“Did you fart?” he asked afterward. She stared at him unable to speak. Had she? She wasn’t sure. It was true that something didn’t smell right. But before she could deny it or defend herself, he was back at the craft services table, eating more nachos. She speed walked toward her dressing room and nearly knocked over Clint Lee on the way.
“Hey, you okay?” Clint asked.
“Yeah,” she said, and bit her lip.
“You sure?” Clint asked. Marigold nodded. Clint put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Just remember, that was your character’s first kiss”—he looked her in the eye and gave her shoulder a light squeeze—“not yours.” She nearly burst into tears of pure relief.
“So it’s like it never happened?” she asked.
“That’s right.” He smiled his magical smile, the very one that earned him millions, and she felt her cheeks burn. Suddenly she wanted him to kiss her.
12. Real Kiss
In fact, kissing had been on Marigold’s mind ever since her run-in with Clint. She’d even practiced on her pillow once or twice. Or okay, maybe ten times. But Clint Lee was way too old for her. He was twenty-one. When Marigold was eighteen, he’d be twenty-seven, and they could get married and have babies named Topaz, Opal, and Aquamarine. But that was a long way away. And she was going to have to get some kissing practice in before then, and not just on her pillow. Why not with Alex Key? He was really cute. Also, she wanted to extinguish the kiss of Martin Goldblatt as soon as possible. The longer his kiss remained her only one, the more reality it seemed to accumulate.
Marigold stood in the kitchen, staring out the window, waiting for Pilar’s French au pair, Sylvie, to pick her up and take them all to the Farmers Market. Mom was on the computer, making arrangements for her trip to Canada. Berta was humming softly as she chopped fresh fruit. Zinnie and Lily were gobbling down their favorite Berta dish, chicken flautas. Finally a car horn beeped.
“Oh, that’s Sylvie,” Marigold said. “Gotta go.”
“Wait a sec,” Mom said. “Who’s Sylvie?”
“She’s Pilar’s new au pair,” Marigold said, taking a quick look at herself in her camera phone. “Remember? She’s the one who’ll be watching us at the Farmers Market.”
“Can I come?” Zinnie asked.
“No,” Marigold said, and headed toward the door.
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“I’d like to spend my last hours in civilization with my best friend,” Marigold said. “Besides, Zinnie is eating dinner. And all we’re doing is going out to dinner. So I don’t see why she’d even want to come.”
Mom tilted her head and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Give me a break.”
Zinnie pushed her plate with the remaining bites of flautas on it away from her, which showed her commitment to joining Marigold on her outing, because she really loved those flautas. “Please can I come?” Zinnie asked. “I won’t even speak. I won’t talk at all.” She ran a pretend zipper across her lips.
“I said no,” Marigold said.
“She just wants to be with you, Marigold,” Mom said.
“And I just want to do my own thing. Why is that a crime? I should be allowed to go on my own, right, Berta?”
“I’m staying out of this one,” Berta said.
“Can I go?” Lily asked.
“You’re staying home with me,” Berta said. “We’re going to make pan dulce for tomorrow morning.”
“And watch a DVD?” Lily asked.
“I said no more DVDs today,” Mom said. Lily looked like she was about to cry, and Mom quickly added, “Okay, one more, but that’s it.”
It was impossible to say no to Lily.
The car horn beeped again.
“Please.” Zinnie begged. “I want to be in civilization, too!”
“Lose the attitude, Marigold,” Mom said, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m not sure you should go if you can’t include your sister.”
“No!” Zinnie said. “Don’t keep Marigold home because of me, Mom.”
Guilt pressed on Marigold like a Lily-sized foot. “Fine,” Marigold said. “Come on. Just don’t embarrass me.”
“Keep your cell phones on!” Mom called as Zinnie sprang from the table and followed Marigold down the hallway and out the front door.
“Hi, Marigold,” Pilar said from the front seat as Marigold and Zinnie climbed into the backseat. “Zinnie, you’re coming, too?” Zinnie nodded, and Pilar gave her a high five.
“But I’m not allowed to talk.” Zinnie buckled her seat belt. “I’m just along for the ride.”
