Dog Beach Unleashed (15 page)

Her words sting, and I feel like a bad friend. I want to be a good friend more than anything. “That's not true. You know I'm always here for you.”

She rolls her eyes at me again and then continues talking about Mason. “I mean, he was nice, but I felt like he was practically a study partner, always trying so hard to say interesting stuff. It felt like I was going out with an encyclopedia.”

“Really?”

“He'd just spew out random facts and information, and I never knew how to respond. And he'd never ask me about myself,” she tells me. “The whole thing got really tiring. Plus,
whenever he'd try to hold my hand, his hands were always so sweaty.”

“It
is
summer, Mic.” I pull over the double raft and hop up, urging her to do the same so we can float around together. “People sweat.” I feel the need to defend Mason, maybe because now I'm afraid that she thinks we're both selfish.

“Thanks. I know that,” she tells me, inching a little away from me on the raft. “There's also something else I've been waiting to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I'm scared to say it.”

My body tightens up. “Just say it,” I groan, even though I know it's just as hard for Micayla to get things off her chest as it is for me.

She sits up and holds her forehead. “You're not the only one who likes—I mean,
liked
—Bennett.”

I look at her. Is she saying what I think she's saying?

“Wait,” I say. “
You
like Bennett? No!”

“Yes.”

Just when I thought I was learning to accept the unexpected, this surprise feels like a tree branch falling on my head.

“Why do you care?” she asks, hopping off the raft. She hoists herself up onto the edge of the pool. “You don't like him.”

I stay on the raft, alone. It feels a little funny, but I'm too shocked to move.

“I know,” I say under my breath, but a little part of me still doesn't want Micayla to like Bennett. And another little part doesn't want Bennett to like her.

And maybe that makes me an even worse friend.

I thought that Micayla and I would stay up all
night discussing the Bennett thing, but we didn't. My mom came home from book club, and she brought us home Sundae Best ice cream, and we appreciated the distraction.

We didn't stay up late talking at all. We went straight to bed. Now it's been three days, and we still haven't discussed our situation. I keep waiting for her to bring it up, but she doesn't. And I keep thinking I should bring it up, but I chicken out every time.

I'm running away from my problems again, just like Lester.

I try to watch Micayla and Bennett when they're together, and everything seems about the same, Bennett cracking jokes, Micayla laughing. Micayla telling some funny story about her sister's Halloween costume, and Bennett asking
questions, as if he's more interested in her story than anything else in the world.

But that's how Bennett is with everybody. That's what makes him unique. He asks you questions and treats you like you're the only person in the world. He makes the world feel calm and at ease. That's why he's such a good friend.

When we're all together, I spend a lot of time wondering if he knows about Micayla. And I wonder if he knows how I feel about Calvin.

I've been ignoring my problems and questions all summer, glancing at them warily from time to time, the way I do the sky, seeking storm clouds, but I can't ignore them anymore.

Bennett and I are sitting at the table by my pool after a swim lesson. We're eating cut-up strawberries and bananas, discussing how I can better my backstroke. And that's when it happens.

Without thinking, I ask, “What do you think of Micayla?”

He swallows a strawberry. “What d'you mean?”

I turn away, pretending I hear something off in the distance. “Never mind. So, how do I get my elbows higher out of the water when I'm swimming the crawl? It seems easy when I think about it, but then when I get into the pool, my arms feel so heavy.” I sip my lemonade. “I mean, one arm goes the right way, and the other feels totally out to the side.”

He gives me a funny look. “What were you saying about Micayla?”

“Oh, nothing.” I look away again. I pray for my mom to
come outside, or my phone to buzz, or anything. Even a rainstorm would be helpful at this moment.

“Fine. I have a question for you,” he says, and I expect him to ask something doofy about who has more nose hair, Mr. Brookfield or Potato Salad's owner.

“What do
you
think about
Calvin
?”

I force myself to keep a straight face and act as if all this isn't a big deal. As if I have no idea what he's talking about.

“He's a nice kid. I dunno. Why?”

“Remy.” He glares.

“Bennett.” I meet his glare and give one right back.

“I'm not going to tell you what I think about Micayla until you tell me what you think about Calvin.”

“I guess we won't be talking much, then,” I say, picking a strawberry out of the bowl. “Because there's nothing to tell.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

But I know I need to say it. Now is the time. Enough is enough.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, and finally I take a big breath and say, “I've actually been meaning to talk to you about that.”

He nods.

“The truth is, I think I like Calvin,” I say softly, feeling a little shocked that the words came out of my mouth.

“Oh.”

I pull my towel more tightly around my body. “I wanted to tell you, because I just figured you should know.”

“Thanks,” he says. He looks down.

I wait for him to bring up the Micayla thing again, but he doesn't. I wait for him to bring up pretty much anything else, but he doesn't.

“Remember that kiss thing?” I ask him. “We talked about it during the year, about being each other's first kiss?”

He shrugs a little. As if maybe he remembers. Or maybe he doesn't.

