“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, honey, coming here for the summer. But it’s been important for me. I feel so much more centered than I did.” I felt bad about my mom thinking I was miserable, especially given the five-star evening I’d just had.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” I said. “Really.”
“Well thanks, honey. I know you miss your dad and Laura and everything.”
Dad, Laura. Right. It was as if I hadn’t thought of either of them in a hundred years.
“Mom, I swear,” I said, taking in the sunny day and feeling in it the warmth of Adam’s sweater and his arms around me. “I am not mad that we came to Cape Cod, okay?”
She looked at me for a second. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll take you at your word.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m going to get some breakfast. I have to teach a lesson this morning.”
“Are you feeling more optimistic about it than you were the other night?” she asked.
“Mostly I’m feeling like instead of giving Natasha a lesson, I should just take a hit out on her dad.” I slipped a ponytail holder around my hair.
“You and your dad are so close,” said my mom. “Maybe you could help her be closer to her dad.” Was it my imagination, or did my mom seem sad when she said my dad and I were close? It made me feel a tiny bit guilty, like I should say something to make her feel better. But what? We’re not that close? You and I are close too? But neither of those things was true. I could have said, Well, you and Meg are really close, but that seemed nasty, as if I were implying she could only be close to one of her daughters and she’d made her choice.
I ended up just saying, “Yeah, maybe,” which sounded really lame.
My mom’s phone rang, and she looked to see who was calling. “I should take this,” she said. Then she added, “Remember, reach out to Natasha. Get to know her,” before saying, “Hello!” in this really cheerful voice.
I wondered if it was my dad who’d called, and as I walked up to the house I realized that if they reconciled, it might mean I’d have to leave Cape Cod sooner rather than later. If we went back to Salt Lake, would I be able to go back to Ms. Baker’s class? It would be cool to keep working on my story about the little boy, if I could show it to her. Then again, if we left now, what would happen with me and Adam? Thinking about kissing him made it hard to get excited about having my work critiqued by even the most insightful reader … .
I would have said I was feeling so benevolent toward the universe that nothing could upset my perfect equilibrium, but apparently this was not the case. Mr. Davis’s behavior, it seemed, had the power to disturb even the world’s most balanced soul. Each time he critiqued Natasha’s stroke (that is to say, each time she lifted her racket), I could practically hear my blood pressure rising. It didn’t help that I was pretty sure he was holding himself back from commenting on my playing. Here I was, sixteen years old, about to be a junior in high school, a reasonably accomplished tennis player (if I do say so myself), with more than a few trophies on my bedroom shelf, and this guy made me worried about my ability to make contact with the ball. It was enough to make me want to quit playing, and I wasn’t even his daughter.
Why did it not surprise me when his cell phone ringer played “Hail to the Chief ”?
“Jim Davis,” he shouted into it. (Did the man ever not shout?) “What? What? I’m having trouble hearing you.” As if to overcompensate for the difficulty he was having hearing his caller, Mr. Davis raised his voice until it seemed he could have communicated with anyone anywhere in the world even without the help of the cell phone in his hand.
Just as I was sure a player on one of the adjoining courts was going to start complaining, Mr. Davis snapped his phone shut in disgust.
“Honey, I have to go see what the hell’s going on at the office,” he said. “Will you be okay if I leave?” It was all I could do to keep a straight face. Luckily, he was looking at his daughter, not me. “I think I can handle it,” she said.
“Meet me at the clubhouse when you’re done, okay?”
“Yup,” she said. Natasha watched her dad as he made his way up the steps to the wide lawn separating the tennis courts from the clubhouse. Then she turned back to face me. I was about to hit a ball to her when I thought about what my mom had said.
“Want to take a little break?” I asked.
“What?” she asked, but I had the feeling she’d heard me.
