So my first day of vacation didn’t go exactly as planned. Or anything like I’d planned, really. The whole summer-sister thing I’d been dreaming about burst like a bubble and fizzled away somehow. (And I couldn’t even talk to Mina or Liza about it on my dead phone!)
I wondered if Juliette had just had a miserable trip or something. Or maybe she’d had some horrible, fabulous teenage boyfriend drama (which she’d hopefully talk to me about later)! Who knew? So I sucked it up and decided to give her some space. We had the whole rest of the summer to talk about boys and hang out, after all.
Or maybe not.
Because as the rest of the summer progressed, things with Juliette didn’t get any better. In fact, here’s how the first week of my “vacation” went:
Somehow, Juliette managed to sleep in every day until noon. I guess she was lucky enough to have a working fan in her room. Mine was so noisy and wobbly, I was afraid it would fly off and chop me to bits while I was sleeping. So I kept it off, and silently roasted to medium rare every night.
One night, we did at least go play miniature golf (or “putt-putt,” as everyone else liked to call it). And at first I thought, Hooray! A chance to hang out with Juliette for eighteen holes. But wouldn’t you know it, Juliette decided to stay home. I had no idea what could have made her want to sit around the steamy hot house alone, and miss out on something so fun. But I figured I’d still have a good time.
I figured wrong.
First of all, we didn’t go to the miniature golf course I wanted to try—the one with the volcano with real fire in the middle. Instead, we went to the one Josh and Brian voted for, with the fifty-foot-tall wooden pirate and the annoying real parrot that squawked constantly. And secondly, I got stuck on Josh and Brian’s team, which meant there was no use keeping track of my score, because they “accidentally” whacked my ball into every waterfall, sand trap, or pool we came across.
Why do people keep score in miniature golf, anyway? It’s just a game, after all. Who cares if it takes twelve strokes to get through a treasure chest? Or sixteen to get around a bubbling pit with a sign reading DANGER! QUICK SAND! Seriously.
In the end, I was actually glad to get home.
The beach was no picnic either, with both Josh and Brian around. I can handle one Josh, no problem. But multiply him and it starts to get iffy. I had to be on constant alert. Let down my guard for one minute, and the next thing I knew there’d be one twerp pinning my arms behind my back while another dumped a bucketful of seaweed in my hair. (Or worse.)
This beach wasn’t like the Jersey shore beaches I was used to either. Not only was there no boardwalk, no cheesy gift shops, no Skee-Ball huts, and no stands serving hot, greasy fries and giant cones of frozen custard—there was no nothing. Not even a guy walking around selling Popsicles from a cooler. Nothing but sand and water, and adults who had no business prancing around in bathing suits, and packs of kids in soggy swim diapers. Fun? Nope.
I couldn’t even lie on a towel by myself and read Appointment with Death or retake a Tiger Beat quiz. Because as soon as I did, Emery would appear, ready to dig a hole with her little “paws.” Or Kiki would swoop in, begging to bury me in the sand. Eventually, I would take off my boots and my new Zombie Girl T-shirt, and I’d dive into the water in last year’s old tankini. (Unfortunately, the one my mom had ordered for me this year had a big sea horse on it and was way too babyish for a twelve-year-old to wear.) Diving was the only way to go into the water, as far as I was concerned. No tiptoeing in up to your waist and going, “Ooh! It’s cold!” But I never stayed in for very long. The waves were kind of boring, and I didn’t have a float to use.
Plus, Josh and Brian would almost always swim up and pretend to be sharks.
The only mildly redeemable thing about the whole beach scene was the lifeguards. Especially the one with a thick, white, braided rope bracelet and wavy, sun-streaked brown hair. How did he compare to Jeremy Ryan?
All I can say is, Jeremy who?
I actually first noticed the lifeguard when he whistled at my brother to move his skimboard after Josh knocked down an old lady. The lifeguard stand was right near our beach house, and this was not Josh’s first whistle. It probably wasn’t even the first from this lifeguard, but I knew for sure it was the first in front of me. I would have remembered him.
He stood up and motioned broadly for Josh and Brian to move down the shore. “No skimboards inside the flags!” he shouted. “I’ve told you guys before!”
Of course, Josh and Brian acted like they didn’t hear him. Then they laughed, and Josh did his usual “Who, me?” shrug as the guard whistled again.
“Yes, you!” The lifeguard nodded. “Now, move it!” he called.
My hero! I thought.
I ducked my head to make it clear—hopefully—that I didn’t know them. But I couldn’t help looking back up at the lifeguard after a minute.
I wondered what color his eyes were beneath those dark sunglasses.
And I wondered where he learned to twirl his whistle around his finger so fast.
But I didn’t have time to wonder much more before Kiki came running over.
“There you are! Can I bury you now? Please?” she asked.
I sighed. “Okay. But just one more time. That’s all.”