“Zat’s horrible!” Sylvie said from the front. Marigold shrank in her seat. This had been the story of her life. Babysitters always liked Zinnie better. Ever since she was a baby, Zinnie had a way of drawing people toward her. Marigold knew that she wasn’t doing it on purpose, but it didn’t mean that it was any less painful when just as Marigold was about to make a new friend or start a game on the playground, Zinnie would magically appear, beaming like a patch of sunshine on a cloudy day. Sometimes Marigold just wanted to do things in her own way, in her own time, without having to worry that she’d be left in the shadows.
Sylvie stopped at the red light at Beverly and La Brea. “In zis car, anyone may say what zay sink. It eez ze French way.”
“Vive la France!” Zinnie said, and Sylvie exploded with laughter.
“You can talk, okay?” Marigold snapped.
“What’s your problem?” Pilar asked.
“Nothing,” Marigold said, and gazed out the window, regretting that she had allowed Zinnie to come. Pilar was an only child, so she didn’t understand just how annoying a little sister could be.
“So Zinnie, do you want my advice for middle school?” Pilar asked.
“Uh . . .” Zinnie looked to Marigold for approval. Marigold nodded. “Sure.”
“Don’t put a penny in your penny loafers,” Pilar said. “That’s not cool. And request Mr. Bonito for your adviser. Oh, and don’t join too many clubs; just pick one or two. Yearbook and Irish dancing are good.”
“Irish dancing sounds fun,” Zinnie said.
Marigold rolled down the window as far as it would go. They drove past the gates of a major TV network where people were lined up around the block with sleeping bags and folding chairs, hoping to be first in line the next day to maybe audition for a game show or be in the audience for the finale of America Sings. As they turned left onto Fairfax Avenue, Marigold’s eyes were drawn to a giant billboard advertising the latest Night Sprites book. She could only hope that kissing would distract her from the dream she wouldn’t have the chance to fight for.
13. Unkissed
“Okay, act casual, but the eagle has landed,” Pilar said, and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. The girls were finishing their cheeseburgers. They were seated at a prime table at the Farmers Market, right near the French crepe place, which was where Alex Key was going to meet them. Sylvie had agreed to keep her distance as long as the girls stayed within her line of sight. She was drinking a milk shake at the 1950s diner counter, acting like she didn’t know them, just like she’d promised.
“An American bald eagle!” Zinnie said, looking alarmed. “Where?” She was about to stand up when Marigold pulled her back into her seat. “What?” Zinnie asked. “They’re very rare, especially in the Farmers Mar . . .” Zinnie trailed off when she saw the other girls laughing. “What?”
“‘The eagle has landed’ is a code phrase. It means a cute boy just showed up,” Pilar said. “Alex Key. Marigold’s future boyfriend.”
“Ooooh,” Zinnie said, “Alex Key.”
“Hey, ladies,” Alex said in his surfer drawl when he spotted them and approached the table.
“Heeeyyy,” they all answered at once.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Pilar waited for Marigold to reply, but after a few awkward seconds passed, Pilar piped up. “Not much. Um, you know Marigold. This is her little sister, Zinnie.”
; “Hi,” Zinnie said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“A lot, huh?” Alex asked.
“A ton,” Zinnie answered.
Marigold and Pilar turned pink. “Well, we’ve just finished our dinner,” Pilar said, rising to the occasion. “Why don’t Marigold and Alex get Presto Gelato, and Zinnie and I will get some pie?”
“Sounds good,” Alex said.
“But I want to get Presto—” Zinnie started to say.
Pilar pulled her away. “Nope, we’re getting pie,” Pilar said.
“Oooh, right!” Zinnie said. “I just lo-o-o-ove pie!” Pilar giggled and looped her arms through Zinnie’s.
“So,” Alex said to Marigold as they made their way toward Presto Gelato, “how’s that TV show going? Are you, like, filming and stuff?”
“Not now,” Marigold said. “We’re on hiatus.” Alex gave her a funny look. “A break.”
“Oh,” Alex said as they pushed through a crowd by a popular Mexican place. “That’s cool.”
“I’ve tried all of the flavors except lavender honey,” Marigold said proudly.
“Why?” Alex asked.
“I just wanted to, I guess,” Marigold said.