“I just don't think it's the right time,” I explain. “Like, I know we planned it. But is it okay if we don't do it?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. No big deal.” He throws a piece of banana into the air and catches it in his mouth. “Your backstroke is a lot better than it was a few weeks ago.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, I gotta run,” he says. He seems uncomfortable and starts down the path to the sidewalk.

“Wait, Bennett,” I call.

He turns around.

“We're still friends, right?” I ask.

He nods and then keeps walking.

“No matter what?” I ask, pleading.

He gives me a thumbs-up, high in the air, with his back to me.

I wish I could see his face.

After yet another rainy day with the dogs, I
asked Claire if she wanted to get ice cream, just the two of us. I knew we needed to talk.

She seemed to be in a good mood, too.

But then things took a turn. I've realized that happens lately. You think that everything is fine, or manageable at least. And then, out of the blue, something changes.

We're walking along Main Street, and I turn to take her down one of Seagate's secret-alley streets that leads to a path to the beach. We need a quiet place to talk.

“It's just so unfair,” she says. “Last summer I didn't want to be here at all, but this summer I was so pumped. And then my parents completely ruined everything.”

“Even though I can't totally understand what you're going through, I still really want to help. I hope you know that,” I say.

She nods. “I wish I could be anyone else but myself.”

“Come on, Claire,” I say. “You don't mean that. You're awesome. You say what's on your mind. You're a great friend. You're funny. You're smart.”

“Thanks.” She shrugs. “You don't realize how much your family defines you until your family breaks apart. I didn't appreciate it enough when my parents were together. But then again, a lot of the time it was bad. They would argue, and my dad would storm out. So why do I miss that? I don't get it.”

I think about it for a second, trying to make sense of what she's saying, trying as hard as I can to find an answer. “I guess you miss it because even though it was bad, it was what you were used to,” I say. “It's what was normal.”

“I guess.” She gets quiet, as if she's too tired to keep talking.

“What does Calvin say about it all?” I ask. “I can't tell how he's feeling about what's going on.”

“He doesn't seem that bothered by the whole thing. He just accepts everything as it is and moves on,” she says. “That's the way he is. Why do you care about him, anyway?”

My throat clenches. “He's my friend, too.”

“You like him, Remy. I know you do. And he likes you.” She stops walking and stares at me. “I wish you weren't pretending otherwise.”

“What? Come on, Claire.” Why do I feel that everything I do is wrong, when all I want to do is help?

“You keep secrets, Remy. And that's not fair to your
friends. And how do you think Bennett will feel about this?”

I stay quiet, because I can't think of anything to say. I should tell her that I told Bennett, but, truthfully, I just want this conversation to end. This feels like a game of dodgeball, but Claire's the only one with the ball, and I'm standing against a wall with nowhere to go.

“Whatever, Remy. I don't get you,” she says, and she walks away.

I've hurt Bennett, I've hurt Micayla, and now I've hurt Claire, too.

Halfway home, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, and it's someone who might be able to help me, though I hadn't thought of him until now. Actually, I've barely seen him all summer. Maybe that's why everything feels so mixed up.

I start to cry as soon as I see him.

“What's wrong?” Mr. Brookfield asks.

I mutter a quiet “Nothing.”

“Come on. We both know it's not nothing.”

We walk for a few minutes and then sit down on a bench outside SGI Sweets.

“Just tell me. I don't have all day.” He laughs and nudges me with his shoulder.

“It's Claire,” I tell him. “I'm really worried about her.”

The truth is, it's not only Claire who's on my mind, but that's a good place to start.

“I am, too,” he says. “I'm worried about the whole family. My daughter is really struggling. She's so sad. Divorce isn't good for anyone, not even people's pets. Clementine the hamster seems distressed, and I'm not sure where Baxter the bird is going to live.”

I smile, but I don't think he's trying to be funny.

“Well, how can we help?” I ask him. “I try to be supportive, but everything I say to Claire is wrong, and I feel like she's always yelling at me.”

“I know.” He crinkles his eyes against the sun and looks at me. “Claire yells because she needs to get out her frustrations. She's not really yelling at you; she's yelling at the world.”

“It's not fun,” I say. “I can take it, but not all the time.”

“She shouldn't yell at you. She shouldn't yell at anyone. But sometimes I think her yelling is a better way of handling it. Calvin keeps it all inside. He's hurting, too, but he doesn't talk about it,” Mr. Brookfield tells me.

“So you're saying that yelling is a good idea?” I ask.

“No.” He pulls up his socks. “But it's never a good idea to keep everything inside, either. Somewhere in the middle would be better.”

“I guess we can try to help each of them find a better way to express their feelings.”

“We can,” he says. “But it takes time. It'll be a while before they feel comfortable with the new way of things.”

“So what can they do? I mean, besides getting their feelings
out?” I don't know why I expect Mr. Brookfield to have the answer. But all I want right now
is
an answer. A solution. Some kind of instructions to follow.