by Micol Ostow
“Oh, yeah,” Lena said. “Weird that I barely recognize her. A tantrum like this feels like something I’d remember.”
“I’ve seen her around,” I said. “She’s usually less … scream-y. I think.” Although if memory served, she’d been pretty outspoken about the dissection thing.
“She is,” Daisy confirmed. “But like I said, she’s new enough to Drama Club, and, like, doesn’t get that there’s, you know, a hierarchy to these things. I mean, I think she just expected to march in on the first day of the semester and get picked for the lead in the school musical.”
“There’s a school musical?” Lena joked. As if anyone could forget; we’d been coming to Daisy’s performances since what felt like the dawn of time.
“It’s Little Shop of Horrors this year, remember?!” Daisy snapped hastily. “I’m Audrey, of course. The woman Audrey, not the plant. The plant is technically Audrey Two. But anyway. So Caroline just … like, waltzed in and was all, I took vocal coaching over the summer; you should hear my mezzo soprano … and the drama coach was not impressed.”
“Because there’s a hierarchy,” Lena said.
“Exactly. And she tried out for Naming Day because, you know, she’s a senior, so she has—”
“Seniority—” I put in helpfully.
“Exactly!” she said, happy.
“But I’m guessing she didn’t get cast,” Lena said drily.
Up at the front of the quad, poor Caroline Mark was flinging her thousands of tiny bits of paper into her hapless friend’s face, still shrieking at top volume and flailing very dramatically.
“If she did, she’s taking it really weird,” Daisy said. “It’s so awkward.”
“And yet I can’t look away,” Lena breathed. “God, I do so love petty high school drama.”
That makes one of us. I had to say something. “Okay, you guys, this voyeurism thing is starting to make me feel bad. We don’t need to stick around and watch this.” Caroline’s pain was a little too raw, and I wasn’t Lena; watching it triggered my sympathy bone, big-time. True, I hung with the “cool kids,” but solving mysteries didn’t always win me popularity points. I knew what it felt like to be an outsider. And I only eavesdrop when strictly necessary.
Which still happens to be quite often, but that was beside the point.
“Speak for yourself,” Lena said.
“Anyway, look—she’s going to be fine,” Daisy said, pointing. We followed her gaze to see the English teacher, Mr. Stephenson, who dabbled as the drama teacher, come rushing out the back door to where Caroline was still spinning out. Gently, he rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned in.
He whispered something into her ear, and I watched as, slowly, the fire in her eyes ebbed to a dull spark. She didn’t look less angry, per se—only slightly calmer. She said something to him in return—something impassioned, based on her body language and wild gesticulations. But her shoulders were beginning to slump now, and it was obvious that the edge was beginning to ebb from her fight.
“Show’s over, I guess,” Lena said, sounding disappointed. “What now? There’s been way too much excitement for us to just go home.”
“The Claw?” Daisy suggested. “I think Coop said some of the other seniors are going to stop by to celebrate. But even if they don’t, we still can. I don’t have to be home for a while. I told Mom and Dad I had tutoring after school.” She gave a little excited shimmy with her shoulders.
“An excellent plan,” Lena said. “You know I’m always up for a lobster roll.”
I heard their exchange, but it was distant and muddled, wavering in the background like a soundtrack. I was distracted as I observed Mr. Stephenson shepherd a definitely still-disgruntled Caroline back into the school building, her arms folded defiantly across her chest. He’d slung one arm over her shoulder and was giving her a comforting squeeze. A little more snuggly than most teachers might get with a student, but it did seem to be calming Caroline down.
“Earth to Nancy,” Lena said, her voice breaking into my thoughts at last—though just barely. “Fries? Lobster rolls?”
“Sure,” I murmured, still only half listening.
The truth was, Caroline’s little demonstration had definitely caught my eye. No matter how worked up our town gets over its rituals and celebrations, her response to being left off the cast list of the Naming Day reenactment was … intense. It didn’t strike me as the reaction of a well-balanced person.
