Girls of July

by Alex Flinn

  “I’ve heard rumblings about it for a few days. But it just became public information this morning, when I texted you. It was on the noon news.”

  Noon. So Colin hadn’t known.

  Her father chortled. “Edwin’s ruined. Remember what I told you about that female dog named karma?” It was a joke he made all the time.

  “Daddy, that’s not nice.” Kate felt terrible for Lacey, Edwin’s daughter. She would call her as soon as she got home. That would be a long enough cooling-off period that Lacey wouldn’t assume she was gloating. Now she wondered if that was why her friends hadn’t called right away.

  “What’d I say about karma?” Daddy pressed.

  Kate smiled. “Karma’s a bitch. Ha ha.” She pressed her hands against the rock, liking how solid it felt. Poor Lacey. But she also realized she now knew things about her own father that she couldn’t unknow just because he wasn’t going to jail. He wasn’t blameless.

  “You’re right. I’ll be nice. And you have a nice time the rest of the month. I can take back my position, and you can come home, and we can get back to normal again.”

  Normal? Kate dug her fingers into the rock, remembering the bonfire, what she’d said about her old life. Kate realized she’d meant it.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Katy.”

  “I don’t want things to be normal again.”

  “It’ll be fine, Katy. I—”

  “I’m not the same person I was.” Kate felt like she had to scream, practically, to be heard with the bad reception. The thin air. “I can’t go back to that. I can’t be a debutante. I can’t live the life people expect of me. I want different things. I might . . .” It was the first she’d thought of it, but she knew it was true. “I want to go to public school, meet different people.”

  Would Colin understand? Kate thought he would. And if he didn’t, then Kate would have to deal with that.

  “Oh, Katy, you don’t have to change.”

  “I want to try.” Then, worried he’d think she wasn’t happy, she said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Daddy.” Despite his flaws, she was still Daddy’s girl.

  “We can talk about it when you get home.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” Kate said, knowing it was true. Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne.

  “Okay, Katy. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  Kate sat up there a very long time, loving the realness of the stone against her hands, the smell of the pines. She wished she could stay up there forever. It would be hard to go to a new school senior year, no friends, no debate teacher who knew her. But not as hard as it was for Ray-Ray or Lizzie with no mother, and not as hard as pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

  That was all still weeks off. Kate gripped her fingers against the rock and breathed in the pine-scented mountain air and thanked God or karma or whatever for having choices.

  69

  Meredith

  Essay topic: There is a Quaker saying: “Let your life speak.” Describe the environment in which you were raised—your family, home, neighborhood, or community—and how it influenced the person you are today.

  “YOU NEED TO call your mother,” Harmon said later that day, when they were taking a break on Whiteface Mountain.

  “About what?” Meredith asked evasively. But she knew he was right. She had to tell her mother her doubts about college. “It’s just so scary.”

  “What’s she going to do, disown you? You’re, like, the perfect child. You probably drink eight glasses of water a day and ask for more homework.”

  “The water, yes, but I never ask for more homework,” Meredith said. “The only people who ask for more homework are people who need more grades. If I have extra time, I just double-check my work, and try . . .” She looked over at Harmon. He was pretending to be asleep. At least, she thought he was pretending.

  When he noticed she’d stopped talking, he shook awake. “Sorry, sorry. I fell asleep, listening to you talk about homework.”

  She swatted his shoulder. “What a jerk.”

  “So are you going to call her?” he asked.

  “When I get back to the cabin.” Meredith bought herself as much time as possible.

  “Or you could call now, where there’s still cell phone service.” He tapped on her phone.

  “Okay. But when she flies up here and tries to drag me home, it’ll be your fault.”

  “I’m willing to take the risk.”

  Meredith dialed. It was Thursday, so maybe her mother was in a trial. Or a meeting. Or an elevator, anything to keep her from picking it up right away. She could leave her a voice mail.

  “Hello?”

  Leave it to her mother. “Mom, it’s me, Meredith.”

  “I’m so glad you called. I’ve been telling myself that I shouldn’t worry, that you’re a really responsible girl, and—”

  “I don’t know how responsible I am.” Meredith waited for her mother to stop talking, then repeated, “Mom, I’m not sure . . . I don’t want to go to Princeton.”

  “That’s okay. There are plenty of other schools, and even with an alumni connection, there’s no guarantees that—”

  “I’m not sure I want to apply to any of those schools, the Ivy League. In fact, I might want to take a gap year.” This was an inspired idea she’d just had, or just admitted having. “To figure out what’s right for me.”

  “Gap year?” Her mother’s voice sounded far away, as if Meredith was hearing her across the mountains.

  “I don’t know, maybe work or volunteer. Or maybe just go to a state school or something, someplace”—she didn’t want to say easier—“friendlier.”

  “Meredith, are you okay?” Her mother’s voice was high and panicked. “Did something happen? Did someone do something to you or—?”

  Jeez. Her mother thought it was body snatchers. “No, no, nothing like that. I just . . .” She felt Harmon’s hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been having panic attacks for a long time. It wasn’t just that once. Some days, it’s hard for me even to go to school. Or I lie in bed at night and can’t sleep.”

