Maggie Bean Stays Afloat

by Tricia Rayburn

“Fantastic. Had a great early meeting with the girls—”

  “The girls?”

  “Tillie, Morgan, Sonia, and the rest of the Figure Eights.”

  “This place has an ice-skating rink? In the middle of summer?”

  “Maybe you should lay off the oxygen,” Aimee teased. “Figure Eights is our group name. We have one every year. Last year, when we were going into seventh grade, we were Seventh Heaven. The year before that, we were the Unstoppable Sixes. The year before that—”

  “I get it,” Maggie said, keeping one eye on Erin. After being late, she didn’t need to get in trouble for socializing on the job. “What was your meeting about?”

  “We have one every day. They’re basically to talk about our nights, and plan our day together.”

  “Doesn’t every group get a schedule that they follow the entire summer?”

  “Yes, but what happens within each hour of that schedule changes every day.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, we also meet to select the Queen of the Day. We found out Tillie had a fight with her boyfriend last night, so we chose her to reign all day today, and receive eight hours of compliments and positive energy.” Aimee turned slightly to wave at her group. “Great bathing suit, Tils!”

  “Huh.”

  “Anyway, I have to get back. But you’ll tell me later why you’re sitting by yourself and blowing up water toys?”

  “If my brain cells are still functioning after severe oxygen deprivation, you bet.”

  “Great. See you later!”

  Maggie watched her best friend run away and join an entire circle of best friends. They may have been seasonal best friends, but Aimee had been attending Camp Sound View since kindergarten, which meant she had seven seasons of jokes, gossip, and history with them. Maggie knew this happened every summer, but this was the first time she’d actually witnessed it in person. And she wouldn’t have said so out loud, but it actually stung a little.

  The small stinging worsened as Aimee ran into the water with her group and as the other campers began their lessons with Erin, Polly, Jason, and Ben. Shifting so that her back was to the water, Maggie forced another breath into the tube, and thought about Peter. For the first time since their disastrous conversation, she found herself getting mad at him instead of sad at his not wanting to be with her. If Peter hadn’t rejected her, she would’ve been too busy going to the movies, miniature golfing, sunning at the beach, or partaking in hundreds of other new-couple activities to spend one sad second on the couch watching daytime television. And if she hadn’t been spending hundreds of sad seconds on the couch watching daytime television, her mother never would’ve decided that she was bored or unmotivated enough to be suckered into a summer job. And if she hadn’t been suckered into a summer job, she never would’ve seen her best friend with other best friends, been stuck blowing air into tubes, and wishing she were home watching daytime television.

  Peter Applewood had turned her into a wannabe couch potato.

  The thought was so distressing, she started firing shorter, faster breaths into the tube. How dare he do that? Who did he think he was? So what if he was the star shortstop on the school baseball team? So what if half the girls in their class watched his every move and whispered to one another behind their hands whenever he was near? Did that really give him the right to—

  “Anthony!”

  Maggie’s breath caught in her throat when Erin’s voice shot across the beach.

  “Get back here right now!”

  Swiveling to face the water and standing on her knees to get a better view, Maggie saw a young boy splashing near the far end of the roped-off swimming area. He was by himself, and about twenty feet from the closest group of campers.

  “Do you think this is funny?” Erin shrieked. “Because I’m not laughing. No one’s laughing, Anthony!”

  Maggie didn’t mean to laugh right when Erin so adamantly insisted no one was, but the chuckle escaped her dry lips before she could stop it. The boy obviously knew how to swim (especially since he smirked toward shore every time he came up from underwater), and was just trying to get the exact reaction Erin was giving him.

  “I don’t care how you act when you’re with your counselor, but when you’re with me, you will listen to me!”

  “I’m guessing she didn’t share her toys as a little girl.”

  Squinting against the sun, Maggie looked up to see Ben standing next to her.

  “Why is she so mad?” Maggie glanced back at the water. “He’s okay, isn’t he?”

  “Of course he is.” Grinning, he crouched next to her. “I’ll let you in on a little Camp Sound View secret.”