“Girls are weird,” Alex said.
Marigold wasn’t sure how to respond. She was proud of having tried almost every flavor and thought it was pretty interesting. They stood in the long line at Presto in complete silence for several minutes. Then, out of nowhere, Alex put an arm around her shoulder. What was she supposed to do? Put a hand on his back? Her limbs suddenly felt awkward and extra long, and she seemed unable to move them.
“What flavor do you think you’re going to get?” she asked him, grateful that her mouth still worked, at least. She would need that later for kissing.
“S’mores,” he said.
“I love that kind,” she said.
“Course you do. It’s awesome.” Alex smiled. “What are you going to get?”
“Lavender honey, of course,” she said.
“That sounds like soap,” Alex said. Marigold laughed. This was getting easier. He dropped his arm as they moved up in line, and while Marigold was relieved to not have the heavy limb draped over her shoulder, she also kind of missed its being there.
They ordered their gelati and found seats at a table that was sort of off by itself. The conversation started to flow. It turned out that they both liked sushi, dogs that didn’t lick too much, and Zuma Beach in Malibu. And lavender honey wasn’t that bad. Under the table, one of Alex’s knees touched hers. Then he closed his eyes and leaned toward her. Martin Goldblatt’s kiss was on the verge of being completely erased from her life, replaced by a real first kiss with Alex Key, when Pilar rushed over, flustered and stressed.
“Oh, my God, there you are,” she said. “You’ve got to come quick. Zinnie is all puffy and itchy. Sylvie wants to take her to the hospital!”
“Did she eat a strawberry?” Marigold asked.
“Yes! Oh, God, oh, God! Yes!” Pilar said. “There are strawberries in the rhubarb pie!”
“She knows she shouldn’t eat strawberries,” Marigold said.
“Is she going to die?” Pilar asked. “Because if I even breathe nut dust, I’m a goner.”
“No,” Marigold said, crumpling her napkin. “She’s just going to look weird and get some hives.”
“Sylvie wants us to go,” Pilar said. Marigold didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay. “Don’t just sit there, Marigold. Hurry up.”
“Okay,” Marigold said. “Fine.”
“I’ll see you around,” Alex said.
“Yeah,” Marigold said, stood up, and gathered her purse. “Sure.”
Except she wouldn’t. Because she was going to Massachusetts the next day. She was going to remain unkissed for the whole summer, and it was all Zinnie’s fault. Luckily, she had a five-hour plane ride to think of how to get back at her.
14. Good-bye, Home
“Hey, Zin. It’s time to wake up. We’re leaving for the airport in twenty minutes,” Dad said, gently shaking her shoulder. Zinnie opened her eyes, which were still a little swollen from her reaction to the strawberries, and saw that the sky outside her window was purple dark. “I know it’s early,” he said, “but we have to get a move on.”
Dad looked different this early in the morning, Zinnie thought. He seemed softer around the edges. Or maybe it was the medicine. She’d taken her allergy pills last night, and they always made her a little fuzzy the next morning. “Mom, Lily, and Marigold are downstairs eating breakfast. We thought we’d let you sleep in a little, but it’s time to roll.” Dad put his coffee on the table and offered her his hands, but instead of leaping out of bed, Zinnie threw her arms around him.
“I’ll miss you,” she said.
“I’ll be thinking of you every day,” Dad said, and hugged her back.
“While you’re up in the trees?”
“And camping under the stars. I’ll look up and know that no matter how far away you are, we’ll be looking up at the same moon.” Zinnie smiled at the idea. “Now, how about you wash your face and brush your teeth while I put your suitcases in the car. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, and kicked off the covers.
“Is that all you have?” he asked, pointing to her roller bag and backpack. She’d packed shorts, jeans, undies, socks, T-shirts, her two favorite bathing suits, a couple of sweatshirts, sneakers, flip-flops, three Night Sprite books, a notebook and pen, and her hair goop, in case she had the courage to try it again.
“Should I have packed more?” she asked. “Mom said just the basics.”
“No,” Dad said. “It’s just that Marigold is bringing three times this much.”
