The Forget-Me-Not Summer (15 page)

“D
on't tell me—you want a red ice pop,” Ashley said as soon as she saw Zinnie sidle up to the snack bar.

“Yes,” Zinnie said. “I'd love one.”

“Do I know my customers, or what?” Ashley said. She handed Zinnie an ice pop and then fluffed her bangs in the reflection of the snack bar window. “Where's your sister? The one with her nose in the air?”

“At the yacht club,” Zinnie said.

“Figures,” Ashley said. “Don't you have a little sister, too?”

“Yep,” Zinnie said.

“You've got sisters coming out of your ears,” Ashley said.
Sistahs comin' out of yah ee-yahs
. Zinnie loved how people talked around here.

Zinnie slurped her ice pop and studied Ashley, wondering what the best way would be to make her say yes to being in the talent show.

“You're lookin' at me weird,” Ashley said.

“I have something to ask you,” Zinnie said. “It's sort of a strange question.”

“It's not the facts of life, is it?” Ashley asked.

“No.” Zinnie laughed.

“Good, 'cause I was about to say, talk to your mother about that. I just sell ice pops.” Ashley wiped down the counter and shook her head.

Zinnie laughed again. “No, no. It's just my sisters and I are trying to put on a talent show, and I remembered what a nice singing voice you have.”

Ashley blushed. “Are you serious? You remembered?”

“Yes. I think you have a great voice. And I think you should enter the talent show,” Zinnie said.

“Okay,” Ashley said as she wiped down the counter. Well, that was easy. Zinnie whipped out her notebook and wrote Ashley's name.

“What song are you going to sing?” Zinnie asked.

“‘Ave Maria,'” Ashley answered, as if she'd been waiting for someone to ask her this question all day.

“What's that?” Zinnie asked.

“Seriously? You don't know ‘Ave Maria'?” Ashley asked as she unpacked a box of soda cans and put them in the refrigerator. “It's like the most famous
song in the world. It's so beautiful it will make you cry like a baby. You should see my nana when she hears the song. Waterworks. You hear it a lot at Christmas.”

“My dad's Jewish,” Zinnie said. “And my mom isn't anything, so we don't go to church.”

“Guess that would explain it,” Ashley said.

“Yep,” Zinnie said, and looked out at the beach. There were probably twenty kids in her line of vision alone. Was she supposed to just go up to all of them and ask if they wanted to be in the show? She suddenly felt a little shy.

“Uh-oh, you're quiet,” Ashley said. “And you're nevah quiet. What's wrong?”

“I need to get a lot of people to sign up, and I don't know how I'm going to do it,” Zinnie confessed.

“Is there a prize if you win?” Ashley asked.

Zinnie frowned. She hadn't thought of that.

“You gotta have a prize,” Ashley said.

“I have a hundred dollars of allowance money saved up,” Zinnie said.

“Perfect,” Ashley said. Before Zinnie could protest, she picked up a bullhorn from behind the snack bar. When Ashley turned it on, it screeched for a second. “Listen up, everybody,” Ashley said into the microphone. The lifeguards turned around. Kids who were building sand castles paused and looked up. Teenagers stopped texting and waited for Ashley to speak. “There's going to be a talent show at the casino in two
weeks. A wicked-awesome talent show! Maybe you'll be discovered and be a star. You'll never know unless you try. First prize is a hundred bucks cash. Come to the snack bar and sign up. Quick, quick before all the spots are taken! Don't miss the opportunity of a lifetime!”

“Hey, you're good at that,” Zinnie said.

“My dad owns Peretti Toyota out on Route Six. I watch him do his commercials,” Ashley said.

Soon there was a bunch of kids surrounding Zinnie. Kara and Tara, twins from Boston, wanted to do a gymnastics routine. Derek, a boy from Ashley's class, wanted to do a comedy act, and his younger brother, Cody, wanted to do his animal impressions. McKenzie, a girl Zinnie's age, was going to do magic tricks.

As Zinnie wrote down everyone's name, Ashley started practicing her scales from behind the snack bar. Zinnie was excited that the talent show was becoming real, but she also couldn't help feeling a sharp pang as she envisioned giving away her life's savings, which were tucked neatly inside a pink envelope. She'd written her name on it in her best, most careful calligraphy.

“I
t's what they call a Cape Cod catboat,” Peter said as he rowed them toward the little sailboat. “But you probably knew that already. My dad and I fixed it up last year. We haven't thought of a name, though.”

“Cool,” Marigold said, and she gulped. Marigold wasn't sure why they had to take a rowboat, which Peter called a dinghy, to get to another boat. Why not keep the sailboat tied to the dock so he could just walk right to it? As she looked around the harbor, she noticed that there were a lot of sailboats floating out there, tied to what looked like big volleyballs, some of them white, some of them colored, some of them with a stripe. She guessed there wasn't enough room at the docks for all the boats, but what exactly were these volleyball thingies and how did they keep the boats from drifting away? She was afraid to ask Peter any
questions that might reveal her ignorance. She didn't want to let on that she knew almost nothing about boats or sailing. In fact, with each stroke of the oars that brought them closer to the little sailboat, she was regretting this bet more.

