Between Us and the Moon (8 page)

Nancy motions to the kitchen help for our plates to be cleared away. “It’s cloudy tonight,” she says. “How are you going to track a comet in these conditions? What else are you going to do?”

“Dad, how could you make that decision for me?” My voice shakes.

“We thought it might be nice,” he says. I hate that he actually believes that. Does he know me
at all?

“I hate large groups.” I will not cry in front of Nancy and make her case even stronger.

“You need new experiences,” Nancy insists.

“Give the dance a try, Beanie,” Mom says, taking a bite of carrots. I finally succumb to my sister for help. She isn’t smirking like I thought she would be.

She presses her lips together and looks back and forth between Nancy, Mom, and Dad.

“Tell them how lame school dances are,” I beg. I haven’t ever been to a dance on the Cape, but if it is anything like the dances at Summerhill, I can only imagine. I went to last year’s Snowflake Formal with Tucker and we spent the whole time making fun of everyone. “Please?” I say with my teeth clenched.

“They are kinda lame,” Scarlett concedes, and I could hug her and her white, bunny teeth.

“See? Even Scarlett thinks they suck!”

“And everyone who goes is really young,” she adds.

“See?!” I accidentally gesture wildly and my palm smacks the table. The silver and glassware shake. “Oops,” I mumble.

Nancy’s lips pucker tight.

My knee jumps up and down. I stop it by pressing down on my kneecap.

“We thought it would be fun,” Mom says, and Nancy breathes heavily through her nose. “You don’t need to get so upset. Don’t go if you don’t want to.”

Thank the heavens.

“What about wearing white to my party, Nancy? All white?” Scarlett suggests, and I know she’s changing the subject for me.

Nancy takes a second to reply but can’t help herself. “We can’t have red wine if everyone wears white.”

I cannot believe they were going to force me to go to that dance. They think I’m still a little kid. That they can just make decisions for me and I won’t even argue.

You should call me sometime, Star Girl.

Andrew didn’t think I was a kid.

After dessert, I leave Mom and Nancy in the living room to talk about dress codes and canapés. Dad is working at the kitchen table, and Scarlett was gone before dessert was cleared. I didn’t get to say thank you. I reach in my pocket and slide out my cell phone. Andrew’s phone number shines in the darkened stairwell.

I think you should call me.

My cell phone sits in the palm of my hand. With Andrew, it was easy to be like Scarlett. Too easy, actually. I was independent; I was cool.

I make it up to my bedroom, shut the door, and lock it behind me. I sit in the window seat and peer down onto Shore Road.

The only lights on the street outside Seaside Stomachache are from Nancy’s porch and a couple of street lamps.

Downstairs it’s Discovery Channel reruns, party talk, and questions about the Waterman Scholarship. Scarlett is out in town somewhere, having a great time. I wish I were with her, or Ettie, or even the girls trying on sunglasses from the Seahorse the other night.

I wonder what Tucker is doing and grip the cell phone tightly.

I am not going to spend my summer in my bedroom alone while Tucker makes out with Becky Winthrop all over Rhode Island.

Scarlett is living the life she wants. I want to live the life I want. In the spirit of the Scarlett Experiment, I am calling Andrew. It’s what Scarlett would do—it’s what she would do to have a life outside the walls of this house.

I dial Andrew’s number.

Eek! It rings. Once . . . twice. Oh God. Maybe I should hang up?

“Hello?” a voice says through the receiver. There is music and chatter in the background.

“H-hi.” I stand up from the window seat. Somehow, I need to be standing for this conversation. A chaos of voices and music
echoes through the cell phone. “This is Sarah.” I have to raise my voice for him to hear me but try to keep the sound from traveling by turning my back to my bedroom door. “From today? At the beach?”

“Star Girl,” he says. His voice is happy, like he’s smiling. “What took you so long?”

“So long? We met this afternoon,” I say. I note the panic in my voice and clear my throat to cover it up.

He laughs. “I know. I hate all the rules. You should just call someone when you want to call someone.”

Rules? What rules? There are rules for calling people? Why didn’t I research this? Damn teen dances. My impulsivity clouded my judgment.

“It’s loud where you are,” I say and expect to hear Nancy’s screech throughout the house any second.

“I’m at a bonfire out on Nauset Light. If you’d called earlier I would have invited you. You need four-wheel drive to get out here. Do you have access to an SUV or anything?”

“No, it’s um, actually hard to get a car right now. I’m at the mercy of the family this summer,” I think up quickly.
Be Scarlett.
“Guess you’ll have to pick me up for our date.” Wow, that was forward. I hold my breath.

Party chatter echoes in the background for a second.

“Definitely,” he says, and I like that there’s a lightness in his voice.

I must have been walking in circles because the inertia of my body pulls at me when I stop. I’m smiling big now, and when I glance through the skylight, I’m right underneath the Big
Dipper. I stand here, with facial muscle exhaustion from talking to a boy who is not Tucker. My cheeks hurt.

“When are you free?” he asks.