“I said, do you want to take a little break? Talk for a minute?” It occurred to me that she might think I was trying to get out of teaching her now that her dad wasn’t around to keep an eye on me; but since the question was out of my mouth (and not once, but twice), I couldn’t exactly say, Just kidding, let’s play some tennis.
She looked at me for a long beat. “Okay,” she said.
We headed over to the bench where her dad had been sitting. Then we just sat there, neither of us saying anything.
“So, um … your dad seems to be really into your playing tennis.”
Natasha snorted. “You think?”
“My dad was the same way,” I said, relieved to have such an easy opening. Again, I remembered my mom’s advice. “He was sort of like my coach for a while. Before I started playing on the team in high school.”
“Yes,” said Natasha, “but you like tennis.”
She had a point. “And I’m guessing you don’t?”
“Bingo!”
Maybe this was stating the obvious, but I couldn’t resist. “So, um, do you ever think about not playing?”
“Let’s just say that isn’t really an option where my dad is concerned.”
But you don’t have to play if you don’t want to. I almost uttered the sentence, but then I considered my mom dragging me to Cape Cod. Who was I to not understand that sometimes we are powerless in the face of parental demands?
“Okay,” I said. We appeared to have hit a dead end, since the only thing I could think of to say was, I’m really sorry that your dad is such a total ass, which maybe wasn’t the kind of thing you’re supposed to say to a minor you’re supposedly educating. I decided to make a U-turn and try to find another route to closeness. “Do you come up to Cape Cod every summer?”
“Pretty much,” she said. Then she didn’t say anything else.
“And do you like it?” I remembered Adam asking me the same question last night. Thinking of him made me feel so jittery I almost suggested to Natasha that we run a few laps.
“It’s okay,” said Natasha without enthusiasm. Clearly she had not read the advice of the creators of the “Are You a Good-Time Girl?” quiz.
“Tina said you’re from New York. Do you have friends up here?”
“I guess,” she said. “Some.”
When my mother recommended talking to your students about something other than the subject you were teaching, had she, in fact, been able to reach her students, or was she just speaking theoretically? Because if she’d had success with kids like Natasha, she shouldn’t go back to teaching … .
She should negotiate a peace settlement in the Middle East.
I racked my brain for another question. The women on the next court were gathering up their things, and people were heading down from the pro shop to the courts, which meant it must have been almost eleven.
“Um, are you—”
Luckily she cut me off before it became clear that I didn’t have an actual question prepared.
“Well, I should go,” she said. “I think the hour is up.”
“Oh, really?” Was my fake surprise even remotely believable? I highly doubted it.
A bunch of guys headed down the steps. I half noticed two of them peel away from the group and head toward the court Natasha and I had been playing on.
“Hey, Kate,” called one of them, and I saw that it was Adam and Lawrence.
Every thought I’d had about Adam all morning had been a good one, but now that I was actually seeing him, I started to feel a little nervous. How were we goi
ng to greet each other? Should I just be all, Hey, dudes, like it was no different seeing Adam than it was seeing Lawrence?
My hands were actually shaking. It was a good thing I wasn’t trying to hit a tennis ball at this particular moment.
Lawrence stopped at the edge of the court and unzipped his warm-up jacket, but Adam came over to the bench where Natasha and I were sitting.
“Hey,” he said. He reached out and tapped my shoulder gently with his racket.
“Hey,” I said. Even my voice was shaking. I hoped Natasha and Adam didn’t know me well enough to notice.
“You ladies want to watch us play?” asked Lawrence. He dropped his bag, took out his racket, and unzipped the cover. “A lot of girls would kill to have the opportunity.”
“I’m gonna go,” said Natasha, standing up. “Bye, Kate.”
“Okay,” I said, glad that my voice sounded a little stronger.
“I guess my mom will call about another lesson,” she said. Then she reached into her pocket and took out a crinkled twenty dollar bill. “Here,” she said.
I was so discombobulated I would never have remembered to get money from Natasha if she hadn’t offered it. “Thanks,” I said. “You know, if you don’t want to have any more lessons—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “This is way bigger than you.”
