by Jen Malone
Hey, baby / I want to take you on a rocket ship to the sky / So we can have a little talk, eye to eye. . . .
Bubby. She made me change her ringtone to this new Harry Hart song because she thinks he’s “all that and a bag of chips.” Never mind that having a talk eye to eye doesn’t make any sense at all.
The song plays again. It’s eight p.m., and I’ve spent all day dodging calls and texts from my friends, bugging me to join them at Linney’s. Then Becca sent me this picture of Vi looking like . . . well, not Vi, and I haven’t heard anything else. I guess they gave up.
I kind of wish I knew how the party turned out.
Harry Hart starts singing again. To make him shut up, I answer the phone.
Bubby doesn’t even say hi. She just jumps right in. “Lo baby, you need to loosen up. I read on the Tweeter that some kids are having a par-tay tonight at the cove. I RSVP’d you. Do you think they’d care if I showed up too? I’d wear my clubbing clothes. And I could oil up ol’ Wanda and ride there in style.”
I cringe just a little. Wanda is Bubby’s fancy new electric old-people scooter, and is short for “wanda around.” As in, wander around the mall. Or middle-school parties. The funniest thing about Wanda is that Bubby doesn’t even need it. She lives at Sandpiper Beach Active Senior Living for a reason. She just likes a “fine set of wheels,” she told me when she bought it.
“Bubby, I can’t go to a party tonight. I have SAT class in the morning. And it’s Twitter, by the way, not Tweeter.”
“I know we talked at Bunco today about all of your responsibilities.” Bubby says “responsibilities” like it’s some kind of bad word. “But instead of hanging with a bunch of oldsters like my friends, you should totes be throwing these parties with your girls. Did I tell you that my BFF died last week?”
“What? Bubby, why didn’t you say anything?” I picture Bubby alone in her apartment, crying about her friend. I can barely stand my friends planning parties without me, never mind not being here at all. I feel awful for her.
“It’s okay, Lo. We were friends in school, but then she moved to Wisconsin and I didn’t talk to her again until I found her on the Tweeter last month. Then she died.”
“So you’re telling me I need to join RSVP before my friends move away and die?”
“Looky here. Before long, you and the girls will be too busy going to work and having your own kids. And then you’ll think back to how it was when you were twelve. All of these parties, and the beach, and the cute boys! You’ll remember all this great stuff and it’ll give you all the feels. But only if you get in on the action! Who knows, you might even go to Atlantic City and flirt with some nice boys on leave and stay up till dawn talking about how amazeballs the future’ll be.”
Okay, I know she’s not talking about me with that last part. Bubby’s actually quiet for a moment and I’m pretty sure I hear her sniffling through the phone. Maybe that friend meant more to her than she let on.
“Bubby?” I say quietly. “Are you all right?”
She clears her throat. “Couldn’t be better. Now promise me you’ll join your girls and live it up?”
“I’ll think about it. I promise.” And that’s all I can do.
• • •
I thought about what Bubby said until I fell asleep last night. It was the first thing that popped into my head this morning even though I had to do a practice math test at SAT class. And I’m still thinking about it as I comb the beach for shells with Vi. To be honest, I really, really want to be part of RSVP. I always have, but I still can’t figure out how to make it fit in with everything else I have to do this summer.
“Got it!” Vi sprints through the surf, holding up her prize. Or my prize, really, since she hands it to me. A gorgeous, perfectly formed tiny conch shell.
“How did you spot this?” I ask as I examine the beautiful spiraled shell. Whole conch shells are super rare here, since the ocean gets really rough and tends to break them before they reach shore. I’ve only ever found a few, and all of those near where Sadie lives, in a protected little cove at the south end of the island.
But never here, in one of the busiest parts of the beach, pretty much right in front of Vi’s grandmother’s house.
Vi shrugs, like it’s no big deal that she found this amazing, rare shell. “It rolled across my foot.”
I peer at the sand, looking for more shells. The tide’s going out, which is the best time for shell-collecting. It’s nice having Vi scoping the sand right next to me. I feel like I’ve barely seen my friends this week. They were so busy with Linney’s party, and I . . . wasn’t. Busy with the party, that is. I don’t dare tell Vi I’m trying to figure out if I can join or not. She’ll tell Sadie and Becca, and then they’ll never let up on me till I give in.
