Hot Dog Girl

by Jennifer Dugan

  I slide it closer, my eyes tracing over her handwriting, memorizing the way her letters curve and slant to make my name. I catalog exactly where she lifted the pen at the end of each word and note the small smudge of ink on the upper left-hand side. The postmark in the opposite corner says Miami, but the last one from six months ago was from Atlanta. Her writing slants upward in the usual way, her letters average instead of tiny or large, like she’s not worried about filling extra space or fitting more in. I used to like the steadiness of that, but now it bothers me.

  Okay.

  Deep breath.

  Read.

  Dear Elouise,

  I hope your summer is off to a great start. How did you do last year? I hope you are keeping your grades up. Only one year left of high school! How does it feel?

  I saw a lovely shade of lipstick at the store today. It reminded me of that raincoat you used to wear when you were little. Do you remember the one? You never took it off! I bought three tubes of it and plan to wear it whenever I miss you.

  Xoxoxo,

  Mom

  I set the postcard down on the bed and stare at myself in the mirror. Suddenly, I want it off, all of it. The lip gloss, the makeup. Every bit of it learned from Seeley and YouTube and other mothers because mine wasn’t there to teach me. Mine was too busy buying her own lipstick in Miami and doing god knows what in Atlanta. I shove the postcard under my mattress and race to the bathroom, scrubbing my face until my skin turns pink.

  When I open the bathroom door, my father is in the hallway, waiting. He gives me a sad little smile and wraps me in a hug. I burrow in without a word, nodding when he asks me if I want to watch some TV.

  CHAPTER 10

  Seeley: You awake?

  Seeley: It was a disaster.

  Me: Does this mean I don’t get a cut of the wedding money?

  Seeley: Hahahahaha. I’m going to kill you. I’m actually going to kill you.

  Me: Why???? What happened?

  Seeley: I don’t even know where to start. It was bad, Lou. Real bad.

  Me: Okay, wait, back up. Start at the beginning.

  Seeley: First, she ordered the lobster. On a first date. You know what they say about that.

  Me: Lobster? Where the hell did you take her?

  Seeley: McDonald’s in Plymouth.

  Me: They have lobster at McDonald’s?

  Seeley: Yeah! Those roll things! It’s seasonal. I don’t know.

  Me: Wait, you took her to McDonald’s on a date???

  Seeley: Oh I’m sorry is that not classy enough for you?

  Me: Brb, rolling my eyes forever.

  Seeley: Then she said that all the Marvel movies were formulaic!

  Me: Can we back up for a minute? I don’t think a shitty lobster roll at McDonald’s actually counts as like first date lobster.

  Seeley: It was like $8!!! And it didn’t even come with fries!!!

  Me: Are you serious right now?

  Seeley: Also, the Marvel thing, tho.

  Me: I am side-eyeing you so hard right now. What did you do after your romantic fast-food date?

  Seeley: Mini golf.

  Me: How was that?

  Seeley: That was actually fun.

  Me: OMFG HOW WAS THIS A DISASTER THEN???

  Seeley: Because when I dropped her off she kissed me.

  Me: And that’s a problem because . . . ?

  Seeley: Because I felt nothing. No sparks or anything. My toes didn’t curl. Zero magic. It was like kissing my grandma.

  Me: Gross. You kiss Grandma Bobby like you kiss your dates?

  Seeley: Don’t be an ass in my time of crisis.

  Me: I’m sorry, See, I was really rooting for you guys.

  Seeley: Thanks. And now I’m freaking out because she wants to go out again next weekend.

  Me: What are you going to do?

  Seeley: Look into witness protection and never show my face again?

  Me: I don’t think you can join witness protection to avoid a second date.

  Seeley: That’s bullshit. My taxes pay for that program! I think? I don’t know. My mom’s always saying that about things . . .

  Me: We pay like zero taxes, Seeley. Butttt I’m falling asleep here. Sorry. Hang tomorrow?

  Seeley: Obviously! I need your little scheming brain to find me a way out of this.

  Me: I have a very big scheming brain, thank you very much.

  Seeley:

  CHAPTER 11

  I wake up planning to head straight over to Seeley’s for a complete and total post-date-with-Angie debriefing, but unfortunately Dad has other plans for me. Since we both have the day off, he wants to spend it together, which is fine, but he wants to spend it shopping for office supplies to fix up his spot in the living room. I’m dying to get to Seeley’s house, but I can’t tell Dad that when he’s looking at me with puppy dog eyes and asking if I want to drive to the Target two towns over.

  “Should I go with the black one or the teal one?” We are standing in the middle of a brightly lit aisle, and Dad is holding up two plastic crates.

  “What are you even going to use it for?”

  “I don’t know, anything? Trust me, you’re going to want a few of these around yourself when you head to college next year.”

  “Why?”

  Dad looks at me like I stabbed him in the heart or something. “Everybody had milk crates when I went to college. You use them for everything. You can sit on them, you can put stuff in them. We used to have to steal them from—”

  “Why are they called milk crates? Wait, did you just say you had to steal boxes to sit on? Did your college not have chairs?”