  Maggie held her breath. He was so close, she could see individual water droplets on his face.

  “Erin is many things,” he said quietly, still grinning. “She’s smart, cute, organized, punctual, and very committed to her job. But I’ve known her a long time, and the one thing she is not—never has been and never will be—is kid-friendly.”

  “That would seem like a detriment to the job she’s so committed to.”

  “With Erin, it’s about the power, not the kids. They freak her out. And what’s worse is that they know they freak her out.”

  “Anthony Luciano, you have ten seconds to get back here or I’m coming in after you!”

  “And she really thinks the ear-numbing screams work?”

  “Apparently,” he said, shaking his head. “See how they all keep swimming, talking, and laughing? You and I are the only ones paying attention to her right now. She refuses to accept that there’s really only one thing you have to remember when dealing with kids.”

  “And what’s that?” Maggie asked, turning to look at him.

  “That they’re just miniature versions of us.”

  “And we definitely don’t respond well to shrieking demands.”

  “If she were coming at me like that, I’d bolt in the other direction, not hang around to see what else she had to say.”

  Maggie was about to comment on how such a simple concept seemed to make a ton of sense, when cool drops of water fell across her shoulders. Turning around, she found a group of soaking wet boys standing behind her.

  “Maggie, meet the Freshwater Phantoms, seven of the most amazing fifth graders to ever take to the high seas.”

  “Hi, guys,” Maggie said, smiling at the boys.

  Ben stood from his crouched position and faced his campers. “Are you ready for your very important assignment?”

  The boys nodded somberly.

  “Great. Now, as you can see, Maggie is just one person—a very strong person, but still, just one person. She’s been asked to blow up all of these tubes and rafts, but with just one person on the job, that could take all summer. Plus, these tubes and rafts are for all of us to enjoy.”

  Maggie looked at the boys. Fifth graders might’ve been miniature versions of themselves, but they could still be impatient and rambunctious; these kids stood still and listened to Ben as though he was some sort of little-boy God addressing them in an empty room, and not on a beach surrounded by a million distractions.

  “Guys, Maggie—and all of Camp Sound View, for that matter—needs our help. Are you up to the challenge?”

  “What?” She’d been so busy appreciating his calm, effective approach, it hadn’t occurred to her what he was actually doing. “Ben, that’s not necessary. I—”

  “We’re ready!” a curly haired Freshwater Phantom declared for the group.

  “Good.”

  Maggie was about to attempt another protest, but stopped when she noticed Ben trying not to smile.

  “Start with the rafts. And take your time. If you need to rest, rest. This isn’t a contest, and we’re not trying to break any records.”

  With one nod from Ben, the boys were off. Maggie thought they might revert to rambunctious, impatient fifth graders as they scrambled for rafts, but once they each had one, they simply found empty spots in the sand and began blowing.<
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  “Ben, this is great, thank you,” Maggie said as he sat next to her. “But shouldn’t you guys be in the water? I don’t want Erin to scream at you, too.”

  “She won’t,” he said, dragging a flattened inner tube from the stack. “And if she does, I’ll just remind her that I’m building camper relationships. These guys need to trust and respect me if they’re going to learn anything. I’ve asked them for help, they feel important, and tomorrow we can really focus on our lessons with mutual trust already established.”

  “Okay,” Maggie said doubtfully as Erin blew three long whistles at another swimming camper gone astray.

  “Besides, fifth graders are full of hot air.”

  Maggie laughed and pulled the inner tube she’d been working on pre-Erin-freak-out back in her lap. With Ben next to her and the Freshwater Phantoms behind her, the only trouble she had blowing into the tube now was keeping air from escaping as she smiled around the small plastic air valve.

  10.

  Maggie stood on the front porch of Arnie’s MudPuddle lake house, finger poised just above the doorbell. She spent so much time at Arnie’s lake house, she usually just let herself in and announced her arrival by yelling for Arnie once inside, but this was her first time back since the Peter Applewood disaster. It felt different now—like the house itself, and not just Peter, had rejected her.