I nudge my toe into the carpet. “Oh you know, whenever.”

“How about Friday night—” There is a crash of something glass in the background and Andrew’s laughter echoes out of the phone again. “Wow,” he says, “my friends are idiots. Remind me not to introduce you.” He laughs again and says, “You can show me these famous stars of yours.”

“Great!” I say, rocking on the balls of my feet a little. “We can actually go to Nauset Light. It’s the equinox and Jupiter is really bright and—”

He laughs again and it reminds me of a teddy bear, a
big
teddy bear laughing at me through the line.

“Wow,” he says. “You
are
smart. Hey, I have to go, Star Girl. Where should I pick you up?”

Damn. Friday is my birthday. I know we’re not officially celebrating until Saturday, but I’m sure we’re doing
something.
There’s no way I’m going to reschedule with Andrew. I’ll make it work.

The thought of Andrew coming to the door makes my stomach clench. Mom would insist on saying hello and Dad, too, with his Einstein hair. Oh
God
, and Nancy would want to talk to him just so she can see me interact with someone of the opposite sex. Then, to add insult to injury, someone would call me “Beanie.” He would know I’m not eighteen in two seconds.

Even worse? Scarlett would answer the door and Andrew would know we were sisters. He would probably like her better than me.

“I’ll be in town so why don’t you pick me up in front of the Bird’s Nest?” I finally say and add as a joke, “You know, for old time’s sake? How about seven thirty?”

“See you there,” he says. “Oh yeah, and be hungry.”

When I hang up the phone there is a tingling in my chest. Like the moment before the results of an experiment, when all of the elements coalesce.
Coalesceeee.
Scarlett would say that word sounds epic. . . . She
always
knows what to say.

The secret of my date makes me giddy. I nearly jump down the stairs.

In the living room, Mom and Dad watch the end of a Red Sox game. Dad’s hair sticks up from over the lounger in zigzag strands. He snores, which is par for the course at the eighth inning. I slip my phone in my pocket and plop down on the couch next to Mom.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you about the dance sooner,” she says, putting her hand on my back. “Nancy was insisting that you would have a
great
time.”

“It’s no big deal,” I say. “Thanks for letting me stay home.” I tuck my feet under the blanket with Mom. I lean my head on her shoulder and fall asleep just like that.

Warm. Comfortable. Happy.

THE NEXT DAY, DAD DRIVES US TO FALMOUTH
. The
Alvin
is finally at WHOI, so I jumped at the opportunity to go to work with Dad. As we drive, we pass by the ferry that takes tourists to Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. We pass my favorite restaurant, Allen’s, and of course the best coffee shop in Falmouth, Coffee Craze. The brownies there are the
best
.

Once we get past the tourist area, a string of familiar stone buildings flank both sides of the street. Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution looks the same every single year no matter how much time passes. Just the thought of all that marine life, the tanks of fish, and enormous deep-sea vessels sends a rush of familiar excitement washing over me.

We park in front of Building 40, our usual WHOI home. I grab some of the remaining boxes that Dad still needs to bring upstairs to his office. Once we get inside, I set them down in the foyer.

At the end of the long hallway are the double doors to the tech shop.

“Can I?” I say.

Dad rolls his eyes with a smile. His hair sticks out from underneath his WHOI hat and he nods as he puts down his boxes too.

I could map out this place with my eyes closed. We walk together down the long hall and into the tech shop, which is actually so big it’s more like an airplane hanger. Inside are hundreds of tools hanging on the walls and the satisfying smell of oil and gasoline. Welders’ masks hang on pegs in a long row. Below them are crates of gloves, hammers, and batteries of all different sizes.

“Sarah!”

Rodger, my favorite marine biologist, walks from the center of the room to Dad and me. He’s the youngest marine biologist at Woods Hole. Behind him, standing in the glow of a spotlight is the
Alvin
. Rodger steps into my view.

“Is that a beard?” I ask and reach up to touch the scruff.

“It’s to cover my double chin!” he says and hugs me tightly. He’s got a bigger gut than last year, but it looks good on him.

“You’re tall!” he says and slips a WHOI baseball hat out of the pocket of his oversized white lab coat. He plops it on my head.

“Thanks!” I like the hat; it fits well and has WHOI stitched in blue letters on the front.

“So? How’s it going with the comet? You didn’t email me and Nina nearly enough updates.”

“Registration is tomorrow. My
birthday
,” I say. “Then it’s actually official.”

“Tomorrow!? Happy Birthday, spud!” he says with a squeeze to my shoulder. He’s been calling me that since I was nine.

“Congratulations to
you
!” Dad says with a pat to Rodger’s back. “Let’s see some pictures.”

Rodger digs in his pocket for his phone to show us some pictures of his newborn baby.

I am respectful and look at the tiny newborn with the same nose as Rodger, but I can’t help being pulled away by the
Alvin
.

Last year’s upgrade makes it look different, more high-tech. It has five viewports now, when it used to have three. It’s about as wide as a Suburban SUV but much shorter. No matter how many improvements they make to the sub, it always surprises me how enormous it looks, but how small it is inside.

