I can’t. I can’t do it.
“What do you want to do for your birthday?” Lydia asks me two days later.
“I don’t know.” I do know. My birthday is in two days, and the only thing I can think about is kissing. That’s all I want to do, and I’ve decided I’m going to do it on my birthday. I’m going to have my first kiss, and I’ve scheduled it like a dentist appointment.
“Do you want to go to the beach for it?”
“No. Not at all.”
Lydia’s crouched in the corner of her bedroom, bending over her set and mumbling to herself. She’s shaping flowers, little yellow petals that will push a sword out of the ground. “I haven’t figured out the ending,” she says. “And I think I should have done that first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I want to make a point, you know? Before, I wasn’t telling stories. I was only making scenes.” In seventh grade, Lydia made an apple unpeeling and clouds floating across a blue sky. This year, she got a nice camera for her birthday and started doing entire scenes, a monster going to the grocery store, a mermaid diving into water.
“And now I don’t want the ending to be cliché. Like I don’t want her to tame the dragon. That’s been done. I don’t want a knight to slay him.” Lydia crosses her arms over her knees and groans, yellow clay petals in her hand. “And killing the dragon makes me a little sad.”
She picks up the dragon that’s perched on the edge of her desk and examines the body, white and gray with black horns on each side of its head.
“Sometimes dragons need to be slayed,” I say.
We put the motor together and attach it to the sub on Sunday. I use the last of my money to buy a trolling motor at Kip’s store, and even with the Dwyer family discount, I’m broke until I get paid in two weeks.
Ford walks to a neighbor’s cottage to borrow a large trash can to test the motor in water, and Kip and I wait in the driveway, next to the sub.
“I asked my dad if we could take the boat out for your birthday.” He says it halfway between a statement and a question.
“That sounds like fun,” I tell him. I’m having a hard time concentrating when he’s around, and working on the sub would be less distracting if he weren’t here. But I want him here. It’s confusing.
“Lydia wants to go too. And then probably Omar.” Another half question.
I can feel him reading my face. “Okay.”
“Do you want to go the same route across the Bay as the sub?”
To the Eastern Shore. “Work and pleasure?” I say. Oh Lord. I lean against the sub, pretending to be relaxed. Don’t say anything about Joan of Arc. Don’t do it, Murphy.
“I kinda wish they weren’t going with us, but Lydia’s your best friend.” He puts his hand on my arm, and I will myself not to get goose bumps.
It takes me a minute to get my voice to work. “She is.” The smaller my sentences, the better. Then I won’t say anything too weird.
He takes off his hand and laughs. “Plus, Joan of Arc. Who do you like the best? Lydia, Joan, or me?”
I scowl at him. He’s always teasing me. He probably will when we kiss. If we kiss. “Definitely not you.”
My birthday is July 16, which means I never get a school birthday. Sometimes the teachers and nuns celebrate it the first week of school, lumped in with the other summer birthdays, but mostly everyone forgets.
Lydia never forgets. She always makes me cupcakes and gets me a present.
I’m not expecting anything from anyone, but I do want that kiss. I agonize over it. How do people know what to do?
Waking up much earlier than usual, I take a long time getting ready. That seems like something I should do. I wash my hair and condition it. Doing everything slowly makes it seem more important.
The phone rings while my head is flipped over. My mom doesn’t answer it, so I put my comb down and walk into the kitchen.
On the sixth ring, I pick up and hear my aunt.
“Is everything okay?” I ask immediately, the phone pressed tight to my ear.
“What? Of course, honey. No, no. I just wanted to give you the day off. Have fun with your friends or work on your sub.”
“Oh,” I say. This changes how I’ll spend my day. I wanted to go to the library. Work makes me think about kissing less.
“Happy birthday!” Betty says. “Alex and I will take you out to dinner this weekend, but it’s your special day. Go be a teenager.”
It’s only eight in the morning, so I don’t know what to do with myself. At least I know what to do at the library. I’m frowning in the kitchen when my mom walks in.
“Who was that?” she asks, making herself coffee. She doesn’t really look at me, and it’s the first time we’ve talked since my dad left.
