Indian Summer (2 page)

Marcie gives herself a mental shake. She doesn’t want to think about growing up today. “Let’s go have some fun!”

T
HE GIRLS REACH
the entrance to the hay bale maze. The walls of the maze are over their heads and it’s easy to get disoriented. Sara starts into the maze first. Marcie follows a few minutes later. She rounds the twists and turns of the passageway and then stops when it branches off in two different directions.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees the figure of a dark-haired girl beckon to her to take the left hand path, but when she turns to look, the figure is gone. Thinking that it’s Sara teasing her, Marcie starts running down the left-hand path and calls out, “Sara, wait up!” When she rounds the corner, the girl is disappearing around the next corner and Marcie can see that she has long hair in a pony-tail and is wearing a light-brown dress with beading on it. Puzzled, she realizes that it can’t be Sara. Sara has shoulder length hair and is wearing shorts and a t-shirt. As she continues through the maze the girl is always just ahead of her at the next turn, and when there is a choice of which direction to take she is there to show her which way to go, but never letting Marcie get close enough to really see her or
talk to her. It’s as if the girl is guiding Marcie through the maze, but always just out of reach. When Marcie rounds the last bend and can see the end of the maze, the girl isn’t there. Thinking that she must have just come out of the maze, Marcie runs to catch her. She practically runs into Sara who is waiting for her at the exit doorway. The girl is gone.

“Hey! What’s the big hurry?” asks Sara as she grabs onto Marcie’s arms.

“How long have you been standing here? Did you see a girl just come out of the maze in a brown dress with her hair pulled back into a ponytail?”

“No, why?”

“I saw her in front of me in the maze. At first I thought it was you. She was always just ahead of me, and I could never catch up.” Marcie pauses to catch her breath. “It was like she was guiding me through the maze. And her clothes were strange—she was barefoot and wearing a kind of tunic dress. It was really weird.”

“It sounds weird, but I didn’t see her. I don’t know how she could have come out unless there are two ways to get to the end.”

“That must be it. We must have come out by a different path than you did. That still doesn’t explain why she was guiding me through the maze, though.”

“Well, she’s gone now. She was probably just messing with you. I’d forget about it.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Marcie agrees, but she isn’t really satisfied with that explanation.

When they hear the loudspeakers crackle and pop with the announcement for the beginning of the races, Sara is fastening a silvery metal necklace with a dolphin charm that Marcie won at one of the booths around Marcie’s neck. She and Sara walk over to the monument where all the runners are gathered. They see her dad stretching against a tree. Marcie gets her speed from her dad, and he still likes to run in the annual races.

Casually, he says, “I thought I’d come by for the races since summer school doesn’t start until next week. My schedule is flexible this afternoon.” He’s an English professor at the state university. Marcie isn’t fooled. At breakfast this morning he had acted noncommittal about running in the races, but the rest of the family knew he couldn’t stay away. “Good luck, ladies. See you at the finish line!”

Marcie and Sara go and stand under the banner for twelve year olds. Some of the other girls from the track team are there too. They all do a little stretching and warming up while the little kids have their races. The “track” is shortened for the preschoolers and the moms
and dads stand at the finish line to cheer them on—and make sure they run in the right direction.

Finally their race is called. Marcie and Sara hold hands briefly and say “Good luck.”

They line the girls up along the starting line. This race is just for fun, so there are no starting blocks, but Marcie still takes the racer’s stance on one knee with her index finger and thumb aligned along the start line. She briefly looks over at the other girls. She knows most of them, but there are a few unfamiliar faces. Can she beat them? It seems like the whole town is watching the race from the sidelines. As usual before a race, her stomach flutters and her heart pounds in her chest.

The starter begins.

“On your mark,” he shouts. Marcie holds herself still in the starting position.

“Get set.” She comes up onto her hands and the balls of her feet.

“Go!” The starting gun explodes! Marcie pushes off with her feet and starts pumping with her arms as she rises up. In the beginning of a race all movement is slow motion. Like you are in one of those dreams where you are trying to run but can’t because your legs are made of stone. Then suddenly she starts to go. Her fists are clenched. Arms reaching up and pulling back, up and back. Legs pounding—knees up, heels back, up and back,
up and back. Kick, kick, kick. Faster, faster—she feels herself pulling away. Go, go, go, go!

