Maggie popped the last of the watermelon, leaned back in her chair, and looked out at the lake. “This is going to be awesome. Pound Patrollers won’t know what’s coming.”
“They’ll probably want us to quit school so we can help kids all around the country lose weight full-time.”
“Definitely.”
“I’ve actually posted some of this stuff online already, so people can actually visit it and nose around, and we’re getting way more hits than I thought we’d ever get, let alone so early on.”
“Of course we are! With your technological genius, how could we not?”
“Right.” Arnie laughed, then paused. “So what’s with the mood?”
“What mood?” Maggie smiled as a father-son fishing team reeled in a big catch. “I’m not in a mood.”
“Yes, you are. An off-the-charts, never-seen-before, amazingly good mood.”
“Am I?” Unable to stop grinning, Maggie casually covered her mouth with one hand.
“Did something happen? Did you win the lottery? Did Harvard send you a really early preapplication acceptance packet?”
Suddenly slightly uncomfortable that her happiness was so abnormally noticeable—and not wanting to delve into the real reason why—Maggie shrugged. “I just had a good week at work.”
“A good week at work. My parents have a good week at work and they collapse in bed, too exhausted from the exertion of the good week to appreciate it.”
Maggie looked at him. “The same parents who also ask the staff to secretly videotape you?”
“Point taken.”
“So what do you need me to do?” she asked, determined to detract attention from her by focusing on the task at hand.
“Well, we can both brainstorm healthy snacks and songs, and then I had another idea that I wanted to run by you.”
“Run away.”
“I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”
“If you thought of it, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“It definitely makes the site way more personal than we ever thought we’d want it to be.”
“Arnie. We already have naked baby pictures of you on there. How much more personal can it get?”
“As personal as a diary?”
“A diary.”
“Not like a ‘I went to the mall and bought three shirts and a pair of sneakers before coming home and watching TV with my parents and calling it a day’ kind of diary. More of a ‘I went to this amazing Italian restaurant and practically died when they brought out the basket filled with soft, warm rolls and buttery slices of garlic bread and knew it was either keep drinking water, salivate all over the table, or commit to a lifetime of crunches if I even touch one piece’ kind of diary.”
“Huh.” Maggie considered this.
“We could do it any way you want. We can take turns, do it daily, weekly, or stick to a flexible schedule of whenever a food challenge presents itself, or whatever. I just thought it would be helpful for kids to know that we still face these really hard issues sometimes but do our best to deal with them.”
“It’s a great idea.” She paused.
“But?”
“It’s just …” Potentially completely and totally embarrassing, especially if the wrong web surfer stumbled upon it. It’d be bad enough if Ben ever happened to find out about her past, but there was no way she wanted him to ever know that her past still affected her present—that it could still be a struggle to pass up candy, cookies, and cake, that she had to consciously think about passing up on those things while most people effortlessly took them or left them. “It’s just a lot of information. And probably a lot of time. Work’s keeping me pretty busy, you know.”
“Oh.” Arnie looked at his laptop screen. “Okay. Well, it was just an idea.”
“It’s a great idea,” Maggie reassured. “And I think kids would really love it. But maybe we can tackle it later? Like as a groundbreaking phase two of the website development?” Surely she could come up with a better reason for not participating by phase two—whatever and whenever that was.
“Sure.” Arnie shrugged. “Sounds good.”
“And I’ll definitely do the Margaret Ann Bean slideshow,” she offered brightly. “I have, like, thousands of embarrassing pictures I’ll happily put up for the benefit of our kids.” Carefully and selectively, of course.
“Right. That’ll be good.”
Maggie watched Arnie absently scroll down the spreadsheet still on his laptop screen. “You okay?”
“Of course.” He sat up straighter in the chair. “Shall we start coming up with snacks that sound way better than they taste?”
“Actually,” Maggie said, leaning toward him, “what if we played hooky instead?”
“Hooky?”
“Working hooky, if we must.” She glanced at the sparkling lake. “It’s just such a great day. Why don’t we brainstorm on your parents’ boat?”
“Well, because of the random video footage, for one.”
“We’ve taken their boat out before.”
“With Peter and Aimee, with their permission. If they found out we took it out without asking, you’d end up one friend short.”
“No problem.” Maggie shrugged. “I just thought it’d be nice. But it’s nice right here, too.”
“It would be nice.” Arnie looked across the lake, then back at the house.
“Not a big deal, though,” Maggie said, watching his knee start bouncing nervously.
He gathered papers, closed manila folders, and shut the laptop.
“Arnie?”
He stood, piled everything on the chair, and held out his hand.
She grinned. “Really?”
“It’s docked, fueled, and ready to go. And my parents are in Spain.”
She took his hand, jumped to her feet, and practically jogged to keep his pace as they crossed the backyard.
“We just need to be back kind of early to meet Pete.”
Still holding Arnie’s hand, she stopped short, accidentally yanking him back.
“What’s up?”
“Pete,” she repeated. “As in Peter? Your cousin Peter?”