“Betty. She said I could have the day off.”
“What are you going to do? You’ve been gone a lot lately.”
I don’t know why she’s asking. “Why?” I make myself a sandwich, peanut butter and jelly. I bite into it. It doesn’t taste like the homemade blackberry jam that Betty makes.
“Buddy said you’ve been up with those men at the cottages with that Dwyer boy.”
Buddy. Again. And why can’t she just say Kip? My hand shakes, and I swallow a bite. “Maybe Buddy should be a private investigator.”
“Why have you been there?” she asks.
I’m not telling her. She doesn’t care. I shove bite after bite of bread into my mouth.
“And you’ve spent so much time with Betty.”
All the words she’s saying bring up different emotions like little bubbles on top of the water. It’s what’s under the surface that’s important. What’s making the bubbles? A fish or a shark?
“You probably like her more than us,” she says.
More bubbles. We don’t usually talk about Betty. And I don’t know what to say. I do like Betty. She makes me feel safe and normal. I feel the same at Lydia’s and Ford’s, really anywhere other than in this house.
I pick up my butter knife and stand at the sink. My hands vibrate under the running water. I think she wants me to feel bad for her. I can’t.
“Mom, you don’t care where I am. You never have.” My voice is cracking. I’m so angry. I drop the knife in the sink and run from the room, but I only end up in my bedroom. On my bed, I sigh and stare at the ceiling. Even though I’ve lived here, in this house, in this room, all my life, it’s never really felt like mine. This can’t be my life here.
The clock on the desk says it’s been only ten minutes since Betty called. I sit up and put my hair behind my shoulders. If I pull a strand taut, it reaches all the way to my waist. When I get bored of that, I stare at the phone Betty gave me.
I can’t call Lydia because she’s probably sleeping. And Kip is working a morning shift because we’re going on the boat later. So I call Ford. His greeting sounds groggy, and guilt hits me. I was at his house just twelve hours ago.
“Sorry. My aunt gave me the day off, so I thought I’d come work on the sub.”
“Mary, you want to work on the sub?” he asks loudly.
He’s acting strange. “Yes.”
“I’m not home,” he says fast.
“That’s okay. I can practice the controls for Saturday.” I don’t need to go in the house. Even though he’s let me go in before when he was gone.
“Umm . . .” He pauses. I hear something fall in the background. “Noon. Can you come at noon?”
“Noon’s fine, Ford. Thanks.” That means I have hours to waste before I go work. It’s so long. I know if I go to the Cliffs to look for shark teeth, I’ll either get too hot and gross for later or wander over to Ford’s early. I need to do something else.
I pull out my notes and make a pre- and postlaunch checklist for the practice launch. That takes me thirty minutes. When I’m done, and my mom is gone, I watch TV, but I don’t really pay attention. The boat trip is my only thought.
I am going to kiss Kip Dwyer.
&
nbsp; At 11:30, I bolt with my backpack, knowing I’ll be early but not caring all that much.
It’s hot, and I’m glad I didn’t go to the Cliffs. I’d be sweating, my hair ruined. Fifteen minutes later, but fifteen minutes early, I turn my bike down the path to Ford’s. I hear a squawk inside that sounds a lot like Lydia.
Weird. They don’t know each other. I drop my bike by the screen door and knock.
“I told you she’d be early!”
It is Lydia. When I open the door, she’s yelling from the living room. Ford and Kip are in the kitchen. Signs and blue streamers hang all over the house. And most shocking of all, the cottage is kind of clean.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“It’s your birthday,” Lydia says like I don’t know. “And now these two are helping, but I think it’d be easier if I did it by myself!” She yells the last part.
“Happy birthday, Miss Mary,” Ford drawls from the kitchen. “I’m still finishing up lunch. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You didn’t need to do this,” I tell Lydia as she climbs off a chair, her shorts covered in sky-blue paint.
“Yes, we did. And this isn’t even the best part.” She switches to a whisper. “Even though we’ve been cleaning since seven this morning.”
“Wait!” Kip says, running into the living room.