“So?” Vi says.
“Soooo . . . ?” I’d love to find another conch, but I suppose I should count myself lucky to have gotten one today. Not that luck has anything to do with it. Luck is something that people make up to explain coincidences. And the probability that another coincidence involving me and a conch shell will happen is pretty low.
“Lauren! Did you hear anything I said?”
I look up. Vi’s standing in front of me, hands on her hips.
Then I feel like a huge jerk, because Vi had an awful time at Linney’s party yesterday. That’s probably what she was talking about. I think. “But it sounds like you had the last say at the end,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “I guess. I mean, it was nice seeing Linney all ticked off, but the way Lance and the other guys kept acting was just plain weird. Though Becca was kind of amazing—”
I almost drop my conch shell. “Wait. Did you just say you liked Becca’s makeover?”
Her face goes red. “Maybe. Just a little. But it’s not like I have time to do that stuff every time I go out the way she does. And I’d look pretty silly showing up to swim or play volleyball with a head full of curls and glimmery lip gloss.” Then she shakes her head. “You’re totally distracting me. That’s not what we were talking about.”
Shoot. I know what Vi’s going to say next. I look past her at the tall redbrick lighthouse that’s been on Sandpiper Beach since June 30, 1857. People used to live in the little house attached to it, to take care of the lighthouse and keep the light going, but now it’s all automated and no one lives there. Sometimes I think it would be fun to move into the cute matching redbrick house, but then again, the place is probably full of ghosts and I know—
“Laur-EN. You’re not paying attention at all. Quit stalling and answer, already.” Vi’s twisting that ponytail again and squinting at me in the bright sun.
“I don’t know,” I say. And that’s the truth. When I came over earlier, Vi laid yesterday’s whole awful party down on me. How Linney wanted her to model the dress, and how neither Sadie nor Becca listened to her when she said she didn’t want to. And—worst of all—how she thinks it wouldn’t have happened the way it did if I’d been there.
Then I got another of Becca’s texts. This one said, U know u want 2 be / Part of RSVP / Laugh with yr friends / Have fun once again. She’s been on a rhyming streak all day. And, if that wasn’t enough, Sadie called to ask my opinion on whether going to Party Me Hearties on the mainland is more cost-effective than using the little stationery store on the island.
It’s like they know I’m super confused and maybe even thisclose to joining. I wonder if Bubby ratted me out.
“ ‘I don’t know’ isn’t an answer,” Vi says.
I turn the conch shell over and over in my hand. “But I don’t. I think you’re right. Becca’s too into Ryan to notice anything else, and Sadie’s too preoccupied with making the business work. But if I’d been there, we could’ve figured out what Linney was up to before she even asked you to model that dress.”
“It was two against one.” Vi kicks a pile of seaweed with her bare toes, which completely freaks out one of the adorable little sandpipers in front of us. The tiny bi
rd goes running so fast, his legs look like the Road Runner’s from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. “With you there, I’d at least have had a fighting chance. So now you’re going to join, right? Sadie and Becca really want you, too.” She looks at me with this hopeful gleam in her eyes.
“I don’t know . . . Honestly, I want to. I think it would be fun, and I’m all about helping you and the other girls, but, Vi . . . I just have so much else going on!” Not to mention it’s already the second week of July and I’ve barely touched my summer reading list.
“You wouldn’t even have to be the treasurer or anything! I’ll keep doing that. All you have to do is show up at the parties,” Vi says. She folds her hands like she’s praying. “Please? Pretty please?”
“That’s not really fair, though. If I joined, I’d feel bad if I didn’t help with getting decorations or something.” I want to say “YES!” so badly, but that wouldn’t be right. If I joined, I’d need to haul my own anchor, as Dad likes to say.
“I don’t care!” Vi scoops up something from the sand, examines it, and then throws it back down. “I just want you there. We all do. Think of how good running a business will look on your college applications!”
