He shook his head and mustered a faint smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just what you said about becoming a priest—you were raised Catholic, I gather?”
“I wasn’t raised anything. My mom’s a lapsed Catholic—I don’t think she’s been to confession since before she married my dad. But who cares? You’re not Catholic. Why should you mind a few priest jokes?”
“Because—because if I were a Catholic, I think I would be a priest.”
She raised puzzled eyebrows. “…Okay…and if I were a Catholic, I think I’d be Mother Theresa.”
“No, Caroline,” said Jonathan, his voice steadier now. “I mean, I’ve thought very hard about going to seminary and becoming a pastor after I graduate. Like a priest, you know, but for Protestants.”
“You’re kidding.”
He didn’t answer, only holding her gaze, watchful of her reaction. As for me, I was torn. On the one hand, I was thrilled he had shown his hand at last—take that, Caroline Grant! Surely Tammy didn’t know what she was talking about, saying some girls liked to corrupt good guys. Surely this would be the end of Caroline Grant’s interest in him. On the other hand, however, I felt a stab of loss for Jonathan’s secret. It was one thing for him to share his hope of becoming a pastor with Tammy—she whose family tree was littered with pastors and missionaries—that was not so much revelation as it was self-defense. But to tell Caroline Grant! Caroline Grant, who didn’t know a pastor from a priest from a pocketbook.
“Why would you ever want to do that?” she asked, when it was clear he was not going to speak. “You, who could do so many things.”
“What things would those be?”
“Anything—anything! A pastor! Giving boring sermons and holding old ladies’ hands on Easter—what would be the point of that? Think about it, Jonathan. Wouldn’t you rather do something practical—not to mention lucrative—like getting an MBA and taking over your father’s business?”
It was his turn to look stunned. “Study business and run Core-Pro? There’s a difference between a summer job and what you want to do with your life. You make it sound like changing channels on the remote.”
“Why not? Some channels are more interesting than others.” She planted her hands on her hips and turned her back on us. The message was clear: we could talk all we wanted, but she was through with the topic. “You know what sounds really interesting to me right now? Checking out the fun house over there.”
“It’s more for little kids,” I said. “I helped set it up this morning.”
“Oh—then you probably don’t want to see it again, Frannie. But I certainly do. Come on, Jonathan. We’ll catch you later, okay, Frannie?”
“Do you want to wait here?” Jonathan asked, as she tugged him away.
I shook my head. “No. I—I have to work the dunk tank soon.” As in, an hour from then.
Off they went. For a minute I stood rooted, uncertain where to go or what to do until the balloon man looked my way. He had worked through his line—or else the line had melted away after the first people were handed their misshapen mutant creatures. “Want a balloon animal?”
“No, thank you.”
“A heart, then. You girls like hearts. I worked on this one last night.” Before I could respond, he attached a red balloon to the tank and inflated it. “Hearts are easy. Bubble at each end, see. Tie it off. Then I’m gonna squeeze the air out of the bend, see that? And…let the air back in slowly…okay, that didn’t work so well. Let me do it again.”
“It’s okay,” I said, but he was already back at it, squeezing, shaping, squishing. Slowly he released the bend and let the air flow in again. “It worked!” I exclaimed. “That looks like a heart.”
Pleased with himself, he handed it to me. “Now don’t give it away to just anyone, you got it?” He winked.
The only thing more awkward than being at the Carnival by myself was being by myself and holding a heart balloon. As soon as the balloon man couldn’t see me, I handed it to a little girl. What next? It was too early for the dunk tank, and I didn’t want Aunt Terri to spot me standing around with nothing to do. I didn’t want anyone to spot me, as a matter of fact, and, in the throes of my adolescent angst, my solitary state made me feel like everyone must be looking at me and pitying me.
I fell in with the stream of people headed out to the baseball diamond, but, having no desire to watch Greg’s pitching clinic, I split off and headed behind the bleachers. The shade underneath the metal stands was hardly shade at all, and I was afraid someone above me would spill their drink through the gaps, so I moved on.
