Chapter 8

A LIAR AND A THIEF

The next day, when I arrive at Seaside, Brandy and Tressa are heading to Sundae School, a fancy ice cream place. They ask me to go, so I find Grammy and ask if I can have some money.

“That place is too rich for my blood,” she says, never taking her eyes off the sink she is scrubbing. “You can get some out of our freezer for a fraction of the cost.”

“Please?”

She sighs. “There’s a five-dollar bill in my wallet. Although you know it won’t get you much there.”

“Thanks, Grammy,” I say, taking the money and running to find Brandy and Tressa. Hoping they haven’t left already.

Tressa stares at my feet. “Shoes?” she asks.

“I’m good without.”

Brandy laughs. “Delsie doesn’t believe in shoes.”

“Great. Like Tarzan. Good for you,” Tressa mumbles. “My cousin doesn’t wear shoes, either. She’s a year old.”

Brandy seems to be thinking about Tressa’s comment. So I give her a gentle shove. “Remember how I got you to give up shoes last summer? You bounced around the hot pavement like a ball in a pinball machine.”

“Yeah, because I’m normal,” Brandy says.

“Why would anyone wear shoes on the Cape? It’s like wearing a wet suit in the bathtub.”

“Yeah, Delsie.” Tressa laughs. “It’s just like that.”

I sigh.

When we finally get there, I swing open the door. I love the ice cream here, but my favorite part of the place is the player piano. For a quarter it will play all by itself.

“Excuse me, miss.” The shop’s manager has spotted me. “You’ll have to wait outside for your friends.”

I was hoping to get away with it, as the manager is usually busy. Today is unlucky.

“Oh,” I mumble.

Tressa is already in line, and Brandy rushes over. “What are you doing? C’mon,” she says, darting her eyes between me and Tressa.

“I can’t come in because I don’t have shoes. So . . . so, I guess I’ll wait outside.” I hand her the five-dollar bill. “Get me a small sweet cream with a boatload of jimmies. Chocolate.”

She half smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

I head back outside and watch them through the window, and I see exactly what I’m afraid to see. Brandy. Laughing like she’s with the best, most interesting friend in the world. She used to look at me that way.

I stare at my dirty feet. Then back up at my reflection. I don’t like what I see and wish I could go to a hairdresser instead of having Grammy cut my hair over the kitchen sink.

Then in the reflection I see something I don’t expect—Ronan, the boy from the beach. He is still wearing black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, although the sleeves are pushed up past his elbows. He is drinking a milkshake and doesn’t seem to bother breathing as he does.

I turn around. “Hey.”

I hear the noise of a straw sucking more air than milkshake. He turns, lifts the cup into the air, and lobs it into the garbage can. Finally he turns to me. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. Just talking.”

“Well, you don’t need to talk to me,” he tells me. “Why does everyone on Cape Cod talk to strangers?”

Locals call it “the Cape.” Cape Cod is only for the tourists’ T-shirts. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, Detective. I’m not.” He looks up at me. “Has anyone ever told you and your friends that you remind them of great hammerhead sharks?”

This is obviously not a compliment.

“They only swim in shallow waters.” He laughs as he leaves.

A familiar voice calls my name. I turn, and Aimee and Michael are coming across the parking lot.

Aimee gives me a quick hug. “You here alone?”

“No, I’m with Brandy and another girl.”

“Brandy? Cool. Does another girl have an actual name or is she supremely unlucky?”

“Her name is Tressa. But it’s me who’s supremely unlucky.” I motion toward the door. “They’re inside.”

“Ha!” Michael says. “They wouldn’t let you in because of the feet, right?”

“Still haven’t joined civilization, huh?” Aimee smiles.

“Civilization is overrated, I think.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “Why should you have to wear shoes? People’s hands are probably worse. Not like everyone has to wear gloves.”

I shrug and hope we still aren’t discussing my dirty bare feet when Tressa comes back out.

“So how come you’re not rehearsing?” I ask.

“Well, we have time off once in a while. We looked for you at Seaside. Your grammy told us you were here.”

“Hey, guys,” Brandy says, rushing over when she sees them. “I hear you’re big stars this summer.”

Brandy gives them both a hug. Tressa stands behind her, looking Michael and Aimee over.

“Well, I don’t know about stardom,” Aimee says.

“Not yet,” I say, and she smiles.

Brandy hands me my ice cream.

“Oh!” Aimee says. “Can I please?”

I nod, and she scoops some with her finger. Tressa looks like she’s been stuck with a pin.

Someone yells, and I turn to see the manager arguing with Ronan. He’s standing on the running board of the shop’s antique ice cream truck with the giant sign that says DO NOT TOUCH.

“I’ve told you before to stay off of that truck,” the man shouts. “I won’t tell you again.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

The man’s eyebrows knit together as he steps toward the boy.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ronan says. He gets down and backs away. “I’m going.”

Tressa scoffs. “What’s his problem, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Brandy says. “He lives at Seaside Heaven with his father, the new fix-it guy. He doesn’t talk much.”

I’m just about to tell them he spoke to me when I remember what he said. I look over at Tressa, thinking of hammerhead sharks.

“Well.” Tressa sits up straighter. “I think someone ought to tell him it’s summer and that maybe he should change his clothes.”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Because we can tell everything about him from his clothes.”

Tressa shoots him a look. He obviously doesn’t care, and I envy him.

“I feel sorry for him,” Brandy says.

“Why?” Tressa darts back. “He is not a nice person.”

“How do you know?” Aimee asks.

Tressa looks at her like she’s a fool.

I have to admit I’m not sure that he’s all that nice, but the little voice tells me to keep quiet about him.

“Hello?” Tressa begins. “Did you just see him? I heard he’s always in trouble and he stole stuff from a room when his father went in to fix something. And he’s a liar, too, because he said he didn’t do it.”

I want to ask how she’s so sure, but I have a feeling that telling Tressa she may be wrong about something is like poking a bear with a fork.

So, as she reports on all of the things she’s “heard,” I stare at him. Ronan is now leaning against a fence in the parking lot with his fists tucked underneath his armpits. I notice the way he pushes his chin forward like he’s ready for a fight . . . while his face is so sad.

Tressa continues. “I don’t know. You should complain, Brandy. You have to live with him at Seaside. Who knows what he’ll do?”

Brandy doesn’t say much. In fact, she doesn’t say anything at all, which isn’t like the Brandy I’ve always known.

Michael turns to Aimee. “We should get going.”

She nods, I hug them both, and they head across the parking lot.

“Let’s go back to the beach,” Brandy says, and I nod.

As we leave, I keep my eyes on the boy in black, who is possibly both a liar and a thief.