Rodger hands me his clipboard with all of the newest dimensions on the upgraded sub. It’s classified to most people, but I get access.

I run down some of the list and review the new specs:

Titanium Alloy: 6A1-4V Eli.

It’s 4.6 inches wider on the inside than the last version of the
Alvin
.

Still cramped as hell in there
.

I want to see the new specs and changes myself. I want to
climb up the ladder and look inside. I place the clipboard on the floor next to the base of the ladder and turn to Rodger and Dad.

“Can I look inside?” I ask.

“Sure,” Rodger says just as a zoom of a saw revs in the other corner of the shop where some mechanics are working.

“Just off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard?” Rodger yells to Dad over the noise. They’ve moved on to a conversation about Dad’s work. It’s impossible to stop Dad once he gets going about the barnacles he and his team discovered.

As I climb up, a spray of sparks illuminates from the mechanics in the corner of the room. Their saw revs a second time, making Dad and Rodger yell through their conversation again.

I place one palm on the cool titanium and grip the other over the side of the personnel hatch, where the scientists sit when they explore the bottom of the ocean.

I peer inside. Nearly every space of the wall inside the spherical pod is covered in buttons, switches, and levels. I can’t imagine how the pilots know how to work everything. There’s space to sit, though a few tall scientists in that pod could make for a really uncomfortable descent.

I imagine myself in the tiny space, maneuvering the hydraulic arms, taking samples, and recording data. I could make a difference in the world by what I discovered.

“Come on, Bean,” Dad calls. “We can come back later.”

“Okay,” I say and climb back down, but not without one last glance in the pod. As I step onto the shop floor, I hand the clipboard back to Rodger.

“She’s starry-eyed, Gerard. We may have another marine
biologist on our hands,” Rodger says to Dad.

I shrug, but it’s surprising. I didn’t just study the specs or marvel at the engineering of the vessel this time. I’m amazed by the scientific discoveries uncovered by scientists
because
of the
Alvin.

We pick up the boxes in the foyer and head to Dad’s office on the second floor. Last year, I wanted every little spec of the
Alvin
upgrade. I was obsessed with the construction of the titanium alloy and how many ports would be installed. This year, I couldn’t care less about the specs. I almost tell Dad that but don’t.

I almost explain that this year, I want to be the one to go inside and explore.

“Happy Birthday to you . . . Happy Birthday to you . . . Happy Birthday, dear Beanie. Happy Birthday to you!” Scarlett and Mom sing to me at the dinner table Friday evening. Our meal was a small roast and a few cupcakes for dessert. Nancy had to go to a Cape Cod Arts Committee meeting and Dad ended up stuck at WHOI. I split my cupcake with Mom. Scarlett has been out every single night this week, and every single night I wonder if she sees Andrew.

“So, what did you do last night?” I ask when Mom brings our dishes into the kitchen. She refuses to allow the housekeepers to help us every single night.

“Bonfire party on the beach. It was kind of lame in the end,” she says with a delicate scoop of her spoon to the top of her cupcake. She always just eats the frosting.

Lame? I would have given anything to go.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, really punctuating the ease in my voice. “How come?

Scarlett sighs and sips her coffee. She never spills. I always drink too fast and accidentally dribble down whatever I am wearing.

“Because all the tourist girls come and throw themselves at the lifeguards. It’s pathetic. And because the tourists are
so
loud, the cops find out and we have to break the party up. If it hadn’t been for Andrew, some of us could have gotten into trouble.” I perk up at Andrew’s name.

“What could you get in trouble for?” I ask.

“For underage drinking. Hello, most of us aren’t twenty-one. And none of the desperate tourists are either.”

“Aren’t we considered tourists? We only come to Nancy’s house in the summer.”

“We have a history here. And I come out way more than just the summers. We know the locals. Or I do, anyway. The tourists don’t know about the good spots so they latch on to us for the fun parties.”

Us.

I don’t have an “us” except for Ettie and the Pi Naries.

My suggestion to go to touristy Nauset Light seems so stupid now. I should have let Andrew pick the spot. Mom comes back in but brings her coffee to the couch, flipping through a
Projo
, as she usually does every single evening.

The rules that Andrew mentioned gnaw at me. I haven’t had a chance to research because Mom has been job searching.

“So,” I say slowly and concoct a believable story. “Ettie asked me how long she should wait to call a boy if he gives you his number.”
Act casual
.

“Ha, a boy gave
Ettie
his number?” Scarlett scoffs and stands up.

Scarlett considers me. “Forget it,” I say.

“You always make a boy wait two days. At least. Or he’ll think you’re desperate.” She brings her plate to the sink. “I need to get ready for tonight,” she says.

“I want to know exactly where you’ll be, Scarlett,” Mom calls.

Once Scarlett is gone, I slap my hand to my forehead.

Andrew must think I’m completely desperate.

What took you so long?
he had said. I slap my forehead again.

Two days? I had waited eight hours to call.