“And your friend Peter? The one and the same.” He looked at her curiously, as though wondering why she’d think there’d be any other.
She fought the urge to sink to the ground. For some reason, despite last night, the way she’d breezed through the kitchen earlier and her amazingly good mood, the thought of seeing him again had hit her like a tree branch, knocking the wind out of her. “Maybe we should go on the boat another time.”
Arnie’s face fell. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“House hunting,” Maggie said automatically, still trying to process her feelings. “I just remembered Mom lined up a few showings this afternoon. I should probably be there.”
“What about hanging out the entire afternoon?”
Maggie looked at him and smiled, trying to appear casual so her reaction didn’t freak him out as much it freaked her out. “I’m really sorry. But I promise to work on the website stuff tonight and e-mail you what I find.”
“Okay, I guess.”
She glanced down, suddenly aware that their hands were still clasped. “So I’m going to go.”
He looked down, realized the same thing, and gently let go of her hand.
“Sorry about this,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried across the lawn. “We’ll talk later!”
She’d reached the back porch and was about to sprint up the steps, since, for some reason she’d have to figure out later, she couldn’t seem to get away from the house and the possibility of seeing Peter Applewood in person fast enough, when Arnie called her name. She spun around, breathless, and saw him standing exactly where she’d left him.
He opened his mouth, about to speak, then closed it, shoved his hands in his shorts pockets, and looked at the ground. “Can we do it some other time?” he finally asked, looking up at her. “Go out on the boat together, I mean?”
As she dashed through the French doors and across the kitchen, she kept her eyes lowered to avoid accidentally looking at anything that would bring back that night. It wasn’t until she was out of the house and sprinting across the front lawn that she realized she was humming the melody to “Vogue.”
16.
“Maggie, I don’t feel very good about this.”
“Dad, it’s fine. I promise.”
Her dad sighed and leaned forward to peer through the windshield. “But it’s dark as night out there—never mind the fact that it’s so early it basically is night.”
“They’re just clouds. It’s not even raining.” Maggie eyed the dashboard clock. “And I’m wet all day, anyway. What’s a little rain?”
“A little rain is nothing. An earth-shaking thunderstorm with torrential downpour—which is about the tamest pending scenario, from the looks of that sky—is reason for me to drive you back home.”
“Dad, it’s my job. The swim instructors have to be early to do laps so that we’re ready to go by the time the campers arrive.” It wasn’t an outright lie—Jason and Ben did warm-up laps to make them ready to go by the time the campers arrived.
“Maggie, honey, I would bet a million dollars that no one’s going in that water today.”
“Dad, if you had a million dollars, I’d quit this job tomorrow and spend the rest of the summer sorting your stacks of money into neat, organized piles while lounging by our luxurious in-ground pool.” Which was safe to say, since if her dad really had a million dollars to bet with, they’d never have any trouble buying a house.
“If you see one bolt of lightning, or, forget that—if you feel one droplet of rain—promise me you’ll get out of the water and run like mad to the nearest shelter.”
“Run like mad.” Maggie nodded. “Got it.”
“Your mother’s going to kill me.”
Maggie leaned across the console to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Dad.” She opened the car door and slid from the front seat.
“At least take my umbrella!” he called just as she was about to slam the door shut.
Maggie grabbed the umbrella, closed the door, and walked quickly to the camp entrance. Once certain she was no longer visible from the parking lot—so her dad couldn’t mistake her speed for fear of threatening elements—she started jogging, then running, then sprinting toward the trail that led to the beach.
She understood her father’s concern—it was definitely a gray, ugly day, and the sky did look angry enough to hurl lightning bolts. When she’d wakened that morning and looked outside her bedroom window, her heart had fallen at the sight of the sky that was dark with clouds and not just lingering night. She’d briefly considered climbing back under the covers for an extra hour of sleep, but after spending all weekend thinking about Friday night at Polly’s house, she’d decided she couldn’t wait one extra minute to get to camp.
By the time she reached the trail, her heart pulsated in her ears and her lungs felt like they were one breath away from exploding in her chest. She would’ve slowed down to keep from passing out, but the sky roared suddenly above her, like it was tearing right down the middle. She flew through the woods, stumbling slightly over small rocks and keeping her arms out to push away branches. Halfway down the trail, tiny droplets sprinkled onto her head and face. When she emerged from the trail’s mouth and onto the beach, the tiny droplets gave way to unrelenting sheets, instantly soaking her hair, shorts, and T-shirt. The sand slowed her pace, which she took advantage of to try to open her dad’s umbrella.
“Madge!”
Sure she was hearing things, Maggie glanced up from the umbrella handle and squinted through the rain.
“Madonna!”
Unable to see five feet in front of her, Maggie spun to the left, then to the right, trying to pinpoint the voice.
“The lifeguard stand!”
She could barely make it out, but shot in its general direction. She didn’t see the familiar white legs and platform until they were right in front of her, and didn’t see Ben until he waved both arms in the air.
“What are you doing?” The rain was so loud, he practically shouted as she crawled in between the legs of the lifeguard stand and joined him underneath.