She focuses on the finish line, feeling the fluid rhythm and power of her body. She imagines that she is pulling herself along a rope with her arms and kicking herself forward with her feet. Just a few more yards! She crosses the finish line first, a few steps ahead of the pack. Yes!

A volunteer with a gold banner across her chest runs toward Marcie, lifts her arm in the air and shouts, “First place!”

“Congratulations!” she says to Marcie. Sara’s arm is held by a volunteer wearing a red banner that reads T
HIRD
P
LACE
. Marcie gulps for air. The volunteers lead the winners over to the scorer’s table and give them water bottles. Paula, another girl from the track team, has won second place. They give each other the team “high five.” “Great job, Marce,” says Sara between breaths, “but you always win.”

Marcie feels a tug on her shirt. Looking down she sees her younger brother, Drew. “Great race, Marce, you were speedy,” he says. Drew is seven and just finished first grade.

“Thanks, Drewster,” says Marcie as she ruffles his sandy brown hair. “Mom!” she says as her mom comes up and gives her a hug.

“First place again!” her mom says smiling, the corners of her eyes crinkling into familiar laugh lines. Her strawberry blond hair, green eyes, and freckles were passed on to Marcie, but otherwise they don’t really look alike. Marcie doesn’t really look like either of her parents. More like a blending of both of their features. “Did you see your dad?” She winks at Marcie.

“Of course—he’s by the monument waiting for his race.” She indicates the direction with a nod of her head. They reach the scorer’s table and Marcie turns to give her name to the woman seated in front of her. The woman exclaims to her mother, “Well hello, Jill. Is this first place winner your daughter?”

“Yes, this is Marcie.” Turning to Marcie she says, “This is Abby Swyndall. Her husband is the new President of the university.”

“Nice to meet you,” replies Marcie. She feels a trickle of sweat run down her back between her shoulder blades and wishes she had something to wipe the sweat off her face.

Mrs. Swyndall asks, “Aren’t you going into seventh grade in the fall?” Marcie nods. “My daughter Kaitlyn is in your grade. Do you know her?”

“Yes, she’s in a couple of my classes.” Marcie does know her, but after starting school last fall, Kaitlyn moved easily into the “popular” group, so they didn’t socialize
much. She is momentarily distracted by Drew pulling on her shirt again to get her attention and tell her about the prizes he won that afternoon.

Over Drew’s excited chatter, she hears her mom and Mrs. Swyndall talking. “Oh, yes, we’ll be up at the lake this summer. Our summer house is finally finished, so we want to enjoy it,” Mrs. Swyndall is saying. As she talks, her hands flutter in the air with a swirl of bright coral nail polish and the jangle of charms on her bracelet. “What about you?”

“Marcie and the boys are going to stay at my parents’ cottage for a few weeks. I have a dig out west, and Paul will be working with his graduate students.” Marcie’s mom is an archaeologist and works part time at the university. Today she looks the part in khaki shorts, a light blue t-shirt, sandals, and a straw hat to shield the sun. Marcie thinks her mom looks casual and comfortable compared to Mrs. Swyndall in her flowered Capri pants and matching top. On the dig this summer Marcie’s mom is taking a group of students to work on a new discovery of Native American sites in Utah. “We’re going up there tomorrow to drop the kids off.” Marcie’s mom glances over at her. “This one isn’t too excited because none of her friends can go this year.”

“I have the perfect solution!” Mrs. Swyndall exclaims. “Kaitlyn is spending a few weeks at the lake with me and
her older brother Kyle.” She turns to Marcie. “This will work out so nicely—the two of you can get together.” She taps her fingernails on the table. “We did a lot of sailing back east. We’ve joined the yacht club, but haven’t met the other families yet. Do you sail?”

“Yes, we have a sunfish and a sloop,” Marcie says. While thinking how unlikely it is that she and Kaitlyn will ‘get together,’ she sees Kaitlyn coming up behind Mrs. Swyndall. She is wearing super-short shorts and a top with spaghetti straps that would never have passed the school dress code. The school is always having to send home notes reminding everyone of the dress code, but it is really just the “popular” girls who push it to the limit.

“Mom,” says Kaitlyn, acknowledging Marcie with a small wave of her hand, “I need more tickets.”

