by Micol Ostow
And then there was the overwhelming amount of garbage people would leave strewn about. Since spending so many hours in the backwaters of the bay, she had a new appreciation for the staggering amount of everyday junk that wound up floating in the water. No wonder her father was so passionate about the environment.
Maybe Billie’s onto something with the whole sit-in—if it gets the bay cleaned faster, that is…
Regardless, even if Billie’s intentions were noble, Eliza couldn’t help but be glad that it was Billie rather than Eliza who was going to undercut her father’s most recent decision.
Environmental issues aside, though, if the work at the Fishy Wishy had taught her anything, it was to have a whole lot more appreciation for waitstaff at restaurants.
She was a little surprised by how much into a zone she could get when doing this stuff. She’d never really had a job back home. She’d babysat before, but nothing with a uniform and cash registers. It was tough going, but she just kept thinking about two days of nonstop swimming and sunning at the beach with Macca, and she was able to “go to her happy place” and just get through it.
As much as she hated smelling like fish at the end of the day, she had to admit that on a day like today, things could get a lot worse. The weather was sunny and warm, and she got to be out in the open air (even if it was clearing tables) instead of cooped up in a classroom.
Eventually, the lunch rush gave way to the lull of the late afternoon. Finally, there were only a couple of customers left sitting at the outside tables.
“Hey, Steve,” Eliza called, walking back into the kitchen area.
“Yeah?”
“Things are pretty slow, and I’ve got everything cleaned up and put away. Do you think I could get out a little early? I’d love to catch a few extra rays before the sun goes down.”
Steve gave everything a cursory eye.
“Tell you what, go back and refill all the napkin dispensers, and as soon as you’re done with that, you can get changed and get out of here.”
“Thanks so much,” Eliza said, and went into the storage closet to grab packages of napkins.
“No worries, and Eliza?” Eliza’s heart stopped for a second.
Has he caught on? I was being too perky, wasn’t I? I knew it—excessive perk. Bad!
“You’re doing a great job; you’ve really gotten the swing of it. I’m impressed, and I’ll let Frank know.”
She had a pang of guilt, knowing that she was about to let them down.
“Okay…” Eliza tried to keep her voice light. “Thanks, Steve.”
After finishing with the napkins, Eliza pulled her backpack out from where she had stored it in the back of the restaurant and ducked into the bathroom to attempt a quick makeover. She jumped into her sundress, hoping that it hadn’t gotten too wrinkled in her bag during her shift. She took out a brush and ran it through her hair until it was vaguely presentable and no longer pressed into the shape of an inverted fry basket. She put on a little lip gloss and a hint of shimmery eyeliner (enough to look good for the beach, but not so much that you’d look more suited for a nightclub), a hint of perfume, and checked her outfit. Finally feeling satisfied—or as satisfied as she was going to get—with things, she stepped out.
Eliza took a note she had written the night before from her bag and read it over once more.
She knew it wouldn’t get her off the hook entirely, but at least she felt better than if she had just disappeared. She didn’t want to wind up with her photo on the side of a milk carton. She slipped the note in the cash envelope that Steve dropped with Frank every Sunday night.
Eliza walked out front of Fishy Wishy and waited for Macca. She took a last look, patting down her dress and running a hand through her hair, then sat on a bench. She couldn’t sit still, and her stomach had turned into a churning mass of butterflies. At least, she hoped they were butterflies and not the haddock sandwich she had had for lunch.
She tried to find the optimal position to be in so she would look just right when they arrived.
Sitting up, ankles crossed, looking at the ocean. Nope…looks like I’m posing.
Standing, legs crossed, leaning on bench.
Nope—balance is off, can’t stand still, will look like I am a crazy person.
Sitting, leaning back, reading a tabloid.
Perfect. Casual, but pretty.
