Picture Perfect

by Catherine Clark

  I thought about how much things had changed since the day I’d run into Blake in the supermarket and he’d told me he was coming to see the island. We’d shared a kiss by the canned peach pyramids. What might have happened if I’d ditched my mom and told Blake I was coming along? That I’d rather fiesta with him than cook a fiesta meal with my mom?

  I’d probably be disinherited by now, but maybe things would have worked out with Blake.

  No, probably not, I thought. We’d have gotten to the ferry, and then I’d have found out that the red-haired girl was meeting Blake on the island. And I’d have been stranded here on the street, which would have been much worse than being dissed in the middle of a loud club. Even if the music sucked.

  Spencer tapped my shoulder. “What are you smiling about?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I was actually thinking something really bad.”

  “Huh.” He didn’t inquire about the details, which was just as well. “I’m thinking of something bad, too. Like the fact the day is already half over. Do you think the long wait for the ferry is really worth it? We could kayak there faster.”

  “Did you bring the kayak?” I asked.

  “Spence, it’s worth the wait,” Spencer’s dad assured us. “Don’t you want to get out on the water?”

  “And see where Blackbeard met his fate?” my dad added.

  “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,” Heather said. She glanced at her watch. “Are we ever going to get there?”

  I sighed. “I’m going to get a pop over there in the visitor center—anyone else want one?”

  “I’ll come with,” Heather said, and we headed for the vending machines inside the building. “Why didn’t your mom come? She’s always got the cooler full of drinks for us. I was counting on her.” She fed two dollar bills into the pop machine.

  “She said she wasn’t feeling all that well.” I shrugged. “What about your mom?”

  “She just wanted some time by herself to read and reflect, she said. Personally, I think they’re hitting a day spa together,” Heather said. “Your mom’s the tourist extraordinaire. Why would she miss an item on her list?”

  “I know, it’s strange,” I said. “Maybe she just felt like staying home and making a new list. We’ve got all next week to fill up with tours and events, remember?”

  “We do, that’s true.” We walked over and stood by the door, looking outside, enjoying the cool air-conditioning. “So. You didn’t tell him yet, did you?” Heather asked.

  “Not exactly,” I replied. Not this year, I thought, wondering if I should finally tell Heather how this had gone for me the last time I had attempted it. Badly.

  “When are you going to do it?” she pressed.

  “I saw you last night! Do you really think I had time between now and then?” I asked her, laughing.

  “At least twelve hours,” she said. “And it’s only going to take you like five minutes. What are you waiting for? Look at him over there. He’s pacing around waiting for you to get back.”

  “Is he? I think he’s just impatient for the boat.”

  “The boat—and you.” She pressed my arm with her finger. “Exactly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I love the spin you put on things, but I can’t do it. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.”

  “Nah, that’s just worrying about being on the boat. Telling him will not be as hard as you think.”

  “I already have a bruised knee and a questionable hamstring muscle,” I said, “from trying to be Catwoman last night.”

  “Well, I didn’t tell you to scale buildings,” she said, and we laughed. After my disastrous attempts, I’d called Heather—she was just on her way home from seeing a movie with Dean, and we’d gotten together for ice cream in my room to laugh about it.

  “I thought it was a brilliant idea,” I said. “And it could have worked.”

  “Could have,” Heather agreed. “But why don’t you just try sitting next to him on the ferry and telling him? Might be a little less risky.”

  “With everyone else around?” I scoffed. “No way. That would be so embarrassing.”

  “It isn’t easy. I know. Okay, I’ll give you a hint.”

  “It better be a big one,” I said. “I need all the help I can get.”

  “Shut up. You’re constantly saying that and putting yourself down. You did fine meeting Blake. It just didn’t work out, that’s all.”

  “Well, that’s sort of the truth,” I said with a laugh.

  “Anyway. What I usually do? Is give myself a deadline.”

  “A deadline?” I asked. “What kind of deadline?”

