“It’s cool. My grandpa and I have this new connection now,” he says.
I feel a little silly that I thought he was going to kiss me.
“Plus, it really helps me get out my anger,” he says. “So it’s good for a lot of things.”
“That’s true. I guess it’s always better to get out your feelings. In whatever way you can,” I say. “Claire taught me that.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I have a long way to go before I get to Claire’s level of letting things out. She says whatever pops into her head. But I’m getting there.”
I nod and offer a reassuring smile.
“I’ll walk you home,” he says. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I say. My stomach rumbles, despite the ice cream we just ate.
“What are you having for dinner?” he asks. “Hopefully Frederick’s Fish reopens soon. I know you love it there.”
“I’m not sure what we’re having, actually.”
Calvin tells me how his mom always has a meal schedule. Mondays they have pasta, Tuesdays they have salmon, Wednesdays they have stir-fry, and so on.
I listen carefully, because there’s something about the way Calvin tells a story. He makes whatever he’s talking about sound so fun. He gives details, but not too many—just enough. And I always want to know what he’s going to say next.
“So, Fridays you have chicken?” I ask.
And then he stops walking. So I stop walking, too. I’m not sure why he stops.
I ask, “Chicken on the bone? Or chicken cutlets?”
He doesn’t answer.
He kisses me instead.
He kisses me right there in front of the farm stand that hasn’t reopened yet. He kisses me right on the lips.
He pulls back from the kiss. “Chicken cutlets. With onions.”
I cover my mouth, laughing and laughing. Part nervous laugh, part real laugh. Laughing because we just kissed, my first real kiss, and he’s still talking about Friday-night chicken.
“Phew,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time. I’m glad it’s done.”
“Do you mean you’re glad it’s over?” I ask, embarrassed.
With lowered eyes, he says, “No. I was just nervous about it. I’m glad I got up the courage.”
“Me too.”
When we get to my house, he tells me to have a good dinner, and he says, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
I wonder if I should tell Micayla, or anyone, or if I even want to. But I push all of that away for now. I like that it’s a secret only the two of us know.
It turns out that the impromptu Centennial Summer celebration needs to be really impromptu. Like, tomorrow.
Josh’s mom and aunts are coming with the buyer in two days. Something about proving to them that the building was able to withstand the storm, and something else having to do with taxes and deadlines and all this stuff I don’t understand.
Mrs. Pursuit tells me that we can’t get any carnival rides, because even though they’re from an off-island place, many of them were damaged in the storm.
“We’ll just make do with what we have,” Mrs. Pursuit says, and I can’t tell if she’s saying that for me or for herself. It looks like she’s walking around with a cloud of disappointment over her head. But I don’t feel that way. Not at all.
After your first kiss, you walk around with the sun shining down on you, day and night. You stop at every mirror to see if you look different, to see if anything about you has changed. I can’t really see the difference, but I feel that there’s a little bit of ballet in every step I take.
“I’ll put up these posters, and you hand out these fliers and tell everyone to show up around noon. And I’ll go around to whatever restaurants are open and ask them to bring food. It’ll be great,” Mrs. Pursuit says with a sigh. “Okay?”
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” I tell her. “Maybe Seagate isn’t ready for it yet.”
Somehow I feel that she’s doing this for me. Maybe only for me. To cheer me up.
“No, we need to,” she says. “We need to boost the spirits on the island. Plus, like you said a long time ago, one hundred years is a big deal.”
“I said that?” I ask her.
She hands me the stack of fliers. “Yes. And you were right.”
I convince the others to come help me hand them out. It feels a little funny to be with Calvin and the rest of the group. We have this secret that nobody else knows. And every few minutes, our eyes will meet, and we’ll grin.
When we’re done passing out the fliers, we set up chairs in the hotel lobby and make sure the stage area has a working microphone and outlets nearby. The vendors will set up outside.
“They’re really selling this place?” Bennett asks me.
I shrug. “That’s what Josh said.”
“But it’s the only hotel on Seagate. It won’t be the same if it becomes part of some big chain,” Micayla says. “There are a few bed-and-breakfasts, but not many. Where will all the guests stay for my wedding? I need a place with character.”
“You’re getting married?” I giggle. “You didn’t tell us!”
She plops down on one of the chairs. “You know what I mean. Eventually.”
“Well, this will still be a hotel,” I say. “Maybe it won’t be that bad. And who knows? Maybe Josh can buy it back one day. When he’s older, when either his acting or his veterinary career takes off.”
“I guess,” she groans.
“Who’s getting married?” Bennett asks, making it clear he was eavesdropping as he set up chairs.
“Micayla,” I say.
“I’ll be a bridesmaid,” he says.
I giggle. “Huh? You mean a groomsman.”
“No, at my cousin Lola’s wedding, she had a male bridesmaid, her best friend since first grade,” he explains. “Everyone thought it was cool. I thought it was cool, too.”
“I can’t wait for my wedding,” Micayla says. “There will be flowers everywhere …”
As Micayla goes on and on, I see Calvin in the back of the room, finishing a row of chairs. I turn around to get a glimpse of him.
And it makes me wish I could peek into the future right now. For one tiny second, I’d like to pull the curtain back to reveal my wedding day. I want to see who the groom is and what I’m wearing and if Micayla is my maid of honor. But then I close the imaginary curtain and put the idea out of my mind.
Instead I think about Calvin. And my first kiss. And how much I like him. And how proud I am that he’s such a caring person.
And I also think about Bennett. I’m so lucky to have a best friend who’s both a boy and willing to be a bridesmaid at a wedding.
I don’t care about pulling the curtain open again, because right now feels pretty good.