As it turns out, there is no such thing as doing something “just one more time” with a five-year-old. Nope. Not possible.
After Kiki buried me and I climbed out, she cried, “That was too easy! Let me do it again. Please?”
“Sorry,” I told her, shrugging. “Remember? We had a deal.”
Then her chin got all trembly.
“Oh, all right,” I said. I probably couldn’t get any more sandy than I already was, anyway. “But this time, how about you make me a mermaid tail?”
“How do you do that?” she asked.
“I’ll show you,” I said. I dug out a pit for Kiki to sit in, and covered up her legs with sand. Then I carved out a perfect fish tail, complete with layered shell scales, in the sand over them. (It’s a little thing that Mina taught me when we were kids.)
“Cool!” Kiki cried, her eyes lighting up. “I look like a mermaid!”
I grinned. “Yes, you do! Now I’m going to read my book for a little while.”
But before I could even sit down, I heard another little voice crying, “Oh, do me, too!” I turned to find not one, but about a dozen four-, five-, and six-year-olds flocking around me like greedy seagulls, begging for a turn.
It was not how I wanted to spend the next hour. But what choice did I have?
I had a pretty nice school of merfolk in the end, I had to admit.
Of course, there’s this thing my mom sometimes says: “No good deed goes unpunished.” And I never really got it before…but the beach taught me exactly what it meant: Look out when you do something nice, because it can totally come back to haunt you.
Take me, for example. If I had just blown off Kiki and her little friends that afternoon, it’s very likely that I could have spent the whole rest of the summer in peace. But no, I entertained them. And what did I get? I got stuck being trailed by not just Kiki and Emery, but a whole crowd of rug rats every day after that! I couldn’t lie out and get some sun, or go in the water, or even walk out of the house without something small and sandy jumping on me and holding on like a barnacle. That made it even harder to try to talk to Juliette…when she finally woke up and came outside in the afternoons.
“You know what I think, Samantha?” said Karen one night, when we were all out on the porch eating dinner. (Did you know you could grill pizza? And if you very carefully picked off all the mushrooms and eggplant, it really wasn’t that bad.)
“What?” I asked.
“Chicken butt!” yelled Josh from across the porch.
“Good one!” Brian said, belching.
“I think you’d make a mighty fine kids’ yoga instructor,” Karen told me. “You have such a way with them.”
My mom squeezed my shoulder. “Doesn’t she, though?”
I’d rather eat my weight in mushrooms, I thought.
Juliette’s mom, Jackie, turned to her. “Why don’t you get up a little earlier tomorrow and do some yoga with us, Juliette?” she said.
“It’s a great way to…take your mind off things, darlin’,” Karen added sweetly.
I looked over at Juliette. “It’s really not that bad,” I said, shrugging.
Juliette sighed and shook her head. “I like to sleep,” was all she said.
I guessed that was just what it was like to be sixteen: Sleep half the day; talk on the phone for the rest. I only wished I could sleep more. Then the days might go much faster. But no such luck.
I tried a bunch of times in those first few weeks to sneak away from the little kids and find Juliette at the beach. I brought my iPod, some magazines, and of course my phone. (Yeah, it still had no charge, but you’d be surprised how satisfying a one-way conversation can be when you’re trying to drive away a group of five-year-olds.) I tried to make small talk, which I’m usually good at…but with Juliette, it wasn’t so easy.
“Check out that cloud,” I said one afternoon. It was a particularly good day for cloud-spotting, which, if you ask me, is one of the best nothing-else-to-do things to do. “It looks just like a horse on a surfboard drinking a Slurpee, don’t you think?”
Juliette raised her chin and scanned the sky behind her big sunglasses. “I don’t see it,” she said.
“Right there.” I lay back and pointed straight up. I mean, it couldn’t have been more obvious if I’d outlined it myself.
“Sorry.” She shrugged.
“Oh, well.” I didn’t even ask her about the rabbit with a beard that I saw, too. It was changing into a duck-octopus thing by then, anyway.
Another time, I asked her if she wanted to read my Tiger Beat. I’d already pulled out the posters and hung them in my room at the Drift Inn. “There’s a really good quiz this month,” I said, “about which Jonas is right for you. Mine’s Nick, of course! Though the first time I took the quiz, it was Kevin. But I must have done something wrong, because as far as I can tell, we don’t have anything in common at all.”
Juliette just shook her head. “No thanks,” she replied.
I guessed she’d already read it. “So which Jonas do you like?” I asked. It was a pretty safe question, since everyone I knew liked at least one.
“Mmm, I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not really into them anymore.”
“Not even Joe?” I said, stunned.
She just shook her head. I couldn’t believe it!
“So what music do you listen to?” I asked her. She listed all these bands I’d never heard of. (Though I was dying to listen to them after that!) So that conversation unfortunately ended pretty fast.
