“Never mind,” I say, letting him off the hook. It’s apparent it’s something for Gram. And it’s equally apparent that it’s a surprise. What little I know of Dutch is that it’s sure to be an interesting one.
“You won’t rat me out, will you?” Dutch asks. I shake my head. The relief on his face is immediate.
Sam keeps leaping into the pile, scattering sand everywhere. “We’d better go,” Marcus says. “Before all of your work is destroyed.” He smiles at me and maybe I imagine it, but it seems like he, too, wishes there was more time. “See you tomorrow, Penny?”
I nod. “See you.” Marcus starts away from us, waving for Sam to follow. Sam pauses, looking at me. He wants to make sure I’m safe before he leaves. “Go ahead,” I say. He chuffs and hurries after Marcus. The darkness swallows them up after only a few yards. I glance over at Dutch, who is smiling after them. He looks at me and his eyes twinkle.
“What?” I ask.
He just grins and shakes his head.
I frown. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” I say. “Whatever it is.”
“Night, Penny,” Dutch says. “And thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say. And I mean it. If Gram thinks I’m conspiring with the enemy—well, let’s just say I’d rather stay neutral in this war. I start toward the stairs.
When I walk in, Gram asks me how the walk was and I tell her it was good. She studies me over the rims of her glasses and I swear I see the same wistfulness in her eyes that I saw in Dutch’s. Then it’s gone, replaced by her usual no-nonsense look.
“I hear you’re staying here for Thanksgiving,” she says.
“Yes,” I say.
“Well, good,” she says. She stands up and walks over to me. “I’m glad you’ll be around,” she says. “With just your mom and me, well, that didn’t really seem like enough for a proper Thanksgiving.” She touches my cheek for a moment and I know there’s more that she’d like to say about my dad canceling, but she doesn’t. And I appreciate both. The acknowledgment that what he did was wrong, but also that she doesn’t say it out loud. “Your mom already went to bed,” she said, “but she asked if you’d peek in and say good night.” She starts toward the back door. “I’ll just lock up,” she says.
“No!” I say a little too loudly. She turns and looks at me. “I’ll do it.” I know my voice sounds a bit shrill.
“Okay,” she says, looking at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “Then I’ll just say good night.” She gives me the eyeball as she walks past, but, thankfully, she doesn’t press the point. Hopefully she’ll just decide I’m being an emo teenager or something and not think twice about it. Once she’s in her room with the door shut, I walk around turning off lights and making sure all of the doors are locked. I peek in on my mom. The lights are off and her eyes are closed, but she’s still awake. She waves me over. She reaches up to hug me. She pulls me down so that my ear is close to her mouth. “So, what’s Dutch doing down on the beach?” she whispers.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back.
“A mystery,” she says. She squeezes me one more time and then lets go. “I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too,” I say back. Oscar meows at the doorway. Clearly he’s ready for bed. “See you in the morning,” I say, pulling the door shut behind me. I climb the stairs to my room. Oscar runs up past me, hoping to get the prime spot on the pillow.
By the time I climb into bed, I realize how tired I am. But it takes me a while to fall asleep. Both because my cat keeps stealing the covers, but also because even though it’s not for me, I can’t wait to see what will be on the beach when we wake up. And even more, what Gram’s reaction will be.
What in the world?” Gram’s voice spills in through my open window. I blink my eyes open and look at my clock. 5:30 a.m. I start to roll back over, but then I remember about Dutch and the pile of sand. “Well, I never,” Gram says. I throw off the covers and hurry down the stairs. The back door is open and I can see Gram standing on the deck. Her mug of tea sends up a spiral of steam into the frigid air. I hurry outside and join her at the railing. The wood deck is cold on my bare feet and for a second I wish I had taken a moment to pull on some sneakers. But then I see what’s on the sand in front of our house and all thoughts of cold and shoes fly away.