  “Tell yourself that you’re not leaving the island, or ending today, without telling him how you feel, that he’s the Spencerest of all the Spencers you know, or whatever.”

  “Whatever I say? It’s going to be better than that,” I assured her as we both cracked up. “Wait a second. Did you just say today?” I nearly dropped my pop can on my foot. “Are you insane?”

  “No,” she said. “Do you want to spend the rest of your vacation pining away for him or do you want to start hanging out? And making out?”

  “But what if I bomb like last time?”

  “What last time?”

  As we waited, I finally told her the story of what had happened when I was fifteen, and how Spencer had completely blown off my attempt to get closer to him.

  Although it had been horribly embarrassing for me, she didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

  “You know what? I would not feel bad about that at all,” Heather scoffed. “I bet he didn’t even know you were making a move.”

  How I wished that were true. “Oh, he knew. He’s referred to it once or twice on this trip.”

  “In a fun way?” she asked.

  “Let’s see. Is teasing and glaring considered fun? Maybe in some cultures.”

  “That’s Spencer, though. I mean, hate to say it, but he’s not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type. He doesn’t have a clue about how to talk to people—that’s why I told him he’d have to brush up on his socials skills—or should I say skill, because he doesn’t have more than one—before he goes off to Linden and immediately insults a bunch of people.”

  “He’s not that bad,” I said.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re falling for him. Or you already fell, actually,” she said. “Off your balcony.”

  “Great. I’m going to be teased about this for life, aren’t I?” I said. Outside, my dad was waving his arms in the air, trying to get our attention. He pointed at the ocean, then at the car, then at us. I waved to let him know we got the message.

  “Pretty much,” Heather said as we hurried over to the car. A ferry was just docking, and everyone was starting their engines again, preparing to board. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something else soon.”

  “That’s so reassuring,” I said as we climbed into the Rustbucket.

  “What’s reassuring?” Spencer asked, turning around in the front seat, where he sat beside my dad, who was driving.

  “Hold on. Here we go, kids!” My dad started humming the tune to the very old TV show, Gilligan’s Island, where the characters were on a three-hour boat tour and got stranded on an island for a few seasons.

  “Dad. We’re not going out in some small fishing boat,” I said.

  “Neither was Gilligan, Em. Neither was Gilligan.” And there he was, driving us onto the ferry, singing the theme song at the top of his lungs.

  Somewhere, the world was missing a very strange accountant.

  Maybe he needed to take more vacation days.

  Four hours later, we’d had a delicious late lunch at a café right on the harbor, seen the Ocracoke Lighthouse, the pirate museum, the place where Blackbeard was said to have met his fate. We’d also seen houses, gift shops, art studios, and the tiniest cemetery I’d ever seen, which was for four British soldiers killed during World War II. We’d done almost everything as a tight-knit group, so I hadn’t had a minute alone
with Spencer—in fact, we’d both spent lots of time holding on to or chasing Tim and Tyler.

  We’d gone back to the visitor center in the middle of town, where we’d parked, so Adam could get some snacks for the kids out of the van. “Hey, my dad just called—there’s some bad weather coming in—thunderstorms—and he was thinking I really should get the boys home at a semi-decent hour, so we need to head back.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” said my dad. “We don’t want to be out here in the middle of a storm.”

  “It’s a really good idea,” Heather agreed.

  “Okay. We’ll all go, I guess.” I looked at Heather and shrugged.

  “Yes. But we have the two cars,” my dad said. “So you don’t need to rush off.”

  “Yes. Really,” Heather said. “You guys stay. Enjoy the local flavors. Go shopping!”

  “No thanks, I’m done shopping,” said Spencer. He turned to me. “You?”

  “I’m broke,” I said. “But maybe I should stay a little while and try to get some nighttime pictures.”

  “Well, you can’t stay here by yourself. Who would like to stay and keep Emily company? How about you, Spencer?” my dad suggested.