“Hop aboard while I tie the dinghy to the mooring,” Peter said as he rowed them right next to a small sailboat.
Okay, so those volleyball things are called moorings
, she thought, as Peter pulled an oar inside the dinghy and held the boats together with his arm. Marigold stepped out of the rowboat and into the sailboat.
Whoa
, she thought as the sailboat rocked. She caught her balance and took a deep breath, suddenly a bit nauseous. She thought it would be best if she just sat down. In fact, she needed to sit down. There were no seats or anything, so she plopped right down on the floor of the boat. She could feel some water seep into her yellow dress, and she wondered what she had gotten herself into. From far away the small sailboat had looked like a toy that anyone could sail, but up close it was a real thing—a real thing that she was supposed to get from one place to another!

Peter hopped aboard and looked at Marigold. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.
Don't freak out,
she thought.
Don't let him know that you're scared.
She was determined to win this bet, but it wasn't going to be as easy as she'd hoped.

He smiled. “I'll get you started.” He lifted a piece of wood from the middle of the boat and lowered it on the back of the boat, and then he put another piece of wood down the middle. He untied a few ropes, halyards he called them, and pulled on them so that the sail rose up. It flapped in the breeze.

“Time to cast off,” he said.

“Okay,” Marigold said, but she didn't move. Her first problem was that she had no idea what “cast off” meant. Her second problem was her stomach, which felt like it was turning over. She wasn't sure if she was seasick or just dreading telling Peter that she had no idea how to sail. Nothing from Girl Scouts was coming back to her. It was just a freak thing that she had remembered that one stupid knot!

“All right. You take the tiller, and I'll cast off,” he said. He pointed a long, smooth piece of wood at her, and she took it in her hand.
The tiller
, she thought. Like magic, something did come back to her. She remembered that this was what steered the boat. She also remembered that the boat would go the opposite way of whatever direction she pulled it. She felt a cool breeze on her face, and the gripping in her stomach loosened.
I can do this,
she thought.

“We're free,” Peter said, and the boat started to drift backward. “Grab the sheet.”

“Huh?” she asked.

He sat down next to her and handed her a rope.
This rope is called a sheet,
she thought, and mentally added “sheet” to her rapidly growing sailing vocabulary. Holding the tiller steady, she took the sheet in her hand and felt the wind push the sail over to one the side of the boat.

“Trim it,” Peter said, making a jerking motion with his hand. She instinctively pulled the sheet toward her, and the sail tightened. “Not too much. There you go.”

Marigold smiled. It was like he was speaking a foreign language, but one that she could almost make out. This boat was moving, and she was doing it. The sun was on her face, the wind was in her hair, and she was sailing.

Peter leaned in close. “Okay. You're headed right for the beach. You're going to have to tack.”

“Tack?” Marigold asked.

“Just aim for the buoy,” he said, pointing to the metal thing bobbing up and down in the water, “and trim the sail.” She used the tiller to aim the boat, and it turned a little. She felt a kick of happiness. “That's it,” Peter said. “Now aim for that rock.” He pointed to a bunch of rocks with a flock of seagulls on them. A gust blew and filled the sail like a wing. Marigold pressed her feet to the boat and leaned back, holding the sheet. The boat tilted on its side so high that some water spilled into the boat. She screamed with delight. They were flying! She was going to make it to the buoy!

“Leave it to port,” Peter said.

“Speak English!” Marigold said.

“To your left,” Peter said, gesturing for her to aim to the right of the buoy.

“Whatever you say,” she said, laughing. They sailed for several minutes with only smiles, no words, passing between them. When the little boat passed the buoy, Marigold whooped.
“Whoo-hoo!”

“So I won the bet,” she said, trying to hide the question in her voice, because she certainly couldn't have done it without Peter's help.

“I think we both won,” Peter said. “Want to take a tour?”

“Yes!” she said, feeling as bright as the high white sun above them. Her skin was tingling from the salt wind, and all around her the water was sparkling.

“Then it's time for a flying jibe,” he said. “Duck!” He took the tiller and the sheet from Marigold. “Jibe ho!” he called, pulling the tiller toward him and letting the sail out. “Watch out for the boom!” he said. Marigold ducked down even more as the beam of wood that held the bottom part of the sail flew clear across the boat to the other side. Water sprayed Peter and Marigold as they scurried to the other side of the boat.

“Now I can really show you Pruet,” Peter said, beaming. He brought them in close along the shore of a small private beach. He took her under a bridge where the air was cool and their voices echoed. He pointed out Martha's Vineyard and some closer, smaller
islands. He even showed her one where there used to be a leper colony. When they returned to the harbor, he made sure to sail by what he told her was his favorite boat. It had a green sail cover, a thin stripe on its side, a star painted on the front, and a crescent moon at the back. It had never occurred to Marigold to have a favorite boat.

By the time they tied up the sailboat to the mooring and rowed back to the dock, Marigold was already fifteen minutes late to meet Zinnie at Edith's Ice Cream Shop. “I gotta go,” Marigold said. Then she remembered the point of this whole excursion. “So I guess you're going to be in the talent show,” she said.

“If you wear my hat to the dance,” he said.

She had no time to think this over. Zinnie was going to be mad at her for being late.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “See you later.” It wasn't until she had run halfway up the dock that she started to wonder: If she wore his hat, did that make her his date?