Pulled Under (Sixteenth Summer) (16 page)

And, then, as if gender supremacy wasn’t enough, he raises the stakes just a little bit more and says, “Winning team picks what flavor ice cream we get from the Islander.”

“You’re on!” I say, in a growl that would make a professional wrestler proud.

Ben lights up as we break up into teams, and I can tell he really needs some family time. When it’s time to play, I’m up first, and I pull “William Shakespeare” out of the hat.

“We got this,” I say to Mom as I get into position.

Dad hits the stopwatch and signals me to go.

I do the signs for “writer” and “second word” and start shaking side to side. Ben and Dad laugh hysterically, but I ignore them.

My mom starts shouting out answers. “Twist. Shimmy. Shake.”

I signal that she’s right with “shake” and move on to the next part of the word. I pretend to throw a spear, and it takes her a moment to figure it out, but then she gets it.

“Shake . . . spear. William Shakespeare!”

Dad hits the stopwatch and announces our time. “Twenty-three seconds.”

Mom and I high-five. We feel pretty confident, and I can already taste the mint chocolate chip ice cream I plan on selecting.

Ben’s up next and draws a name from the hat. Since I’m the timekeeper, he shows it to me, and I see that it’s “J. D. Salinger.”

“This round’s all ours,” I assure my mom. “No way they’ll beat twenty-three seconds.”

“Ignore that,” Dad says, trying to encourage Ben. “I trust you with my recipe and I trust you with my clues.”

Ben thinks for a moment and finally decides on his plan. “Okay,” he says. “I’m ready.”

I signal him to go. He does the sign for writer and then squats like a baseball catcher and holds up his glove.

“J. D. Salinger!” screams my dad.

I hit the stopwatch and look down at the number.

“How fast?” asks Dad.

I shake my head. “Seven seconds . . . but it doesn’t count.”

“What do you mean, ‘it doesn’t count’?” asks Dad.

“You cheated,” I say.

“How did we cheat?” asks Ben.

“I don’t know how, but I know you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“All you did was squat. How is that J. D. Salinger?”

They both look right at me, and at the exact same moment say, “
The Catcher in the Rye
.”

That’s when I realize that they didn’t cheat. Even scarier, they’re totally in sync with each other.

“Oh my God,” I say, turning to my mom.

She says exactly what I’m thinking. “We’ve created a monster.”

What follows is the most intense game of charades I’ve ever played—and, in my family, that’s saying something. Ben and Dad make a great team, but Mom and I keep it close. We finally lose it with Politicians of the Nineteenth Century. That category always kills me. I draw a blank trying to act out “Ulysses S. Grant,” and Ben somehow gets “Zachary Taylor” from my dad pretending to sew.

“It’s a Taylor, like a tailor,” he says, trying to explain.

Even though we play competitively, we don’t really take it seriously, and I feel a deeper connection with Ben than I did before. I never realized how important it was for me that he get along well with my family.

“As the champions, we get to pick the ice cream flavor,” Dad announces. “And as our MVP, you get to make the decision for us, Ben. What flavor do you want?”

Ben thinks about this for a moment and says, “Mint chocolate chip.”

“No,” Dad says, as though he’s just suffered the ultimate betrayal. “You’re picking that because it’s Izzy’s favorite flavor.”

“It is?” he says, playing dumb as he shoots me a wink. “I’m picking it because it’s my favorite flavor.”

“The whole point of winning is so you can rub the loser’s nose in it after the competition,” says Dad.

“It really is hard to believe they let you coach children,” says my mom. “Come on, let’s go get the ice cream. I’ll let you be as obnoxious as you want the whole car ride over.”

“You will?” says Dad. “That’s really sweet. That Zachary Taylor hint was amazing, wasn’t it?”

Mom and Dad leave and, for twenty minutes at least, I get to be alone with Ben.

“So now you know what game night is like,” I say.

“It was a lot of fun,” he says.

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. “I guess you deserve a victory kiss.”

“I would think so,” he says.

We kiss for a moment and everything seems good. Unfortunately, that moment does not last.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, pulling back. “I didn’t want to do it in front of your parents, but I got a call from my mother right before I came over here.”

