44 · Lucy
The day after Guthrie’s party, I can’t move. My body has rejected the horrible things I put inside it, and I deserve every bit of the nausea and achiness and throbbing headache. I don’t remember how I got home, but it must have been Guthrie or Eddie—they were the only sober ones.
I guess Daniel will be disappointed, because I really messed this up.
“Was it worth it?” Dad asks as I walk past him. He’s sitting in the recliner watching the Twins game. “You smell awful. And you don’t look so good, either.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“I hope you’re getting this whole rebellious teenager thing out of your system.”
I would roll my eyes if I thought I could do it without throwing up. I stretch out on the sofa, and when the spinning stops, say, “You were the one who wanted me to make new friends and do stuff.”
“What stuff did you do? Shots of tequila?”
That’s possible. I’m not even sure.
He sighs. “So let me get this straight. You beg Daniel to talk us into letting you go to this party, which he does, and this is how you repay us? By getting wasted?”
I cringe. “I wouldn’t say I begged, exactly.”
“I don’t even think we need to punish you for this,” Dad says and waves his hand in my direction. “I’m pretty sure you’re feeling enough punishment right now.”
He’s got that right.
“I take it you’re not going to the parade, then?” he asks.
Oh, the parade. Watermelon Days. I’ve never missed a Watermelon Days parade.
The last thing I need today, though, is the too-bright sunshine, the loud marching bands.
“I’m still grounded, remember?”
He doesn’t answer. The game is back on, and I watch it, too, like I used to do when I was a kid. We’d get a pocket-size schedule at the gas station every April and mark the games we wanted to watch. Clay would fish with us, but he hated baseball. Watching the Twins was something special I did with my dad, just the two of us.
“Look,” Dad says after the inning ends, “I talked to Mom and we think that maybe we’ve been too hard on you. We know this is a tough time for you, Lucy, and maybe we shouldn’t have kept you away from your friends. So we’re going to reduce your sentence.”
“Really?” I cry. The sound of my own voice rattles inside my head. This is so backward. He should be adding to my sentence, not eliminating it. But I’ll take it. “I’d hug you, but I don’t think I should move.”
“Don’t screw this up again, Lucy. You’ve done some really stupid things. Knock it off, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
At a commercial break, Dad gets up and goes into the kitchen. He comes back a few minutes later with an ice pack, two small orange pills, a cup of coffee, and a banana.
“This should help,” he says.
My phone buzzes as I swallow the painkillers—Hannah.
Holy shit what got into u last night?
Ha. Too much booze, that’s what.
U know Ben beat Simon to a pulp right n then dumped Dana? Shits getn real babe.
My stomach drops, and I really am going to be sick. I didn’t imagine it, Ben and Simon fighting.
Wait. Ben broke up with Dana?
I’m so tired, so confused, I can’t think about it. Everything is so complicated.
Another buzz: Luuuuuuceeeee r u there?
I text back: Funny story, Dad eased up on me. I’m not grounded anymore.
In seconds: I’m picking u up and we r going to that parade.
Forty-five minutes later, Hannah knocks on the door and lets herself in. I haven’t moved.
“Holy hell, Lucy, it’s stifling in here. And it stinks. Oh, hi, Mr. Meadows.” She grabs my arm, hauls me up, and pushes me toward the stairs. “You, my friend, need a shower.”
I stand under the hot spray and let myself cry—everything that I do remember about last night rushes through my mind. Shots, karaoke, the beach. The replay stops there.
After I’m dressed, I grab my sunglasses from the top of my dresser. The treasure chest is there, Ben’s agate nestled among the stones. I open the lid and roll it between my finger and thumb. I’ve missed the slight weight of it, the only solid, unbreakable thing in my life for so long. I slip it back into my pocket.
Hannah drives us into town to watch the parade in front of the Full Loon, which soft-opened Thursday night. We have to park a few blocks up the hill, and I’m glad that we’re walking on the side of the street opposite Ben’s house. Jane and Tom and Ben sit in lawn chairs at the edge of their yard. My heart pounds. There is an empty chair next to Ben.
Is it for Trixie? She loved Watermelon Days, especially the parade.