“Wow,” I say. And it hardly captures what I’m seeing. Dutch has built a sand castle. But not like any sand castle I’ve ever seen before. This one is enormous. Four tall turrets with actual stones set in the walls surround a giant courtyard filled with gardens of seaweed and tufts of sea heather mounted on sticks for trees. The moat is carved deep into the sand surrounding the castle. A piece of driftwood serves as the drawbridge. Bits of blue and green sea glass wink in the stained-glass windows of the keep.
“Come on,” I say to Gram, pulling at the sleeve of her robe. She resists at first, but her curiosity gets the best of her and she follows me down the steps to the beach. The sand castle is even more impressive close up. It’s at least five feet across and four or five feet tall. But it’s the level of detail that’s so amazing. Huge arches curve over doorways, and actual windows that let light pour through are cut into the sandy towers.
“He must have been out here all night,” I blurt out. Gram narrows her eyes at me. “I mean, I assume it was Mr. Ingmar,” I say, because I don’t want Gram thinking I’m on a first-name basis with the enemy.
I glance up at the porch, where Mom is standing, smiling. I smile back at her but am careful to fix my face before Gram spots it. Gram doesn’t say anything else, but she stays on the beach looking at it long after I tell her I’m going in because I’m afraid my toes are going to freeze and fall off.
“It’s amazing,” I say when I climb up to where my mom is standing. “Did you know that he could do that?” I ask.
Mom shakes her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know much of anything about Dutch,” she says. “Your grandmother never would talk about him. And I was too young to remember him when he lived here before.”
“You think this might change her mind about him?” I ask.
Gram turns and heads up the steps toward us. “Who wants toast?” she asks. She’s inside and the door is shut before either of us can say anything.
“Maybe,” Mom says, frowning. We stand and look down at the castle for several more minutes before we’re both too cold. I follow Mom inside, brushing my feet off before I step into the house. Gram is standing at the counter, a faraway look in her eyes. Burned toast sits on a plate to her right. I smile at this. Dutch has my unflappable grandmother rattled again. But this time she doesn’t seem mad, just thoughtful.
* * *
I think about sand castles all the way to school and wonder if Dutch just thought it would be cool to make one or if it means something to him and Gram. I spot Tally leaning against her locker, looking at that piece of paper again. She stuffs it into her pocket when she sees me. I decide to just ask. “What is that?”
“What?” Tally asks.
I raise my eyebrow. She raises hers in response.
I sigh and shake my head. “Forget it,” I say. We stand there awkwardly for several moments, looking everywhere but at each other. I finally break the silence and tell her about the sand castle.
She pretends to swoon. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” she says.
“What is?” Blake asks, walking over. I retell the story to Blake, who has a very different take on it. “He could have just bought her a card.” Both of us glare at him. He puts up his hands and starts backing away, mumbling something about having to see someone about something. Tally just smiles and rolls her eyes. Both of us know Blake got it. He pretended not to just to mess with us. He’s a lot less obtuse than he pretends to be.
* * *
By the time third period is over, I’ve heard Charity make the same announcement at least four times. She’s telling anyone who will listen (and at a volume that those of us trying not to listen can’t help but hear) that s
he and her parents and Esmeralda are going skiing for break. First off, who cares? And second, the thought of either Mr. or Mrs. Wharton skiing is so ridiculous that it seriously detracts from the impact of her story.
“I just feel bad for her,” I say after we are subjected to the fifth retelling of the ski trip to end all ski trips. Tally is leaning against the locker next to mine and watching the show while I change out my math books for my sketch pad.
“Why?” she asks, glancing down the hall to where Charity is holding court. “She’s exactly where she wants to be: the center of attention.”
“Not her,” I say. “Esmeralda.”
Tally makes a face. “Why?”
Esmeralda walks past us, barely looking our way.
“I wouldn’t wish living with Charity on my worst enemy. Would you?” I say, looking at her.
She sighs. “Okay, no,” she says. “But I still don’t trust her.”
“Maybe we just need to give her a chance,” I say.
“What? To stab us in the backs?” Tally shakes her head.
“I just remember what it was like to be new here,” I say.
“Well, me, too,” Tally says. “But—” She sighs again. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll be nice, but that’s it.”