Before long, two cars with surfboards strapped to the top pulled to a stop right in front of her bench. One was an old sedan and the other was Macca’s dune buggy. Will, from the party at Trinity, and Annelise were in the front of the sedan, and squeezed in the back were a couple other guys and a girl. Macca, with a big grin, was driving the buggy by himself.
Without getting out, Macca called to her.
“Toss the bag in the back and hop in. We’ve got a ferry to catch!”
Eliza tossed her bag behind the seats in the buggy and got in and off they went.
About five minutes up the road was the Sorrento Pier and the car ferry that would take them across the head of Port Phillip Bay. They pulled into the loading lanes just as the cars started to load up.
After parking on the boat, they climbed out and headed up to the topmost deck to take in the sun and watch the sights as they crossed the bay. Everyone gathered at some seats, and Macca made the introductions.
“Will and Annelise you met.” They all smiled and nodded at one another. “And this is Johnny and Whiz.”
“Whiz?”
“Yeah,” said the lankiest of the three, an academic-looking guy with spectacles. “It’s really Will, but since he’s Will”—he gestured to the broad-shouldered guy—“and I’m smarter, I’m Whiz.”
“Aha. Do you guys all go to Geelong?”
“Just Johnny,” Macca said. “Whiz is at Melbourne Grammar, and Will graduated from Geelong last year and has been off jackarooing with Kat,” and he gestured to the girl Will had his arm around, “at his family’s station near South Australia.”
“Jackarooing?”
“Being a farmhand,” Will said. “Helping with the sheep and cattle.”
“You’re both jackaroos?”
“Technically, I’m a jillaroo. That’s what they call the girls. I’m Kat,” she said, “and you are the Yank we’ve heard so much about?”
“That’s me,” Eliza answered.
Soon the ferry shuddered as the engines revved up. The lines were cast off, and the boat pushed back from the pier heading out into the bay. Eliza, Macca, Will, Kat, Whiz, Annelise, and Johnny found spots at the railing where they could have a good view of the Mornington Peninsula.
The boat left Sorrento and soon was passing Portsea; farther out was Point Nepean, the very tip of the peninsula. There were freighter ships coming and going, and with the late-afternoon sun beginning to settle down in the sky, sailboats and cabin cruisers that had been out for the day were coming back into the expanse of Philip Bay.
The water was a luscious blue, and the late-afternoon sun made the ripples dance with light. It was so bright Eliza had to shield her eyes. Far off in the distance she could make out the tallest of the high-rises in Melbourne, and to the other side there was nothing but open sea with a sailboat heading off to points unknown.
“Look, hey, check it out!” called Kat from the other side of the deck.
They all rushed over to see several dolphins racing along the front of the boat. They playfully leaped out of the water, one following the next, then plunged back under, racing just out of the boat’s reach.
As Eliza watched the dolphins and basked in the warm, afternoon sun, the guilt she had about running off from the Echolses melted away. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself when she felt Macca’s hands on her hips as he leaned over her.
“Cool, aren’t they?” he asked.
“Yeah, they’re beautiful.”
They watched as the dolphins danced back and forth in the water.
“Hey,” Eliza said as she turned around. “Thanks so much for
inviting me. I’m glad I’m getting to do all this. Your friends are really cool to be having me along.” It wasn’t exactly what she meant to say, but she somehow couldn’t put it all into words. She hoped Macca would understand.
Macca smiled at her. “No worries.”
Chapter Eighteen
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: rebellion
Hi there! I’m going well—especially now that I’ve got the Aussie lingo down!
I’m sorry to hear that the internship isn’t exactly everything you hoped it would be. Trust me—I get it. I thought doing fieldwork on the beach was going to be a good way to work on my tan. Turns out, not so much.
Still, though, the weather is finally turning, and I have to say that I am really excited about the penguin project. Maybe it wasn’t quite what I was expecting when I first applied to S.A.S.S., but talk about a once-in-a-lifetime experience!
