Dog Beach Unleashed

by Lisa Greenwald

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Greenwald, Lisa.

  Dog Beach unleashed / Lisa Greenwald.

  pages cm. — (The Seagate summers ; book 2)

  Summary: Seagate Island’s centennial summer should be a huge celebration of beach traditions, but it is the rainiest summer on record. Remy, Micayla, Bennett, and the C Twins find that tempers are short, dogs are bored, and summer magic is hard to find.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-1481-8 (hardback) — ISBN 978-1-61312-765-0 (ebook) [1. Summer—Fiction. 2. Vacations—Fiction. 3. Beaches—Fiction. 4. Friendship— Fiction. 5. Dogs—Fiction. 6. Dog walking—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.G85199Dog 2015

  [Fic]—dc23

  2014045255

  Copyright © 2015 Lisa Greenwald

  Title page spot art copyright © 2015 Vivienne To

  Book design by Jessie Gang

  Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

  115 West 18th Street

  New York, NY 10011

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  For Maggie Lehrman, superstar editor

  CONTENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  This is it. This moment. My favorite moment of the entire year.

  I’m sitting in one of the movie-theater-like seats on the ferry. On the top level, of course. I watch the mainland disappear behind me, and then all I see is ocean. Ocean and ocean and ocean. And it feels like forever until I’ll get there. Hurry up, I think. But then I change my mind. Don’t hurry up. Let me enjoy this. Enjoy the almost there.

  But then, little by little, I start to see it—bits and pieces of Seagate Island. I see the lighthouse and then the bright orange cottage that sits right on the shoreline. And I get closer. Closer and closer. And I see more things take shape.

  My heart is flopping with excitement, like a caught fish that’s about to get back into the water.

  My mom is on one side of me, my dad on the other. Marilyn Monroe is on my lap. The whole summer is spread out in front of me like a big picnic blanket on the sand.

  And this summer isn’t like any other summer. This is Seagate’s centennial summer. One hundred years since the first person came to Seagate. One hundred years of pink sunsets and Sundae Best’s overflowing ice cream cups. One hundred years of flip-flops click-clacking on the boardwalk. One hundred years of Ping-Pong tournaments and summertime friends—some of the best friends in the world.

  There’s going to be a huge party—Seagate Island’s birthday party—for everyone to celebrate together. Carnival rides. A photo booth. A talent show. Mrs. Pursuit volunteered to be in charge of the celebration committee. They’ve been planning it since last summer.

  “I just got a text from Vivian.” My mom taps my knee. “They took the earlier ferry.”

  I nod. “Oh. Okay.”

  Vivian Newhouse is Bennett’s mom and one of my mom’s best friends. They’ve known each other since Bennett and I were newborn babies. That’s when Bennett and I met, too, although, obviously, I can’t remember that meeting. He’s one of those people who’s always been there. There’s never been a time when I didn’t know Bennett Newhouse.

  Bennett had texted me that they were taking the noon ferry, just like us. I looked for him everywhere but couldn’t find him. Now I know why.

  I wonder if Bennett will be waiting when we get there, standing at the ferry terminal, looking for us as we come off the boat.

  I haven’t seen him in a whole year, and when I think about him, all I can picture is what he looked like at the end of last summer—shaggy hair, cargo shorts with holes in them, pizza-stained Tshirts. I’m sure he’s gotten taller. Maybe he’ll even be wearing new summer clothes. They won’t be torn or stained. They’ll look crisp, the tags just cut off. Everything fresh for a new summer.

  I thought about Bennett this whole year. We e-mailed a lot and talked on the phone. But none of that’s the same as being with him in person.

  I flip-flopped back and forth all year long. Did I like him as more than a friend? Sometimes I thought I did. And sometimes I thought I didn’t. I kept telling myself that I’d figure it out on Seagate. Things always seem clearer there. Everything makes more sense when you’re near the ocean.

  But there’s one conversation we had that lingers in the back of my mind.

  We were on the phone one Saturday night. It was February, the month when the past summer feels like a million years ago, and the next summer feels like a million years away.

  It was after ten at night, and I’m never supposed to be on the phone that late. But my parents were out, and I’d told the babysitter I was going to bed. Which I was. But then Bennett called. And we were talking. Mostly about stupid stuff, like this crazy new burrito he’d tried, and the fact that people camp outside certain stores so they can be the first ones to get the new sneakers. But then he brought up first kisses. Something about this girl Mara who keeps a list of who in the grade has kissed someone and who hasn’t.

  “You haven’t kissed anyone yet, right?” he asked me.

  I stayed quiet, but then I said that no, I hadn’t.

  And he said he hadn’t, either.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “We could be each other’s first kiss,” he said, as if it were no big deal. As if he were saying we could play Ping-Pong or we could share a chocolate croissant or we could sit on his dock and throw pebbles into the ocean.