A thick border of trees outlined the Warm Springs High fields, hiding the unsightly chain-link fence beyond from view. Tom used to crack jokes about the smokers and stoners who would steal away to the “woods” during lunch to light up, but I figured they had other places to get high in the summer, and even if they didn’t, being on campus during the athletics carnival would be anathema.
The shade was quiet and inviting. I wandered far enough in that the cigarette butts, beer cans, and other litter grew less plentiful, finally taking a seat with my back against the chain-link so I wouldn’t have to look at it.
Were Jonathan and Caroline done with the fun house? I thought of the ramps where she must have laughed and caught at his arm for balance, the trick mirrors inside that made you look pencil-skinny or pumpkin-squat. What would he say about her now, if I asked? She might say what she liked about religion or his life dreams and he would think about how he could change her mind. Or his own. His vision of her was as warped as those mirrors.
Nor was there anything I could do. No young man sought love advice from his under-age cousin. No under-age cousin would dare to offer any. Tammy, maybe? No—she had compromised herself with her outlandish prophecy. If she told Jonathan she thought Caroline Grant was bad news, he would just think it was sour grapes. Maybe Pastor Donald—? But how would Pastor Donald ever find out about Caroline Grant, unless Jonathan went to him, seeking advice?
It was my only hope. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please, God. Please. Caroline Grant is all wrong for him. She’ll encourage him in all the wrong things and not appreciate all the good things about him. Please may he hear the truth! Please, please, please, may he go to Pastor Donald for advice! Please—”
My whispered mutterings were interrupted by sounds. Breathless laughing, running footsteps coming nearer.
“You jerk!” a girl shrieked. “How am I going to explain this to Greg?”
It was Rachel.
I barely had time to shrink back behind the closest tree, pulling my feet in and my cap lower before she burst into sight, holding her torn t-shirt to her chest and stumbling in her Candies slides. Behind her, catching her by the waist and tackling her, was Eric Grant. He was attacking her! I thought Rachel would scream when they landed on the ground, rolling over until he was on top of her, and I tensed, ready to spring to her aid, but instead she grabbed his head between her two hands and smashed her lips to his.
For the longest time they kissed. Hungrily, like the Tasmanian Devil devouring Bugs Bunny’s Wild Turkey Surprise. And the sounds they made weren’t that different from his: moans and mmmms and slobbers.
I didn’t want to look. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Their hands were all over each other. Eric ripped off what was left of Rachel’s top and I was astonished to see not one of the modest, flesh-colored Sears bras Aunt Terri bought all of us, but rather one of those red Maidenform Sweet Nothings from the ads that made Aunt Terri slam magazines shut.
“Mmm mmm mmm,” went Rachel. “We can’t do this here. This time we might get caught. Someone will hear us or find us.”
“They’re all watching your all-star boyfriend,” Eric grunted, his mouth against her neck. “God, you’re good. Tell me, how do you like this?”
I didn’t wait to see what “this” was. I buried my face in my knees. Pressing my hands against my ears, I waited for it all to be over.
Chapter 12
“Ha
ve you seen Rachel?”
Praying that guilt wouldn’t be written all over me, I looked up from counting the till.
“I haven’t—I haven’t seen her here, Greg,” I said.
“She disappeared during the baseball clinic and went who knows where. I mean, I can understand her getting bored while I helped kids with their fastballs, but I thought she’d be here.”
I didn’t have an answer. I was trying to think about absolutely anything other than what I witnessed a half hour ago. After a moment, Greg sighed. “Maybe she’ll turn up.”
“Yes.”
He kicked off his Topsiders and threw his t-shirt behind me, preparatory to climbing the steps to the dunk tank. A mixed crowd of teenage girls and admiring Little Leaguers gathered to watch the dejected Adonis, and I thought it would serve Rachel right if some other adoring girl marched off with him.
