“I know,” Lucy agreed. “It sucks.” I nodded, secretly impressed and a little jealous. My mother yelled at me whenever I said that word, and Lucy’s mother had as well, until recently. But, as Lucy was always pointing out, divorce meant that you could get away with tons of things that used to be off-limits.
Unfortunately, divorce also meant that Lucy wasn’t going to be here for most of the summer, a fact that I was still having trouble getting my head around. Summers in Lake Phoenix meant Lucy, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do without her. We had even gone before my parents, sitting them down on the screened-in porch one night to make our case: Lucy could just live with us this summer while her parents were in New Jersey, dealing with lawyers and meetings and “mediation,” whatever that was. This way, Lucy would be able to take advantage of the Lake Phoenix fresh air, and not be in her parents’ way. She could share my room—we’d even worked out a system where we’d alternate who would get the real bed, and who would get the trundle bed.
But my parents hadn’t agreed, and now, after only two weeks here, Lucy was leaving. I was supposed to be saying good-bye, and even though I said good-bye to Lucy at the end of every summer, this was different.
“Look,” Lucy said, carefully smoothing her bangs down. I loved Lucy’s bangs and was incredibly jealous of them. But when I’d gotten my own cut the fall before, they hadn’t hung even, straight, and thick, like Lucy’s did. They had been wispy and flyaway, always parting in a cowlick in the center and causing my mother to have to buy me a lot of headbands. My hair had grown out by the time summer came, and I never had to tell Lucy that I’d copied her. “My mom said if she gets the house and things work out, I’ll be able to come up here soon. Maybe even in a month.” She tried to put a positive spin on the last word, but I could hear how hollow it sounded. What was I supposed to do for a month without Lucy?
“Right,” I said, trying to be cheerful too, even though I didn’t mean it at all. “It’ll be great.” I gave her a big, fake smile, but Lucy just stared at me for a moment, and we both started cracking up.
“T,” she said, shaking her head. “You are the worst liar ever.”
“I know,” I said, even though I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever needed or wanted to lie to Lucy.
“But at least you aren’t going to be all alone in New Jersey, like I am,” Lucy said with a dramatic sigh. “I’m going to be so bored.”
“I’m going to be bored too,” I assured her. “Who am I going to hang out with?”
Lucy shrugged, and for some reason didn’t meet my eye when she said, “Your friend Henry, maybe?”
Even though I knew it wasn’t fair to Henry, I groaned in response. “It’s not the same,” I said. “All he wants to do is go into the woods and look at rocks. He’s a huge dork.” This wasn’t exactly true, and I felt bad after I said it, but I was trying to make Lucy feel better.
“Lucy!” Mrs. Marino yelled from the house, and as I turned to look, I could see her standing in the driveway, where the car was packed up and ready to go.
Lucy let out a long sigh, but both of us seemed to realize it was time to leave. We scooped up our Skittles and walked toward the house. In her driveway, we did the hand-slap pattern we spent most of last summer working out (it involved a double spin) and then said good-bye and hugged quickly when Lucy’s mom started complaining about how if they didn’t get started soon, they weren’t going to beat the traffic.
I stood with my bike at the side of Lucy’s driveway and watched the car pull away, Lucy leaning out the window, waving until I couldn’t see her any longer. Then I got on my bike and started to pedal slowly in the direction of home. I didn’t necessarily want to be there—it was hours until dinnertime—but I didn’t know what else to do. It seemed incredibly lame to go to the beach or the pool by myself.
“Hey, Edwards!” I looked over, but I knew it was Henry, skidding to a stop next to me. He’d been going through a phase recently where he was calling everyone by their last names. And even though I knew he wanted me to, I refused to call him “Crosby.”
“Hey, Henry.” I stepped down to the ground and kicked at my pedal, setting it spinning. Henry, on the other hand, kept riding, looping in circles around my bike.
“Where’s Marino?” he asked, as he circled me. I kept having to turn my head to look at him, and I was starting to get dizzy.
“Lucy’s gone for the summer,” I said, feeling the impact of the words. “Most of it, anyway.”
Henry stopped circling me and dropped one bare foot to the ground. “That’s a bummer,” he said. “Sorry to hear that.”