I’m socked with a memory. Watermelon Days, three years ago. Trixie and I were thirteen, the first year our parents let us go to the carnival on our own. The sun disappeared behind the trees; we had fistfuls of tickets for rides and games and mini-donuts. The night stretched before us, all twinkling, spinning lights and excitement.
“This is going to be a night we’ll never forget,” Trixie said, and squeezed my arm.
And she was right, but the night was memorable for a reason other than carnival rides and cotton candy. Trixie ditched me after a ride on the Ferris wheel.
“I need to use the satellite,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes passed and I walked over to the portable toilets to find her. There was a short line, but Trixie wasn’t in it. I waited and watched as every door opened but she never emerged. I was certain that I’d missed her, that we’d passed each other and she’d be waiting back at the Ferris wheel.
She wasn’t there.
I felt sick from the greasy food, the rides, the realization that Trixie had left me. She’d never done anything like that before. I sat on a bench and tried hard not to cry. But the tears fell anyway. I swiped at them but not fast enough when Clayton, Guthrie, and Ben found me.
Ben dropped down on the bench next to me. “What’s up? Where’s Trix?”
I shrugged. I was afraid to speak, afraid my words might break into sobs.
“Didn’t we see her on the Fire Ball with that kid from metal shop, Kyle something?” Clayton asked. “Did she ditch you?”
I shrugged again. My best friend sneaked off to be with a boy. An older boy. Three years older, if he was in a class with Clayton. Why would she do that to me? It was so unlike her. We looked forward to the Watermelon Days carnival every year. We’d been talking about it for weeks, how excited we were that we could go off on our own now. I felt young and childish and left behind.
“No, it’s nothing,” I said to Clayton, but my voice wavered.
“It’s not nothing,” Ben said in a low voice, and he put his arm around me.
My heart soared in spite of the ache of Trixie’s betrayal.
“You want me to call Dad to come get you?” Clayton asked.
Before I could answer, Ben stood and pulled me up, too, by my elbow. “Nah, she’s not going home. She’s coming with us. Why waste all those tickets?”
He winked at me, and I let myself believe it was about more than the tickets.
I spent the rest of the night with them. Ben shared his deep-fried pickles and rode the spinning strawberries with me even though Clayton called me a baby. And when we finally met up with Trixie and Kyle from metal shop, holding hands in the line for the Zipper, I wasn’t even mad anymore.
“Lulu,” Trixie squealed on the walk home, “can you believe it? I ran into Kyle, and he asked me to ride the Fire Ball with him. I mean, how could I say no to that? You understand, right? And besides, you got to spend the night with Ben!”
I haven’t thought of that night for a long time, how Trixie had left me, and Ben was there to pick up the pieces.
Hannah picks up the pieces now.
“Feel better?” she asks after we settle in, and she reaches her arm around me to hug me.
I nod. “Thanks.”
“Babe, the best thing to do for a hangover is to keep moving.”
“Where’s Guthrie? Didn’t you want to watch the parade with him?”
“He asked me, but I told him no, my girl needs me. We’ll meet up at the carnival later.”
“Tell me what happened last night.”
She laughs. “Which part? The part where Ben pounded Simon or the part where Dana found you with your head on Ben’s lap?”
My head on Ben’s lap? A thought swims through my muddled brain, of Ben’s fingers in my hair, but I don’t know if it’s memory or imagination.
“I guess I don’t want to know after all,” I murmur.
“Have you heard from him?”
“Ben?”
“Or Simon?”
I shake my head.
“Hon,” she says. “You need to tell Simon it’s over. I mean, he knows about you and Ben, right?”
“I would guess that the events of last evening probably erased any doubts he had about me and Ben, yes.”
“Look, when the Renters showed up, I thought, Perfect, this is exactly what she needs, a cute guy to get her mind off the jackass. And Simon’s so sweet to you, for a little while I thought it might actually work.”
“Yeah,” I said, “me, too. But Ben’s everywhere I go, you know? I mean, look, I can’t even watch a parade without him being right across the street.”
“He’s not right across the street, Luce. He’s down the block. And it’s not like you can avoid him in this town.”
“I can try, can’t I?”
“Let Simon down easy, okay?” Hannah says. “He’s a nice guy, but you have to end it with him. Because, darlin’, Ben is more than just across the street. He’s in your heart.”