I am the victim of a global conspiracy.
I know that sounds overly dramatic—like one of those Everwood episodes where Ephram and Amy break up, get back together, and break up again all before the first commercial—but it’s the only explanation I can think of.
For seventeen years my life has been just like those shows on the History Channel that my dad is always forcing me to sit through. (He loves to say, “Watch with me, Janey. It’s like The Real World, only real.”) Except unlike The D-Day Conspiracy or The Pearl Harbor Conspiracy, which only seem like they last forever, The Jane Conspiracy is endless.
Apparently, everyone on the freaking planet has plotted to make sure that I am never anywhere in the vicinity of being cool and that under no circumstance do I ever meet a boy.
I’ve got to hand it to them: Their record is spotless—so far.
But things are going to change. This summer is going to be different. I was inspired by an unlikely source: my big sister, Kendra. She’s a junior at Florida State, and last month she came home for a three-day weekend to get her laundry done, sponge money off my parents, and hook up with her ex-boyfriend Erik. (Or, as she told Mom and Dad, “Because I missed you all so much.”)
Somehow in the middle of all that manipulating, she actually found time to give me some good advice. (That’s once in seventeen years, but she means well.)
“Make the most of this summer,” she told me. “It should be the best three months of your life.”
We were having a girls’ day at the time. Mom had given us some money and the keys to her car, and told us to go have fun. (Mom is always trying to bring us closer together.) As we drove to the mall, Kendra explained the crucial nature of the summer before senior year.
“You’re almost old enough to be an adult, but you don’t have any adult responsibilities,” she reasoned. “The summer after graduation will be all about getting ready for college. So this is the summer to really have fun!”
Normally, Kendra’s idea of advice is something she read on an Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt. So this was a big deal. For a second I even thought we were going to bond. But then she dumped me at the mall so she could go “bond” with Erik.
Still, it was a nice moment.
I kept thinking about it as I bought a jewel belt at the Gap. And I thought about it some more when I got some jeans on sale at Hollister. (I got all of the money in exchange for keeping quiet about Erik.)
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I had to make the most of this summer. I decided that it would mark the end of the conspiracy.
That night I was watching Behind the Music on VH1. The show was about this old alt-rock group called the B-52’s. They were hilarious with huge beehive hairdos and retro thrift store clothes. They sang this great song called “The Summer of Love.” I instantly decided’that it would become my new theme.
Now it’s six weeks later and my plan is coming together. (I’m also wearing the jeans, which I love.) Today is the last day of school and I drove to campus in a brand-new, oh-so-adorable Cabriolet. Okay, technically it’s nine years old, but it’s brand-new to me.
Having a car changes everything. No more begging for rides. No more getting stuck at lame parties with no way home. And no more waiting in the mall parking lot while Kendra’s off somewhere macking with Erik.
I am now 100 percent mobile Jane.
Of course, the car comes with a catch. I have to pay for half of it. The deal my parents gave, me is that I give them the money—$1,250—by the end of summer. To do this, I have arranged for not one but two summer jobs.
For the third straight year, I’ll be giving swimming lessons at the Y. Usually, I give group lessons, but now I’m going to do one-on-one. One-on-one’s kind of tricky. The pay’s better, but you can get stuck with a nightmare kid. For a car, though, it’s totally worth the risk.
When I’m done at the pool, I will hop into my Cabrio—how I love to say that—and drive to job number two at Tragic Waters. (That’s what the locals call Magic Waters.)
Magic Waters is a lame amusement/ theme park that was a big deal back in the fifties. People actually used to come all the way to Florida just to see it. My heart aches for how starved for entertainment they must have been. To modern eyes, it’s just a collection of dinky rides and mind-numbing shows like the Mermaid Spectacular.
The mermaid show is what made Magic Waters famous. Twice a day, tourists watch six girls wearing clamshell bikini tops and body fins perform underwater to music. It sounds pathetic (who am I kidding, it is pathetic), but it’s got a kind of tacky kitsch appeal. There’s also a huge upside for the mermaids—boys.
For thirty minutes after the show, the ’maids swim around the fake lagoon and pose for pictures. That’s where the boys come in. Tons of them. By the early afternoon, most guys have decided that talking with a mer-chick in a bikini is a lot more fun than waiting in line to ride the Sea Serpent for the fourteenth time.
Here’s the amazing part. This summer, I’m going to be one of the mer-chicks. (This and a car, it’s like I’m moving from the History Channel to the WB.) Most ’maids are picked because they have C cups and perfect skin. I was picked for a different reason. I can swim circles around the other girls. In fact, that’s literally what I do during the show’s finale.
I’m the best swimmer at Ruby Beach High. Good enough that I’m hoping to snag a scholarship or at least make a top college swim team. The mermaid show needs at least one great swimmer for the tricky moves.
This year, it’s me.
It doesn’t matter if the other girls have better skin or bigger boobs. I’ll be one of only six mermaids surrounded by dozens of boys on a daily basis. Not even a global conspiracy can overcome those odds.
I can’t help but smile as a now familiar song plays in my head. It’s the B-52’s and they’re singing away.