  My heart thumped in my chest. And I said, “Sure.”

  But even as I was saying it, I was thinking that I wasn’t sure I wanted that to happen. I told myself that even if it did happen, summer was so far away that I didn’t need to worry about it or even think about it.

  It was something I could deal with later.

  I pushed the thought away. As far away as possible.

  But that later is now quickly approaching. That far away is getting so much closer.

  We’ll be together for a whole summer. And I know I said sure, but now I don’t know if I want to.<
br />
  I look out the ferry window. We’re almost there.

  I keep thinking the same thing: Will I see him as Bennett, the same old Bennett I’ve always known? Or will I see him as something more? The way I saw him at the end of last summer.

  A whole year has passed. Are we different now?

  As much as I don’t want to be different, I think I am. As much as I want everything to always stay the same, I know that things change. And I know that change can be okay, that I can handle it. Sometimes, anyway.

  But the one thing I can’t handle is the not knowing. I always want to know how things are going to work out.

  When I start a book, I skip ahead and read the last page first. Always. I don’t read mysteries. I hate surprise parties.

  Marilyn Monroe smiles her gentle Yorkie smile. She looks up at me and licks my chin, as if she senses I can use some reassuring. I wonder if she knows where we’re going. I’ve told her a million times. I even showed her the countdown calendar I had on my computer and the real, paper calendar I had hanging above my desk, with all the days that had been X-ed off in red marker.

  “We’re almost there, Mari,” I whisper. Her ears perk up, and she shuffles on my lap. “Sit, sit. A little while longer.”

  “So, all your clients know you’re coming back?” my dad asks me. “Do you need to have an orientation for the dogs? Get them ready for camp or anything?”

  I smile. “That’s a good idea, actually. Maybe we should have some kind of easing-in process, like I had for preschool and kindergarten?”

  Everyone needs time to get situated, to warm up. Even dogs. Life is like a freezing-cold pool that way. We all need to dip a toe before we jump in.

  “Good thinking, Rem.” My mom pats my leg, and I wonder if she’s as excited as I am. She’s been coming to Seagate Island for over forty years now, since her own childhood. I wonder if this amazing anticipation ever fades. After year twenty do you start to get used to it?

  I want to ask her, but what if the answer’s yes? That it’s not as exciting as it used to be? If it is, I don’t want to know.

  “Remmmmyyyyyyy,” I hear someone yell as soon as we’re off the boat, and even though it’s lovely to be welcomed this way, the greeting is not from the person I hoped to see first.

  “Hi, Mason.” I smile. “How was your year?”

  “Excellent. And yours?”

  “Great.” I look around. Is Bennett here? Micayla? Mason Redmond, Micayla’s crush, can’t be here to greet me. He must be looking for someone else. He’s nice and everything, but we’re not “wait at the ferry” kind of friends.

  He reads my mind. “Micayla went into the pharmacy to get some more sunscreen. She told me to wait for you and let you know that she’d be right out.” He clips the sunglasses attachment onto his glasses. “Anyway, ciao. I’m going to be late for my Italian class.”

  Italian class? School just ended; Mason’s probably only been on Seagate for a day or two. And he’s already studying something.

  I stand there, holding Marilyn Monroe in my arms, and watch Mason walk away. I’m searching for Bennett out of the corner of my eye when I feel an arm around my neck and smell the familiar scent of strawberry shampoo.

  “Micayla!” I turn around and throw one arm over her shoulders, and we hug and sway with Marilyn Monroe sandwiched between us.

  “You’re here! You’re here! You’re here!” She pulls back from the hug finally, and puts her hands on her hips, inspecting me. “And you look so fabulous! You cut your hair? And you didn’t even tell me!”

  “It was just a trim,” I explain.

  “No,” she insists. “Way more than a trim. It’s above your shoulders now! And it already looks lighter from the sun. It’s only June!”

  “You look amazing,” I say. “Your braids are perfect! Did you just get them done?”

  “Uh-huh!”

  We go back and forth about our hair, and then a beach ball hits me in the head. I turn to look around to see where it came from.

  “Sorry! I wanted to get your attention, but I guess that wasn’t the best method.”

  It’s Bennett. My Bennett. He’s right here in front of me. Royal-blue mesh shorts and a faded gray T-shirt. A buzz cut with a tiny piece sticking up on the top of his head. His shaggy hair is gone.

  “Yeah, not the best method” is all I manage to say. The only thing I can think about is how different he looks. How much taller he’s gotten. How he’s already tan and he’s only been here for an hour.

  “Remy,” he groans. “Don’t be so serious. Get out of your New York City mind-set and into your Seagate one. Now!” He yells the last part in a joking way and hits me on the arm, all playful-like.

  I smile. “Done and done.”

