Sparrow came over and introduced herself to them in a breezy way, all smiles, then threw her arms around me as she always did, warm and welcoming. Jimmy and Kieran looked on in disbelief until she released me and disappeared into the kitchen to help my mother.
In her wake, something passed between my brothers and me. For years the twins and I had shared not only a house, but the same school hallways, the same bus, the same playground, always aware of where the others stood, who they were at home and outside. But here was Sparrow, a spectacular friend I had that they knew nothing about. That meant we had secrets from each other now.
From here on out, we always would.
I hurried to finish setting the table, and heard a rustle then from below—the sound of Tru coming up the stairs. He opened the basement door with a slow creak, revealing a face that was eager, delighted. He came to see his act in motion.
Truman the magician.
Mom and Dad had put the leaf into the dining room table to give us more room. Why they hadn’t done this before, so that we didn’t bump elbows after Tru came, I had no idea. But now everything opened up. We could move. We could breathe. We asked nicely for things to be passed, handing spoons and bowls carefully, no one spilling.
Under Sparrow’s gaze, we seemed to have remembered ourselves as polite and thoughtful people. The family became a bunch of chatterboxes, everyone talking at once, having loud, overlapping conversations. Tru was telling my mom about Sparrow’s aunt, how she was a professor, and how excited she was that I was going to the science and engineering school. Meanwhile, my father was asking Sparrow if she rooted for the Patriots. Her eyes got all wide and excited.
“I do! In fact, this is so crazy: my mom was a cheerleader for them, just for a year. In between when she stopped doing ballet and when I was born. She has a photo of herself in uniform that she keeps in our dining room. Our dining room! It’s mortifying! I’m always trying to make her put it away. So yes, I like the Patriots, but I’m more of a basketball girl.”
When she said this, Jimmy and Kieran resumed their idiot looks, Jimmy all slack-jawed, Kieran silently worshipping some wonder of the world. Sparrow looked up at them.
“Frannie told you about P.J., right? My cousin’s friend?” she said. “How he remembered you two from basketball games?”
But I hadn’t told them. I’d been so wrapped up in myself that it hadn’t occurred to me. Now Sparrow explained the whole story, complete with the part about P.J. standing on the chair, and my whole family was laughing.
After that the conversation lulled for a moment as we all turned to our bowls, and I was afraid that we might descend back into the same kind of grumpy, halting dinner we’d been having all summer. But then Kieran jumped in and with stories about camp, and we all listened and looked happy and reminded him to tell the funniest ones.
“Frannie, have you told Sparrow about Duncan?” Kieran asked.
“Ugh,” Jimmy said. “No more Duncan stories. It’s the same thing every day.”
“Well, I haven’t heard it,” Sparrow said. “Tell me about Duncan. Is he the kid you babysit?”
So I started to talk all about him, how sweet he was, but how hard it was sometimes, too, and my parents listened quietly, smiling. Looking proud. Meanwhile Kieran was just openly staring at Sparrow, who was looking at me and pretending not to notice all the attention. And as I talked about the mazes and the blocks and the chicken, I looked over to see Tru, who’d been so quiet for the last few minutes, you could almost forget he was there. He was tipping his chair back, twiddling his thumbs, and looking completely satisfied.
What a trick he had pulled, right before our eyes.
Sparrow washed the dishes and I dried while my mother for once just stood by, letting others do the work. She thanked Sparrow for introducing me to new friends, someone from my school, and Sparrow was gracious and humble, saying that it was no problem at all.
Halfway through the pile of bowls and spoons, Sparrow broached the camping trip, emphasizing that it was one night only and that she would be in charge, that she was terribly serious about watching over Devon. She added that Tru had talked to Kieran about coming and keeping an eye on everyone, too. She somehow made the trip sound like a playdate, a bunch of kids goofing around. She explained that we wouldn’t be off in the woods alone, that the camping areas were packed, that we’d be on top of a million other people on an island that was patrolled day and night by park rangers. My mom listened carefully, nodded tightly a couple of times, saying that we’d been there years before and she remembered what it was like. A nice place.
