The Summer of Letting Go (20 page)

I sit at my desk and stare at the yellow rose from Mrs. Merrill that I tacked to my bulletin board last night. The edges have started to turn brown.

Covering the rest of the board are a few year-end exam reminders and other school stuff I never got around to taking down, plus an endless array of photos of Lisette and me, stuck up there with pushpins. Some are so old that she smiles beneath two long, blond pigtails tied with pink ribbons, and I sit next to her, my face framed by a hideously short boy haircut that barely reaches over my ears.

There are a few from middle school, and last year, too, near our lockers, and even a few from this summer, the day with Alex and Jared at the beach. In one, our sunburned cheeks are pressed together, the sky blue and bright behind us. I cropped the water out so my mother wouldn't know where we were. In the other, it's turned dark, and our faces are lit eerily by the bright white sparklers that we're holding.

That was right before I made the wish about Bradley.

I look at the red crab claw that sits on the corner of my windowsill. It makes my heart hurt. The thing is, I want to be sorry that I let him kiss me, and part of me really is sorry. But another huge part of me isn't sorry. Because in spite of what happened with Lisette, I wouldn't give up those kisses with Bradley.

I pick up the crab claw and use it to slide my cell phone over, but still no messages from her.

I think about reading through all the old ones from Bradley, but it will only make it harder to do what I have to do. I slip my cell phone in my pocket, throw on sneakers, and head downstairs.

I owe Lisette this. Whatever happens, I owe her a real apology. She needs to hear in person how much she matters to me, even if it's all mixed up with other things.

It's still early, so I walk slowly, trying to make it take as long as possible. But eventually I'm on the hill that's her street, and her house comes into view.

I walk across her lawn and up her front steps and stand for a minute before I can bring myself to ring the bell.

She answers a few seconds later. Pulls the door open and stands in her pajamas, hands on hips, glaring.

I clear my throat. She waits.

She's not going to make this easy for me.

“Hey, Zette,” I manage. My voice shakes. I can barely look at her.

“So, did you want to come in or what?”

“Can I?”

She holds the door open and moves aside.

I follow her inside, and this feeling comes over me like it's been forever since I've been in her house, which, in a way, it kind of has. So much has happened since the last time I was here. For a second, I long to time travel back to when both of us were little and silly and everything felt lighter and easier.

But the truth is, nothing has been easy for me, not since the moment my brother died. And yet, somehow, I do feel lighter now. Somehow, despite everything, some sort of weight has been lifted. Obviously not about Lisette, but the blanket of my brother Simon's death.

“Um, Frankie, did you want something?”

My eyes snap back to her. She looks so hurt and angry. “Could we go to your room?” I ask.

“Sure, I guess, but you'll have to make it fast. I have stuff to do.”

When we reach her bedroom, she shuts the door and sits on her bed. I stand awkwardly, not knowing if I should sit next to her.

“You seriously should have told me, Beans,” she blurts, throwing me off from what little order of explanation I had crafted at home. “You should have told me something happened with you and Bradley instead of fooling around behind my back.”

I start to stammer something about wanting to, or trying to, but it's a lie, so I stop. I didn't come here to lie. I came here to tell her the truth.

“You're right, Lisette. You are. And I'm so very sorry. Because I love you, I swear I do. You are the best friend ever, and I should have found a way to tell you. Or not do it. I think I didn't tell you because even I couldn't believe it.”

She rolls her eyes a little. “Believe what?”

“That anyone like Bradley could truly like me. I mean, could actually know about Simon and what happened and still truly like me. That I could possibly deserve to be liked.” I choke up, no matter how hard I'm trying not to.

“I do,” she says. “I've told you that.”

“I know, Zette, but it doesn't matter how much you tell me if I don't believe it myself.”

“Well, great,” she says. “So I guess you do now. Hooray for that. Really. But it still didn't give you the right to do what you did.”

“I know.”

“That's it? You know?”

“No!” I say. “That's not it. Because I'd never want to hurt you. But I'm confused, too, Zette, because I really like Bradley. I mean really, really like him. And, believe me, I know that shouldn't matter, because you're my friend and that's the only thing that should matter at all. And it is the only thing that matters in my head. Except, somehow, I can't stop feeling the way I do. So I'm having a hard time, even though I know that makes me a terrible person.” Tears spill down my cheeks. “You have every right to hate me, Lisette. I think I would hate me, too.”

She closes her eyes, and I figure I should go. I've said what I came to say. I can't ask her not to be mad at me. I turn to leave, but pause at the bedroom door. “But I hope you don't hate me forever, that you'll find a way not to, one of these days.”

“Beans.”

“Yeah?”

“You're not a terrible person.” She walks over and pulls me back by the arm. “You should have told me, that's all. I would have understood.”

“But I . . .” I stop and stare at her. “What do you mean you would have understood?”

“Beans,” she says, sitting and pulling me down with her, “you're my best friend. You always have been. And you always will be. You should have told me how you were feeling. You shouldn't have lied to me. That way maybe I wouldn't have been so mad. Or maybe I would have been a little mad, but I'm pretty sure I would have tried to understand.”

“But he's your boyfriend.”

“True,” she says thoughtfully. “Or was.”

“What do you mean?”

She holds her finger to her lips and lowers her voice a little. “Okay, so I've been trying to tell you. I don't even like Bradley anymore. Not that way. I mean, he's a great guy and all, and you two should be together. But I'm dating somebody else. I met him at camp. I'm totally crazy for him.” I raise my eyebrows in shock a little. “I could have told you that and spared you all the drama,” she says, “if you would have answered my texts. I was trying to tell you, Beans.”