  Silence on Mom’s end. Nearby, a bird cawed. Then, Meredith thought she could hear her mother breathing.

  “Mom?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?” Meredith could tell her mother was gritting her teeth, the way she did when she was trying not to freak out. “I could have talked to your teachers, or you could have gone for counseling.”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint you. I’m sorry.” Meredith groped for Harmon’s hand. This was a terrible idea. Her mother could have gone her whole life without knowing how messed up and crazy Meredith was, and they’d both have been happier. Was it too late to shout, “KIDDING!” into the phone?

  “So that’s why you ran away to New York? You were afraid of disappointing me?”

  “No, I didn’t run away.” Seeing Harmon’s face, she said, “Well, I guess I kind of did, but I planned to come back. I am coming back at the end of the month. I just needed a break.”

  Meredith squeezed Harmon’s hand. If it was even possible, this was the hard part. Difficult to believe they hadn’t even reached the hard part yet. Talking to her mother was like climbing up a mountain.

  “It’s just so much pressure, taking the SAT five hundred times and studying and doing volunteer work and activities and filling out applications and never getting a break.”

  “But I thought you wanted those things.” Her mother’s voice was soft, and Meredith wondered if someone else had walked in.

  Instinctively, she lowered her own voice. “I do. I mean, I did. I thought I did. But then, I start thinking, what’s it all for? Is it really going to make me happy to have to work so hard all the time, never to get a break?” She didn’t add, like you do.

  Harmon squeezed her hand. He whispered, “You’re doing great.”

  “If you don’t want this, why are you doing it?” her mother asked.

  Her voice was wei
rdly calm. Meredith was surprised she wasn’t screaming. Not that her mother was usually a screamer, but this was pretty shocking stuff Meredith was dropping on her right now. She felt like anyone would scream under the circumstances.

  “For you . . . and . . . Dad. I thought I wanted it. And I thought you wanted it for me.”

  “I do. I mean, I did, but only if it’s what you wanted. And now there’s a new wrinkle.”

  Wait, what? Meredith sucked in her breath. What kind of new wrinkle?

  “I lost my job,” her mother continued. “It happened a few months ago, before you left. There were some changes at my firm, and I was a casualty. I have some possibilities, but they won’t pay as much, and I was worried about paying for a school like that.”

  Meredith’s thoughts were swirling. She could almost see them, moving around like physical objects in her head. They’d been saving since she was a baby—at least her mother said they were—had they just been trying to guilt trip her into doing well in school all this time? And why wouldn’t her mother tell her she’d lost her job? Why would she let her get her hopes up like that, spend months applying, doing all this work, if they couldn’t afford it? Why wouldn’t she just treat Meredith like a grown-up and tell her that? Why would she let Meredith think she had a decision to make when it was made for her? Her vision started to blur as if she might faint.

  “. . . anyway, I figured you could apply and see what happens,” her mother was concluding, and Meredith realized she hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

  “What?” she said. “So there’s no money?”

  “We have savings.” Her mother was speaking carefully, as if pronouncing every word was somehow important. “I don’t want you to think we’re broke. But if you could apply some places that might give you a scholarship, that would be . . .”

  Meredith felt herself nodding like a bobblehead, like her head wasn’t completely attached to her body.

  She said, “I think I have to go. I feel weird.”

  “Wait. So you’re okay?”

  “Yeah,” Meredith said. “I’ll be back the thirty-first. I’ll give you my flight information. Or I can get a ride with Britta. I have to go.”

  “Britta? Who’s Britta?”

  “I’m climbing a mountain, Mom! Gotta go!” Meredith hung up the phone and turned it off.

  She looked at Harmon. She felt like she’d been jogging uphill all day, which she sort of had, but she hadn’t felt that way before the phone call.

  “She said she can’t afford to send me to one of those schools, even if I get in.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” He rubbed her hand with his thumb. “How do you feel about it?”

  “I built my entire identity around the idea that I was going to an Ivy League school. I was practically suicidal over a C on a test. Was she secretly hoping I wouldn’t get in? She let me write essays. She encouraged me. Everything’s changed in a minute. I don’t know how to feel.”

  But she realized part of her felt free. With her grades and scores and activities, there were hundreds of schools that would give her a full ride, or close to it, if she didn’t want to get loans. She could get a great education and still learn how to be something other than a student, watch a sunset or climb a mountain and, for the first time in her life, not have to worry that it was taking away from something she had to do. She could even take a year off. She could get a job at the mall.

  Well, maybe not at the mall.

  Harmon was nodding supportively, squeezing her hand. She looked up at the trees and the sky and mountain still ahead, before they reached the cold, bare summit.

  She said, “I feel like we should keep going.”

  70

  Spider

  INT/EXT SPIDER’S CAR AT PARKING LOT AT MOUNT HADLEY TRAILHEAD

  Spider, Britta, Kate, and Meredith pull into a parking space on a glorious summer day. Though they are talking and laughing, there is an air of sadness too. Their days together are numbered.