I couldn’t believe it—she was charmed into saying yes.
The next day I was a wreck. I was anxious about what would happen, with beer and boys and who knows what, and I was just as afraid that my mother would come to her senses and say we couldn’t go. I couldn’t focus on anything in my workbooks. I gave up forever on my summer reading. I lost my patience with Duncan, and had to stop and breathe, regain my composure. Setting the table, I broke a glass.
That week The Mack’s parents had disappeared to god knows where, and Tru was over there Monday and Tuesday with the twins. Wednesday we met Sparrow, P.J., and Devon at the diner, where we talked about who had tents and coolers and sleeping bags, making all the final plans. After that, the boys relayed what had happened at music camp, Sparrow talked about her final art project, and Tru told the best stories from all the St. Sebastian’s parties he’d been to with my brothers.
I’d been mostly quiet, fiddling around with my pancakes. Tru started smiling at me, and I knew I was in trouble.
“Frannie, you’ve barely said a thing. Maybe you can walk us through some of the chemistry equations you’ve been working so hard on this summer.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, pouring more syrup on my plate.
“What?” he said, with that wicked smile of his. “Winston’s not here. That makes you our designated dork, right?”
I righted the jug, clicked the top closed, and set it down on the table.
“This from the spelling bee king of Connecticut?”
Sparrow did one of her head-back, deep-throated laughs, while P.J. and Devon went wide-eyed, turning from me to Tru.
“I’m sorry,” Devon said. “What was that?”
I picked up my fork and knife, resumed eating like it was no big deal.
“Tru was in the National Spelling Bee. The one on ESPN.”
P.J. absolutely lost it, shaking his head wildly, rubbing his eyes and looking at Tru like he was seeing him for the first time.
“You were not one of those kids,” he said to Tru. “Those kids are mental. They are not right in the head. You were not one of those kids.”
Meanwhile Devon was looking at me like I’d just done something surprising. Impressive.
“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that from us,” he said, and I noticed that he seemed to be talking just to me, not to anyone else.
Then he smiled his killer smile, and I ducked my head, not sure what to say.
When P.J. had finally calmed down, Sparrow confirmed what I said, and that’s when I glanced at Tru, looking to see if I’d thrown him off even a little. He was staring down at his plate, then looked sideways at me, gave me a little smile. He appreciated that I’d tried to get him, I could tell that he did. But this wasn’t a real secret. I should have remembered from earlier this summer, at the dinner table. This was a piece of the past that he already owned.
He’d challenged me, and I’d deflected. I challenged him, and he was ready to revel in it. Looking up, he pushed his omelet out of the way and folded his hands together, gazing at the boys.
“Indeed, I was one of those freak-show kids. Let me spin you a tale of spelling and woe.”
Thursday was cooler than it had been in weeks, and that night after dinner, the twins went to play basketball. Tru wanted to go for another run, even though he’d been that morning as usual, and asked if I wanted to come. I said sure, and we both got
our shoes and headed out the front door, started jogging down the sidewalk without bothering to stretch.
“Should we race?” he asked.
“Race? I don’t think it’s racing if we know who’s going to win.”
“Well, sure. With that attitude you’re never going to beat me.”
I thought for sure he was going to tear off down the block, but instead he kept moving at a leisurely jog. We passed an old couple walking a pair of poodles, a young couple pushing a pouty toddler, a tired guy in a suit, laptop bag slumped heavy on his shoulder. Tru didn’t seem to notice any of them. He had his head craned up at the cloudless blue, a white moon stamped unexpectedly on the not-yet-dark sky.
“Are you ready for our big camping trip?” he asked. “There’s going to be stars and a fire and everything. Very romantic, you know.”
I knew, of course, that he was about to mess with me. I tried to veer the conversation away.
“Porta-potties and bug spray and sleeping on the ground,” I said. “Totally romantic.”
He fought a smile then, as I knew he would. He always liked when I was sarcastic.
“I just want to make sure you’ve thought about, you know, everyone who’s going to be there. Maybe there’s a certain someone you’re excited to see.”