“Okay, okay, just let me think about it.” My phone rings, and I stuff the conch into my pocket as I answer it.
“What up, my Lo?”
“Hi, Bubby,” I say. She’s probably calling to see if I’ve joined. I need to change the subject, quickly. “Are you doing all right? You know, about your friend?”
“Oh, Alma? She’s singin’ with the angels, Lo baby. Don’t worry about her. So remember that newbie guy I told you about? The one with the pug? The hot one?” Bubby’s talking a mile a minute. I stuff a finger into my other ear to drown out the roaring of the waves and the constant wind. “Of course you do. Anywho, next Saturday is his dog’s birthday!”
“His dog has a birthday?”
“Everyone has a birthday, silly. But here’s my point—I want to throw him, and the dog I guess, a birthday party! And I want you girls to plan it. Isn’t that the most awesome news? I bet you’re squeeing right now.”
Bubby should know I don’t squee. I don’t think I’ve ever squeed in my entire life. “But, Bubby, I’m not part of—”
“So you’ll do it? Don’t forget to find me a dog. I can’t host a dog birthday party without a dog. A little poodle would be ubercute. If anyone can find the perfect dog, you can. I knew you’d make the right decision about joining your friends. Thank you, Lo baby! Kisses!” Bubby makes smooching noises through the phone and hangs up.
I end the call and stare at my phone. A wave smacks against my legs, drenching one side of my shorts, but I don’t move.
“Lauren? What was that about?” Vi’s stopped turning cartwheels in the surf and is waiting for the news.
“I think my grandmother just cajoled me into joining RSVP.” (Cajole: convince someone, like your overly busy granddaughter, to do something, like joining her friends’ party-planning business.)
Vi scoops up my backpack from the sand and holds it out. Then she laughs.
“What?” I take the backpack and slide my new shell into the zippered pocket.
“Your initials.” She points at the white letters stitched onto the front of the bag. LPS. “You do have a P name—Phoebe. See, it was meant to be!”
RSVP. Rebecca, Sadie, Vi, and me—Lauren Phoebe.
• • •
You would not believe how hard it is to borrow a dog. Mrs. St. Clair next door looked like I’d asked to take her Chihuahua to Mars instead of Sandpiper Active Senior Living to be fawned over by a bunch of sweet old people. Mrs. O’Malley said her yappy little terrier was “far too delicate” for a party. And apparently Cooper, the black Lab who lives at Polka Dot Books next to Becca’s house, is strictly a bookstore-only dog. Vi offered her big orange cat, Buster, but somehow I didn’t think Buster would really like going to a party full of dogs.
Finally Becca’s dad tracked down a dog whose owner was willing to let him go for the day. Of course, the dog turned out to be a huge, slobbery Saint Bernard named Custard Van Twinkle.
“He’s perfect!” Bubby exclaims when I arrive with Custard Van Twinkle at Sandpiper Active Senior Living’s party room. She bends down to one knee and rubs her hands on either side of Custard’s head. “Who’s a good doggy? Who’s gonna help me nab cute Mr. Vernon? Who?” she says in a baby voice.
Custard responds by shaking his head and flinging drool across the room.
Bubby stands up and squeezes me into a hug. “I’m so glad you decided to join your friends.”
I wrap my arms around her and hug, thinking of Alma and Atlantic City. Bubby smells of baby powder and some kind of flowery perfume, and I don’t know what I’d ever do without her.
Something wet thwacks against my leg, and I look down to see Custard drooling on me. “Bubby? Can you hang on to the dog so I can help set up?”
“Oh, I can’t, Lo baby. I have to get these curlers out of my hair before Mr. Vernon sees me. And I have to decide what to wear. What do you think, jeggings? Would that look like I’m trying too hard?”
Although anything would be better than the hot-pink robe she has on right now, I cannot handle seeing my grandmother in jeggings. “Um, Becs?” I wave her over from where she’s arranging doggy goody bags.
“Hey, Bubby!” She flings her arms around my grandmother in a bone-crushing hug. “Cute earrings! Where did you get those?”
Bubby touches the dangly silver hoop hanging from her right ear. “Oh, these ol’ things? Picked them up at the mall on the last trip into Wilmington.”