“Is everything okay?”

He shakes his head. “The divorce is getting uglier, and now they’re arguing about custody rights. My mom wants me to be with her all the time, but my dad wants to split custody so that I’d go back and forth between them.”

“Well, that’s good that your dad still wants to be part of your life, isn’t it?”

He thinks about it for a moment and seems sadder than I’ve ever seen him. “Maybe if that were the reason. But he doesn’t really want me around. I think he just wants to make sure she doesn’t win and to make it so that he won’t have to pay as much in child support.”

Once again I am so grateful that my parents are happily married.

“Anyway,” he says, “the judge wants to talk to me.”

Now it dawns on me.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“I have to fly up to Wisconsin,” he says. “I leave on Sunday.”

Now I really panic. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and ask, “How long will you be gone?”

“A week.”

Even though we never talk about it directly, I always know exactly how many days there are until Ben’s supposed to leave at the end of the summer. At the moment I have exactly thirty-one days. My plan is to use each one of them carefully, and now I am going to lose seven just like that.

“Seven days . . . ,” I say softly.

“I know,” he says.

“That’s not fair.”

I look at him and realize that I am being totally selfish. He’s losing seven days too, but during that time he has to meet with a judge and pick one parent over the other.

“But even worse, it’s not fair to you,” I say as I give him a hug. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

He rests his head against my shoulder, and I think I hear the faint whispers of him crying.

I
swap my Saturday shift with Nicole so I can go watch Dad and Ben at the Rocket Run, and then on Sunday I get Sophie to drive Ben and me to the airport. His uncle was going to do it, but I’m trying to get all the time with him I can. To say the least, my mood is a little down, and there are extended quiet periods on the ride.

“The surf contest is just a few weeks away,” says Sophie, trying to generate any sort of conversation. “We’re going to get a lot of practice in while you’re gone.”

I expect Ben to respond, but he doesn’t. He just bites his lower lip, lost in thought. He’s concentrating, but I have no idea about what.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

He turns to face me in the backseat. “Parks and Rec is sponsoring the surf contest,” he says.

“Right?”

“And I work for Parks and Rec.”

“Okay.”

“It wouldn’t be right if I used that position to give you an advantage. Ethically, I mean.”

“Of course not,” I say.

Sophie raises her hand partway. “Are we sure about that?”

“Yes,” I say, slapping her hand down. “Of course we are.”

“I was just checking.”

“We don’t want you to cheat for us, Ben,” I tell him.

“Right,” he says with a smile. “But it wouldn’t be cheating if I told you that it is a good idea to read the rules. I tell that to everyone when they pick up an entrance form.”

Sophie shoots me a look in the mirror, and both of us are wondering where this is going.

“And since you know that I am a lawyer’s son and was taught to read everything carefully—and, by everything, I mean . . . every . . . single . . . word—then unlike other people who just ignore it, you might take that advice to heart.”

He stops there and we share a look. I have no idea what he’s getting at, but I do know that he’s trying to give us a little help. I also know that, for the moment at least, that’s as far as he’s willing to go.

“Well, my boyfriend is going out of town,” I say. “So I have plenty of free time this week, and I was planning on reading through the contest rules very carefully.”

He smiles and nods. “And you’re going to do that before you turn in your entrance form?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

The car is quiet for a moment.

“Okay,” Sophie says. “That was . . . weird . . . but we’re here. So why don’t I drop the two of you off? Izzy, I’ll come back around and pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach forward and clasp her on the shoulder.

“I know, I know, I’m amazing,” she says, and although she’s joking, it’s completely true.

Ben and I get out and things are pretty quiet. He doesn’t have to check his bag, so once he picks up a boarding pass, we walk over to the security line. It’s killing me and he’s only going away for seven days. I can’t imagine how it will be in four weeks when we come back here and he’ll be going away permanently.

We stand there for a little while and just silently hold hands. Then, when it’s time for him to go, he gives me a kiss and a hug that linger longer than I expect.

“Good luck,” I tell him. “I’ll be thinking about you the whole time. Especially on the day you see the judge. It’s going to be all right.”

He nods and gives me another kiss.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he says.

