“Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure,” Cecile said. “Your mother never goes out of the house, anyway, so she won’t see you. And no one else cares.”
“Okay.” Jenny stood up and started unbuttoning her dress. “But hurry!” she said.
“I’ll be right back.” Cecile stopped outside the bush. “You get to choose. Where do you want to go?”
There was no hesitation in Jenny’s voice when she said, “Under the dock.”
“They’re gone,” Cecile announced as she came onto the terrace.
“Thank god.” Natalie lowered her magazine and let her head fall back against the chaise. “I’m not going to do a single thing for the rest of our vacation except lie around and work on my tan.”
“Why?” Cecile asked as she sat down. “Was it really so hard getting William to fall in love with you?”
“Hah, in love,” Natalie scoffed. “I hear Harry’s coming home. What’d I tell you?”
“At least Mom won’t be in a rotten mood for the rest of our vacation.”
“True.”
Cecile watched her sister for a minute. Natalie’s face was pale, but the dark circles under her eyes were gone. She looked bleached out but beautiful.
“Mrs. Cahoon told William you’re fast, you know,” Cecile said.
“She did?”
“Yep.”
“God, that is so Cahoony,” said Natalie.
“Cahoony?”
Natalie sat up. “Do you know what William does?” she said.
“What?”
Natalie swung her feet around and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “He carries a tiny notebook around with him all the time to keep track of his expenses. His father told him that if he started the habit when William was young, it would stand him in good stead for the rest of his life.”
“‘Good stead?’” Cecile repeated.
“William writes down every single thing he buys, every day: gas, oil for the car, snacks, magazines…” Natalie’s eyes had some of their old sparkle. “He told me he even writes down ‘personal items.’ That’s what he called them.” She couldn’t hold it in any longer; she laughed.
“What are those?” Cecile said.
“I don’t know. He was too embarrassed to tell me.”
They looked at each other and giggled.
“Can you imagine being married to a person like that?” Natalie said, sighing as she lay back in her chaise.
“I can’t imagine even kissing him,” Cecile said.
“Ugh. Please.” Natalie closed her eyes and immediately opened them again. “Let’s make a pact. We will never say the words ‘William Cahoon’ again. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“I have a great idea,” Natalie said. She shut her magazine with a decisive snap. “Let’s ask Sheba to make us a picnic, and then you and I will go to the beach near the club and lie around all afternoon and eat and swim.”
“Okay.”
“You can’t tell Jack, or Lucy, or anyone, that we’re going,” Natalie said as she stood up.
“Good idea.”
“And whatever you do,” Natalie instructed as she led the way to the door, “don’t start acting all interested in every baby we see on the beach, the way you always do, or we’ll end up baby-sitting all afternoon.”
“Right.” Cecile followed her sister into the house. “And you can’t start making eyes, or flirting, or even talking to any boy, no matter how gorgeous he is.”
“I can’t?” Natalie said, stopping.
“No, you can’t.” Cecile gave her a push to get her moving again. “And wear your tank suit like mine so we’ll look like twins.”
“In your dreams,” Natalie said with a haughty toss of her hair as she knocked in a friendly way against Cecile’s shoulder. “You go get dressed. I’ll check with Sheba. And not a word to the others!” she called as Cecile started up the stairs.
“Not a word to us about what?” asked Jack, who was playing with his little men in the upstairs hall.
“None of your beeswax,” Cecile sang.
“Powpowpow,” said Jack.
Chapter Fifteen
Cecile leaned against the sill of the bathroom window brushing her teeth. The early morning air was hot and still. A bee flitting in front of the window hung suspended in midair for a long second, buzzing loudly, before it abruptly bounced off the screen and veered crazily off in the opposite direction.
Sheba had gone home for her day off yesterday. Cecile had been coming back from the dock when she saw her on the front steps with Mr. Peabody. He was joking and talking as he put Sheba’s suitcase into the trunk of his car. Whatever he said made Sheba slap him on the arm and laugh. It was the sound of that laugh, so full and easy, as if Mr. Peabody had said something he wouldn’t have liked someone like Cecile to hear, that had made Cecile step back into the shadow of the oak, suddenly shy.
Who was this stranger, she wondered uneasily, who looked so vibrant and glamorous in her sleeveless red dress with a wide white belt, her normally straight hair so alive with waves and curls? Surely her Sheba had never worn high heels as pointy and tall; the calves of her legs had never been so muscular. It wasn’t the Sheba who Cecile knew.
She’d shivered, suddenly, as she stood there, to think what this Sheba might do or say if she were to pass Cecile on the street. Would she love Cecile still, or would she walk right past?
