by Ronni Arno
There’s that word again. And Connor is using it to describe me. I realize my mouth is hanging open, so I close it before he looks up at me.
“Thank you,” I say, my smile a mile wide.
“These are great. You should be a fashion designer someday.” Connor smiles. “But I bet you already thought of that.”
“Not really,” I say. “I never really thought about what I wanted to do when I grew up. I mean, I love designing clothes, but I just figured I’d never be good enough.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re probably good enough already.”
A rush of warmth floods my entire body, and it takes all of my self-control to keep my feet glued to the ground. I just want to scream and yell and jump up and down.
Connor is still looking at the sketches, spending several minutes on each one. “Seems that’s another thing we have in common. We both like to sketch.”
“Do you have more drawings?” I ask.
“Tons.”
“Can I see them?”
“I guess that’s only fair.”
I follow Connor out to the patio. His sketchbook is on the table. The silver design on the cover catches the sun so it looks like the book is covered in starlight. He opens it up and flips to the first page. It’s a perfect drawing of Summer’s house at night.
“That’s amazing.” I stare at the sketch. “It looks exactly like Summer’s house. Exactly.”
“I hope so.” Connor laughs. “I was in the front yard when I drew it.”
“The stars look so real.”
He flips the page and I recognize the next drawing immediately. It’s the main office at Midcoast Academy. Again, at night.
“You even drew the porch swing. That really makes the building come to life. Do you always draw pictures at night?” I force my eyes away from the drawing so I can look at him. He’s still looking at the sketch.
“Yep. The buildings and stuff are just background. The stars are what I really want to show. It’s cool to be able to change the constellations around however I want. It’s like being the controller of the universe.” He laughs. “Well, at least controller of my sketchpad.”
He turns the page again. There’s another sketch of a house at night, but this one I don’t recognize.
“This is the house I lived in till my parents died,” he says quietly.
“Oh wow.” I stare at the sketch. “Did you draw that from memory?”
“No, my uncle had a picture of it.”
“It’s really amazing,” I say. “It looks so much like a photo.”
“I look at this sketch every night before I go to sleep, hoping I’ll remember something about living there.”
“Do you?” My eyes focus on Connor’s face, but he’s focused on the sketch.
“No,” he says. “No matter how hard I try.”
“It’s a really nice house,” I say.
“Yeah.” Connor laughs, but it’s not a funny kind of laugh. “I just wish I remembered living there.”
I look down at the drawing and nod.
“Don’t you wish you could remember more?” Connor looks at me. I look down at the table.
“I guess,” I say, my brain searching for ways to politely change the subject without seeming too insensitive. I really don’t want to give fake answers to his questions.
“You don’t like to talk about it much, huh?” Connor leans back in his chair, and I squirm in mine.
“I guess not,” I say. “I don’t want to think too much about bad stuff that happened in the past. Especially when so much good stuff is happening now.”
Connor breaks out into a huge smile. “You’re right. Sometimes I know I think too much about them—about the past.”
“You should totally think about them,” I say. “You should always remember them and what they meant to you. But you have to live your life, too, you know?”
“Yeah, thanks. It’s really nice to get advice from someone who understands.”
And there’s that old familiar yank on my stomach. The yank that tells me what a bad person I am, lying to Connor, to Summer, to Summer’s incredibly nice family. Suddenly I feel sick because what I’m doing is so awful.
“Hey, you wanna take the kayak out?” Connor pushes his chair back and stands up.
“I—uhhh—are we allowed?” I stammer.
“Yeah, as long as we wear life jackets. Let me go grab a couple and let Eric know what we’re doing.”
“Okay.” I stand up and walk over to the dock. I’ve never been in a kayak before, and I wonder if I’ll wind up falling out—right in front of Connor. My cheeks burn just thinking about how completely lame that would be.
Connor jogs toward me with two life jackets in his hands and Topaz barking behind him.
“You have to stay, Topaz. We’ll be back soon.” He gives the dog a pat on the head and flips one of the kayaks over. I breathe a little easier when I see it’s a two-person boat. At least I won’t have to pilot my own. Pilot? I wonder if that’s even the right word to use for a boat driver.
Connor drags the kayak until it’s next to the dock. We put on our life jackets, and he holds the back of the boat. “Climb in.”
I start to put my right foot in, when Connor laughs. “You’ve never been in a kayak?”
I nod, mortified that it’s so obvious.
“You should get down low. You don’t want to get in while standing. It’s a little tippy.”
Tippy. Great.
I do as he says and practically crawl into the boat. Once I’m finally in, he hands me a paddle. Then he effortlessly slides himself down onto his seat, behind mine, and pushes us off the dock.
“Whoa!” I yell, as we glide through the water. The boat is rocking back and forth like a baby’s cradle.
“See? Tippy,” Connor says.
I make a sound that’s half whimper, half screech.
“Need a lesson?” Connor asks.
“Is it that bad?”
“Only because you’re holding the paddle, but you aren’t exactly paddling.”
I am so very grateful that he’s behind me and can’t see that my face is redder than it’s ever been in my whole entire life.