“Can I show her?” Lydia asks him, her eyebrows raised and head tipped.
“Sure. I did the hardest part, Murph.” Kip crosses his arms, paint on him too, and makes a sneaky face. His usual face.
Lydia’s eyes go big and her mouth drops. Her hands on her hips, she says, “He’s obviously lying, Mary. You’ll know that when you see it.”
“Y’all are going to leave me in here?” Ford protests.
“Yes, we are,” Kip says.
“I’ll get her hands,” Lydia says. “Kip, cover her eyes.”
“You two are making me nervous,” I say, half serious. Kip puts his hands over my eyes and they’re rough from the salt water. My heart thumps so loudly, everyone must be able to hear it. He smells like soap. And laundry. And the Bay.
Lydia holds my hand and leads me out of the cottage, slowly, and I take tiny steps so I don’t fall. I must look ridiculous.
Then Kip uncovers my eyes and I blink in the sudden sunshine.
“Ta-da! Don’t touch it though. It’s wet,” Lydia says, yelling at Kip, not me.
All I can do is gape.
“What?” Kip asks. “It’s not good? Then blame Lydia.”
I can’t believe I have friends who would do this. They painted my sub. Instead of the old white, it’s light blue, and near the hatch, Lydia painted waves crashing. A sword rises out of the water. Joan’s sword.
“It’s so beautiful.” My voice soars away.
“You’re gonna slay some dragons,” Lydia says.
“It’s perfect. I love it.” I hug Lydia tight. “Thank you.”
“You didn’t make any room for me,” Kip says. I’m sure he’s smirking.
“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Ford walks out, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I always miss everything, y’all. What do you think, Miss Mary?”
“It’s amazing.” I hug him too. “You’re all too good to me.”
“You still need to name her. We have to register it as a boat with the state of Maryland.” He makes quotes with his fingers at the word “boat.” “It has to be good. Something with your name or the love of your life.”
Kip fake coughs.
I hold my cheeks in so I don’t smile. Like I’m in chapel. All the boats at the marina have puns in them. And submarines are usually named after places or war heroes.
Lydia says, “I’ve got stencils, for when you think of it. We didn’t want to do it without you, and I couldn’t think of a discreet way to ask. You would’ve been onto me.” She waves the plastic stencils in the air.
I wrap my hair around my finger. I know exactly what I want to call it. “My name,” I say. “Murphy’s Law.”
“What’s that?” Lydia asks.
“Whatever can go wrong, will.”
“And,” Ford butts in, “it’s originally a sea term.”
“Seems like bad luck, Murph,” Kip says. “Shouldn’t you name it Shipwreck instead?”
I shake my head. “I’m meeting the bad luck head-on.” That’s the sort of person I want to be.
“I guess athletes have superstitions,” he says. He doesn’t look convinced though, a frown in the middle of his freckles. I have to look away or our first kiss will be a spectator event.
We eat lunch, blue crab at Ford’s dining room table, a piece of craft paper covering the wood. Mallets, knives, and shakers of Old Bay holding it down. I pop the shell off the crab, push aside the lungs, and crack it in half. I always save the claws, the best part, for last.
My three friends laugh around me, and my heart is so happy. Light and free. If Betty were here too, all my favorite people in the whole world would be at this table.
“Dad said we could go at two,” Kip tells us.
“About that,” Lydia says. “I think I’m done for the day.” She gives Ford a fake angry look. “All that painting and cleaning. You two kids have a good time.” She waves her hand in our direction, and I glance at Kip. I wasn’t expecting to be alone alone. My cheeks burn hot.
“Are you sure?” I ask her. She nods. “Ford?” I whisper.
“No, darlin’.” He laughs. “I need a nap. I’m not used to waking up so early.”
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Murph.”
Oh Lord.
When we get to the marina, Kip leaves me on the dock while he grabs the keys for the boat, a cruiser with a big cuddy cabin, all smooth white fiberglass and crisp green trim. Barbara Jean, Kip’s mom’s name, written in fat cursive across the stern.