Don’t think about Rachel, I told myself. Don’t think about Rachel and Eric Grant and—
“Have you seen Rachel?” This time it was Julie. Red in the face and cranky. “I don’t know why I have to do all the work while she has all the fun. I only just now got away from Aunt Terri—that slave-driver! It’s fine for you to spend the day like this, Frannie—you’re still at the junior high, and there’s no one here you want to hang out with. But me—! I don’t know how Rachel weasels her way out of these things. She told Aunt Terri it was because she was hanging out with Greg and then she’s not even with him.”
“I don’t know where Rachel is,” I said. I didn’t. When she and Eric finished their business, they gathered Rachel’s shreds of clothing, brushing the dirt and pine needles from themselves, while they planned how on earth they were going to explain this. I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore before I unwound myself and took off in the opposite direction, taking the long way around the football field.
“Then what about Tom and Eric?” Julie persisted.
I shook my head.
“Jeez, Frannie. A lot of help you are.” Julie made way for the line of paying customers, going to lean against the side of the dunk tank, arms crossed over her chest sulkily.
Greg remained dry for quite a while. The girls would giggle and clutch each other before tossing harmless lobs that went nowhere near the target. The little boys would hurl the ball their thirty-mile-per-hour best while Greg gave tips, but only one managed to hit the bulls-eye, and then not hard enough to knock the arm back. I took the money, I made change, I handed each person three baseballs, I collected the baseballs, I started over. And all the while I was thinking about sex. The more I tried not to think about it, the more I thought about it. The topic was off-limits with the Beresfords. Uncle Paul even turned the channel on nature documentaries if things hit too close to home. Whether Tom should have a note excusing him from high school health class had been the subject of heated debate some years ago. He was eventually allowed to take it, but not before Uncle Paul sat him down for a behind-closed-doors discussion from which they both emerged looking mortified. Aunt Terri handled Rachel’s and Julie’s talkings-to when the time came, with similar results, but I had yet been spared. No one seemed to have thought that, though I would only be entering the eighth grade, in age I was ripe for The Talk.
As it was, I had to sort out on my own what I overheard that afternoon. My one stolen glance had been hasty, guilty, and revealed not much more than a muddle of arms and legs and rumpled clothing and Eric’s hand tangled in Rachel’s hair. The sounds were harder to forget. But they triggered memories: Mom telling me to go play outside or watch TV while she and her friend “had a talk.” Some talk.
I squirmed, bumping the till and sending quarters rolling across the booth counter. Crouching to collect them, I pursued the wayward coins under my bench and into the pavement cracks. I was still on my knees when there was a tremendous splash and a squeal went up from the onlookers. Greg had suffered his first dunking. Coach Adams looked smug. “I told you to watch out for my change-up.” Julie also received a drenching from her proximity to the tank, and it didn’t improve her mood.
“Look at me!” she complained, plucking at her t-shirt where it clung to her. “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me.”
“No one had dunked him yet,” I said.
“Like that meant no one ever would?”
I didn’t see how this was my fault. “It is a dunk tank, after all.”
“Forget it. Hand me that towel.”
“But it’s for Greg after he’s done.”
“Oh, please. He’s a guy. He can just walk around with his shirt off till he’s dry.”
“Which is clearly not an option for you,” said a new voice. Julie and I turned to find Eric Grant with his elbows resting on the booth counter, a lazy smile on his face and his dark eyes trained on Julie’s now-transparent t-shirt. He was alone.
Thank heavens no one was looking at me because every ounce of blood in my body rushed into my face and ears and neck. Julie, too, froze for an instant, her hand halted mid-pluck. Then she said coldly, “Where have you been?”
“Around and about. Looking for you.”
My mouth popped open.
“You guys all knew where I was,” she said. “My aunt made me work that booth.”
“Well, yeah. So we figured we’d watch Mr. All-Star’s pitching clinic. We kept hoping you’d join us.”
She thawed the tiniest bit. “Was it fun?”
“Could’ve been funner.” He leaned in. “I know someone who could’ve made it funner.”
The charm was working. Julie gave a half-smile. “Where’d everyone else go now? Tom and—and Rachel?”