  “They’re called milk crates because that’s what they are.” Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, we had chairs, but it was a different time and sometimes we had to improvise. We didn’t have superstores, you know, and Amazon wasn’t invented yet.”

  “Sounds tragic.”

  Dad gives me a little shove with his shoulder and drops the teal one into our cart before gesturing back to the shelves behind us. “Look, if people weren’t still using these, they wouldn’t be all over the store.”

  “Touché.”

  “What’s next on the list?” he asks.

  “Nothing—milk crate was the last thing you wrote.”

  He looks a little sad then, and as much as I want to rush off to Seeley’s, I also kind of don’t. “Do you want to get food somewhere?”

  The way his face lights up tells me it was definitely the right call.

  * * *

  • • •

  I know that in the real world, like when you live someplace where you don’t have to drive forty minutes to get to Target, Applebee’s isn’t considered a super nice restaurant or anything. But even so, when I walk in with my dad and we slide into a big booth by the window, it still feels special. We don’t come here much; it’s too far away to go to on a whim, but it’s perfect when you want to celebrate something special but not like cannoli-from-Bellini’s-level special. It’s our in-between place, and it’s just for me and him. I’ve never been here with anyone else, not even Seeley.

  Dad makes a big show of flipping through the whole menu and making comments, but I know he’s going to end up getting a burger, and I’m going to end up with a house salad (hold the bacon) and fries. It’s what we always, always get. Sometimes, when we really want to live on the edge, we’ll start with chips and salsa too.

  “Hey.” My dad nudges my foot under the booth. “Everything okay?”

  I look up from the menu and sigh. “Yeah.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” he says just as our waitress comes to take our order. He waits until she’s out of earshot to go back to the conversation at hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, because that seems easier.
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  “Elouise,” he says, and takes a sip of his soda.

  “It just feels like everything is changing all at once, in a bad way.”

  “Oh, Lou.” He says it with so much love, but somehow it makes me feel worse. “Is this about the park?”

  “It’s about the park, yeah, and you keep talking about me leaving in a year, and that new postcard was messed up.” I groan, and wipe at my eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Dad sighs, and I swear I just caught him rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, hon. Your mother—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. There’s no point. What I do want to know is why you won’t at least help me try to figure out a way to save Magic Castle.”

  “Honey, you can’t save the park. It’s not—”

  “Don’t say that. That place is all we have left.”

  “That is not true, Elouise. You have a lot more in your life than just that. We’ll always have each other,” he says, squeezing my hand again, and I squeeze back because I want to believe it. “And you have a lot of good friends who’ll always be there for you—”

  “Yeah, well, historically ‘always’ hasn’t ever come through for me. People leave. It’s what they do. But places—”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “No, but it’s true. Think about it. When you married Mom, did you ever think she would take off? I mean, even our dog ran away. Nothing sticks around in our family, nothing! It’s like we’re cursed!”

  The waitress arrives right then, dropping our food in front of us. I watch the cars whiz by through the window until she leaves, embarrassed by my outburst.

  “We’re not cursed,” he says. “And by the way, I’m still not entirely convinced that thing you brought home was a dog and not a coyote with a dye job.”

  I cross my arms. “Buster wasn’t that bad.”

  “Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it, Lou. He ate through a wall! How does a dog even do that?”

  And okay, he has a point. Buster was not . . . ideal. Maybe someday I’ll tell my dad the truth—although he probably already suspects—that Buster wasn’t actually a lovable stray that followed me home like I said, but was in fact a half-feral dog that Seeley and I came across in the woods one day. It took nearly two months of bribing him with food before I could get him to follow me to my house—against Seeley’s better advice, naturally. She just didn’t get it, you know; she has two cats and tons of people that love her unconditionally. I have my dad, her, and for a minute, a dog from the woods.

  Buster only ended up living with us for a grand total of about three weeks anyway, most of which he spent hiding under my bed and/or peeing on my clothes, which, okay. One day, we came home to find out that he had chewed through the kitchen wall and escaped through the garage. Dad was furious but eventually went through the motions of helping me look and posting flyers. We never saw Buster again, though.

  I take a deep breath. “Sorry, today was supposed to be fun, and I’m being all cranky and dramatic.”

  “You? Never.” He smiles, giving me one last squeeze before letting go. “But, Elouise, if you feel—”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I wince. “Okay? I’m sorry. But can we just talk about something else. Something better?”

  Dad takes a bite of his burger, staring at me like he’s appraising the situation. Please, let him drop it. I don’t even know why I decided to stir all of this up.

  “Sure, Lou,” he says. He takes another bite and swallows it with a smile. “What do you think we should put in our milk crate?”

  I ball up my napkin and throw it at him—I can’t help it—and then we’re both laughing and talking, and it feels amazing.

  But then my phone is buzzing, and we’re both staring down at it.

  “Who’s that?”

  I slide my finger across and flick open the message. “It’s Seeley. I guess Mr. P is letting us swim later. Everybody’s meeting there tonight.”