One more hug and then he walks away and gets in line.

“I meant what I said,” he says as he turns back. “Read every word.”

“I will,” I say, trying to put on a brave face.

I watch him walk away, and although I know he can’t hear me, I just have to say it aloud, so I whisper.

“I love you.”

August

I
’m pathetic.

I know this. But knowing it and being able to do something about it are two totally different things. It’s been five days since Ben left, and no matter where I go, I’m constantly reminded of him. Right now we’re closing up the shop, and as I lock the front door, I notice the poster he brought in the first day we met. Just the sight of it makes me want to cry, so you can guess how much fun I’ve been to be around. Nevertheless, Sophie and Nicole have not wavered in their repeated attempts to lift my spirits. You have to love their tenacity.

“Ladies, the dance floor is ours,” Sophie announces as she turns up the volume on the sound system. “Let’s crank it.”

Sophie is obsessed with nineties dance music, and she loves to blast it while we clean up. As a result, she’s gotten Nicole and me hooked too. The first song on the playlist is another example of how she keeps trying to make me smile.

Right about now, the funk soul brother

Check it out now, the funk soul brother

Despite the fact that it is basically just the same two lines repeated over and over and that its name is completely baffling, I love “The Rockafeller Skank.” I know, it makes no sense, but the beat is irresistible. Which is no doubt why Sophie is leading off with it.

Sophie sings along behind the counter as she sorts the day’s receipts, and Nicole busts a shoulder shimmy and dances with the push broom while she sweeps the floor. I, however, maintain my groove-free status as I mope and restock the clothing racks.

“Who’s up for Mama Tacos tonight?” Sophie asks, raising her voice but still moving to the beat. “I could destroy some nachos.”

“Count me in,” says Nicole. “How ’bout you, Iz?”

I shake my head and mumble some excuse that gets drowned out by the electronic rhythm.

“What?” she says, this time raising her voice.

I try again, but they don’t hear me.

Finally I just blurt out, “No thanks!”

Sophie presses stop. The room goes quiet, and suddenly our fun little surf shop becomes one of those cop show interrogation rooms.

“Why not?”

“I’m just not very hungry,” I say defensively. “And I’ve got to get up early to train.”

“Which is it?” asks Nicole.

“What do you mean?”

“You gave us two excuses,” she says as she stops sweeping. “Which one’s the real one?”

“First of all, they’re not ‘excuses.’ They’re answers. And both happen to be real.”

Nicole turns to look at Sophie; they share a brief psychic-twins moment. Then she turns back to me and says, “You’re shutting us out, Izzy. I don’t know why, but you are.”

“Just because I’m not in the mood for nachos? That means I’m shutting you out?”

“Now you’re ‘not in the mood.’ That’s excuse number three. Who are you trying to convince? Us or you?”

She walks over until she’s standing just across the rack from me. “You haven’t hung out with us once this week. We get that you’re busy when you’re with Ben. We’ll cut you that slack. But since he’s out of town, we thought the three of us would do some stuff together.”

“Yeah,” says Sophie. “We kind of figured we could cheer you up.”

“I don’t need cheering up,” I say curtly. “I’m fine.”

Nicole goes to reply, but instead she just shakes her head and resumes sweeping. “Whatever.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve known you forever,” she says. “Whatever this is, it’s not
fine
.”

“Well, you’re entitled to your opinion.”

She looks at me and nods. “And you disagree?”

“Very much so.”

“Then why don’t we take this to the register.”

I cannot stress how much I am not in the mood for having my love life taken to the register. “Let’s not. The last thing I need right now is the two of you ganging up on me.”

“Excuse me,” says Sophie. “You feel terrible. We understand that. But if you think we would ‘gang up’ on you, then we’ve got real problems, because that’s not who we are.”

I know she’s right and I regret saying it, but the truth is there’s nothing they can say that will make me feel better. Plus, I worry if I tell them
everything
that’s on my mind, it will only make things worse.

“It was a poor choice of words,” I offer. “I apologize.”

“It’s
us
,” says Nicole. “You don’t need to apologize. You just need to talk.”