“Tom ran into Steve and Dave, I think. Rachel—she said something about buying a Warm Springs High Athletics t-shirt. You know—show her support. Looks like you could use a new shirt yourself.”
Without even blushing, Julie plucked her shirt loose one more time and let it re-mold to her chest. “This one’s fine. What are you—what are you going to do now?”
“Well, that depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you’re doing.” He extended his arm as if he would escort her.
I made a sputtering sound. “Uh—uh—maybe if you wait here, then Rachel will come back.” Neither one paid me any attention.
Julie hesitated only one second before reaching for him, her fingers just touching his forearm. Then she pulled back and gave a nervous laugh. “C’mon, Grant. I’ll race you to the fun house.”
And they were off, leaving me to wrestle with my astonishment. How could he? Seduce Rachel one minute and then flirt with my other cousin the next? Okay—maybe “seduce” wasn’t the exact right word, but what other word could I use for someone who had lured Rachel away from all she had been taught? And how had it happened so quickly? Had it been just a couple weeks ago that Caroline Grant implied Rachel and Greg were having sex, and Rachel got fired up? I wrung my hands mentally. Oh—what should I do? What could I do? If Rachel knew I knew, she would kill me. For starters.
Eric Grant was honest about one thing, at least—Rachel bought a new t-shirt. Royal blue with “Warm Springs High Athletics” in neon yellow blazoned across it. Hideous. As a concession to fashion, she had bought the largest size possible and cut off the crewneck, but it still looked bizarre on her. Judging from her glowing face, she didn’t care. She gave Greg in the tank one careless wave before resting her elbows on the booth counter exactly where Eric had.
“Hiya, Frannie. How’s it going?”
Misery choked all utterance, and I could only nod.
“That bad, huh? Well, I think this is the best, most successful Carnival ever.” She stretched out her arms to encompass it all and then hugged herself. “Man, look at the line to dunk Greg! I’d love to watch him go in myself, but I don’t have the arm for it. We need somebody like Tom or Jonathan or even Eric. I bet Eric could do it. I bet he’d enjoy it.” She snapped her fingers at me. “Gimme one of your hair things, Frannie. The yellow one.”
I pulled th
e elastic band from the assortment around my wrist and watched her gather her long, golden-brown hair into a high side ponytail. She was almost purring. “Has he been by?”
“Who?” I stalled.
“What do you mean, who? Eric Grant, dopey.”
Again I nodded. Rachel waited for me to say more and then bugged her eyes at me. “Honestly, Frannie, what is wrong with you? Where did he go?”
“Umm…I think—I think the fun house. Julie was here when he showed up, and that’s what she suggested.”
There was an unpleasant flash in Rachel’s eyes, but she mastered it, eventually shrugging her shoulders. “That was nice of him, I guess. I just hope Julie doesn’t get any crazy ideas from it. He’s just being friendly and considerate because that’s the kind of guy he is, don’t you think?”
This I couldn’t answer. If I was not going to expose him, at the very least I would not be drawn into praising him. To my relief, we saw Tom approaching with Jonathan and Caroline.
“—These drag boats that put up this crazy rooster tail,” Tom was saying. “It’s awesome. A spectacle not to be missed.”
“And yet we’ve missed it every year,” Jonathan pointed out. He nodded a greeting at Rachel and me. “Dad never likes to be up at the cabin during the races,” he told Caroline, “because of the crowds and the rowdiness. We usually go up the weekend after and have to spend a good hour picking up trash. You never saw so many beer cans.”
Her eyes sparkled. “That’s terrible! Sounds like having to clean up after a big party when you weren’t even invited.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” said Tom. “If you have to do the clean-up, why not do the party, too? Steve and Dave and I were thinking about going up there in a couple weeks.”
Jonathan’s jaw tightened. “Tom—”
“Aw, don’t get that look, Jon.” Tom elbowed Caroline and pointed at his brother. “See that? That’s Jonathan’s I’m-about-to-do-my-Dad-impression look.”
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