I knew I should take her comment as an opportunity to get her to open up to me, but now clearly wasn’t the time for me to have an actual conversation with anyone. What I needed was to go soak my head in a bucket of ice water.
When Natasha had headed down the path to the stairs, Adam said, “You extorting money from the twelve-and-under set?” he asked.
“Basically,” I said. It felt okay to be talking to him now, by which I mean I could form thoughts and words. “That’s the girl I’m supposedly teaching how to play tennis.”
“I’m intrigued. How do you ‘supposedly’ teach tennis to someone?”
Lawrence took out a can of tennis balls from his bag, popped it open, and slipped one of the balls into each of his pockets, then bounced the third against his racket two or three times experimentally. “You coming to The Clam Shack later, Kate?” he asked.
“The Clam Shack?” I asked.
“Great seafood, crap music,” he said, crossing to the other side of the court, still bouncing the tennis ball.
Would Adam have asked me to go out with them if Lawrence hadn’t? Was Lawrence asking for Adam? It was the kind of thing I could imagine two girls arranging, but not two guys.
“Yeah, will I see you later?” asked Adam. The way he said it made me pretty sure he wanted to see me later. “Great seafood, crap music,” I said. “Who could argue with that?”
“Not to mention the company,” said Adam, and he smiled at me in a way that I knew had to do with our kiss last night.
“Not to mention the company,” I repeated, smiling back at him the same way.
“Adam Carpenter, you are a dead man,” called Lawrence. “These delaying tactics are but a pathetic attempt to avoid the inevitable.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lawrence pick up a ball between his foot and racket.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” I said. “Later,” Adam said. We didn’t kiss or even touch or anything, but as I made my way off the court and up the lawn to the clubhouse, I felt as tingly as if we had.
DESPITE OUR HAVING LEFT the party together last night, I wasn’t sure how to tell Sarah about my invitation to The Clam Shack, but when I got home, she was sitting in the kitchen eating a sandwich, and even before I could say anything, she said, “I’m about to go to work, but do you want to get dinner at The Clam Shack tonight with everyone? I’ll be home in time to drive you.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Great.” I hoped I’d earned Sarah’s invitation, that it had more to do with my having not made a fool of myself at the barbecue than with what her dad had said to her the other night when they were putting out the garbage. It seemed like a legitimate invitation, what with her asking me so nicely despite neither of her parents being within earshot. And from what I’d overheard, Henry had only forced her to invite me to the Fourth of July party, not to every single social event of the summer.
Seven o’clock found me sitting in the passenger seat of her car as we cruised along Route 6. Sarah had cranked the music to an ear-splitting volume again, but I tried not to analyze it. Maybe she was avoiding talking to me, maybe she just liked listening to The Lowdowners really loud.
Whatever.
The Clam Shack was a tiny wooden … well, shack, just off Route 6. Inside was a small stage and a bar, half a dozen tables, and about the same number of booths, at one of which Jenna, Lawrence, and Adam were already sitting when Sarah and I got there. We slid onto the empty bench, and I was glad it worked out that I was directly across from Adam.
Right before getting in the car with Sarah, I’d tried to decide what to do about returning his sweater. I considered wearing it to The Clam Shack, but that seemed presumptuous, like I assumed he’d given it to me or something. Then I was going to carry it so I could just walk in and give it to him, but at the last second I decided to leave it on my bed. Even though he’d seemed psyched to see me on the tennis court, if our kiss had just been a random one-time thing, the last thing I wanted was to remind him about it in front of everyone by handing over the sweater. If he made it clear that he wasn’t into me, surely there’d be some point over the next few weeks when I could subtly return it to him in a way that didn’t announce I’m the total loser who jumped Adam’s bones on the Fourth of July. I strongly suggest that each of you think long and hard the next time you have the urge to make a chivalrous gesture to a shivering stranger.