I don’t respond. I just keep rehanging shirts that were left in the fitting rooms. I figure they’ll give up, blast some music, and let me get back to my mope-a-thon. But they wait me out. There’s no music or questions, just the sound of the hangers as I slide them on the rack. Finally, I give in.

“You really want to know what’s bothering me?” I say.

“We really do,” says Sophie.

“He’s only been gone for five days and I’m fully mental. What happens a month from now when he’s gone for good? And what happens a month after that when this shop closes? What am I going to do? Where am I going to go? I can’t just sit in my room and cry all the time.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing, sweetie?” asks Sophie. “Have you been crying in your room at night?”

“Maybe,” I grudgingly admit. “But I’m serious. What should I do? I can’t figure it out.”

I look at them and wait for answers. I can see that Nicole is carefully considering her words before responding, “I don’t know.”

I wait for more, but she doesn’t say anything else. “‘I don’t know’? That’s your answer?”

“That’s the truth,” she says. “I don’t know what you should do. But I do know that whatever it is, you’re going to do it with me. You’ll be with me at school and wherever it is that we decide to hang out once this place is gone, and we’ll figure it out together.”

“It’s awful,” Sophie adds. “Ben’s great and he’s totally into you. You’re such a cute couple, so we get that it’s not fair. But don’t forget that you were already awesome before he came into your life. And you’ll still be awesome after he goes back home. Maybe even more so because he’s opened up parts of you that we’ve never seen.”

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that pre-Ben Izzy would never have entered the King of the Beach,” says Nicole. “She should’ve, but she wouldn’t have. Ben gave you confidence. He made it so you believe in yourself.”

This is something that I had not thought of. “You might be right about that.”

“Of course we are,” says Sophie. “We’re your best friends. We know things about you that you don’t even know about you.”

“Is that so?” I ask, amused.

“Yes, it is,” she says. “Like for instance, right now I know that you’ve still only told us part of what’s bothering you. We already knew that you missed him and were unsure about the future. This is not that kind of moping. This goes deeper. What else is it?”

Somehow the vibe has gone from interrogation room to confessional. They really are great friends, and I know that I can tell them anything. Still, I have to take a couple of deep breaths before I can say it.

“I love him.”

They raise their eyebrows at this announcement, but neither says anything, so I continue.

“It’s not a crush. I don’t just like him. I am
in love
with him. And I know that I have no experience and don’t know what I’m talking about. But I also know what I know. I love him and I can’t even tell him.”

“Why not?” asks Nicole.

“He broke up with his last girlfriend because she was in love with him and he didn’t feel the same way in return. He said he didn’t think it was fair to her. I can’t take that chance. It’s bad enough that I’m going to lose him at the end of the month.”

It’s amazing how relieved I am to have that off my chest. I can’t tell Ben, but I can tell the two of them. Saying it out loud makes it seem real and not just something floating around in my mind.

“If you really feel that way, then I think you should tell him,” Sophie says. “You should at least give him the chance to say it back to you. But that’s for you to decide, not us. That’s well beyond the powers of whoever controls the register.”

“Does that mean you’re ruling in my favor?” I ask.

“You’re guilty of shutting out your best friends. There’s no doubt about that. But I’m going to let you off with a warning and a reminder that we’re your biggest fans. All we ever want to do is make things better.”

“Okay, I know that. I won’t forget.” I’m relieved to have shared my secret and relieved that she’s not going to make me do something stupid. “I also appreciate the fact that you resisted your recent trend of overstepping your bounds when you’re on the register.”

“I’m not done yet,” she says.

I shake my head and turn to Nicole. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“This court also finds you guilty of another crime, and I’m afraid it’s one that cannot simply be ignored.”

“And what is that?” I ask.

“Failure to dance to ‘The Rockafeller Skank.’”

This makes me laugh for the first time all week. “Please tell me it’s another warning.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she says. “We are going to stay here until we see . . . the Albatross. And don’t just go through the motions. We want to see it performed with the passion and pageantry it deserves.”

The Albatross is a goofy, over-the-top dance we came up with one night when we were doing inventory. It involves strutting around while holding your arms fully extended like wings. It’s exactly the type of thing that you do when you’re being silly with your friends, yet under no circumstance would you do anywhere else.