Esmeralda heads into the art room, glancing back only once to where we are. She looks lost and sad.
“See?” I say. “Come on.” Tally and I head toward the art room, threading our way through the clusters of people spilling out of the classrooms. A soccer ball whizzes by, nearly clipping Tally on the side of the head. She ducks just in time and the ball bounces against the row of lockers behind us.
Jacob, one of Blake’s less cerebral friends, jogs by. He grins at Tally. “Good reflexes, dude.”
Tally rolls her eyes at me. We head into the sanctuary of the art room only to find Esmeralda crying at the back table. She looks up, with tears streaming down her face. She quickly ducks behind her waterfall of hair, but it’s too late.
“See?” I repeat. I grab a box of tissues from the bookshelf and walk over to Esmeralda. Tally follows a few steps behind. “Here,” I say, placing the box of tissues on the table. Esmeralda looks up and gives me a watery smile. I sit on the stool that Charity usually occupies. Tally stands just behind me.
Esmeralda takes a tissue and blots at her eyes. Either she’s wearing waterproof mascara or her eyelashes really are eight feet long. I feel like a total jerk just thinking it. She’s clearly hurting and all I can think of is my own vanity.
“Thanks,” Esmeralda finally says. “I guess I’m just homesick.” Tears course down her cheeks again. She hiccups a laugh. “Of course there’s no one at home. My parents are in China.” For a moment I can’t tell whether she’s sad or angry. Maybe both.
“It’s too bad you couldn’t have gone with them,” I say. “Not that we’re not glad you’re here,” I add quickly. I glance over at Tally, but she’s just watching us. “I’m sure they miss you, too,” I say.
“I’m sure,” Esmeralda says. I can’t tell whether she’s being sarcastic or not. Esmeralda gives her eyes one last blot and takes a deep breath. “I just feel so alone. They wouldn’t even let me keep Marcel. They took him with them.”
“Marcel?” I ask.
“My dog,” she says.
“Oh,” I say. Because what do you say to that? They took her dog with them, but not her? And I feel sick to my stomach. I’ve been judging Esmeralda for what she looks like. Somehow I got it into my head that beautiful people have perfect lives or something. But underneath all of that, she’s just like us. Just like me.
“Well, listen,” I say. “You aren’t alone.” I glance back at Tally, but she’s just standing there frozen, like she can’t decide what to do with everything she’s heard. I look back at Esmeralda. “There’s an animal shelter here in town called the ARK. Tally volunteers there and so does Marcus. If you ever need a dog to hang out with, you just call me and we’ll go over there together.” I feel Tally poke me in the back, but I ignore her.
“Thanks,” Esmeralda says. She looks at the tissue in her hand and then at me. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m embarrassed.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “We’ve both been there.” I glance back at Tally again and, thankfully, she’s nodding. Well, that’s something.
“I just don’t want Charity to know that I was—” She nods at the tissue. “You know.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Your secret is safe with us.” I stand and pick up the box of tissues. “So when you get back from skiing?” I ask.
Esmeralda smiles. Tally takes the box of tissues from me and walks to the bookcase to put them back. I linger for a moment, to see if Esmeralda wants to say anything else. But then the door opens and in walks Charity, followed by her clones. I back up to let them pass.
“You lost?” Charity asks, smirking at me. “I believe the loser table is over there.” She points to where Tally is sitting at our table with her sketch pad open in front of her. I walk to our table and slide onto my stool.
“See?” I whisper. Tally nods. I pull out my sketchbook. I glance over at Esmeralda, who already seems fine. Other than slightly pink cheeks, which make her positively glow, she still looks amazing. When I cry, I look like the Thing from the Black Lagoon for about an hour afterward. “You said you’d give her a chance,” I remind her.
“One,” Tally says. “But that’s it.”
I frown at my sketchbook. It’s not like Tally to be so cold. But if I were ditched by both of my parents, I’ll bet I’d be a lot more closed off than she is. Tally just needs time. She’ll come around.
