by Sara Biren
“I’m still grounded, remember?”
He doesn’t answer. The game is back on, and I watch it, too, like I used to do when I was a kid. We’d get a pocket-size schedule at the gas station every April and mark the games we wanted to watch. Clay would fish with us, but he hated baseball. Watching the Twins was something special I did with my dad, just the two of us.
“Look,” Dad says after the inning ends, “I talked to Mom and we think that maybe we’ve been too hard on you. We know this is a tough time for you, Lucy, and maybe we shouldn’t have kept you away from your friends. So we’re going to reduce your sentence.”
“Really?” I cry. The sound of my own voice rattles inside my head. This is so backward. He should be adding to my sentence, not eliminating it. But I’ll take it. “I’d hug you, but I don’t think I should move.”
“Don’t screw this up again, Lucy. You’ve done some really stupid things. Knock it off, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
At a commercial break, Dad gets up and goes into the kitchen. He comes back a few minutes later with an ice pack, two small orange pills, a cup of coffee, and a banana.
“This should help,” he says.
My phone buzzes as I swallow the painkillers—Hannah.
Holy shit what got into u last night?
Ha. Too much booze, that’s what.
U know Ben beat Simon to a pulp right n then dumped Dana? Shits getn real babe.
My stomach drops, and I really am going to be sick. I didn’t imagine it, Ben and Simon fighting.
Wait. Ben broke up with Dana?
I’m so tired, so confused, I can’t think about it. Everything is so complicated.
Another buzz: Luuuuuuceeeee r u there?
I text back: Funny story, Dad eased up on me. I’m not grounded anymore.
In seconds: I’m picking u up and we r going to that parade.
Forty-five minutes later, Hannah knocks on the door and lets herself in. I haven’t moved.
“Holy hell, Lucy, it’s stifling in here. And it stinks. Oh, hi, Mr. Meadows.” She grabs my arm, hauls me up, and pushes me toward the stairs. “You, my friend, need a shower.”
I stand under the hot spray and let myself cry—everything that I do remember about last night rushes through my mind. Shots, karaoke, the beach. The replay stops there.
After I’m dressed, I grab my sunglasses from the top of my dresser. The treasure chest is there, Ben’s agate nestled among the stones. I open the lid and roll it between my finger and thumb. I’ve missed the slight weight of it, the only solid, unbreakable thing in my life for so long. I slip it back into my pocket.
Hannah drives us into town to watch the parade in front of the Full Loon, which soft-opened Thursday night. We have to park a few blocks up the hill, and I’m glad that we’re walking on the side of the street opposite Ben’s house. Jane and Tom and Ben sit in lawn chairs at the edge of their yard. My heart pounds. There is an empty chair next to Ben.
Is it for Trixie? She loved Watermelon Days, especially the parade.
I’m socked with a memory. Watermelon Days, three years ago. Trixie and I were thirteen, the first year our parents let us go to the carnival on our own. The sun disappeared behind the trees; we had fistfuls of tickets for rides and games and mini-donuts. The night stretched before us, all twinkling, spinning lights and excitement.
“This is going to be a night we’ll never forget,” Trixie said, and squeezed my arm.
And she was right, but the night was memorable for a reason other than carnival rides and cotton candy. Trixie ditched me after a ride on the Ferris wheel.
“I need to use the satellite,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes passed and I walked over to the portable toilets to find her. There was a short line, but Trixie wasn’t in it. I waited and watched as every door opened but she never emerged. I was certain that I’d missed her, that we’d passed each other and she’d be waiting back at the Ferris wheel.
She wasn’t there.
I felt sick from the greasy food, the rides, the realization that Trixie had left me. She’d never done anything like that before. I sat on a bench and tried hard not to cry. But the tears fell anyway. I swiped at them but not fast enough when Clayton, Guthrie, and Ben found me.
Ben dropped down on the bench next to me. “What’s up? Where’s Trix?”