Sophie presses play and the music starts blaring again.

They just stand there with their arms crossed, looking at me expectantly.

“No way,” I say. “You can stare at me all you want,” I continue. “Because I am not going to do this.”

They turn the music up even louder.

That’s it. I can fight it no longer.

At first I just tease it a little and bounce my knees, then I bust out a big smile and the arms extend as I start the strut. They clap and holler, and pretty soon the three of us are grooving. It’s fun and a great emotional release. I get so into it that I even close my eyes, which is dangerous when performing the Albatross.

We’re startled out of our little moment when the music shuts off abruptly. We look to the counter and see Mo standing by the sound system. I’d totally forgotten that she was working in the garage.

“Sorry to interrupt your party,” she says, clearly enjoying the moment, “but I need you guys to come out to the garage.”

We follow her outside and are surprised to see that Mickey is there too. Today was her day off, which means she must have come in through the back door while we were busy.

“What’s up?” asks Sophie.

“The King of the Beach is coming up,” says Mickey, “and we thought we should have a team meeting.”

Even though there can be as many as eight competitors on a team, so far the Surf Sisters squad is just the five of us. None of the other girls at the shop really surf much, and despite my attempts to secretly recruit during my practice sessions at the pier, so far I have struck out.

“That’s a good idea,” I say. “You want to go over practice schedules?”

“Actually, we thought we might start off by giving you guys some M&M’s.”

“None for me,” answers Nicole. “I try to eat just a few, but then I start craving more, and before you know it I’ve polished off an entire family-sized bag. It’s not pretty.”

The sisters share a look and chuckle.

“We’re not talking about the candy,” says Mickey.

It takes a moment, but I’m the first one to figure it out. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” I say as I begin to tremble with excitement. “Do you mean . . . ?”

Mo looks at me and nods. “We figure it’s the least we can do. We may not have the best team at the contest, but you can bet we’re going to have the best-looking boards.”

Now I notice that there are three gift-wrapped surfboards lined up against the back wall. They’re giving us hand-shaped, custom made Mickey and Mo—M & M—surfboards. (This is me hyperventilating.)

“Those M&Ms?” Sophie says, pointing at them and practically crying. “You mean those M&M’s?”

The sisters laugh even more, tickled by our excitement. “Consider them your bonus for years of hard work and dedication.”

Nicole’s the last one to catch on, but when she does, her reaction may be best of all. She doesn’t say a word. She just squeals as she runs over to them, her long arms flailing in excitement.

“We wanted you to have them for the contest,” Mickey says. “But we figured you’d need some time to break them in.”

“Go ahead,” says Mo. “Open them up.”

We tackle the wrapping paper like human paper shredders and unveil three gorgeous and gleaming surfboards. Each one has an original design and color scheme. Sophie’s is cosmic seventies psychedelic, perfect for her retro tastes, while Nicole’s has a pattern that looks like a stylized sea turtle’s shell, no doubt because she’s our most ardent environmentalist. They’re both beautiful, but mine . . . mine is the prettiest of them all.

“I absolutely love it,” I say. “It’s breathtaking.”

My board has a swirl of colors that radiate from the center like the fingers of a hurricane. The colors look like little tiles in a mosaic and alternate between shades of green, blue, and brown. The phrase “The Eye of the Storm” is written in the center.

“I’m particularly pleased with how that one turned out,” says Mickey. “I took a couple of pictures for our portfolio.”

I look up at her and shake my head in awe. “It’s a work of art, Mickey. How’d you come up with the design?”

“I didn’t,” she says with a smirk. “It was your boyfriend.”

“Ben? Did this?”

“He actually wanted to buy you a custom board,” Mo starts to explain. “He asked if we could work out a payment plan because he said he wouldn’t have enough money until the end of the summer, but that he really wanted you to have it in time for the contest. He said he even knew what he wanted the design on the board to be.”

I look over at Sophie and Nicole, and they smile warmly at the thought of Ben doing this.

“We told him that we had already planned on giving you boards for the contest,” adds Mickey. “But we were curious to see his design.”