  “Central-air allergy acting up again?”

  Maggie stumbled backward as the front door flew open. “I didn’t ring,” she huffed.

  “You never ring. And you’ve been standing like a statue in the sweltering heat for eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”

  “It’s not that hot,” Maggie said, wiping her damp forehead.

  “I’d rather not hold this debate outside since my brain tends to swell to nonfunctioning proportions in 120 percent humidity.”

  “Fine.” Taking what she hoped was an unnoticeable deep breath, Maggie brushed past Arnie through the door.

  “Better?” he asked with a grin, closing the door behind them.

  “Getting there,” she said wearily, eyeing the couch she and Peter had shared during Shrek marathons, the Nintendo Wii Arnie and Peter were usually glued to, and the fireplace she and Peter had sat in front of the first time they’d hung out in Arnie’s house together. Not all of the memories were perfect—they’d sat in front of the fireplace together after he’d found her passed out on the dock and brought her inside last fall, a truly mortifying moment from which she was still recovering—but they were still nice enough to make her heart sink while standing in the living room. “Where are you going?”

  Arnie froze in the kitchen doorway. “To get snacks?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Maggie insisted, heart racing. Standing in the living room was one thing, but going into the kitchen would be like revisiting the scene of a very bad accident—she’d look around in disbelief, picture the way everything went down, and wish she could turn back time to prevent it from happening. “Or thirsty.”

  “But I’m starving. And watching you stand in that heat made me rather parched.”

  “Are we working in your room?”

  “Both parental units are on the premises, so, yes.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Maggie knew Arnie watched her curiously as she bolted from the living room—given that he was not only a boy but also Peter’s cousin, she hadn’t told him about the embarrassing incident that caused her current strange behavior. But she kept her head lowered and hurried down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the second bedroom on the right. Since this was Arnie’s family’s summer house, his room lacked the same amenities—a forty-two-inch plasma-screen TV, an extensive DVD library that Netflix would envy, and a stocked Red Bull cooler—as his regular bedroom in their permanent home. This room still had a twenty-six-inch plasma-screen TV, smaller collection of DVDs, and a refrigerator big enough to fit two Red Bull four-packs, but it didn’t compare to the living room or kitchen, so they didn’t hang out there much. In fact, once inside, her heart slowed to a steady thumping, her stomach stopped turning, and she couldn’t picture Peter there at all. Which meant they’d never been in the room at the same time, which meant it was completely safe.

  “Okay,” Arnie said, coming into the room and pushing the door closed with one foot, “I know you’re not hungry or thirsty, but I have pretzels, strawberries, sugar-free chocolate pudding, granola, and Soy Crisps. And bottled water and unsweetened iced tea.”

  “Are we expecting company?”

  “You know I like choices.” Leaning over the bed, Arnie opened his arms and lifted his chin to unload enough food to feed everyone at Pound Patrollers.

  “What’s with the bags?” Maggie took a plastic Baggie of pretzel nuggets from the pile.

  “Portion control,” Arnie explained, taking another plastic Baggie of sliced strawberries. “Anyway, we have a lot of work to do, so I thought we should have a lot of fuel.”

  “Don’t several single-portion-size snacks kind of defeat the purpose of portion control?”

  Already done with the strawberries, Arnie pouted and tossed the Baggie of Soy Crisps he’d just picked up back on the pile. “Let’s get started.”

  The one thing Arnie never went without, whether he was at his primary home, his summer home, or traveling somewhere in-between, was his beloved seventeen-inch MacBook Pro. Some kids had favorite stuffed animals or blankies they clung to for comfort; instead of a ratty teddy bear or worn knit throw, Arnie clung to his MacBook Pro. Maggie followed him now to his big black desk, where the silver laptop was up and running and playing some kind of dance music. Surrounding the laptop were notebooks, pens, Post-its, highlighters, and stacks of paper.

  “You’ve been busy,” Maggie said. “I’m impressed.”