I sit on the vinyl seat next to the driver’s and wait. From Back Creek, I look at my island. A duck lands in the marsh near Our Lady and dips its head in the shallow water.
“Ready?” Kip holds up the keys, and I gulp.
“Can you legally drive a boat?” I ask as he sits. “Don’t you need a license?”
“Can you legally drive a sub?” he jokes, starting the engine. I know it’s like a car, sixteen, and I’m a little nervous. My hands are sweating. Barbara Jean idles quietly.
“Your dad doesn’t care if you take it?”
“No.” He smiles. “Omar and I took it out when we were nine, and my mom was so angry, but they don’t care now. Dad told me I could. Promise.” He eases the boat from the dock and steers into the channel leading out to the Bay.
“Your dad doesn’t hate me?”
“He thinks you make me less annoying.” Kip laughs. “Now, my mom on the other hand . . .”
Kip follows the markers. I’m going to have to do the same thing, but underwater. My stomach rolls. I don’t know if I can do it.
We start to go faster, the wind already whipping my hair around. I pull it into a ponytail so it doesn’t get too enormous or smack Kip in the face. The noise from the motor and the wind lets me sit with my thoughts. I know, kiss or no kiss, this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.
Every few minutes, I look over at Kip, who is steering with a content look on his face. What’s he thinking about? Does he think we’re going to kiss? Does he want to?
I burrow deeper and deeper within my brain like a frog in mud, thinking it will take us hours to reach the opposite shore, but it takes less than half an hour. When Kip slows down, I realize we’re only a few more minutes away.
“It looks just like our side,” I say. It does. The shore is sandy, with seagrasses beyond, and leafy trees stretch overhead.
“What’d you expect? Palm trees? Coconuts?” He winks.
I look at my hands. “I don’t know. I’ve never been.” When I was little, I would ask my dad to take me with him. Plenty of other kids go out on the boats. But he never let me. He said I would get hurt, so I haven’t been to
the Eastern Shore even though it’s only seven miles away.
“Oh, Murph,” he says. “I’m sorry. I won’t make jokes for your birthday.” He looks embarrassed. Like when he found me on the beach crying. It was months ago. Forever ago. “Well, now you’re here.” He stretches out his arms and gestures toward the shoreline.
Kip turns off the engine and stands, then drops the anchor. It’s quiet, the water lapping the boat. “What do you want to do?” he asks.
My answer is kiss. He’s standing over me, looking down. Yes, kiss. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to leave?” He puts his hand to the back of his neck. “I know you don’t like swimming.”
“No!” I yell. Relax, Murphy. I breathe out slowly. “No,” I say more normally. “Let’s get shells for Babe.” A pile of them are always on the counter at the marina.
“Okay, but my mom might murder her. She’s been gluing them to everything in the house.”
I smile. Kip pulls off his T-shirt, and I look away, then back again, trying to keep it together. Which is difficult. He balls up the shirt and throws it in his seat. Where exactly am I supposed to look? He leans on one arm and hops over the side, landing in the water. “Are you gonna stay in the boat?” he asks.
“No.” I stand up and scowl. Even though I’m wearing a swimsuit, Lydia’s red one-piece, I don’t want to take my shirt off in front of him.
“You can use the cabin if you want.” Kip points to the little room under the bow.
When I come back, he takes my hand and pulls me over the edge, his other hand on my waist. Oh Lord. The water is warm and shallow, and we stand like that for a lot longer than we need to.
But I’m still not ready, so I let go and walk up the beach, Kip behind me. I stay away from him, really as far as I can, which I know is weird. But I’m nervous. I collect a handful of shells, walk back to him, and drop them in the bucket.
My third time, Kip says, “Are you having fun? I don’t want to ruin your birthday . . .”
I refuse to look at him. If anyone’s ruining anything, it’s me.
I take a deep breath and look him square in the eye. I’m so close, I could count each freckle. “I’m nervous,” I blurt out. “I turned fourteen, and I’ve never kissed anyone.” I cross my arms in front of my suit. “And I decided I want to kiss you.”
Mary Underwater Page 11