“Wondering why on earth I didn’t go back to bed,” she practically shouted back.
“Isn’t it awesome?”
“Awesome. Right.” She dropped her backpack to the sand and leaned against one of the legs to catch her breath, noticing as she did so that it was actually dry under the stand. Blue plastic CAMP SOUND VIEW ponchos hung from each side of the lifeguard stand like tarps and blocked out the rain. Two life preservers sat at a ninety-degree angle against each other (with the back cushions pushed against one of the stand legs) in a makeshift chair. In the middle of the square patch of sand was Ben’s backpack, on top of which sat a bagel, a carton of orange juice, and a worn copy of The Great Gatsby. “Did you do all this?” she asked, forcing herself to look away from the book.
“I love summer storms.” He lifted one edge of the poncho that hung from the front of the stand and looked toward the churning water. “There’s nothing like them.”
Maggie opened her mouth to agree, but was quickly silenced by another enormous boom overhead.
“You must be freezing.” He dropped the edge of the tarp, grabbed his backpack, and pulled out a towel and sweatshirt. “Here.”
“No, that’s okay, I—”
“Madge.” He looked at her, clearly amused by her unnecessary refusal.
“Thank you.” She took the towel and sweatshirt gratefully.
“So you didn’t say why you’re here so early,” he said as she wrung out her hair, shorts, and T-shirt. “On early Erin duty again?”
“Not exactly.” She bent over, flipped her hair so it fell in front of her face, and toweled it dry to buy time. Her original plan had been simply to say she was up early and felt like a morning swim—she had to stay in shape for the swim team, after all. That reason no longer made much sense, since one look outside would’ve suggested she save the morning swim for another day, and thinking she’d have at least the walk from the parking lot to the beach to come up with a new one, she hadn’t thought of anything better.
“Summer storm watcher too?”
Maggie stood upright and flipped her hair back. “Amateur. Can you tell?”
“Don’t be offended if I say yes.”
“Definitely not.” She smiled, thankful that he didn’t press the issue.
“Well, have a seat and make yourself at home.” He motioned to the life preserver chair. “Are you hungry? Do you want my bagel?”
“No thanks.” She pulled his green sweatshirt over her head and tried not to notice the way it smelled like a combination of laundry detergent and deodorant. “Wow—Dartmouth,” she said, noting the white block letters across her chest as she sat in the life preserver chair.
“Only four years and two months away.” He took one more look outside before sitting on the sand. “Not that I’m counting.”
“So you’re …”
“Going to be a sophomore.”
“Planning ahead—I like it.” Maggie nodded approvingly. “And colleges don’t get much more impressive than Dartmouth.”
“Have you been? Taken a tour of the campus?”
Maggie laughed. “I’m planning ahead, but haven’t quite reached the campus tour portion of my life itinerary. That’s next summer.”
“So you’re …”
“Going into eighth grade,” she admitted reluctantly. She would’ve considered aging herself at least into ninth grade, but there was really no point since he already knew how old she was from her first day of work.
“You seem older.” He looked at her about five seconds longer than anyone else would’ve in the same conversation before draining his orange juice. “Anyway, Dartmouth’
s a great school. Amazing academics, but equally if not more importantly, amazing location. Mountains, lakes, national forests. It’s pretty much paradise.”
“I can’t wait to go to college.”
“It’s always something, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when we’re really little, we can’t wait to do so many things—ride a bike, have friends sleep over, see PG-13 movies. And then, with each thing we’re able to do, there are, like, a dozen new ones we can’t wait for.”
“Driving would be good.”
“Driving would be very good.” He laughed.
“But college is definitely one of the big ones. Leaving your parents, living with strangers, figuring out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.”
“Kind of scary.”
“But also really exciting.” Maggie shivered—either from the chill of the rain or the idea of everything that was to come—and wrapped her Dartmouth-covered arms more tightly around her.
“Kind of like this,” he said, looking up.
Maggie jumped and nearly slid off her life preserver chair when another boom ripped through the sky—and then another, and another.
“Awesome.” Ben grinned. “It’s so close.”
“Is this safe? For us to be out here, I mean?” She’d never feared thunderstorms, but then she’d never really been outside, right smack in the middle of one before.
“Come here, storm chaser.” He stood on his knees and shuffled across the sand to the blue poncho hanging from the front of the stand.
It wasn’t quite the reassuring answer she’d hoped for, but she shuffled on her knees after him, anyway.
“Ready?”
She had no idea if she was ready. He held one edge of poncho in his hand, and she didn’t know what would happen when he lifted it (she had visions of a sudden air vacuum sucking the lifeguard stand up and into the stratosphere, like Dorothy’s house in The Wizard of Oz), so there was no way to know what she was supposed to be ready for. But she nodded, anyway.
As Ben pulled the poncho to one side, she closed her eyes and braced for impact. She slowly opened one eye at a time when the biggest impact was a light spray on her face. “Oh,” she breathed when both eyes were open and actually focused ahead of her. “Oh, wow.”
Maggie Bean Stays Afloat Page 13