“Becca, Bubby wants to know if she should wear jeggings.” I give Becca a please-convince-my-grandmother-this-would-be-a-horrible-idea look.
“I know! Why don’t we go pick something out together?” Becca loops her arm through Bubby’s and the two of them go chattering off toward Bubby’s apartment.
Leaving me with Custard Van Twinkle.
I’ve never had any pets, so I’m not entirely sure what to do with him. I squat down in front of his droopy face and sad-looking eyes. “Hey, Mr. Van Twinkle. I have to help put out treats for your buddies. Can you take a nap or sit down or something?”
And just like that, Custard Van Twinkle lumbers over to one of the dog beds Sadie thought to get from the pet store, turns around a few times, and then curls up and closes his eyes.
Huh.
So I help Sadie and Vi with the bows-and-bones-themed decorations, make sure there are enough bags and mops in case someone has an “accident,” and admire the dog-friendly cake. (“Dog-friendly meaning made for dogs, not people,” Sadie says.) As I arrange the chairs into what Sadie calls “conversation clusters,” listen to Vi recount the morning’s beach volleyball game, and reassure Sadie that this time her mom might actually show up, I realize I’m having fun.
Well, of course I’m having fun. I knew I would. The problem isn’t that. It’s more like how can I possibly commit to doing this once or twice a week and still have time for everything else? I mean, helping run a business would look amazing on my college applications, that’s for sure. The money I earn will go right into my savings account, and that’s definitely not a bad thing. I know Vi was thrilled when she suggested having cake for the dogs’ owners in addition to the dog-friendly cake and I was there to back her up. And Sadie and Becca were so happy to hear that I wanted to join that the people on the next island over could probably have heard them squealing. So if I’m making a pros-and-cons list in my head, that’s five pros and one con. And no question that I should join RSVP.
Ugh. Sometimes I hate being so logical.
Guests and their dogs are starting to arrive, but there’s no sign of Bubby and Becca. Finally, I spot Becca’s red hair peeking in the door.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Bubby’s waiting for Mr. Vernon to get here. She wants to make an entrance.”
Seriously? “Please tell me she’s not wearing jeggings
.”
Becca shakes her head. “No, but she looks so cute that Mr. Vernon will be drooling more than Custard Van Twinkle.”
Great. Grandmothers are supposed to bake you cookies and wear aprons and give you a five-dollar bill on your birthday. Or spout folksy little sayings, like Vi’s Meemaw. They are not supposed to have crushes on other people’s grandfathers and say things like “hottie” and wear cooler clothes than their granddaughters. Not that I’d trade Bubby for anything, but sometimes I wish she was a little more . . . grandmotherly.
“Ooh, there he is!” Becca squeals and points across the room.
A dapper white-haired man in a polo shirt and khaki pants stands near the cake table with a snub-nosed pug in his arms. The door opens wider, and Bubby struts in, aiming straight for Mr. Vernon.
I have to give Becca credit. Not only is Bubby not wearing jeggings, but she’s actually dressed in a nice long floral skirt, a yellow top, and cute yellow sandals. And a blond wig. I have no idea where that came from, but whatever. “Thank you,” I whisper to Becca.
She grins. “She really wanted the jeggings, but I convinced her that Mr. V would be more impressed if she dressed up.”
Bubby’s already talking before she even reaches Mr. Vernon. She steps over someone’s Boston terrier and immediately starts cooing at the pug in Mr. Vernon’s arms. Mr. Vernon takes a step back. Bubby steps forward, and now she’s got him pinned against the cake table. He looks over her shoulder like he’s searching for an escape route.
Someone next to me giggles. Vi.
I look at her and raise my eyebrows.
“If you’d seen the way Becca trapped Ryan at Linney’s party, you’d be laughing too,” she whispers in my ear.
Becca, however, is frowning. “Why isn’t he impressed? He just looks like he wants to run away.”
Vi buries her face in her arm and starts coughing, probably to hide her laughter.
“Well . . .” I try to think of the best way to say this. “She’s coming on a little too strong, don’t you think?”