I shrugged. I was afraid to speak, afraid my words might break into sobs.
“Didn’t we see her on the Fire Ball with that kid from metal shop, Kyle something?” Clayton asked. “Did she ditch you?”
I shrugged again. My best friend sneaked off to be with a boy. An older boy. Three years older, if he was in a class with Clayton. Why would she do that to me? It was so unlike her. We looked forward to the Watermelon Days carnival every year. We’d been talking about it for weeks, how excited we were that we could go off on our own now. I felt young and childish and left behind.
“No, it’s nothing,” I said to Clayton, but my voice wavered.
“It’s not nothing,” Ben said in a low voice, and he put his arm around me.
My heart soared in spite of the ache of Trixie’s betrayal.
“You want me to call Dad to come get you?” Clayton asked.
Before I could answer, Ben stood and pulled me up, too, by my elbow. “Nah, she’s not going home. She’s coming with us. Why waste all those tickets?”
He winked at me, and I let myself believe it was about more than the tickets.
I spent the rest of the night with them. Ben shared his deep-fried pickles and rode the spinning strawberries with me even though Clayton called me a baby. And when we finally met up with Trixie and Kyle from metal shop, holding hands in the line for the Zipper, I wasn’t even mad anymore.
“Lulu,” Trixie squealed on the walk home, “can you believe it? I ran into Kyle, and he asked me to ride the Fire Ball with him. I mean, how could I say no to that? You understand, right? And besides, you got to spend the night with Ben!”
I haven’t thought of that night for a long time, how Trixie had left me, and Ben was there to pick up the pieces.
Hannah picks up the pieces now.
“Feel better?” she asks after we settle in, and she reaches her arm around me to hug me.
I nod. “Thanks.”
“Babe, the best thing to do for a hangover is to keep moving.”
“Where’s Guthrie? Didn’t you want to watch the parade with him?”
“He asked me, but I told him no, my girl needs me. We’ll meet up at the carnival later.”
“Tell me what happened last night.”
She laughs. “Which part? The part where Ben pounded Simon or the part where Dana found you with your head on Ben’s lap?”
My head on Ben’s lap? A thought swims through my muddled brain, of Ben’s fingers in my hair, but I don’t know if it’s memory or imagination.
“I guess I don’t want to know after all,” I murmur.
“Have you heard from him?”
“Ben?”
“Or Simon?”
I shake my head.
“Hon,” she says. “You need to tell Simon it’s over. I mean, he knows about you and Ben, right?”
“I would guess that the events of last evening probably erased any doubts he had about me and Ben, yes.”
“Look, when the Renters showed up, I thought, Perfect, this is exactly what she needs, a cute guy to get her mind off the jackass. And Simon’s so sweet to you, for a little while I thought it might actually work.”
“Yeah,” I said, “me, too. But Ben’s everywhere I go, you know? I mean, look, I can’t even watch a parade without him being right across the street.”
“He’s not right across the street, Luce. He’s down the block. And it’s not like you can avoid him in this town.”
“I can try, can’t I?”
“Let Simon down easy, okay?” Hann
ah says. “He’s a nice guy, but you have to end it with him. Because, darlin’, Ben is more than just across the street. He’s in your heart.”
The Day Lulu Made a New Friend
On Lulu’s first first day of school without Trixie, her footsteps echoed in the empty hallways. The hour was early, too early, but she needed the quiet, the time before the rooms filled up and the teachers looked on her with pity in their sad eyes, for they, too, missed the happy girl called Trixie.
She found her locker and emptied the books and notebooks and pens from her backpack. She walked through the school, out a back door, to the long stretch of picnic tables and leafy trees that stood guard over the grand lake.
She had never felt as alone as she did at that moment, in this place where she and Trixie ate lunch on days when the sun warmed them and the scent of lilac and violet carried on the cool breeze.
