The Paper Palace(46)

We spread out our towels well above the waterline. The tide is coming in. I sit down and take a sweating can of Fresca out of my bag. When I pull the pop-top, the ring breaks off in my hand, leaving the metal teardrop sealed shut.

“Give me that,” Conrad says, and stabs the can open with a sharp piece of shell, hands it back to me.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to go in?” Conrad asks.

“I need to get hot first. I might not go in at all. The surf looks rough.”

“I thought you liked it rough,” Conrad says, and laughs at his own bad joke.

I ignore him and open my book. He sits there, scratching a mosquito bite on his leg. After a while he gets up and walks toward the water. I lie down on my stomach, relieved that he’s gone. Close my eyes and rest my head on my arms. I’m drifting off when I feel something wet drop on my back.

“Look what I found,” Conrad says. “I think you and Jonas left it here last night.”

I reach back and take the thing off me. It’s a used condom. I shriek and jump to my feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, and rush into the sea to clean myself off.

The first wave blindsides me and I go under. When I try to come up, I’m tumbled again and again. I need air, but I force myself to sink. I find the bottom and push myself off the sea floor as hard as I can. I break the surface sputtering for breath, grab for the shore, and stumble my way out before another wave can hit me. A few adults have seen me struggling and run over to pull me in.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I’m okay.”

My bathing suit is like a sandbag. I shake out grit, krill, seaweed. A pinkish rock falls to the ground around my ankles. Conrad is doubled over, laughing. I walk past without acknowledging him.

“It was a joke,” he says. “Lighten up.”

I grab my towel and my book, shove them into my bag. “You should go for a swim,” I say. “It’s a perfect day to drown.”



* * *



—

“You owe me a hundred dollars,” I tell my mother when I get home.

“Where’s Conrad?” she asks.

“Dead, if I’m lucky.”

“I’m making clam chowder for dinner,” she says.



* * *



—

In the morning, when I walk to the main house for breakfast, I find Jonas sitting outside on the deck. Conrad is inside at the table eating a bowl of cornflakes in his revolting brown terry-cloth bathrobe, reading Spy vs. Spy.

“Hey.” I sit down next to Jonas. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to say goodbye.”

“Oh.”

“We were supposed to leave on Saturday, but my mother caught Elias up in the dunes with some girl at the bonfire and, as she put it, ‘didn’t like what she was seeing.’ Otherwise known as my brother’s naked butt.” He sighs. “Anyway, we’re going back to Cambridge this afternoon.”

On the porch, Conrad puts down his comic and stops eating, spoon suspended above his bowl. I know he’s eavesdropping, but I don’t care.

“When does school start?” I ask.

“Like, two weeks, I guess.”

“Middle school, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yes,” Jonas laughs a bit ruefully. “Big Boy School.”

In all the days I have spent with Jonas, this is the first time it has felt at all awkward. The thought of school, of real life outside Back Woods—his in Cambridge, mine in New York—suddenly makes the difference in our ages seem huge, an unbridgeable gap.

“I know,” Jonas says, reading my thoughts. “It’s weird.” He rubs his toe into the damp sand. “I was thinking we could take one last swim across the pond.”

“I have to go into town with Anna and my mom.”

“Well then, I guess this is it.” Jonas stands up and puts his hand out to shake mine. “See you next summer.”

“Why don’t you kiss him goodbye?” Conrad calls from inside the screen porch.

“Shut up, Conrad,” I say, taking Jonas’s outstretched hand.

“Give him a big wet tongue kiss.”

“Ignore him,” Jonas says.

“You know what,” I say to Jonas, “I do have time for a quick swim. One sec.” I run and change into my bathing suit. Jonas is already swimming out when I get back. I dive in and catch up to him. “I’m sorry. He’s a complete idiot.”

“Boys his age have a one-track mind,” Jonas says.

I laugh. “You really are so weird.”

“It’s been a great summer, Elle. Thank you,” Jonas says, treading water in front of me.

“It was a pleasure,” I say. “One last breath-holding contest?”

“It’s not a contest if I always win,” Jonas says. “Though I’ll admit you’ve gotten marginally better.”

“Please.” I laugh. “I’m the state champion.”

“One, two, three, under?”

I nod.

We duck underwater and hold our breath. Then, without thinking, I pull him to me and kiss him.



* * *