“You were?” My mind's racing to other places like, does Bradley know? Still, I manage, “So, wow, that's great I guess. Tell me about him. Who?”

“His name's Tyler. Tyler Dittman.” I must make a face because she laughs. “I know, right? But trust me, he's way cuter than he sounds. Anyway, that's why I came to the playground to find you the other day. I was so excited, and I wanted you to be the first to know. But then all that stuff happened. And, anyway, that's beside the point, because, if you must know, I am totally, truly in lust with him.”

“Tyler,” I say. “Dittman.”

“Right. You'll see. Oh, and guess what? Turns out he goes to Longacre. Longacre, Beans! That's only, like, twenty minutes from here. But, still, even if I hadn't met Tyler, I want some credit. Because, believe me, I know everything you've been through, and you deserve to be happy. You deserve something really good to happen. And if that something good is with Bradley, well, you should have known I'd be happy for you. Or at least I'd have tried to be. I mean, there's no one who knows better how hard it's been for you since Simon died.” I look away. It's still difficult to hear this about me. “Not that any of that gives you permission to go around kissing other people's boyfriends.” She pushes me affectionately. “So tell me, how was it?” she says.

I blush. “Like a sparkler. Just like you told me it is.”

“See? Oh, speaking of which, I forgot to give you this.”

“What?” She walks to her dresser and comes back with her hand in a fist. She opens it and drops my half of the pink heart pendant out on the bed. I look at her, tears welling in my eyes. “You sure, Zette?”

She rolls her eyes again, but hugs me. “Yes, Beans, of course I'm sure. You'd better keep it. I mean, seriously, who else but us would wear such a cheesy thing?”

Two days before school starts, it's raining out and I'm lying on my bed.

I fiddle with the pendant around my neck—not my half of the heart pendant from Lisette (that's back in my closet), but a small wooden heart that Mrs. Schyler had Joey make for me. It came in the mail just yesterday.

Dear Francesca,

We're settled here and it's wonderful, but, oh, how Frankie and I miss you! The good news is, we will actually be back for a visit mid-October and do
expect
to see you plenty then!

Meanwhile, a small gift is enclosed. I asked Joey to make this piece especially for you. I love how the heart is imperfect, don't you? And yet, the circles within never break or disconnect.

This one is made from the wood of a yew tree, so it made me think of you completely . . .

With love and gratitude,

Brooke

I hold the heart up to the light from my window so it shines around its pale blond edges. A yellow ring the color of Simon's hair. The inner wood is darker, a pretty pinkish brown with fine bloodred veins that meet at a point in the center.

When I got it, I looked up yew wood on the Internet. The first website I opened said that a yew tree is a sacred tree of rebirth and transformation, and that botanists believe that one single yew tree can give birth to so many new trees that the seed of that first tree may span all of time and history.

I can't say it really surprised me. Think what you will, but I know that Simon is like that tree, and that he and Frankie are connected.
I know in my heart that Simon's soul is living in Frankie Sky. And when I wear my pendant, I swear I can feel Simon near me.

• • •

Dad's off to work and Mom's at the Drowning Foundation. Well, the renamed Simon A. Schnell Foundation for Water Awareness and Safety.

Hey, it's not a huge change, but it's an improvement.

I lie on my bed. On one side of me is Fisher Frog, and on the other side, Bradley J. Stephenson.

Did I forget to mention that? He's been here pretty constantly the past few days.

In other news, today I turn sixteen, which is why the remains of a birthday cupcake sit on my nightstand by my bed. Bradley bought it for me. It's a mess now, half-eaten, but before, it was the coolest cupcake you've ever seen. A red crab covered in fondant, with two fat pincher claws and black-and-white googly eyes.

“The only kind of Christmas Island crab that's edible,” Bradley had said, handing it to me. Now, as he kisses me, his mouth still tastes like cherries, red velvet, and sugar.

Next to the cupcake wrapper are my two sand dollars, and next to those, a framed photograph of Frankie Sky and me together by the pool. Beside that is the small plastic statue of Saint Florian. Mrs. Schyler gave that to me, too, but she promised to get Frankie another one as soon as they were settled.

Yes, they live in Cape Cod now, but they're coming home to visit in October.

I stop kissing Bradley for a minute to glance at the man in the funny hat with the feather and the ivory robes with all the folds.

Not even the ocean can drown our souls.

That's the truth, I think. Not even.

The End.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to: Elise Howard, for loving this story as much as I do, and making it shine;

Jim McCarthy, for his guidance and patience, and for fielding my constant frantic emails;

Emily Parliman, Brunson Hoole, and Kate Hurley (who knows a sand dollar is
not
really a shell), Eileen Lawrence, Emma Boyer, and all the other amazing people at Algonquin Young Readers who worked so hard, and keep working, to make this a beautiful book and share it with the world;

Lori Landau, for her talent that inspires me to look more closely at the world;

Annmarie Kearney-Wood, who has read this book more times than I can count;

Kelly Hager, my tireless cheerleader who promised me the book would sell;

My early, insightful readers: Holden Miller, Lori Landau, AKW, Becky Kyle, Heidi Peach, Jeff Fielder, Paige, Mom, Dad, David, and Solea, who changed her mind and kept reading, making me believe the story held some magic . . . and Amy Fellner Dominy, who always reads with a keen, expert eye;

Paul W. Hankins and members of the Nerdy Book Club, who endlessly honor me by sharing my work;

James King, and all the
Graduates,
for their humor and understanding, and all my Facebook friends who cheer on every excerpt.

And lastly, Frances Foster, who believed in me first, and gave me a chance.

If I've left you out, please know it's because my memory is not as good as it used to be. I am forever grateful for your encouragement and support.