Miss Beans comes out of her office, carrying two black cases. She places them on the center table and opens first one and then the other. They are filled with professional-quality semipermanent art markers. “To make good art, it helps to have good materials. I’ve brought my markers to share with you. All that I ask is that you take care of them and return them to the cases at the end of the class.” I glance around the room. No one else seems that impressed. One of my art teachers in the City let me use her markers once. She had seventeen different shades of blue and more than a dozen of green. When I got home I asked my mom if we could get some. She told me each one of them cost over five dollars. So that was a no.
When Miss Beans tells us we should get to work, I’m the first one up and walking to the markers. Charity is right behind me. I quickly select an orange the color of sherbet and a pink the color of Oscar’s tongue. Charity takes the cap off of a purple marker and examines the brush tip. She spins to ask one of the minions something and the marker whips toward me. I pull back, but not before the brush tip slides across my cheek.
Charity turns back. Her eyes are huge. “Oh no. I am so sorry,” she says.
“I’m sure,” I say.
Miss Beans glances over from where she’s grading sketchbooks. “Everything okay?” she asks. She’s looking at me. Unfortunately, so is everyone else.
I nod and retreat back to my table. Tally glares at me. “Say something,” she says. I shake my head. “Then I will.”
“Leave it,” I say. I know how this one goes. I say something. Charity denies it. Miss Beans says something to Charity. Charity gives me a false apology. I still have a purple stripe on my cheek. Tally goes back to working on her sketchbook, but she’s pressing her pencil so hard into the page that it tears.
“Tally,” I say. “It’s okay.”
“Stop saying that,” she says. “You always say it’s okay, but it’s not.” She shoves her sketchbook to the floor, stands, and rushes from the room. Everyone looks from where Tally disappeared out the door to me. I start to go after her, but Miss Beans is already up and headed toward the door.
“Keep working, everyone,” she says. She walks out into the hall and to the right, following Tally’s path. Everyone stares at me for a couple of moments before going back to their projects.
“Good going, Penny Lame,” Charity hisses.
“Leave me alone,” I say. My voice cracks, hinting at the tears I’m only just holding back. Charity finds this hysterical.
“Leave her alone,” Esmeralda says.
Charity rolls her eyes at her, but it works. She leaves me alone. I try to focus on my sketchbook and ignore the giggles from the back table, but it’s hard.
Miss Beans comes back after several minutes. She comes over to me and sits on Tally’s stool, turning so that her back is to everyone.
“Tally’s going to go home,” she says. “She asked if you could gather up her things.”
I nod, wishing I could do more than just stack books for Tally. Miss Beans frowns at my cheek.
“Please don’t say anything,” I plead.
Miss Beans looks at me for a long moment. “I won’t,” she finally says. “This time.” She gets up and walks toward the back table, where they are still whispering and giggling. “Get to work,” she says. Charity glances up at her with big eyes. “Yes,” Miss Beans says. “I mean you, Miss Wharton.”
Charity’s cheeks flush, but she goes back to drawing. Miss Beans walks toward the other side of the room, inspecting everyone’s work. I try to draw, but it’s a mess. I glance over at Charity to see her staring at me. She doesn’t say anything. She just stares. And somehow that’s far more terrifying than if she actually said a word.
* * *
I’m in the library later looking for books to read over break, seeing as how I’m not going anywhere. I’m checking out the new arrivals shelf when I hear Esmeralda’s musical laugh. I know people always use that phrase to describe someone who has a pretty laugh, but I never quite knew what it meant until I heard Esmeralda. Her laugh literally sounds like the beginning of a song. Mine tends to run more toward the sound of a chicken clucking. I try to ignore her giggling and focus on the books in front of me. But I realize I’ve flipped through half of them without even reading the titles because I’m wondering if she’s here with Marcus. I pick up the next book and stare at it. Okay. I’ll just look. That’s it.
I peek around the bookcase and see Esmeralda sitting beside Marcus. And I think about saying hello, but then I don’t want Marcus to think I’m checking up on him. I’m trying not to be that way. I try to disappear back around the corner.
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