And the way that Stephenson’s arm was draped across her shoulders? That, too, got my Spidey Sense tingling.
And the look on Caroline’s face, now, as she moved back into the building? It wasn’t the look of a girl who’d come to terms with some disappointing news. Nor was it the face of someone who’d been placated well enough, cozy half hugs from drama coaches notwithstanding.
No, Caroline Mark stalked into the high school now looking grimly determined, by my estimation. Like someone who wouldn’t easily forget how badly she’d been wronged or slighted.
Like someone who was, maybe, just barely holding her tongue, and biding her time.
CHAPTER TWO
Whoa,” Daisy said as we pulled into the parking lot of the Claw. “Coop said he was gonna swing by with some of the seniors. Not, like, the entire senior class.”
“Semantics, obviously,” Lena said, waving a hand.
It turned out, the lot was almost more crowded with cars than the quad had been with students after school, and we found ourselves squeezing Daisy’s bright blue Mini into the last available spot. Thank God my girl was way too invested in aesthetics to drive anything as practical as a four-door, or we’d never have made it in.
“I’m not sure this is actually a spot,” Lena said, craning toward us from the tiny back seat so her face hovered just between ours.
“Fire lanes are just suggestions. Look, the water is right there.” Daisy pointed toward the pebbled trail leading from the parking lot to the rocky bluff beyond. “In the highly unlikely event of a fire, we are all good.”
“I … don’t think that’s how fire safety works, Daisy,” I said. And I wasn’t sure I’d be able to open the door to get out on my own side either. But Daisy obviously wasn’t worried about it; she was already killing the ignition and humming to herself as she cracked her own door open—extremely carefully—and shimmied sideways to ease herself out.
Lena grumbled, sliding along the bench of the back seat and sucking her stomach in as much as she could, exhaling only after she’d maneuvered her way around the car and into slightly more open space. She flashed me a sarcastic thumbs-up. “You got this, Nancy.”
Choosing the coveted shotgun seat had clearly been a major mistake. But somehow I managed my own way out of the car without injuring myself, and soon we were making our way through the front door of the diner. A tiny bell echoed as it slammed back shut against its frame behind us. The scent—salt and brine and the lingering tang of happy hours past—enveloped us, along with the heat of a tightly packed space.
“I see the theme of the day is: overpopulation,” Lena observed, not incorrectly. Inside, the Claw was at full capacity, the atmosphere celebratory and happy, as opposed to the meltdown we witnessed back at the quad. “Are we even going to be able to get a booth?”
“Daisy!” From a table far in the back, Cooper beckoned, his face lit up. “You made it! I saved you a seat!” He gestured to a tiny sliver of space beside himself that absolutely did not look person-size at all.
She glanced at us, giving a quick flash of puppy-dog eyes. “You guys don’t mind, do you?”
“What, being left behind as you join the royal court to bask in all your reenactment glory? No, we don’t mind at all,” Lena quipped. “Feel free to abandon your besties at will. For a boy that is basically the human equivalent of a Labrador retriever, no less.”
“Settle down,” Daisy said. “I know you think basic niceness is some kind of mortal weakness, but Coop’s a good guy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Lena shrugged. “High school is survival of the fittest, that’s all.”
I gave Lena a little nudge. “And Cooper is nothing if not fit.” To Daisy, I offered, “Of course we don’t. Go say hi. We’ll”—I looked around, considering our limited options—“grab a seat at the counter.” The counter, a long stretch of well-worn wood draped in nautically thematic décor like fishing nets and anchors, was prime real estate for nursing a soda and people-watching, anyway. It wasn’t a huge sacrifice.
“Or I can scare those scabby-looking JV girls out of that booth over there,” Lena said, pointing. I waved her off, not bothering to dignify the comment with a response. Even if her bark was worse than her bite, sometimes a loud bark was a lot all on its own.
“Cool,” Daisy said, looking relieved. “I’ll just, like, check in with Coop and stuff, and then I’ll be back, and we can have girl time.”