Cecile had hung back as Sheba and Mr. Peabody got into the car, slammed the doors, started up the engine, and drove away. She wished now that she’d said good-bye. That she’d been sure enough, somehow, to tell Sheba to have a good time.
Slowly Cecile rinsed her mouth and put her toothbrush back in its holder and walked into her bedroom. What harm could there be in putting on that silly bra again? She had to get used to it sometime. Better wear it to the club and see how it felt.
“Cecile! Natalie!” Her mother’s voice sounded exactingly from the driveway outside. “We’re meeting Granddad and Dad at noon!”
“The only reason I’m late is because you took so long in there,” Natalie said, pushing past Cecile when they met on the stairs. “Tell Mom I’ll be a minute.”
Their mother was standing beside the car. Lucy and Jack were already in the back. “Would you please run to the dock and see if Lucy left her sandals there?” her mother said when Cecile appeared. “Check in the box in the boathouse in case someone found them and dumped them there.”
“Okay.” Cecile dropped her towel in through the front window and set off.
“And hurry!” her mother called as she ran onto the drive.
Trust Lucy, Cecile thought as she ran. Mom ought to tie her shoes to her feet, the way she leaves them everywhere. She ran down the steps to the dock, into the boathouse, and almost into Stefan’s open arms.
“Whoa,” he cried, backing up. “Are you looking for these?” He held out Lucy’s sandals. “I figured someone would be back for them.”
“Thanks.” Cecile took the sandals quickly, as if fearing he was using them as bait to grab her, and ducked her head. He was standing so close. She couldn’t look him in the face.
“You’re Cecile, right?”
She took a step back and looked up. “How do you know?”
“Jack told me.”
“He did? Why?”
Stefan picked up a large metal scoop from the table beside the freezer and opened the door. “I asked him,” he said as he started scooping up ice and dumping it into a bucket at his feet. “I wanted to know which one of his sisters would have come down here a few nights ago and done what looked like a cross between a war dance and a cheerleading exercise.” Stefan shot her an amused look as he dumped the last scoop into the bucket and let the freezer door slam shut. “Jack said, ‘It had to be Cecile.’” He laughed.
“It was a war dance, now that you mention it,” Cecile said, lifting her chin.
“I figured as much.” Stefan picked up the bucket. “But that little ‘blue
team’ bit at the end kind of threw me off.”
He had a friendly laugh. Cecile could feel herself grinning.
“You might want to look around inside there some more,” he said with a jerk of his head at the boathouse. “There are quite a few buckets and shovels.”
“We leave those here every summer,” Cecile said. “For the next year.”
“Right. You would.”
“Are you coming back next year?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m leaving today, for good,” Stefan said. “Captain Stone and I are taking a group down to Florida this afternoon. I’ll fly home from there. I’ve got to get ready to go to college in a few weeks.”
“College? Wow. You’re really old.”
She blushed to hear how young she sounded, but Stefan only laughed. “Ancient,” he said. He put a hand in the middle of his back and hunched over, limping like an old man with a cane.
“Need help with that, old man?” Cecile said.
“No sirree,” Stefan said, shooting back up. “Not from you. You make me nervous.”
Cecile laughed.
“It was nice meeting you, Cecile,” Stefan said. “Say good-bye to Jack for me.”
“Bye, Stefan.” Cecile floated up the stairs, supremely happy. He was so terribly normal and nice. Best of all, now he’d be gone, and the dock would be hers again. “Oh, and Stefan,” she cried, whirling around when she got to the parking area. Stefan, halfway down the dock, turned. “I’ll never be too much work!” Cecile cried.
“What?” Stefan’s face went from blank to surprised. Then he smiled a huge smile and shot her a neat salute. Cecile saluted back and ran up the drive on winged feet. Flinging Lucy’s sandals into the backseat, she cried, “Here you go, Lucy!” and ran around the front of the car. “I’ve decided,” she said as she slid into the front seat next to her mother, “I’m willing to take tennis lessons, but I draw the line at golf.”
“That’s my seat, Cecile,” Natalie called as she came out the front door. “Move it.”
“First come, first served,” Cecile said.
“Natalie, get in the car, please,” their mother said.
“Stefan said good-bye,” Cecile told Jack over her shoulder as Natalie sulkily slammed the back door. “He’s leaving today, for good.”
“I know,” said Jack.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?” Cecile said.
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Who’s Stefan?” said Natalie.
“No one you know,” Cecile said.
“No one I want to know, you mean.”
“Same thing.”
“Brat.” Natalie leaned forward to jab Cecile in the back.
“Same to you.”