We’d all barely said hello when the waitress came over to take our orders. There weren’t any menus, but everyone ordered a lobster, so I did too, glad about the lessons I’d been giving Natasha when I saw the prices chalked on the wall. Almost as soon as we’d ordered, a guy with shaggy hair and a guitar stepped up onstage and said, “Check one. Check two,” into the microphone, then strummed a few chords on his guitar before saying, “Could I have a little more vocals?” to someone at the back of the room.
The lights dimmed and a spotlight came up on the guy, who started singing a folksy tune I didn’t know and definitely didn’t like. His voice was sort of thin, and he kept playing the same chord over and over again. I thought the lobsters were going to have to be seriously great to make up for what a lousy performer we were listening to, but then Adam slipped his foot in between mine, and we made eye contact across the table, and I realized I didn’t actually care what the food tasted like.
“I’m thinking Maine,” said Lawrence. “Because that way if we want to be wimps, we can always crash at your grandparents.”
“Maine works for me,” said Adam, expertly cracking a lobster claw open.
Clearly everyone at the table other than me had been born with a nutcracker in one hand and a lobster in the other, because they were all managing to do the impossible, which was get a meal out of the huge red bug on their plates. I, meanwhile, was more hungry than I’d been when I sat down, no doubt because of all the calories I’d burned trying to break into the vault that was my lobster.
“What’s in Maine?” I asked, trying to smile as I worked to sever the lobster’s tail from its body.
“Fishing,” said Lawrence. “Awesome fly fishing.”
“Adam and Lawrence do this annual fishing trip,” explained Jenna. “They go off into the wilderness for three days. It’s hugely—”
“Macho,” finished Lawrence.
“I was going to say ‘gay,’” said Jenna. “But you should believe whatever you need to.”
“Is David going to be back in time or what?” asked Lawrence, dipping a piece of lobster into Sarah’s butter. I was so hungry I had to look away from the delicious bite he thrust into his mouth.
“I think so,” said Adam. “He’s back from Colorado next week.”
&nb
sp; “He is?” asked Sarah.
“Who’s David?” I asked. Was I being annoying? This was the second question I’d asked in as many minutes. Normally I just like to go with the flow when people are discussing things I don’t know about, but when it came to Adam, I found myself wanting to understand stuff I wouldn’t usually care about.
“My brother,” said Adam. “He’s on a NOLS thing in Colorado.”
“You have a brother?” I was really surprised. I couldn’t believe I’d fooled around with someone I didn’t know had a brother. Not that it mattered or anything, but I’d been putting together this picture of Adam, and now I had to insert a brother where there hadn’t been one before.
“We’re twins, actually,” he said.
Now it felt really weird that I hadn’t known about David. I mean, a random brother was one thing— someone with Adam’s actual DNA was another. “Identical?” I asked.
Lawrence, Sarah, and Jenna laughed.
“Maybe from the back,” said Jenna.
“In the dark,” said Sarah.
“To a blind person,” added Lawrence.
Adam shook his head, laughing too. I wondered if David was some kind of uber geek or something. “In answer to your question, no, we’re fraternal twins.”
“But you know what’s weird?” said Jenna. “You guys have the same voice. I can never tell if it’s you or David when I call your house.”
“Really?” asked Sarah. “I can always tell.”
I was still trying to integrate this latest deposit to my savings account of Adam-related information when Jenna said, “We should go somewhere too. What’s the female equivalent of a fishing trip?”
“Spa,” said Sarah.
“You’re such a feminist,” I said, laughing. I don’t know if I would have had the confidence to make a joke at Sarah’s expense if I hadn’t had my feet twisted up with Adam’s under the table.
“The whole ‘what should we do while the guys are away’ thing isn’t exactly a feminist paradigm, is it?” Sarah pointed out.
“Touché,” said Lawrence. By then we were all laughing, even Sarah, so I wasn’t worried I’d said the wrong thing.
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