  “Well, go settle in, Rem,” Micayla tells me. “Meet us at the stadium when you’re done. Bennett just organized a ‘Welcome Back Ping-Pong Tournament’ for all the kids whose parents are busy unpacking.”

  “Genius idea,” I tell them. “Be there soon.”

  Bennett and Micayla walk in the other direction, and Marilyn Monroe and I stroll to my house. I’ve been here less than an hour and l already feel great. There’s something about the Seagate Island air. As soon as it touches your skin, you’re rejuvenated.

  Marilyn Monroe and I walk slowly, taking in all the Seagate sights, saying hi to people we know, and stopping to pee a few times. (Mari—not me.)

  I keep wondering how it was possible for Bennett to look so different, so much older, today. I guess a lot can change in a year. But why wasn’t he waiting for me at the ferry? I guess he was there soon after. Maybe he was too busy setting up that Ping-Pong tournament? Maybe he was as nervous to see me as I was to see him.

  I wish life was a movie right now. I want to fast-forward to the end, just for a quick second, to see how it unfolds. And then I’ll rewind back to right now so I can go through the whole thing and enjoy it.

  With all the technology in the world, it’s disappointing that there’s still no way to see the future.

  The whole summer is ahead of us, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen.

  I wake up with a jolt. It’s always like this my first morning on Seagate. At first I think I’m in my New York City apartment, and then I look around. I hear the quiet, and I smell the ocean air wafting through my open window.

  And then I know. I stay in bed, breathe it in, and appreciate the perfection that is the first Seagate morning.

  “Remy.” Mom knocks on my door and then comes in. “Dad and I are going for a walk on the beach. Want to come?”

  “I want to stay in bed a little while longer,” I answer. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Sounds good. MM has already been out and fed.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Even though Marilyn Monroe is really my dog, my parents help out and take care of her, too. They won’t admit it, but I know they love having a dog in the house again. They practically fight over who gets to walk her in the morning, since they’re both such early risers.

  It’s hard to believe that Marilyn Monroe’s original owner, Amber Seasons, isn’t here this summer. She’s a Seagate lifer, but her husband got transferred to work in Australia for a few years, so that’s where they are now. She finds time to video chat with Marilyn Monroe at least once a week. Mari still remembers her and gets so excited every time she sees Amber on the screen.

  I roll over and check my phone. I have a text from Micayla, a text from Bennett, and a text from Claire. Micayla and Bennett are going to Mornings for croissants, and Claire’s already at the community pool, working on her tan.

  I don’t know who to text back first or where I should go. Any girl would want this problem, but it still stresses me out a little bit. Bennett and Micayla don’t really know that Claire and I got pretty close over the school year. She lives in Westchester, but both her parents work in Manhattan, so she comes in pretty often. She even slept over a few times. I shouldn’t feel guilty about this, but I do. At th
e end of last summer, we were all friends, but it was still kind of an unspoken thing that Claire was more of a side friend, not part of the core group.

  While I’m changing into my bathing suit and trying to cream cheese a bagel at the same time, my phone rings. It’s Claire.

  “Bring a towel,” she says. “They haven’t upgraded since last summer. They’re still using the tiny washcloth ones, and they’re super scratchy.”

  “Will do.”

  “Are you coming?” she whines.

  “Yup. Leaving in five. Just finishing a bagel.”

  “Ooh. Bring me one?”

  I tell her okay, and I pack my beach bag with a towel, snacks, a water bottle, sunscreen, a hat, and everything else I’ll need for the day. I refill Marilyn Monroe’s water bowl and leave a note telling my parents where I’m going.

  Marilyn Monroe looks at me with sad eyes and makes me feel guilty for leaving her behind.

  “We’ll go to Daisy’s later,” I tell her. “I promise.” Daisy McDougal owns a restaurant on Seagate, but unlike grumpy Beverly at Mornings, she loves dogs and always gives them treats.

  Mari lets out a resigned whimper and hops up onto the couch by the bay window.

  I walk over to the community pool wearing my brand-new paisley cover-up with my polka-dot one-piece. My silver flip-flops clop-clop against the sidewalk, already giving me a blister. I try to ignore it.

  Micayla runs up behind me and taps my shoulder. “Where are you going?”

  “Oh, um, to the pool to meet Claire. How was Mornings?”

  “Delish, but Beverly is even grumpier than last summer. It’s a little hard to believe.”

  I scowl. “What was she like during the year?”

  “She wasn’t here much,” Micayla tells me. “She hired some people to run the place during the winter.”

  “Oh.” I shrug. Since Micayla lives on Seagate all year now, I keep waiting for her to tell me some juicy year-rounder secrets, but so far she hasn’t shared anything all that exciting. I also expect her to tell me she can’t hang out because she needs to spend time with her year-rounder friends, but she hasn’t done that, either. “Come with me to the pool,” I tell her.