“Here,” he says. “Let me show you.”
I turn around and watch as he paddles, left then right. “Looks easy enough.”
“It is easy. Give it a try.”
I gently dip my paddle in the water, copying his movements.
“You got it!” He laughs. “Don’t they have boats in California?”
I don’t tell him about the boats that I go on. I figure mentioning the two-hundred-foot yachts and million-dollar cruisers might raise a few unwanted questions. “Kayaking is new to me.”
We paddle out to the middle of the bay until the only sound I can hear is our paddles hitting the water. Otherwise, it’s totally silent.
“This is so nice,” I say.
“Yeah.” Connor picks his paddle out of the water and I do the same, so we gently drift along in the water. “This is my favorite place on earth.”
“I can see why.”
“Someday I’ll build a house on the bay,” Connor says. “I’ll be an astronomer, and I’ll paddle out every night when the sun sets and watch the stars. Oh, and I’ll have a dog like Topaz.”
Although Connor can’t see me, I smile a big dippy smile. It’s nice hearing him talk about his dreams. I wish that we weren’t on a boat so I could turn around and hug him. Most of all, I wish I weren’t so dorky around boys.
“I think that’s a good plan” is what I say instead. “And I’ll be a fashion designer. I’ll make clothes for kids like Summer who aren’t afraid to be unique.”
“Summer can be your head salesperson,” Connor says.
“That’s a great idea!” The boat swishes back and forth. “We can base our business in town and sell to all the kids at Midcoast.”
“So you’d like to stay here in Maine?” Connor asks.
I shrug. “I’ve never though
t about that.”
“Do you miss California?”
“No,” I say, without missing a beat. “Not at all, actually. Except Ellie—I mean, my nana. I miss her.”
“Maybe she could move here,” Connor says.
I laugh. “She hates the cold.”
“Hey,” Connor says. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
I turn my head to look at him. “Sure.”
Connor looks down at the paddle on his lap. “Would you— Will you go to the Spring Fling with me?”
Chapter
20
I DROP MY paddle. It makes a Sploosh sound as it lands in the water.
“Omigod!” I reach for it, but as I do so, the boat wobbles like crazy.
“It’s okay,” Connor says. “Just stay still. If you lean over like that the boat will tip.”
Who cares about the boat tipping? Connor just asked me to the Spring Fling! I suddenly feel like I just chugged a gallon of coffee.
Connor steers us over to the floating paddle. He carefully slides it over to the kayak with his paddle, and then lifts it out of the water.
“Here you go.” He slides the paddle over to me, and I grab it, droplets of water falling onto my lap.
“I am so sorry. It’s just that—you surprised me.”
“Surprised good or surprised bad?”
“Surprised good.” I am so so so glad he can’t see my face right now. I’m sure the back of my hair looks horrible given that there are droplets of water all over it, but it’s got to be less embarrassing than my bright red cheeks.
“Does that mean you’ll go with me?”
“Uhhhh. Yes.” I keep a death grip on the paddle.
Neither of us say another word, and my heartbeat is almost normal by the time we paddle back to Summer’s house. Eric has lemonade waiting, and the three of us drink it on the patio. Connor and Eric unroll the sketch.
“What do you think about these benches?” Connor’s looking at me instead of Eric.
“Me?” I look behind me to be sure nobody else is there.
“Yeah. You’re good with design.”
I lean forward and find the spot he’s pointing at. “They’re nice, but I think they should be curved a little. They’d look more natural that way, especially since they’re outside.”
“You know, you’re right,” Eric says. “If we look at the design of the dome, and the tree line, everything is rounded a bit. Good call, Bea.”
I instantly sit up straighter. I’m so busy talking with Connor and Eric about the sketch that I don’t hear the car pull up. Summer skips into the backyard holding a small plastic bag with a picture of a big tooth.
“What’s going on?” she says when she sees us huddled around the patio table. “Don’t tell me they’ve got you sucked into this too, Bea?”
“Are you kidding?” Connor smiles. “Bea’s given us some great ideas. She knows a lot about design stuff.”
“Duh.” Summer rolls her eyes. “I’ve been saying that for days now.”
I wonder if Summer knows that Connor asked me to the Spring Fling. I try to tell her with my eyes while motioning my head toward Connor, but she’s just squinting at me, and I realize I must look like a demented owl.
“I’m hungry.” Summer opens the door that leads into the house. “Anyone want some grapes?”
“I do!” I say, way too enthusiastically. “I’ll come with you.”
I follow Summer into the kitchen. “You’re not going to believe what happened!”
“Connor asked you to the Spring Fling?” Summer opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a bowl of grapes.
“How did you know?” I gasp.
“He told me he was going to.” Summer bites a grape in half.
“He told you?” I put my hands on my hips. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“He asked me not to. I figured you’d find out soon enough anyway.” Summer giggles.
“Eeeeek,” I squeak. “What will I wear?”
“Ohhhh, you can design a special dress—a Spring Fling dress! I have some amazing ideas.”
“You do? Let’s get started sketching it!”