“When’d you get a bra, by the way?” Natalie asked, rubbing her hand on Cecile’s shoulder.
“Ages ago.” Cecile sat forward, out of her reach.
“Liar. You’re such a liar, Cecile. Mom, did you buy it for her?”
“Natalie, enough. How would you like it if Cecile were to discuss your personal business in front of everyone?” Mrs. Thompson said. “I don’t want another word out of either one of you.”
Natalie poked Cecile in the back again, but it felt good.
“Wait for me. I have to go to the bathroom,” Natalie said, resting her tennis racket against the wall of the ladies’ changing rooms before she went inside. Cecile stood idly bouncing a ball on the sidewalk with her racket.
“Hi, Cecile.”
Cecile turned. Whit was coming from the direction of the golf course with three boys. When he stopped in front of her, they clustered around behind, shifting from foot to foot and grinning.
“Hi.” Cecile quickly caught the ball and held it awkwardly against her stomach with one hand to stop it from bouncing.
“Are you up for another game?” said Whit.
“Yeah, maybe you’ll get caught this time,” one of the boys muttered. The other boys laughed.
“Go on, you guys,” Whit said sharply. “I’ll catch up with you.” He and Cecile stood looking at each other as they walked off. “They didn’t mean it,” Whit said when they were gone.
“It’s all right,” Cecile said. “When are you playing?”
“Thursday night. Want to come?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Oh. Okay.” Whit looked in the direction his friends had gone, then back at Cecile. “Those guys didn’t mean it, you know. I wouldn’t let them do anything, anyway.”
“They’d be sorry if they tried.”
“Yeah.” Whit nodded. “I believe that.”
Their grins came and went.
“Well,” Whit said after neither one said anything for a minute. “Maybe I’ll see you on Thursday and maybe I won’t.”
“Right.”
“Okay. Well, bye.”
“Bye.”
Cecile dumbly watched him walk to catch up with his friends. Say something, say something, say something, you idiot! Something so he knows you don’t hate him, but not something that’ll let him know you think he’s cute.
“Whit, wait!” Cecile ran after him, she didn’t care. Whit had stopped to wait for her. “I’d love to play again,” she said in a rush when she caught up, “but I can’t. Not on Thursday, I mean. My brother’s coming home from Canada on Thursday. We’re having a family party at my grandfather’s. I have to be there.”
“Oh. Great!” Whit’s smile was as wonderful as his eyes. “I mean, it’s not great that you can’t come, but it’s great. Great that your brother’s coming home, I mean. But I wish you could play.”
“I will the next time,” Cecile said.
“You will?”
“Sure.”
“Great! I’ll let you know.”
“Great.” Would they ever stop repeating themselves!
“Well, bye, I guess,” said Whit. “Have fun at your party.”
“Have fun at your game.” Cecile worked hard to keep her grin from splitting her face in two as she walked, backward, away from him. “Don’t do any more damage to the you-know-what!” she called.
Whit turned around and grinned. “We won’t!”
“Who was that?” Natalie asked as she came up behind.
“A boy.”
“I know he was a boy,” said Natalie. “What did he want?”
“Nothing.”
“He didn’t ask you on a date?”
“Are you nuts?”
“I guess that is nuts.”
“Anyway, I’m not you,” Cecile said. “I can have boys as friends.”
“That’s probably all you’ll ever have them as.”
“Suits me.”
“Good thing.”
A seagull flying overhead a short time later would have seen two young girls playing tennis on the last court in a long row of clay courts behind the imposing brick clubhouse that overlooked the bay.
The air was punctuated with the satisfying thonk of tennis balls against tightly strung rackets, and the thwack of golf balls as they hurtled their way on an improbable journey through the air in search of one tiny, specific hole.
The voices of the two girls carry through the air, too.
“Fifteen-love!” called the girl with the blond hair after a particularly neat serve.
“Love-hate!” the dark-haired girl called back.
“Cecile, that’s the way you keep score.”
“Natalie, I told you I wouldn’t play if we keep score.”
The blond girl’s shots are proficient, but cold. The dark-haired girl’s shots are random, but strong.
From the gull’s clear vantage, it looks like an even match.
Acknowledgments
My heartfelt thanks to Jane Resh Thomas, Ron Koertge, Tim Wynne-Jones, and Rita Williams-Garcia for their generous support and encouragement in the writing of this book, and to my graduating class at Vermont College for their friendship.
About the Author
Stephanie Greene is the author
of many acclaimed books for young people. She lives with her family in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
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Credits
Jacket photograph © 2008 by Ali Smith
Jacket design by Paul Zakris
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE LUCKY ONES. Copyright © 2008 by Stephanie Greene. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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