I refused to look at him. I kept my eyes straight ahead, took a second to tighten my ponytail.
“Well, I do have a crush on Sparrow,” I said. “But who doesn’t?”
Just at that moment we were rounding the corner, the basketball courts coming distantly into view.
“Who doesn’t indeed?” he said, with a jerk of his head in the twins’ direction.
I laughed a little, and for a moment we were quiet. I thought he was actually going to drop it. Then he sighed.
“So you’re not going to tell me anything? About how you might be feeling? All these weeks we’ve spent together, I just thought I could help prepare you for a big night.”
“I’m quite prepared,” I told him. “I’ve already packed my toothbrush and everything.”
He smiled again, and then kept quiet the whole jog home. A couple of times I thought he was going to say something more, but he always stopped himself, as if thinking better of it.
We both knew what I was doing, after all. That I was practicing the kind of game he had taught me to play—the shield of clever answers, or rude ones, when you didn’t want to talk. In this case, of course, it wasn’t really working, because I wasn’t fooling him at all.
Still, he seemed amused enough that he decided to let me be. At least for now.
EIGHTEEN
Tara and the groupies all had tickets to a concert that weekend, so that left the seven of us—the band, me, Tru, Sparrow, and Kieran. Just enough to fit in our old monster of a van.
Kieran and I had taken Friday off, and Tru was ditching class. Sparrow drove over with the boys that morning. We spent half an hour shoving all the gear into the trunk until it was a solid block of tents and bags and coolers. Then, to my horror, Mom appeared. She had come home early from work, and she made us unpack the whole thing so that she could check it for beer while we sweated on the sidewalk. She found nothing.
I wondered where in the world it could possibly be hiding.
After she gave the okay for us to reload it all, I thought we were finally free. Not yet. While I stood there red-faced and mortified, she lined up Devon, P.J., and Winston and stood before them with arms crossed, her face an angry mask, full of that look she always got before the twins went out: peremptory disapproval.
“I’ve already talked to my kids and Truman, and I know Sparrow is an adult who knows how to be good, but let me tell you boys—you are going to behave. There are rangers all over that island. If you do anything, they will be on you, and you will be sorry.”
Winston just stood there in shock. P.J. drummed his fingers worse than ever and was driven into an uncharacteristic silence. Devon looked simply solemn, nodding along to every word. When she was done he was the only who managed to speak.
“I think you would like my mother, Mrs. Little. I got almost that exact same speech this morning.”
I saw a flicker at the corner of her mouth that could have been the start of a smile.
The whole time, Tru had been standing down at the end of our block, talking on the phone to one of his parents, his body stiff and turned away from us. He came back just as we were climbing into the van. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, seemed to be composing himself.
Kieran drove, with Sparrow next to him, Tru and I in the middle, the three boys stuck in the back. As soon as Kieran left our street, we realized that no one had CDs, only phones and iPods, which our van had no way to play. So we were stuck with what we were always stuck with: U2, Bruce, and the Stones. P.J. and Devon had no problem with that, yelling out requests for “Gimme Shelter.” Kieran warned everyone to roll down their windows, because the air-conditioning barely worked. He then turned the music to a very specific, and strategic, volume: just loud enough that he could talk to Sparrow but no one else could hear them. That meant the only person I could really talk to was Tru, but he had his earbuds in.
As we made our way south toward the highway, P.J. tapped my shoulder, and I turned around. He tried to tell me something, but it took several times for me to catch it over the wind and the music.
“Your brother is taller than ever. And your mom is scary but also kind of awesome.”
We both settled back into our seats, and behind me, the boys became wrapped up in their own conversation. I gave silent thanks for this little blessing: a three-hour car ride that I would be able to spend with my thoughts, searching out the window and readying myself for whatever might come.
We joined a long line of cars chugging over the bridge and onto the island, water sparkling and sloshing below. At the guard booth, Kieran handed them our pass, which Tru had mysteriously provided, and the attendant told us how to get to our designated square of campground. He warned us the wind was supposed to be bad tonight. In fact, it had been getting steadily worse the whole way down. Now it was actually rocking the car.