I think the sit-in sounds really exciting. And I totally get your feeling like you might be letting my father down, but he’s always after me to “take a stand for something I believe in”—which is what this is, right? I mean, time for him to put his money where his mouth is, I say.
Let me know how it goes. I’ve got my fingers crossed for you. And I’m glad that you’ve got Parker for backup, too. He’s great.
Of course, I might not be the person that you want in your corner, since I’m doing a little rebelling of my own this weekend.
I won’t fill you in on the details—wouldn’t want to implicate you in this mess—but suffice it to say that this time tomorrow, your sit-in may very well be the last thing on all of our parents’ minds….
More soon. Stay tuned!
Eliza
Billie returned home from the zoo that evening to an unusual sight. Or rather, an unusual sound: the strains of pleasant humming emanating from the kitchen.
After dropping her bag and jacket in Eliza’s bedroom—homesick or no, it still wasn’t quite feeling like hers—she made her way toward the mysterious good mood. It was Mrs. Ritter, buzzing around the kitchen, occasionally lifting the lids off of pots and poking at vegetables in a bowl with a silver serving fork.
She looked up at the sound of Billie’s footsteps. “Oh, hello,” she said, her mouth twitching up ever so slightly into what Billie thought might actually be a smile. She inhaled deeply. “Doesn’t dinner smell good?”
Despite the pots and general low-level commotion, Billie didn’t actually smell anything. Well, anything that smelled liked food, anyway. As usual, the sharp scent of cleaning products cut through the air.
“What’re we having?” she asked, somewhat nervous. Mrs. Ritter’s razor-thin physique was not the result of a robust appetite, after all.
“Steamed cod fillet with broccoli.”
“Broccoli?” She liked broccoli just fine. That was, when it was prepared with actual herbs and spices and other flavor-producing ingredients.
“Steamed broccoli,” Mrs. Ritter confirmed.
Billie’s heart sank. “Sounds…delicious.” One thing she was homesick for: Marmite. And pavlova. And the occasional chocolate bar. Mrs. Ritter absolutely never served a dessert. She hadn’t been too homesick since she’d arrived in D.C., but right about now she’d kill someone for a pressed peanut-butter-and-Nutella sandwich.
Okay, that was four things. But still.
“We’re celebrating,” Mrs. Ritter went on. “Mr. Ritter will be home soon, and we’ll all have dinner together.”
Billie perked up. “Celebrating?” That, at least, sounded promising. “Ace! What’s the occasion?”
Mrs. Ritter pushed aside the dish she’d been fiddling with—a salad, from the looks of it—and sidled over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and settling in, leaning forward onto her elbows. Her eyes sparkled and Billie realized she looked almost giddy. Almost.
“Mr. Ritter was able to get some time off this weekend. We didn’t want to say anything until we were sure.”
Billie arched an eyebrow, still not entirely sure what this had to do with her. Were they leaving her alone for the weekend and heading off on a romantic holiday?
“We’ll be going to Ocean City this weekend!” Mrs. Ritter burst out, her words coming in a rush. “You’ll love it. Granted, it’s the off-season and a touch cold, so you won’t be able to swim, but we can still walk on the beach, and we’ll be able to take the sailboat out—oh, and you’ll get to try genuine Maryland crab cakes!”
It took a moment for what Mrs. Ritter was saying to sink in, so foreign to Billie was her genuine enthusiasm and bubbliness. But then it hit her: boating, the beach, and deep-fried crab cakes?
Billie was in. So in. Maybe not with the crabs, but with everything else, definitely.
Talk about aces.
The Ritters told Billie that she could bring a friend with her to the cottage. This begged the question of whom to ask.
It wasn’t one she had to mull for long, of course, seeing as her close girlfriends could be counted on one finger.
She tracked Heather down outside of her locker the next afternoon.
“Busy plotting your next bold move of guerrilla warfare?” Heather asked, smiling and flipping the combination to her locker, opening the door, and rummaging inside for some books.