  “Yeah, sure. That’s probably a good idea. What about you, Heather? You want to stay, too?” Spencer asked.

  “Oh, I—I can’t,” she said. “I need to go check in with my mom and see how she’s doing.” Heather came closer and pulled me aside. “Listen, Emily. Don’t you see—this is the perfect opportunity. I can’t stay—I’m supposed to be meeting Dean tonight, so I’ve got to head back. But you and Spencer can stay, together.”

  “You’re ditching me?” I asked.

  “Did you tell him yet?” Heather asked.

  “No…” I said slowly. “Do long looks at him count?”

  She threw up her hands. “Then I’m definitely ditching you. What are you waiting for? Tell him.”

  “Give me a break! I haven’t had a chance.”

  “Right. Sure you haven’t,” Heather said. “Well, you’re definitely going to have a chance now.”

  “Okay. How should I—”

  “Emily, you’re smart. You’ll think of something.”

  I raised my right eyebrow, daring her to leave me. What was this, tough love? She calmly walked over and climbed into the van, where Tim and Tyler were already buckled in and waiting. Adam got in beside her, then my dad got in, taking the driver’s seat, looking like a chauffeur. Spencer’s mom and dad were the last ones in.

  “Call to check in!” Mr. Flanagan yelled over his shoulder, his voice mingling with my dad’s, who was saying the same exact thing. Then the sliding doors dinged and closed, they pulled away, and Spencer and I were left standing in the parking lot.

  “So where did you want to get those pictures?” Spencer asked.

  “I was thinking some sunset pictures. By the lighthouse?” I suggested.

  “If it weren’t cloudy, that would be a great concept.” Spencer looked up at the sky. “You didn’t want to do that, anyway. Too clichéd.”

  “How about if I take some pictures of you, then?” I suggested.

  “You must have enough to fill three albums and crash the Shutterfly site,” he said drily. “You could photograph the storm. How do you feel about pictures of lightning strikes?”

  I eyed the darkening sky. “I think they’re the kind of weather photos other people should take. You know, maybe we should just go. If we leave now we could meet them at the ferry line.”

  “Yeah, but if we wait a little, maybe there won’t be as much of a line,” he argued. “We could grab a bite somewhere and wait out the storm?”

  “Sure, okay. Except…I don’t know. I—don’t feel good.” That wasn’t far from the truth. I was feeling more nervously ill all the time.

  He just stared at me, completely unsympathetic. “You were feeling fine ten minutes ago. When you ate that ice cream.”

  “Well, that’s it, maybe it was something I ate, then.”

  “Are you going to get sick?”

  Way to kill any romance, Emily, I thought. By suggesting nausea. “No, I just feel a little dizzy. You know, like when you try to read the newspaper in the car and all the lines start waving around and go blurry?”

  “That doesn’t happen to me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Maybe if you read more, you’d get used to reading in the car,” Spencer said.

  “Ha-ha. Do you really want to insult me when I feel sick?”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?”

  “Let’s walk around some more. I’m sure I’ll feel better in a little while.”

  “How about if we just sit down over there?” Spencer gestured to a picnic table by the water.

  “Fine.”

  Spencer looked at his watch and then at the sky.

  “You’re contemplating leaving me here, aren’t you?”

  “No. I just wondered what we should do. We should probably go now, make a run for it, or wait until later. Unless you were thinking we’d spend the night here?” Spencer said.

  Thought you’d never ask.

  “Because that’s absurd,” Spencer said. “We don’t have enough money to rent a room, even if there were any vacancies, which I seriously doubt.”

  “Right. Okay, well, we can go then, I guess.” I wasn’t very good at stalling. I consoled myself with thinking about the fact we still had the ferry ride back to Hatteras and then the long car trip from there to Kill Devil Hills. I had plenty of time to talk to him. Seriously.

  We both got into the Rustbucket sedan and I turned the key. I waited for the inevitable roar, the bleating sound of old, worn-out engine belts, and the mild kicking sound from the exhaust pipe.