Lulu took in a deep breath of the crisp, late summer air, now tinged with a sharp trace of algae bloom. She walked back into the school to spend that first day with the classmates she’d known her entire life, but who would never be the kind of friend to her that Trixie had been, since the very first first day of school.
She walked to her homeroom in the media center, where a girl sat alone at one of the tables, a girl Lulu didn’t know. Her blond hair swirled around her like cotton candy.
Lulu was filled with a wave of courage.
Lulu smiled at the girl.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Lucy.”
“My name’s Hannah,” the girl said. “Want to sit here?”
Lulu nodded, and when Hannah smiled at her, Lulu’s heart lit up like a carnival ride.
45 · Ben
I get home from Guthrie’s around noon and take a quick shower. The knuckles on my right hand are bruised and bloody, and I wonder what Simon’s face looks like.
There are four chairs set up in the front yard for the parade, and at first I think how fucked up it is that Mum and Dad put out a chair for Trixie, but then I remember that Dana was going to watch the parade with us.
Until she found me on the porch with Lucy’s head on my lap.
The Watermelon Days parade is a big deal—the whole town comes out for it, and we’ve always had a front row seat. It’s the first time I’ve seen Mum and Dad together in days. Dad’s got his shit together. He’s had a shave and a shower and is wearing clean clothes.
“Hello, sweetie,” Mum says as I sit down in the lawn chair next to her. “What on earth happened to your hand, Ben? And your eye is swollen!”
“I’m okay, Mum, it’s nothing,” I tell her.
“It’s not nothing! Were you fighting?”
When I don’t say anything, Dad jumps in. “Your mother asked you a question, Ben.”
“Look,” I say. I’m tired and hungover and my head’s pounding. “Can we just skip all this and go right to the part where I say I’m sorry and I promise not to do it again?”
“Oh, Ben,” Mum says, and my gut twists. I hate to disappoint her, but I hated that smug look on Simon’s face more.
After a minute or two of silence, Mum asks, “Where’s Dana?”
“She’s not coming.”
She reaches into the cooler and hands me a bottle of iced tea. “Not coming? Why ever not?”
“We’re done,” I mumble.
“Do you mean you’ve broken up?”
“That’s right.” I take a long drink of the tea. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mum says. “That seems a bit sudden.”
I don’t say anything as a couple of fire trucks blast their horns. The firefighters throw candy out the windows, and the kids in front of us scramble to get a few pieces. Something flies at me, and I reach up to catch it without thinking, without even looking.
I open my palm. A root beer barrel.
Trixie’s favorite candy. The candy Lucy left on her grave. I wonder how often Lucy goes there to visit my sister.
I wonder how often Lucy gets drunk like she did last night.
I think about how it felt to carry Lucy from the shore to the porch, how light she was, how she rested her head against my shoulder. I flex my fingers into a fist and remember the feel of Simon Stanford’s shoulder and chest and face beneath it as I pummeled him. What a fucking ass, the thing he said about Lucy.
And then it hits me, like I’m the one getting pounded. What if it’s true?
What if Lucy slept with him? Last night I figured he was lying to me, trying to piss me off. And it worked. But maybe he was telling the truth.
My stomach turns. Shit, what if it’s true? How could she do that?
God, I’m a hypocrite.
“I saw Lucy and her friend down by the café,” Mum says. “Why don’t you ask them to join us here? You’ve spoken with her, right? Like you promised?”
I stand up.
I bite my lip.
“I can’t.” My voice shakes. “I can’t ask her over here. What’s done is done and there’s no going back.”
“Ben—” Mum starts, but I cut her off.
“I’ve done some really stupid shit since Trixie died, you know?” I can barely get the words out, and I’m glad that the siren of the ambulance in the parade is loud enough that the dozens of spectators around us won’t hear what I’m about to say. “I’m sorry that I disappointed you.”
I walk away, away from the parade and the noise and my parents, up the hill to the cemetery, to Trixie’s grave.