“Tru, how’d you get a spot so last-minute?” Kieran asked as we pulled into the parking lot. “Usually they fill up a few weeks in advance.”
“Weren’t you there? It was at The Mack’s party last week. Some kids from your school—drama kids, I think. They’d gotten two, but then some people bailed, and they said we could have one. So I guess I should apologize. We’re probably going to be stuck next to a bunch of insufferable, attention-starved star wannabes.”
“Um, did you forget where Devon and I go to school?” P.J. asked.
“We don’t know anyone but insufferable, attention-starved star wannabes,” Devon said.
“Well, they brought our beer, so we should all be thanking them anyway,” Tru said.
I whipped my head toward him. “So that’s how you did it.”
He gave a little shrug, looking proud of himself.
Kieran asked which drama kids, and Tru said Kylie Bennett and Rachel Bobbins. Kylie was the fresh-faced, perky girl who was always the lead, and Rachel was her cute, chubby friend who usually got stuck playing some old lady. Kieran said they were nice girls, and Sparrow teased him, asking whether they were special friends of his. He whispered something back that made her laugh.
After Kieran eased the van into a parking spot, we all tumbled out, stretching and marveling at the madness of the weather. Sunlight glinted dimly through gray clouds, while the air whipped us violently, blowing as if it wanted to rip our clothes from our bodies, our feet from the earth.
We divided up most of the gear, deciding that we’d come back later for the rest. Burdened with our loads, we made our way slowly down the path toward our designated campsite. The island was spotted with tents, many bending in the wind like sails, some already tipped or collapsed. Barbecues were smoldering. Portable speakers sent out thin music. Kids were running around and screaming like savages.
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“Where the hell are the horses?” Tru asked.
“We’ll probably only see a few,” Kieran said. “Maybe closer to the beach.”
The wind blew and blew. My hair whirled around my head, snaking tendrils covering my eyes. Half-blind, I did the best I could to keep up.
Our designated spot was a little patch of land about the size of our dining room at home—lot number 367. We were much more isolated than Sparrow had implied to my mother. We could hear the din of other people, but were mostly shielded from them by patches of thin, young trees. The only campsite we could actually see was the one right next door. Kylie and Rachel’s. A big red tent bowed in the breeze, and there were three beach chairs held down by rocks placed on the seats. No people around. Tru kept looking over there, arms folded, annoyed.
Dropping our things, we got our bearings. A concrete bunker of bathrooms and showers was a two-minute walk to the east. The beach was just south of us. We had one small tent for Sparrow and me, one giant tent for the boys. Everybody was jumpy and jittery, staring reluctantly at our hopeless jumble of equipment.
Kieran looked at our impatient faces and laughed.
“Jesus, I thought this was a vacation. Apparently I’m a permanent camp counselor. Get out of here. I’ll set up.”
Sparrow offered to stay and help. The boys took off and I started after them, then looked back for Tru. He was coming slowly, glancing back at the other campsite.
“Is that Kylie and Rachel’s?” I asked. “Is it just the two of them?”
“Hmmmm?” He gave me a look like he had no idea what I meant, then breezed by me, following the boys.
The five of us walked single-file down the skinny path that ran through the woods, thick greenery blocking out the sky. There were roots and rocks to dodge, and we had to walk carefully. Like a tightrope walker, I told myself, thinking back to the beginning of the summer.
I could not believe how much had changed. I could not believe I was here.
The leaves shushed together overhead, and we hurried along, rushing toward the break in the trees. One by one, the boys slipped from the woods. Last in line, lagging several steps behind, I finally reached the path’s end, hovering there to take in the view of the beach, the way it opened before me like a picture book, an expanse of perfect sand with the ocean brewing like an angry cauldron behind it. There was no one here but us. Tru was just a few steps away, hands in front of his face, like maybe he was trying to block the sun. Winston, Devon, and P.J. were farther off down the beach, and they were laughing like mad. I couldn’t figure out why it was so empty, why they were cackling like that, until I actually stepped out of the protection of the trees and stood next to Tru.
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