No ice cream. No movie. No skateboard.
Another cabinet door slammed, rattling the dishes inside, and Caroline figured Gram understood what maybe meant too.
Caroline went back to digging into her bag, pulling out an extra bathing suit and shorts. The cabin’s screen door squeaked open and closed this time without a bang. Her heart beat a little faster. Someone was sneaking out and she knew who.
She dropped the clothes onto the bed, raced out of her room, passed Gram in the kitchen, and bolted outside. Her mother waved as she hopped in the car and pulled away from the cabin. Gravel and dust kicked up from the tires of the old Chevy as she headed down the dirt road.
Caroline swiped her eyes. Crybaby, she scolded herself. At twelve years old, she should no longer need hugs and kisses good-bye from her mother.
And yet she still wanted them.
* * *
Gram opened the screen door. “Are you hungry for lunch?”
Caroline shook her head. “I’m going to see who’s around.” She dragged her feet, and puffs of dirt covered her sneakers. No matter how many times Gram planted seeds, only sparse patches of grass grew under the shade of the old maple trees.
Most of the cabins in the colony had yards. Very few were able to get grass to grow.
Caroline grabbed her bike from the ground. It was considered a boy’s bike, with the bar going across the frame rather than scooping down like a girl’s would. She had asked the man who had sold her father the bike what the difference was other than the obvious disparity with the bar. He had said the design of the scooped frame dated back to when girls wore skirts and dresses rather than pants. Otherwise, there was no difference in the performance or the ride. She wasn’t about to wear a skirt or a dress, so the boy’s bike it was.
She coasted down the dirt hill and crossed onto Lake Road, the main thoroughfare connecting the colony to the lake, and stopped in front of the Pavilion, a big wooden building that served as the hub of the lake community. Nervous excited energy buzzed just below her skin, the kind of energy that bubbles to the surface with the prospect of things to come. The Pavilion was the unofficial meeting place, where her friends gathered, where they hung around the snack stand, bathing suits dripping wet, eating hotdogs and French fries while the jukebox played songs that were older than their parents. She checked her pockets, finding the quarters she always carried when she was there to play the retro pinball machines and arcade games, hoping for a shot at the highest score of the summer.
The lake spread out on both sides behind the Pavilion. The water shimmered and baked in the hot sun. Ducks milled around looking for handouts of crackers and stale bread. Caroline took a deep breath and smelled the faint scent of fish mixed with the earthiness of algae, a distinct smell she associated with summertime.
She dropped her bike on the side of the Pavilion next to her friend Megan’s, a pink girl’s bike, the same bike she had had since they were nine years old. Johnny and a bunch of his friends were sitting on the steps outside the large double doors. He had his arm slung around a girl’s shoulder, and a cigarette dangled from his fingers. The girl’s breasts spilled out of her tank top, and although Caroline tried not to stare, she did anyway. She couldn’t help it. The girl had large breasts, and Caroline knew it was the girl’s chest her brother was after. She felt a little sick and a little sorry for the girl. Sometimes her brother was a real jerk.
“What are you looking at?” Johnny asked.
“Nothing much,” she said, and approached the steps. She started up on nervous legs, taking her time not to trip or bump into Johnny or his friends. Two girls leaned away as she stepped toward them. She reached for the railing to steady herself, feeling self-conscious, like a little kid, the way she felt whenever she walked by Johnny’s best friend, Chris. He was one of the few locals who lived at the lake all year long. Something about his slightly dirty hair and his wide smile made him look as though he was up to no good. The thought gave her a sort of thrill that made her all the more uncomfortable. He was wearing swim trunks, his T-shirt draped over his leg. His skin was bronze and his stomach cut. His one eye was two different colors, half green and half brown, the other solid brown. She couldn’t explain how, but his two-toned eye made him that much cuter. Once, she had overheard Mrs. Nester at the Country Store tell a customer his eye made him look as though he were off-kilter, and maybe that attributed to his reckless behavior.
“Something ain’t right in there,” she had said, and pointed to her head.
Caroline didn’t believe this to be true. If anyone bothered to ask her, she would say there wasn’t a thing wrong with him. He was perfect.
Chris grabbed her ankle as she passed. He flashed a playful smile and stared at her with his captivating eye.
“Don’t let the snappers get you,” he said.
Her brother laughed and flicked his cigarette butt over her shoulder. For a split second she thought about telling her brother to screw off. Two summers ago he nearly had his toe chomped off by a snapper and he about cried. Do you remember that, tough guy? But of course, she wasn’t going to get into a sibling battle in front of his friends, in front of Chris, a battle she was sure to lose.
Chris released her ankle and her skin seemed to melt where his hand had been. She hurried up the rest of the steps and raced inside. The building was dark without the bright sunlight, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.
“Caroline!” Megan called, waving her arms wildly. “Get over here.”
Megan was standing in front of the old jukebox, and as soon as Caroline was within reach, Megan threw her arms around her and proceeded to jump up and down, jiggling them both. She let Megan twirl her in circles, feeling totally ridiculous and unaccustomed to so much silly exuberance.
When Megan finally released her, she gave Caroline the once-over. She returned the favor and noticed Megan’s heavy blue eye shadow, pink shiny lips, and the two new bumps under her T-shirt. As if the pink bike wasn’t enough, Megan had gone all girly on her in the last year.
Megan started talking fast, in a rush to catch up on everything she had missed since their last text messages, which turned out not to be much, even when you considered how short and few the texts tended to be. Mostly, Megan babbled about some boy, Ryan, she was crushing on. Caroline told her about playing softball, her struggling grades, and how she was glad summer was finally here.
“I hope there are some cute boys this summer,” Megan said. “Maybe someone new. You do want a boyfriend, don’t you?”
“No,” Caroline said much louder than she had intended.
Megan shrugged. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do.”
“What for?”
“Duh.” Megan rolled her blue-lidded eyes and turned toward the jukebox. “I don’t want to be the only one starting seventh grade who hasn’t been kissed.” She turned back toward Caroline. “And I mean properly kissed, tongue and all.”
Caroline must’ve made a face as though she had tasted something awful, because Megan’s eyes opened wide and she said, “It’s not gross.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s not.” Megan looked back at the old jukebox. The outside world had moved on in terms of technology, but the lake and its community refused to succumb to any pressure to change. It was the sense of familiarity, of sameness, that Caroline found comforting year after year. She wished she could say the same about her friend.
They were both silent. The air between them felt awkward and strange. She didn’t want to think about the things Megan talked about, about kissing boys, but her mind jumped to Chris anyway. Her ankle tingled where his hand had touched her, the skin still warm. She bent down and swiped the feeling away, pretending she had an itch. She cleared her throat. She wanted to say something to make the queerness in her stomach and the weirdness between her and Megan go away.