“You’ll be back. Suuure,” Lena said. I gave her another sharp poke to the ribs, and she yelped. “I’m just messing with you. Take your time. Enjoy. Bask away. Just don’t forget you’re our ride home.”
Daisy assumed a solemn expression. “I would never. Cross my heart and hope to … have the lead role in the Naming Day reenactment taken away.”
I widened my eyes. “Heresy!” If I’d believed in jinxes, I’d have warned her against jinxing herself. But I never bothered with those, even as a little kid.
“Fanciful” was not a word people typically used to describe Nancy Drew.
With a smile, Daisy flounced off to Cooper’s waiting sliver of booth, and Lena and I were left to weave our way to the two remaining seats at the counter, back in the farthest corner of the space. From our perch, we could see through the pass-through to the kitchen, where the staff was obviously having a hard time keeping up with the oversize after-school crowd’s appetite. I wasn’t necessarily trying to eavesdrop—like I said, I’m just naturally observant—but the acoustics of the space and the way my stool was positioned meant that it was harder not to listen in to the kitchen’s panicky conversation than anything going on in the overstuffed dining room. And I definitely wasn’t not trying to eavesdrop, per se.
“You’ve got to pick up the pace, Ace,” someone was saying. She was facing away from me so that all I could see were twin braids down her back, glossy and sleek as licorice whips. For his part, Ace—the dishwasher, a newer addition to the Claw’s staff—swathed in a soaked and food-stained apron and elbow-length rubber gloves, grudgingly eyed a plastic bin filled to overflowing with dishware that rested on a metal rolling rack beside him. His hair, a shaggy-cut sandy-brown, flopped over one eye, curling up slightly in the humidity of the small space.
If he was stressed about being reprimanded, it didn’t show. “We’re in the weeds, George,” he said, shrugging. “It just means business is booming. That’s a good thing. Be … grateful?”
“I’ll be grateful when you can actually keep up with the bare minimum requirements of your job,” she snapped, turning so I could see the rigid set of her jaw and the stony look in her dark eyes.
George Fan. We’d been close when we were little—we’d even taken some Ferris wheel rides together at some long-ago Naming Days. But we barely crossed paths anymore. Which was, I think we’d both agree, by design. Did I ever think about how we used to be so close, back before middle school, cliques, exclusive and exclusionary birthday parties, rumors, notes passed, nasty online comments?
Nope. Definitely not. The past was the past, and George had made it abundantly clear there was no changing it. So why dwell? According to her, I’d defected from our friendship as soon as I’d started hanging with Lena and her crew—that loud bark of Lena’s had burned more than a few bridges, George’s being one of them.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to see her.
I knew she worked at the Claw; it was the obvious after-school gig for a high schooler with an … unreliable home situation. But even though it was the default hangout for basically anyone in town with a pulse, I’d managed to avoid overlapping my visits with her shifts.
Until now.
Or maybe not “somehow.” Maybe, knowing George, that was by design too.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Ace,” she was saying now, “this crowd is kinda atypical for us. Business in this place isn’t exactly booming, most of the time. Meaning, it’s up to us to hustle on the rare occasions that it picks up.” She narrowed her eyes, lowered her voice, and adopted a hands-on-hips power stance. “Like today.” She balled up a dish towel and launched it at him, pivoting sharply on one heel to make her way back into the dining room.
As she moved toward my corner of the counter, I straightened, trying to look as though I’d been doing anything other than fully stalking her not-so-inspirational behind-the-scenes pep talk.
“Relax, Drew,” she snapped, catching my eye as she stalked past me. “I know you heard all that.”
“People in Canada heard that,” Lena sniped. “If you were looking to keep it on the DL, next time think about lowering your voice.”
“I wasn’t … ,” I started, but quickly trailed off because, let’s be real: I totally was. “Sorry. It, uh, looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, sneering, “no one’s looking at you to apply. Nobody would expect Nancy Drew to give up her perfect college-bound dreams to come work at a dive like this.”