I pull the root beer barrel out of my pocket, unwrap it, and set it on top of her gravestone.
“Trix,” I tell her, “I’ve fucked everything up.”
46 · Lucy
The last of the parade floats pass us. The Boy Scouts hit the street and sidewalk to pick up the missed candy and trash. Hannah waves her watermelon-shaped paper fan in front of her face.
“It’s hot,” she says. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.” I stand up. As we walk down the block, I see Jane and Tom in their yard, folding up lawn chairs.
I’m filled with a rush of emotions—sadness and regret and the bitter ache of missing them.
I don’t want to miss them anymore.
“Hannah,” I say, “how would you like to meet Trixie’s parents?”
She grins at me and pulls me into a tight hug. “Lucille, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do! Except maybe Guthrie.” She laughs and I roll my eyes.
We walk across the street and she squeezes my hand. “You can do this,” she whispers, and I’m so grateful for her my heart might split in two.
“Lucy,” Jane says as she stands, “it’s so wonderful to see you.”
And before I know what I’m doing, I’m in her arms, tears dampening the shoulder of her blouse. When I finally pull myself away, Tom is standing, too, and puts his hand on my arm.
“We’ve missed you, kiddo,” he says.
I remember that Hannah is here, too, and I step back to include her.
“Jane, Tom, this is my friend, Hannah Mills. Hannah, meet Trixie’s mum and dad.”
Hannah—awesome, fearless, incomparable Hannah—hugs them both. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet y’all,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about Trixie, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Jane nods like she might cry and reaches for my hand. “Thank you,” she says.
“I know Ben, too,” Hannah says. “I’m dating Scott Guthrie.”
Oh, I wish she hadn’t brought up Ben.
“Yes, Scott mentioned you,” Jane says. “Girls, why don’t you come inside where it’s cool and have some iced tea?”
“We’d love to,” Hannah says. She nods at me, as if she’s telling me I can do this. It’s going to be hard, but I can do this.
I help Tom carry the lawn chairs to the garage.
“Lucy, you have no idea how happy we are that you’re here,” Tom says as he holds the door for me and I step into the kitchen. I take a deep breath. I haven’t been here since Trixie died
.
It feels likes home, like no time has passed at all.
As we’re walking back up the hill to Hannah’s car, I get a text from Mom. Still in town? Stop by for some pie.
I hold out the phone to Hannah. “Seems suspicious. Code for We’re up to our eyeballs, come help.”
“Oh, Lucille,” Hannah says, “don’t be so hard on her. Go on, see what she’s up to.”
“You don’t think I’m going to go in there alone, do you? Come with me.”
“No way. I haven’t seen Guthrie for days. I need me some sugar.”
“Days? It’s only been a few hours!”
She laughs. “It feels like days. Meet us at the carnival later? Text me when you’re done.”
She hugs me, and I turn to walk back down the hill to the restaurant. This is the second full day of their soft open—Mom wanted to be back in business by Watermelon Days but hasn’t had her big grand-reopening celebration yet. It’s not as busy as I expect. Most of the parade crowd must have worked its way back to the festival grounds or the lake.
I slide into the booth across from Mom. From here I can see Trixie’s quote in swirling script on the chalkboard wall by the door: Life is no “brief candle” for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible.
Mom’s got a notebook in front of her, filled with lists and figures. She refills her coffee cup from the carafe on the table and offers me some. I shake my head.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Do you need me to work or something?”
She frowns. “That’s what you automatically think, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “Well. Yes. I mean, isn’t that what you usually want?”
She nods. “I’m sorry for that. And I do have a favor to ask, but that can wait.”
Joellen sets a glass of water in front of me. “What can I get you girls?” she asks.
Mom shakes her head. “I’m fine. Luce? Pie?”
I haven’t eaten much today besides the banana and a cookie with Jane and Tom, but the combination of Advil and sunshine and Hannah seems to have worked. My stomach growls.