  Arnie pulled an overstuffed armchair from the corner of the room to the desk and motioned for Maggie to sit.

  “So how scary was Electra last week?”

  “Dude,” he said, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he plopped in the wooden desk chair. “That was a whole new level of crazy. Which makes what we’re doing today even more important.”

  “What are we doing today?” Maggie leaned forward to see the laptop screen.

  “Choosing the general template and discussing the beginning content of the Patrol This website.” Arnie punched the return key, watched the screen fill with several boxes, and turned the laptop toward Maggie. “These are their template suggestions.”

  Maggie examined the four website pages lined next to one another. The first featured photos of a group of smiling, generic-looking kids as they played soccer, jogged on a woodsy trail, and ate orange slices. The second showed an animated lion in a PATROL THIS vest and badge monitoring the eating habits of other jungle animals, including a trio of banana-munching monkeys. The third displayed a bright red stop sign with PATROL THIS and CHANGE YOUR LIFE in big black letters, and five examples of how—the first being a longer life. She didn’t think it could get any worse than that—the glaring warning that you might die without help—but the fourth template was, without question, the very worst of all.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Arnie looked at her, then back at the screen. “I know they’re not especially innovative or original, but—”

  “How’d they get that picture?” Maggie grabbed one corner of the laptop and pulled it closer. “I look like a walrus!”

  “You do not look like a walrus.”

  The fourth website template was totally blank—white background, no text—except for the enormous shot of her and Arnie wearing PATROL THIS T-shirts and standing with their arms across each other’s shoulders. “Darn that Aunt Violetta,” she grumbled, recalling her aunt’s insistence to take their picture at the last Pound Patrollers meeting. She’d said she wanted it for her scrapbook, but had Maggie known her scrapbook was going to be online and available for millions of people all over the world to see, she might’ve brushed her hair first. “An
d I do look like a walrus. My face is huge, my forehead’s shiny, and I look like I never lost a pound in that baggy T-shirt.”

  “Maggie,” Arnie said, looking at the picture and shaking his head, “you’re beautiful.”

  Her mouth already hung open in surprise at seeing herself on the screen, so immediate protest could’ve—and should’ve—flown out quickly and easily. But Arnie’s compliment actually forced her mouth shut and left her temporarily speechless. The only people who’d ever told her she was beautiful were her mother and Aimee, and the words sounded very different coming from someone besides her mother and best friend. And even if Arnie was just being nice because he was her friend, or because he looked great in the same photo and wanted to keep it on the website, he was still a boy.

  A boy who didn’t think she looked like a walrus. A boy who thought she was beautiful.

  “Of course,” he said when her uncharacteristic silence grew louder than the music still pulsating from the laptop, “my hair was falling especially well that day, and purple is perfect for my skin tone, so the picture was bound to be a winner.”

  “Of course,” Maggie agreed. He focused on the screen, so she did too, but out of the corners of her eyes, she noticed his face was redder than normal.

  “Arnold Bartholomew Gunderson.”

  Maggie didn’t know whether to be relieved for the distraction or scared for their safety when Arnie’s mother threw open the bedroom door. She stood in the doorway, wearing designer exercise clothes (black leggings, a sleeveless black top, and futuristic-looking silver sneakers), an iPod, and a BlackBerry. Her dark brown hair was twisted tightly on top of her head. She had to be around Maggie’s mother’s age, but looked more like a college student.

  “Holy cow,” Arnie muttered under his breath before closing the laptop and swiveling in his chair. “Yes, Mom?” he asked politely, his voice back to regular volume.

  “I was just enjoying a nice leisurely afternoon of watching C-SPAN, reading The Wall Street Journal, and e-mailing clients while doing my stress-reducing ten-mile run on the treadmill, when a ton of reminders popped up and interrupted my good time.” Standing in the doorway, she started reading from her BlackBerry. “Arnie practice flute, Arnie swim in lake, Arnie jog around lake, Arnie read one hundred pages of book of his choice. Nowhere does it say anything about Arnie hiding in his room and playing on his computer all day. Hello, Maggie.”