  My dad nods. Mr. P does that sometimes, especially on really hot nights. He says those are the nights kids usually find ways to get themselves into trouble, and he’d rather have us all swimming at the park, safe. Sometimes he even keeps the popcorn poppers on for us. It’s pretty awesome, actually.

  “Who’s everybody?” Dad asks.

  “I don’t know. Seeley, me, the dive crew, probably Seb—”

  “Which one is Seb again?”

  “The rabbit costume one.” Dad gives me a blank look. “Sebastian Porter—he helped me out with French homework last year,” I grumble.

  Because yeah, I’d definitely like to forget all about my little foray into advanced French. I only took it so I could sit next to Malia Berkus and figure out how to woo her. Joke’s on me, though—Malia ended up being the worst girlfriend ever, and then I had to spend the rest of the year dodging her while trying not to fail out of a class I was in no way qualified for.

  “Sharon Porter’s kid?”

  “Yeah.” I roll my eyes. Sometimes it’s weird living in a town so small that you can say a kid’s name and your dad can immediately name their parent and probably their parent’s whole life story.

  “I didn’t know you hung out with him much outside of school.”

  I shrug. “He’s always around. He’s friends with everybody and we both work at the park.”

  My dad makes a little humming sound and drags a chip through some salsa. “Do you like him?”

  “He’s okay. Why?”

  “Just making conversation,” he says, but I swear his cheeks get a little pink.

  “What am I missing here?”

  “You’re not missing anything, Lou, don’t worry about it.” But the sheepish way he bites into his burger tells me otherwise. “But tell Sharon I said hello if you happen to ever see her.”

  “Okay.” I chuckle, stabbing my salad with my fork, and then it hits me. “Wait, do you . . . do you have a thing for Seb’s mom?” It sounds impossible, but I have to ask.

  I don’t have a problem with it if he does, don’t get me wrong. Seb’s mom is pretty cool, and she’s been divorced nearly as long as my parents have. Seb’s lucky, though—his dad stuck around and both his parents get along.

  But anyway, yeah, I’d love for my dad to find his happily ever after, but the closest I’ve ever seen him get to a date is drinking beer and reading through mom’s old postcards. The idea that he might have a crush on someone, a crush I didn’t even know about, seems slightly bananas.

  “What? No, of course not.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Then why are you suddenly being so weird?”

  “Sharon is an old friend, that’s all,” Dad says, wiping his face with a napkin. “I ran into her in the grocery store the other day, nothing more scandalous than that. Scout’s honor. Now, what should we do with that milk crate?”

  “Anything, apparently. I hear they’re very versatile.” I laugh and take another bite of my salad. It’s not that I don’t notice he’s changing the subject, it’s just that I decide to go with it. I mean, I don’t really want to talk to him about my crush either.

  * * *

  • • •

  Seeley’s hair is dyed dark, dark purple when I pull up to get her. This isn’t good. It hasn’t been this dark since Sara dumped her. I frown when she climbs into my car and starts to buckle without even saying hi.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m great.” She plugs her phone into my car and turns on one of her favorite songs. It’s loud and angry and a little bit annoying; basically, the exact opposite of how I want this night to go.

  “Wait, are you mad?”

  “A little.” She huffs.

  I flick my eyes over to her as I drive. “Not at me, right?”

  Seeley drops her head back against the seat and groans. “No, Lou, I’m not pissed at you. I’m pissed at me. I shou
ldn’t have gone along with this whole dating thing. I wasn’t ready.”

  “I think the fact that you agreed to go meant you actually were ready, honestly.”

  Seeley snaps her head up. “Doubtful. I kissed one of the coolest girls I know last night, and it felt like nothing. Nothing! I think I’m broken, Lou. Sara ruined me for all other girls.”

  “Oh my god, now who’s the dramatic one?”

  “It’s true. What if for the rest of my life, whenever I kiss my girlfriend, I compare it to kissing someone else?”

  “You won’t.” I ruffle her hair with my hand, amazed by how soft it is despite how much she dyes it. “But even if you do that for a little while, someone will come along to blow any kiss you ever had with Sara right out of the water.”

  “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “I know you’re wrong.”

  Seeley rolls her eyes and goes back to looking out the window.

  * * *

  • • •

  It turns out Seeley texting that “everyone” was going tonight was kind of a misrepresentation. It’s pretty much just me and Seeley, a few of the pirate guys that I don’t really know, plus Nick and then Marcus. The guys have been practicing their flips on the trampoline next to the pool most of the night—they said they wanted to work up a sweat before they swam—so we’ve just been sitting on the edge of the platform, dangling our feet into the cool water below.

  I tried to get Seeley’s mind off her so-called disaster date a few times by talking about how we absolutely positively cannot let the park close, but that just seemed to somehow annoy her even more. So it’s kind of a relief when Nick comes charging up behind us, fresh from the trampoline, all sweaty and out of breath.

  “Hey.” Nick drops a pile of towels beside us. “Why do you guys look so bummed?”