  “SEE. WE DIDN’T get lost.” Spider parked in the shade. It wasn’t crowded that day, a weekday, three days before they were scheduled to leave.

  “And no ditch,” Meredith said.

  “I’m so proud,” Britta effused.

  “I only drove into a ditch that once.”

  “And that really worked out,” Kate said. “I mean, for Ruthie.”

  Kate and Meredith unloaded their gear and started for the trail. Britta lingered behind. When Spider got her backpack, Britta held out her hand. “Let me take your water. It’s heavy.”

  “I’m fine.” Spider hoisted her backpack up. “I rested yesterday.”

  “You have your heavy camera, which is cool because you’re going to immortalize this experience for all of us, right?”

  “Our one fire tower?” Spider laughed. “I know what old people mean when they say, ‘Where did the time go?’”

  “Besides . . .” Britta stuck her thumb into her shorts waistband. “I’ve gained weight from all the ice cream and pizza. Carrying more would be good exercise.”

  Spider kept the water bottle. “I don’t want your pity help.”

  “It’s not pity. Hey.” Britta nudged Spider, and she turned back. “It’s called being nice.” She held her arms out, palms raised. “Please?”

  Spider gave up the water bottle. “Okay, but only to help you exercise.”

  They joined the others, signing in at the trailhead register. Then they started to follow the red trail markers.

  “So are we allowed to talk today?” Britta said, after walking in silence a few minutes. “And about real things or only cool rocks?”

  “I do like to talk about rocks.” Spider remembered telling Britta not to chitchat.

  “There are some interesting rocks here.” Meredith, long legged and determined, reached a boulder before the rest of them. “We don’t have much variety in Miami, mostly limestone.”

  “It’s true,” Kate said. “Some of the rocks here seem to sparkle like jewels.”

  “There’s lots of garnet around.” Spider caught up. “You can even go to a garnet mine. We’ll have to . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized, again, that the month was nearly over.

  “Next summer,” Meredith said. “We’ll do it next summer.”

  “Next summer,” Britta agreed. “And we’ll hike more trails too.”

  “Why not?” Kate said. “The rocks have been here for centuries. They’ll wait a year.”

  “Meredith’s coming back to see her boyfriend,” Britta singsonged, like a little kid.

  Meredith smiled. “You know it.”

  “I’m coming back to see Ray-Ray,” Kate said. “He called me ‘Aunt Kate’ the other day.”

  “So cute!” Britta said. “I want my brother to have a kid so I can be someone’s aunt.”

  They shuffled forward over the steepening trail, across little rivers where they had to walk on logs. After one such log, Spider took out her camera, knowing that soon, it might be too difficult to climb and film at the same time. Britta noticed her filming and turned back to smile and wave like a tacky tourist. She nudged Meredith and Kate. Spider didn’t mind, though. She wanted their faces in it. Spider filmed all of them climbing over some sheer rock, then turned off the camera so she could do it herself. Her knees ached, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Do you want me to hold the camera?” Meredith asked when they stopped to rest at another boulder. “I mean, I know I won’t do as good a job as you, but you should be in it too.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Kate said. “You promised you’d send it to us, remember.”

  “Please,” Meredith said.

  Spider laughed. “I’m not sure I want my Frankenstein walk immortalized.” But she handed Meredith the camera. “Okay, but be super careful. I actually babysat children to earn the money for this camera.”

  “I’m sure it was fun for the children, too,” Britta said.

  “What are you saying?”

  Spider showed Meredith how
to work the camera. They trudged uphill, over patches of bald rock where it was hard to find a foothold. Eventually, Meredith turned off the camera so she could use her hands. She packed it and its case into her own backpack, and Spider let her.

  “Harmon says the bald patches are because of thin soil due to fires,” Meredith said, and Spider didn’t cringe at Harmon’s name, though Meredith brought it up multiple times per day.

  “I guess that’s why they built the fire towers,” Kate said.

  Finally, they were within view of the summit. Spider stumbled a couple of times. Her coordination was already failing, and she sensed that the other three were hanging back to accommodate her pace. She didn’t want them to, though. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll catch up.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Kate stopped walking. “We’re all going to summit this thing together.” The others nodded in agreement.

  Spider sighed, but they waited. Soon, Britta shouted, “Look!”

  A patch of blue sky was visible between the pines. Then, they were there. They ran—even Spider, in a burst of adrenaline—to the overlook and gazed out at the purple, blue, and gray mountains, up at the white-marbled sky, down at dozens of towns, hundreds of houses, thousands of lives they’d never know. Spider breathed deeply through her nose, taking it all in, the view, the wonder of it. The wonder.

  “This is so beautiful,” Kate said. “It’s hard to see so much beauty.”

  They all knew what she meant. The fire tower loomed scarily to one side. It had six flights of stairs and reached into the clouds.

  “Let’s eat lunch before we do . . .” Britta gestured at it.

  Over sandwiches, Spider said, “I’m leaving the thirty-first too. So I can drive you guys to LaGuardia, if you don’t want to take the bus.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Kate said. “I loved the bus.”

  “Yeah, no,” Britta said. “I heard it was super loud.”