing for no reason. Some couples wandered away from the bonfire, into the darkness. Isabelle and Keely spun away from the guys and danced with each other, waving their arms, screaming and laughing. While other students slid into the shadows to smoke pot or get drunk, Keely and Isabelle existed in their own personal high, as if they were moving within the eye of a hurricane, as if they were causing the hurricane, they were so happy, so alive, it was their own spirits that whirled around them and into the night, filling the air with jubilation.
* * *
—
The day before Thanksgiving, school let out at noon. Half the families were traveling off island, the other half of the island families were preparing to meet friends and relatives at the ferries.
The ocean had turned a dark, forbidding navy blue. The wind seemed to need to push harder to swell the surly water. Keely and Isabelle walked home, kicking at the last scarlet leaves scattered like tapestries on the ground.
“So,” Keely said casually, “when does Sebastian get here?”
“He doesn’t,” Isabelle answered. “He’s going to his girlfriend’s uncle’s house in the Berkshires.”
“His girlfriend.”
“Yeah, Ebba. They’ve been a couple since the beginning of October. He’s going to bring her into New York when we go down for Christmas.”
“Oooh, sounds serious.” Keely made her voice light, jokey. She wanted to fall to her knees and howl.
“He’s a freshman. It’s probably intense but I doubt if it’s serious.”
Keely dug her fingernails into her palms. She felt like a wounded wolf. She needed to growl, to bite. “Sort of like how you feel about Tommy.”
Isabelle rounded on Keely. “No. Not like that at all, and you know it. I’m in love with Tommy.”
“He hasn’t even asked you out, Isabelle.”
“He will. He’s mine. I know it. I can wait.”
Keely kicked at a pile of leaves, making them flutter up and drift back in place. “You’re a little bit crazy.”
“Hey,” Isabelle joked, “it’s part of the job description of adolescence, right?”
At Fair Street, they parted ways, heading home to do homework. Keely managed a bright smile as she walked away from Isabelle, but inside, her emotions raged like little kids did when they sat in shopping carts and their poor beleaguered moms didn’t let them have candy.
So Sebastian was dating Ebba.
It would have been nice if he’d emailed her to tell her so she could let go of her hope.
She’d been a fool, anyway, to believe Sebastian had romantic feelings for her.
No, she hadn’t been a fool! Sebastian had started it. He’d been—he was a total rat.
She hated him. No, she wouldn’t waste her time hating him. She would forget about him.
* * *
—
Keely’s mother worked all holidays so that nurses with small children could have the time off. Keely’s father didn’t mind. Friends invited him and Keely to their house for Thanksgiving dinner. Keely was happy to sleep late, loll in bed, reading something that had nothing to do with school.
That was what her father thought she was doing.
Keely was on the floor, weeping. She stuffed her old teddy bear’s arm in her mouth to stifle the sounds of her sobs. Hope about Sebastian was a ship on the horizon, sailing out of sight. Without it, Keely was alone, on the empty island that was her life. She felt about Sebastian the way Isabelle felt about Tommy—he belonged to her. But the truth was, her feelings, her silly adolescent infatuation, didn’t matter at all.
She increased the volume on her music—Enya, whose songs were mystical and full of courage. Keely let the music pour through her, wash her clean, surround her with light. She played the same CD over and over again. She wept for hours, until she was afraid she would vomit, until her eyes burned, until her head ached, until her heart was empty.
She stood up. She was exhausted. She clicked off the music and fell on her bed. Sleep bathed her in a pool of calm.
That evening, she showered and dressed and went with her father to the O’Reillys’. They had a twelve-year-old girl who adored Keely, which was both cute and irritating. Keely forced herself to be “normal,” pleasant, polite.
When Keely and her father went home, Keely went straight to her room and shut the door.
Later, her father tapped lightly on her bedroom door.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad. Just tired.”
A moment of silence. “Call me if you need anything. I’m just watching football.”
“I will. Thanks, Dad.”
Keely heard him walk away and thought what a good father he was. He was present for her, and he was sensitive, not intruding on her when she hid in her room. He was a good man, her father. He was solid, sound, strong. Someday perhaps Keely would meet her own good man. Until then, she would channel every drop of pain and sadness into her writing. She would make good grades, great grades, she would focus on getting a scholarship, she would get off this island and go to college and out into the real world.