“Yeah, well,” Zinnie said, thinking about how Marigold hadn’t said one word to her in the car ride home from the Farmers Market, “Marigold has issues.”
“We can talk about it downstairs,” Dad said, picking up her suitcase.
“I just need to pack up my laptop and charge my phone,” Zinnie said, plugging her phone into the charger. “I forgot to do it last night.”
“You won’t need your computer, honey,” Dad said. “Why don’t you leave it here? Go wash your face and come grab some breakfast when you’re done. Berta came to say good-bye. She made pan dulce and your favorite, champurrado.”
“Mmm,” Zinnie said. Champurrado was a treat, and usually a wintertime one. Zinnie guessed that Lily had made a special request, and she was so glad. The idea of the warm, spicy cinnamon-and-chocolate drink made her momentarily forget about Marigold and her dirty looks.
But she couldn’t forget for long. As soon as Zinnie entered the kitchen and took her usual seat at the table, Marigold stood up, brought her plate to the sink, and declared that she would be waiting in the car.
“By yourself?” Lily asked.
“We’re leaving in five minutes,” Dad said. “Can you wait five minutes so that we can finish breakfast as a family?”
“No,” Marigold said, giving Berta a hug and kiss good-bye before she charged out the door.
Zinnie stood up to follow her, but Berta said, “Let her cool off, mija. She’s almost a teenager, and teenagers need their space.” She ladled champurrado into Zinnie’s favorite mug, the one with the Hollywood sign on it, and handed it to Zinnie. “Have some besos,” Berta said, nodding toward the basket of sugar-dusted pastries with raspberry jam filling.
“Thanks, Berta,” Zinnie said, already feeling a little better. Besos were Zinnie’s favorite type of pan dulce.
“What happened between you two?” Mom asked, combing Zinnie’s hair with her fingers and pulling it into a ponytail.
“She’s mad that I ate a strawberry,” Zinnie said.
“Are you sure it’s not something else?” Dad asked. Like a detective in one of the old movies they watched during Classics on Tuesdays, he could always sense missing information. “It takes two to tango, you know.”
“Or rumba!” Berta said, shaking her shoulders, and Lily la
ughed.
“You’re going to have to try to get along for Aunt Sunny,” Mom said.
“I always try to get along,” Zinnie said. “She’s the one who hates me!”
“She doesn’t hate you, honey,” Mom said. “She loves you.”
“And she admires you,” Berta said from across the table as she sipped her champurrado. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Yeah, right!” Zinnie said. “Berta, that’s crazy. She thinks I’m a dork.”
“Berta’s not crazy!” Lily said. “She knows everything. She put the string back in my sweatshirt hood this morning using magic.”
“My angel!” Berta said, turning her attention to Lily. “I’m going to need at least five more hugs before you go.”
“Five more, and then it’s time to go,” Dad said as Lily and Berta began counting hugs aloud.
“One . . . two . . . ,” they counted together as they hugged.
“Come on, Zin. You can finish your breakfast in the car,” Mom said.
“Three . . . four . . . four and a half . . . four and three-quarters.” Berta and Lily continued as Zinnie wrapped her pan dulce in a napkin.
“How are we going to even know who Aunt Sunny is?” Zinnie asked, taking extra besos for the road. “What if we get in the car with the wrong lady?”
“Fiiiiive!” Berta and Lily said, elongating their final embrace.
“Sunny’s not picking you up,” Mom said, grabbing her keys off the counter. “We didn’t want her to have to drive to and from Boston in rush hour, so a driver is going to meet you at the airport in Boston to take you to Pruet. She’ll be waiting for you with a big sign that has your names on it.”
“How long is the ride from the airport?” Zinnie asked, following Mom out the door as a million other questions rushed into her brain, like: What did Aunt Sunny usually make for breakfast? Could she make champurrado? Had Mom told her that they were allowed to watch TV after dinner and on weekends? Did Aunt Sunny have lots of rules? Would they have to clean their rooms every day? Would she allow Zinnie to stay up late reading if she couldn’t fall asleep? How many days exactly were they going to be apart from California and their parents and Berta and their bedrooms and all their stuff? How many hours, how many minutes would they be thousands of miles away from home?
The Forget-Me-Not Summer Page 5