“Welcome, everyone,” Mrs. Pursuit says. There are only about thirty people there. “We couldn’t let Seagate’s centennial summer pass without some kind of celebration. It’s been a rough season, and we’ve faced some tough times, but we’re still here.” She laughs. “We’re Seagaters. We’re resilient. So, sit back and enjoy the show.”
Most of the people who signed up to perform are back on the island. And they take the stage, one by one, entertaining people, making everyone smile. It’s not the same as we imagined it, with a view of the ocean and carnival rides, but it’s something. And we’re happy to have it.
The father-son juggling duo wows the crowd.
Josh and the Improvimaniacs are funnier than ever. Sketch after sketch, the audience laughs.
Saturday We Tennis plays our favorite summer songs.
And finally, Larry Park brings his keyboard up to the stage, and my skin prickles. I’m suddenly sad that Lester isn’t here to listen to the finale at our birthday party for Seagate.
Larry is halfway through his Bach Invention when we hear it.
Barking! Excited, high-pitched barking.
Lester! He’s here! And he’s singing
along!
Lester runs up to the front of the room, tilts his head back, and sings in his half-singing, half-howling way. And everyone loves it. The crowd cheers and claps. And Larry Park is happy to have his singer back.
At the end of the performances, after an extra-long dance party with Saturday We Tennis, Mr. Brookfield surprises everyone. Including me.
He walks right up onto the stage. Calvin goes with him.
“What kind of Seagate celebration would it be without the Scream?” he says.
And together, they scream.
“AAAAHEEEEOOWWWWW!”
People love it and give the famous scream an instant standing ovation.
A feeling of pride washes over me again.
“Did you know he was going to do that?” I whisper to Claire.
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Come with me. There’s something we need to do.”
We run up onto the stage, and then Claire takes a big breath and screams “Aaaaheeeeoowwwww!” and she motions for me to do it, too. So I try. “Aaaaheeeeoowwwww!” And then we scream together. “AAAAHEEEEOOWWWWW!”
Everyone stays standing and cheering and clapping.
All the stress, sadness, frustration, and worry of our stormy summer pours out of us through the scream. We release it. And it feels so good.
“That was awesome,” I whisper as we walk off the stage. “How are you doing? I know you hate when I ask if you’re okay. So I’m asking this way instead. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” she says. “Really.”
I reach over and hug her, and she smiles.
A few minutes later, as everyone is milling about, eating and chatting, I go to find Lester and his family.
“I didn’t know you guys came back,” I say.
“We wanted to surprise you,” Lester’s owner-mom says. “We never really knew how much Lester missed singing to classical music on the piano until the day you found him before the storm. Now we play classical music for him all the time, and guess what: he doesn’t try to run away anymore. He seems so happy now. Thank you for helping us, Remy. Lester is back to his old self, thanks to you!”
It makes me so happy that I’ve helped Lester and his family.
“He was born to sing!” I say.
And then I realize that Lester wasn’t really running away from anything. Lester was running toward something, something good, something he loved. I can relate.
I’m so happy to be back on Seagate.
After the celebration, my friends and I walk to Sundae Best.
“Surprise Scoops for everyone?” I ask them.
“Sounds good,” Claire says. “I was getting pretty tired of raspberry cream.”
We sit and eat our ice cream. Some people are pleased with their Surprise Scoops and some aren’t, so we pass our bowls around the table so we can sample them all and trade for flavors people like better.
Josie laughs at our commentary on the flavors. “Okay, okay, I get it. No one’s into the sweet-potato ice cream. Noted.”
“We tried it,” I offer.
“That’s all I ask.” She shrugs. “It’s like the sign says.” She points to a beachy-looking sign behind the counter: BE OPEN TO SURPRISES.
We finish our ice cream, and Calvin, Bennett, Claire, and Micayla decide to walk to the Seagate community pool. It’s open for swimming, and it’s sunny out, and everyone wants to jump in. Claire’s worrying about her tan again, just like old times, and I’m grateful for that.
I tell them I’m going to take Marilyn Monroe home, and I’ll meet them there. On the walk home, I think about what Josie said when she came back after the storm—how God loves ice cream. I guess that’s true. The store was completely spared.
I think about her signs: ICE CREAM IS MY RELIGION and BE OPEN TO SURPRISES.
Josie believes in Surprise Scoops, and now I do, too. Every day is pretty much a Surprise Scoop, I guess.
Some scoops you like, others you don’t. Sometimes you want to have the same scoop every day, and some days you have to be pushed to try a new one, because you’re afraid of how it will taste.
Like the time I got that key-lime-pie scoop. I hated it. I pushed it to the side and ate my chocolate-milk-and-cookies scoop as fast as I could so the key lime wouldn’t melt into it and turn it all sour. But the strange thing was that the key lime pie actually made the chocolate and cookies taste even better.
I think I have a new sign idea for Josie. I’ll have to tell her the next time I see her. And I can’t wait to share it with my friends, because I know they’ll understand:
LIFE IS ONE BIG SURPRISE SCOOP.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Tamar Brazis and everyone at Amulet for all of their hard work on this book.
So much love and gratitude for Dave, Aleah, and Hazel. You bring sunshine on the cloudiest of days.
Many thanks to the Greenwalds and Rosenbergs for all of their support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisa Greenwald is the author of Welcome to Dog Beach, Reel Life Starring Us, Sweet Treats & Secret Crushes, and the Pink & Green series. She works in the library at the Birch Wathen Lenox School in Manhattan. She is a graduate of The New School’s MFA program in writing for children and lives in Brooklyn. Visit her online at lisagreenwald.com.
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