The Rest of the Story(82)

I looked back at my dad, who was now sitting with Tracy, eating as he sipped his wine. I turned back to the water. “What if he comes looking for me?”

“He’s still jet-lagged, right? He probably won’t even make it to ten.”

This was clever, I had to admit: the last two evenings my dad and Tracy had both been out cold long before I turned in. “I’ll try it,” I said as my stomach grumbled. Turned out I was hungry after all. “But if I am coming, it’s for me. Not for you and Colin.”

“I know, I know,” she said quickly. “Hey, do you think I can really have something to eat? I’m starving.”

I nodded, getting to my feet and walking over to the basket, which Tracy pushed toward me, saying, “Help yourself. There are six sandwiches in there—I thought we might want extra.”

I dug around a bit, finally finding two turkey and roasted red peppers as described by the custom, handwritten labels with the Club insignia. “Gordon,” I called out. “Want a sandwich?”

“She doesn’t like anything,” Bailey warned me, taking one.

“We have turkey with red pepper,” I told Gordon anyway. When she made a face, I turned to Tracy. “Are there chips or anything?”

“Um . . .” She dug around a bit. “No, just crackers and cheese, I’m afraid. But—”

Then I remembered something. “Hold on,” I told Gordon, walking over to the sailboat and my bag, which I’d left on the seat. I pulled out the doughnut I’d taken from Nana’s breakfast table, still wrapped in a napkin. “How about this?”

She looked over, expectations clearly low. Seeing the pastry, she brightened instantly. “You don’t want it?”

I handed it to her. “All yours.”

Grinning, she immediately took a bite, getting chocolate on her face. Chewing, she said, “Are you coming back to our side?”

With kids, you never wanted to make promises you couldn’t keep. I’d learned that early, when my dad was often the bad guy, reining my mom in from her pie-in-the-sky promises. He wanted to protect me, I knew, and Emma would have let him. But Saylor, with her Calvander blood, had other ideas.

“Yeah,” I told Gordon as we sat there. “I am.”





Eighteen


I met someone.

When my phone first beeped with this text, waking me from an afternoon nap, I just assumed it was from Bridget. Only she could declare a place hopelessly boring one day, only to find a dreamy summer romance the next. When I rubbed my eyes and looked at it again, I saw it wasn’t her, but Ryan. My eyes widened.

What? How? Who is he?

She didn’t respond for a bit, and it made me wonder if she’d already left that one spot where she had reception on the mountaintop. But then, finally, this.

Not he. A she.

I rubbed my eyes again, wanting to make sure I was reading this correctly. Even though these were only four words, and small ones at that, the message was big. I sat up, shaking my head to clear it. What I said now was important.

That’s awesome. Details?

This time, she answered right away.

Her name is Liz. She’s from Maine. Drama geek. But I think I might be too now?

This was almost as surprising as the fact she was crushing on a girl. You?

The tech stuff is actually really fun! Getting a crash course in a bunch of things, but I might want to do it at home, too? Anyway, she’s the lead.

Wow, I wrote. Picture?

A pause. Then, with a beep, a shot of Ryan and the same girl with the olive skin and long, curly dark hair who’d had the army cap on in the shot she’d sent earlier. This time, though, it was just the two of them making faces, goofing for the camera, but even so, I could see something in my longtime friend that was different. A happiness, almost a glow.

She’s pretty! You have a type, clearly, I wrote.

????

I laughed out loud. Ry, she looks like Jasmine!

A beep. Then another.

I am laughing so hard right now

Omg you’re right!

Beep.

I didn’t even make the connection!

Good thing you have me, I replied.

A pause. I tried to picture her on some steep hill, surrounded by scrub brush, away from camp to share this with someone. And she’d picked me, which felt like a gift.

I’m glad we’re cool, she said now.

I am very cool, I agreed.

Not really, she replied. But about this, yes.

Then: Don’t tell Bridget, okay? I want to.

Of course.

How about you? she wrote. Found a prince (or princess) yet?

I knew I should tell her about Blake, the prom, and everything else. But as she said this, I only thought of Roo.

Not yet, I typed back.

Beep. Okay, I need to get off the mountain. Dress is tonight. Talk soon?

Definitely.

A row of smiley faces appeared on the screen, followed by a bright red heart. I smiled, putting my phone back on the floor before stretching back out across the bed with a yawn. I couldn’t say I was totally surprised by Ryan’s news, as she’d always had a lack of interest when it came to Bridget’s incessant chatter about boys. As one of her two closest friends, though, maybe I should have asked a few more questions. Instead, I’d just assumed she was straight because I was. What kind of a friend did that? I picked up my phone again and started a new text to her.