“Hilarious, I’m sure,” Billie said. “Anyway, no…no saving the world just now.” She shrugged. “Other than typing up the content for the Ritter e-newsletter, that is. Just thinking, I suppose.”
“Thinking? At school? Unnecessary.” Heather laughed, fished out the books that she’d been looking for, and then slammed her locker door shut. “We’ll have to put an end to that straightaway.” She adopted a mock-Aussie accent for the word “straightaway,” causing Billie to giggle.
She knew she and Heather would have a great time in Maryland. “About the weekend . . .” she began.
“What’s going on?” Heather asked. “Am I going to be jealous of your wild social calendar?”
“Nope,” Billie said, still smiling. “It’s the same thing that you’ve got on. That is, if you want. Hear me out…”
Chapter Nineteen
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: rebellion
I appreciate being kept in the dark as to your “debaucherous” plans. That being said, I expect a full report once you’re back home safe and sound.
No news on the sit-in, but it sounds like you’ve got enough excitement going on for the both of us. . . .
Billie
Barely forty minutes after leaving Sorrento, the ferry reached the other side of the bay at Queenscliff. Everyone piled back into the cars and headed off the boat, out of the harbor, and onto the main road.
They drove along, Eliza luxuriating in the feeling of the warm, early-evening breeze blowing through her hair. They drove through small towns and then through fields just inland. As they drove closer to the sea, Eliza could catch glimpses of the coastline. Interrupted only by low hills of scrub, there were long beaches stretching out of sight in both directions. The ocean looked calm and peaceful, with rows of waves gently crashing one after the next. The sky was huge above her, and the road stretched out in front of them.
After an hour, they pulled into a parking lot with a gas station, a grocery store, and a bottle shop—what they called a liquor store down here. Eliza went with the girls, Johnny, and Whiz to get food while Will and Macca filled the cars.
They bought several bags of food and sodas to keep them through a couple days, then popped next door to the bottle shop, where Will and Macca were picking up some beer. Once Macca had paid for the beer, they filled a cooler with ice, packed everything up, and headed back out onto the road out of town.
Soon they pulled off the main road onto a dirt track that wound along until they came to a clearing on a hillside overlooking a broad open beach. You could just make out the sea at this point as the sun had set and the last few
rays of light were fading over the horizon.
The cars came to a stop, and everyone popped out. Eliza walked to the edge of the car park and looked out over the broad expanse of coastline framing a giant crescent-shaped bay. You could hear the waves breaking and the sounds of the last seabirds of the day. It was peaceful until Will shattered her private reverie.
“All right, me and Whiz are gonna find some wood for the fire and get that started. Macca and Johnny, you guys get the tents set up. Girls are on food and beverage detail. Right?” It wasn’t so much a question as a command, and they all took to their task.
Eliza went to the back of the car and began unpacking bags and laying things out on a picnic table with the girls. This was a pretty easy job since they were mostly going to be eating burgers, hot dogs, and potato chips, but they made a nice spread of fixings for everyone and then watched as the boys piled the wood up for a fire.
Once everyone was done with the tasks at hand, Will took a small gas container from the back of his car and poured some diesel fuel on the logs and lit it with a dropped match.
Eliza was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a “camper.” At summer camp she opted every time for things like weaving and movie night over hiking and canoeing. That being said, she knew enough that covering wood in fuel and lighting was not the recommended method of starting a campfire. A fact that was promptly proven.
The match hit the wood pile and an enormous flash of flames enveloped the area, causing Will to leap back to save his eyebrows. Once the dramatic fireball burned off, the fire was actually burning very nicely, if a bit thick with black smoke.
“Subtle, mate, very subtle,” Macca said to Will.
“What? We have a fire, don’t we? So get stuffed! Now somebody toss me a stubby from the esky.”
Johnny grabbed a beer from the Igloo cooler and tossed it to Will.