  There was no sound. At all.

  I turned the key again. Nothing.

  “Let me try,” said Spencer.

  “Okay, but why would you be able to start it and I can’t?” I asked as I opened the door and got out. Spencer slid into the driver’s seat and tried to get it started, but nothing happened then, either.

  “I think it’s sea-logged,” he said. “The rust has taken over.”

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “We could leave the car here overnight and run to the ferry,” Spencer suggested.

  “It’s a long way. And if it rains?”

  He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “We’ll hitch a ride, then,” he said.

  “People only do that in crime shows. And then they’re the opening crime,” I said.

  “You watch a lot of TV, don’t you?” he commented.

  “Not really. It’s more my mom’s thing,” I explained. “That’s why she has this tendency to worry incessantly. Too many episodes of Law & Order TDE.”

  “TDE?”

  “Teen Daughter Edition,” I said.

  Spencer laughed and opened the driver’s door. He got out and we both stood by the car, staring at it, willing it to work…wishing somebody would happen to drop by with a tow truck.

  “I still say we have to give it a shot. We don’t have to hitchhike exactly, we can just go over to the place where we had lunch and see if anyone’s headed—”

  There was a crack of thunder and it was as if a cloud directly over our heads opened up and dumped out all the moisture inside—right onto us. We both shrieked and jumped back into the car—me in the driver’s seat, and Spencer right behind me.

  We laughed as we tried to roll up the windows as water seemed to stream into the car from all directions.

  Then we sat there, safe inside, and listened to the crashes and booms outside, watching water stream down the windows.

  I peeked over the back of my headrest at Spencer. I could tell him how much I liked him right now, but then what? We were stuck in a car in the middle of a thunderstorm. Running away would not be fun—or easy. Or survivable.

  The windows were starting to get steamed up, but not for any exciting reasons.

  “I’d better, uh, call my dad,” I
said. “Tell him what happened, where we are. Or aren’t.”

  Spencer nodded. “Good idea. I should check in with my folks, too.”

  I quickly told my dad what had happened, and while they were already heading home on the ferry, he said he’d call my mom to tell her what was going on and see what she could do to help. I think I interrupted him from singing everyone else in the van—or at least Tyler and Tim—to sleep.

  “Okay. So we’ve checked in. Now what?” Spencer asked.

  “Should we stay here, sleep in the car? It’d be cheap. Uncomfortable, but cheap,” I said. “I think these seats recline.”

  Spencer eyed me and then the seats. “Let’s look at that as our worst-case scenario.”

  I glanced over at him. Thanks. Thanks a lot, I thought. “It’s not like I desperately wanted to spend the night with you, either,” I said. “I mean, uh, spend the night in a car with my neck all bent funny and nowhere to brush my teeth and no pillow and—”

  “It’s cool. I know what you meant.”

  “You do?” I was about to say something like, No, I don’t think you do, actually.

  My phone rang—it was my mom. Saving me, thank goodness. “Emily, before you say anything, just tell me you’re all right,” she said, which is never a good start to a conversation, but which is fairly typical for her.

  “Mom. I’m perfectly fine,” I said.

  “We called the Rustbucket Repair number, and unfortunately, they don’t send out repair vehicles at night. But someone will be there in the morning. They said to leave the key in the car and leave the car unlocked. Nobody will take it.”

  “No doubt,” I said. “Okay. Should we sleep here, or—”

  “Goodness, no. We thought about Dad coming back in the van for you, but that didn’t seem to make a lot of sense, not tonight. So instead, we’ve found a place for you to stay. Unfortunately, we were only able to locate one room.”

  “You found a hotel room for us?” I blurted. “Thanks, Mom!”

  Of all the sentences I thought I’d say in my life? That wasn’t one of them.

  I felt like disappearing into my seat, falling through the semi-rusted floor. “I mean, uh, a place to, uh, take shelter from the storm.”