“I—didn’t—” I protested.
“What is your problem, Fan?” Lena cut in. “Like it’s our fault that you and your staff are having loud fights in front of the customers?”
“It’s okay,” I said, reaching out a hand to Lena, but she waved me off.
“Just because you and Nancy hung out, like, once upon a time, doesn’t mean she owes you anything now.”
George narrowed her eyes at Lena. “Thanks for clarifying.” Then she looked at me. “But if you’re waiting for someone to take your order, I’d settle in and get real patient, if I were you.”
I met her gaze. “Understood,” I said, a mix of emotions flooding through me as she moved off, leaving Lena and me with our still-unopened menus spread on the counter in front of us.
“God, she is such a freak,” Lena said, leaning her head toward me but not bothering to lower her voice. “It’s funny you guys used to hang out.” She gave a “playful” wave at George, off at the other end of the bar wiping down some glasses. She noted the wave and glared fiercely at the both of us.
Yeah. Funny. I bit back an impulse to defend George, but I wasn’t totally sure why.
“Sunny as ever,” Lena said, watching George’s retreating body, marching past us still ramrod straight. “Good thing we haven’t ordered anything, or I’d say she’s definitely spitting in your drink.”
“Stop,” I said. “She’s …” But I couldn’t figure out how to end the sentence, or how to articulate everything that immediately crossed my mind when George got bitchy or gave me attitude—which was pretty much whenever she saw me, these days.
“Never mind.” I looked at the battered, laminated menus resting on the counter beside us. “I’m hungry,” I realized. Not that I needed a menu—cheese fries all the way.
“Yeah, well, based on the little performance George just put on, we’ll be lucky to get our orders in this century. Which is a real pity, as we’re going to need all our strength about us in the coming days.”
I had to laugh at that. “You sound like a general rallying the troops.”
“I kind of am,” Lena said. “But there’s a ton for us to do, even if we’re mere peons when it comes to the actual marquee event.”
“I prefer to think of us as active bystanders,” I said.
“Whatever floats your boat,” Lena said. “No pun intended.”
“Speaking of—well, floats and puns,” I said, “we’re going to be working on Daisy’s, right?” We’d already told her we would; we were going to meet in the shop studio later this week to get started. Naming Day always culminated in a
grand parade on Sunday morning, and our questionable construction skills were put to the test every year.
Lena sighed dramatically. “I dimly recall a promise of that sort.”
“It’ll be fun!” The power of positive thinking had to count for something, right?
“Maybe,” Lena said. “I mean, decorating is one thing—I’m all over a tissue-paper flower wreath, and you know I’m a maniac with a hot glue gun.”
“I will happily confirm your hot glue gun prowess.” That was something too, right? There was a reason everyone had wanted to team up with Lena for science fair projects in grade school, and it wasn’t because she was a science prodigy.
“But I think this year, we might have to actually construct some of the floats. Like, from wood, and nails, and … well, I can’t think of another thing, which I think just goes to show that I’m probably the last person who should be given access to the power tools.”
“No one’s talking about power tools,” I said. Although … there were an awful lot of those stored in the shop studio. “Or, at least, I hope not. But you’re crafty, I’m crafty—”
“You hold your mother’s pincushion while she sews the Naming Day costumes,” Lena interjected. “Let’s not overstate things.”
“Okay, I’m crafty-adjacent,” I said. “Whatever. But it’s not like we’ve never, you know, made anything before. We can totally build a float.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt. The mention of power tools had sent a small frisson of dread down my spine.
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
I did. I had to. Because Lena was right: this week was going to be full-on crazy. Daisy and the rest of the seniors would be knee-deep in the reenactment preparations, but that only meant an endless to-do list of other tasks for the rest of us. Like Lena said, my mother and I handled costumes (even if my assistance was in more of an “apprentice” capacity), and though we’d mostly gotten it down to a routine after so many Naming Days under our belt, this one promised to be different. It was the jubilee, after all, and everything was going to be ever-so-slightly dialed up.