I grab the sketchpad off the kitchen table, and we run up to Summer’s room. We put the sketchpad in the middle of the floor and start spewing ideas at each other.
“It should have flowers at the hem,” Summer says.
“Definitely sleeveless,” I say.
More than anything, I want to win the Spotlight Project. Nobody’s ever believed in my designs like Summer does, and I want to prove to her that she’s right. I want to prove it to myself, too.
For the first time in my life, I think maybe, just maybe, I have a sprinkle of talent somewhere inside of me. And this will be the first chance I’ve ever had to let it out.
Chapter
21
I GO TO the main office on Monday at three o’clock, the time of my interview. Mrs. Kearney brings me to a room that I’ve never been to before. It’s got a long table with twelve cushy chairs around it. There are six people in the chairs, and they all look up when I walk in.
“You must be Bea.” The lady sitting nearest to the door stands up and shakes my hand. “I’m Mrs. Banks.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say. I can’t quite meet her eyes, so I stare at her starfish necklace.
“Please, sit down.” Mrs. Banks motions me to sit in one of the cushy chairs. All of the other adults have folders and notepads opened in front of them, and all eyes are on me.
I scoot back in the chair, to be sure I’m sitting up straight, but the chair swivels and I let out a little squeal. Mrs. Banks smiles at me. Either she didn’t hear me, or she’s pretending she didn’t.
“So, Bea.” Mrs. Banks flips through my application. “You like to design dresses?”
“Yes.” I nod and gently push my portfolio toward her. “Here are some of my sketches, if you’d like to see them.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Banks puts her glasses on and flips through the pages.
“Oh my.” Mrs. Banks raises her eyebrows, and I sink into my chair.
She hates them. Of course she hates them. I am lame, just like Sophie said. Lame and talentless. I look at where I’m sitting. I look at the door, wondering if I can slink out of here without anyone noticing.
Then I remember what Summer thinks. And what Connor said. And I glance across the table to see what Mrs. Banks is looking at. My stuff is good. I’m not talentless. Sophie was wrong and mean and awful. I sit up a little straighter, folding my hands in my lap.
After looking at most of the pages, Mrs. Banks passes the book to the woman on her right. She whispers something, but I can’t hear what it is. My heart starts racing.
“Bea.” Mrs. Banks takes off her glasses. “Have you had any formal training?”
“Formal training?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere outside my body.
“Yes. Have you ever taken any design classes?”
“No.” The back of my neck feels sweaty.
The woman to the right of Mrs. Banks slides the book to the man on her right. She doesn’t say anything at all.
“I see,” says Mrs. Banks. “May I see your sample?”
“My what?” At this point her words are muffled sounds without meaning.
“I assume that’s one of your dresses that you’re holding?” Her eyes shoot to my lap.
“Oh.” I hold up the dress. I completely forgot I even had it. “Yes, this is a sample.” It’s a sky-blue sleeveless back-zip A-line with a gathered empire waist. I’ve actually never worn it, but I’ve always thought it was pretty.
“Is it okay if we take a look?” Mrs. Banks nods, prodding me to hand the dress over.
“Oh, sure.” I hand her the dress, but she doesn’t smile, or say thank you, or anything. She just looks at the dress from every angle possible. She even turns it inside out.
“Who taught you how to sew?”
“My nanny. Nana. Grandmother.” I stutter over t
he words.
Mrs. Banks just nods. “Do you mind if we hold on to this? Until we make a decision? Then we’ll give everything back to you.”
“Sure, that would be fine.” I try to smile, but my cheeks are frozen with nerves.
“Thank you for coming today, Bea.” I think Mrs. Banks smiles, but she might just have a twitch.
“Oh, okay.” I look at the door. “So is that it?”
“Yes, dear. You can go now.” Mrs. Banks slides out of her chair and walks me to the door. “Thanks again. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Thank you.” She has her hand on my back, but that may be because she’s trying to push me out of the room.
The door closes behind me, and I slide down the hallway wall into a heap on the floor.
I don’t know how I let Summer talk me into this. Sure, I love my designs. And so do some of my other friends, but what if Mrs. Banks hates them?
I pull myself up off the floor and drag myself back to my dorm. Summer’s not going to be happy about this.
Chapter
22
ALL I CAN think about for the next few days is how awful that interview was. I try to tell Summer that I stunk up the place, but she seems unfazed. She’s still planning the fashion show, recruiting models, and acting like her usual happy self.
I just walk around in a zombielike state. I can’t believe I let myself get my hopes up.
Summer and I are doing homework—well, Summer’s doing homework and I’m staring at a blank screen—when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Summer yells.
“Hi, girls,” Ms. Goldberg says. “Special delivery.”
Summer leaps off her chair as Ms. Goldberg hands me another envelope with the Midcoast logo.
“Omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod. That’s it, Bea. Open it!” Summer’s jumping all over the room.
“Okay, but don’t get too excited. I told you the interview was horrible.” I squeeze the envelope to my chest.
“Just open it! I can’t stand the suspense.” Summer’s waving her hands in front of her chest so hard I think she might be vibrating.
I take a deep breath and open the envelope.