“Sure, hon, there’s money in my purse. We were just talking about you. You know Marcie Horton?” She barely pauses for Kaitlyn to reply as she rummages in the purse. “Marcie and her brothers will be spending a few weeks at the lake this summer while we’re there. We thought you two could do some sailing together.”

“Well … sure,” says Kaitlyn cheerfully but a bit slowly. She looks at Marcie. “Have you ever sailed in the Regatta?”

The Regatta is a series of sailboat races over the Fourth of July weekend—a really big deal at the lake. The summer
house crowd, or “Lakers,” usually spend July Fourth at the lake and enter the races. They mostly belong to the Yacht Club, and over the years a rivalry between the Yacht Club crowd and the local residents has grown.

Marcie wonders if Kaitlyn thinks it was her idea to suggest getting together. “I’ve raced in the sunfish category, but our sloop isn’t the right size for the big race. Eric started to crew for the Boat Company team last year.” Marcie would love to be on the Boat Company Team, but it is just “the boys,” as Eric likes to say. Eric and Marcie aren’t technically Townies, because they don’t live at the lake year round, but since their grandparents do and they aren’t part of the yacht club crowd, they qualify. She wonders if the Swyndalls are aware of the rivalry.

“Really? We’re going to enter our new E scow in the big race. Maybe you and Eric can crew with us.” She pauses and seems to notice for the first time where she is. “Did you run in the races? You look all sweaty.” She wrinkles her nose distastefully.

That’s what happens when you exercise
, thinks Marcie, but she says, “Yes, we just finished.”

Mrs. Horton says, “She won first place!”

“Oh, right—aren’t you on the track team? Uh, congratulations. The only time I get sweaty is when I lay out!” Kaitlyn says with a laugh. “Well, gotta go. The girls are waiting!”

“Always in a social whirl,” Mrs. Swyndall says fondly to her daughter’s retreating back. “Why don’t you bring your family over for a cookout on Sunday afternoon, Jill? It’ll be our first party at the cottage.”

A
FTER
M
ARCIE CATCHES
up with Sara, they decide to cool off under the shade of a nearby maple tree. As they are lounging in the grass in the dappled shade, Marcie wonders about Kaitlyn and her family. Kaitlyn is nice enough most of the time, unlike some of the other “popular” girls, but she can be stuck-up, too. Marcie has always wanted to compete in the big race, but for a Laker team and with Kaitlyn Swyndall? Still … to be in the race, it could be worth it. Maybe Kaitlyn is okay when she’s on her own, and Marcie’s parents do know Kaitlyn’s parents from the university where Mr. Swyndall took over as president a little over a year ago. The families don’t socialize much outside of university functions—although that could change now that the Swyndalls have a house on the lake. They bought the old James place on Lake Pappakeechee after Mrs. James passed away. The property includes acres of woods and marsh where all the kids play explorers and capture the flag. The Swyndalls immediately tore down the little bungalow on the property and built a giant—and beautiful—new vacation house. When her family drove by
it the last time she was at the lake, Marcie’s Mamaw smiled ruefully and called it a “McMansion.” It does look a little strange and out of place next to the older, smaller cottage on the property next door.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Annie Crawford plops down on the grass with her and Sara.

“What’re you doing laying around here?” says Annie. “Eat too much cotton candy?” She laughs a little too loud and smacks Marcie on the leg hard enough that it stings.

“Annie, that hurt!” says Marcie, “and no, we didn’t eat too much cotton candy. We just ran in the races.”

“Marcie won first place—again,” says Sara pretending to pout.

“Well la-dee-da,” says Annie. She grabs Sara’s arm and tries to pull her up. “Come with me to the Moon Walk!” she wheedles.

Annie’s trouble, thinks Marcie, is that she tries so hard to make friends that she is annoying. Sara and Marcie aren’t really good friends with her, but they might be the only friends Annie has at school, so they try to be nice to her. A shadow falls over them and they look up to see Ashley, Meghan, and Bailey, three of Marcie’s least favorite popular girls, standing in front of them. Ashley, with straight brown hair and wide-set brown eyes, is the ringleader. She says, “Annie, when are you going to get those bracelets you promised us?” She has her hands on her hips
and her eyebrows raised mockingly. The other two girls say “Yeah,” in unison. Marcie thinks they look like clones of each other, or the three mean musketeers.