Finally, one afternoon I got up the courage to ask Juliette the big question I’d been dying to ask.
“So…do you have a boyfriend?” I said.
I was sure this would be the icebreaker! She’d spill her guts, and I’d learn all about her fabulous teenage life, and we’d bond just like sisters—again. But all Juliette did was shake her head.
“Me neither,” I said, trying not to sound too disappointed. “But I probably would if we’d stayed home this summer. There’s this one boy—his name’s Jeremy Ryan—and he’s so cute.” I pointed to the lifeguard with the rope bracelet and goldtipped brown hair, sitting in the lifeguard chair. “Almost that cute,” I said. “He’s really good at twirling that whistle, don’t you think?”
Juliette glanced up at the lifeguard. “He’s not bad,” she replied.
Not bad? Hmm. I could see why Juliette didn’t have a boyfriend, if her standards were that high.
“Anyway,” I went on, “I didn’t even know I liked Jeremy Ryan until the last day of school when he wrote in my yearbook, ‘Have a great summer. See ya around.’ And I was like, yeah, I will see you around! But now that we’re spending the whole summer in North Carolina, Jeremy Ryan’s going to be seeing Olivia Miner around instead of me. And I don’t even have his number to text him. Not that I could text him, anyway, since I don’t have the charger for my phone. I can’t text my best friends either, which is torture. You’re so lucky to be able to use your phone,” I told her, pausing to take a breath.
“I’m not that lucky,” she said quietly. “But…” She looked at me with a slightly puzzled face. “…I thought you were just talking on your phone a little while ago?”
Whoops.
“Uh…” (Yes, I did feel like an idiot because, yes, I kind of was.) “Well…yeah…I mean, no…”
All I can say is thank goodness for Frisbees—specifically the big, hard orange one that came whizzing into the back of my head right then.
“Ouch!” I cried.
Of course, I knew it was my brother’s. I didn’t even have to check.
“Excuse me,” I told Juliette. Then I picked up the Frisbee, ran to the water, and flung it out over the ocean as far as I could.
I wiped my hands in satisfaction. Two birds killed with one stone: awkward phone subject changed, and annoying Frisbee gotten rid of! The only thing was, when I got back to my towel, Juliette was lying on her stomach with her eyes tightly closed.
Operation Bond with Juliette part five—or six, or seven; I’d lost count—was another no-go.
Plus, Kiki and her friends had tracked me down, and soon I found myself building custommade sand castles for the rest of the afternoon…or at least until the seagull pooped, no kidding, right on my head.
At the end of a week, though, I couldn’t help it; I went to my mom to complain. I plopped down next to her beach chair, which was in its usual spot—close enough to the surf that the waves kept her feet cool, but not so close that her hair (horror of horrors!) would get wet. Karen and Jay had just gone into the ocean with Kiki and Emery, while Jackie had gone up to the house to see if Juliette was awake and ready for lunch.
“Mom,” I said simply, “I am so bored. There’s nothing to do here. We have to go home. There’s no way I’m making it through a whole two months of this.”
“But we’ve only been here a week,” said my mom, flipping back the wide brim of her sun hat.
I nodded. “Exactly,” I said. “And all I can think about are the weeks, and days, and hours, and seconds ahead.”
“But Sam, I don’t understand. You have a whole beach to play on.”
“Play?” I rolled my eyes. “Mom, I’m twelve years old. I don’t play. Or have you forgotten, like you keep forgetting to call me ‘Samantha’?” I raised my eyebrows and gave her a look.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I do keep forgetting.” She smiled. “But if you’re so bored, why not make some friends? You’re always so good at doing that.”
I gazed around. “Make what friends? There isn’t a single kid my age here.” I’d looked! I scanned the beach every day to try to find kids my age to hang out with. But there was absolutely no one over the age of ten or under the age of thirty. Except for Juliette—and, well, that wasn’t working out at all like I’d planned.
“Well, don’t give up. Keep trying,” my mom said, rubbing my shoulder. “And in the meantime, how about we do something together?”
“Like what?” I asked. I liked the idea, but I tried not to look too cheered up until I heard what she had in mind.
“Didn’t you want to get something for Liza and Mina? We could go shopping.”
I smiled. Perfect! “Yeah.” I shrugged. “That sounds pretty good.”
I definitely did need to get something to send to Mina and Liza. After all, I’d been there a whole week already. It wasn’t like me to wait so long!
Plus, I suddenly had another idea.
I thought of Juliette in her perfect bikini, with her stack of Glamour and Elle magazines; her iPod nano clipped to her perky ponytail; her fingernails and toenails, all painted a glossy ocean blue. Then I thought of myself running around in my Goth outfits, or worse, my green-flowered tankini; my worn, Magic-Markered fingernails; and the same old magazines I’d been reading since I was nine years old.
Of course Juliette didn’t want to have anything to do with me!
A shopping trip was definitely in order.