“You didn’t have to,” she says. “I see him dropping you off almost every day. He’s usually late. You are never late. And you let yourself be late . . . for Elliot.”
“That’s not about Elliot,” I protest. “That’s because stuff is weird with my parents. The more time I spend with them, the more I might have to talk about . . . you know.”
“Well, maybe it would be a good idea for you to talk about You Know,” Ava says.
I wave my hand dismissively. “No. And no to Elliot, too. I like Will,” I say. “I really do. Will is charming and fun to look at, and he makes me feel like a spotlight is shining on me whenever we’re together. Like I’m the most interesting person in the world, and so is he, but he finds me more interesting than him.”
“That’s a little hard to follow, but I think I get it.” Ava nods.
“I don’t have feelings for Elliot; we just know each other really well. He understands a part of me other people don’t. He knows how to call me out.”
“That’s because there’s real history there,” Ava says.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s love,” I say.
“And it doesn’t have to be!” Ava cries, throwing her hands in the air. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You have no idea where either of these relationships is headed. Do you remember Jake Schwartz?”
I lie back, covering my eyes with one hand. “How could I forget? He’s the only guy who has ever dumped you, by my recollection.”
“And I will forever loathe him for messing up my perfect record,” Ava mutters. “But do you remember when I first met him at summer camp? He seemed perfect! It was a romance for the ages. And then I went to visit him in Cincinnati. Do you remember what happened? Do you remember the lizards?” She is leaning over me now, an intense look on her face.
“Yeah, that sucked. I’m sorry.” I stare up at her, sliding my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.
“He had a bedroom full of lizards!” Ava exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. “Wall to wall! He had neglected to tell me, in all our deep, emotional connection”—she rolls her eyes—“that his true life passion was reptiles.”
I nod my head, keeping my mouth tightly shut so I don’t laugh. Because that would really set her off.
“My point is, if you’d asked me that summer what would happen with me and Jacob, I would’ve said he was the man of my dreams! We never fought once. We had everything in common. We were crazy about each other. But sometimes life has other plans. Sometimes people take time to reveal themselves to you. Who knows, you could go to Will’s house tonight and he could have a bedroom full of lizards.”
“I doubt it,” I say.
“But you don’t know,” she says back, and I can’t argue with that.
I stare at the horizon line for a moment. “The thing that’s killing me is that sometimes I think I can feel her in my head. I’ve begun to doubt my own thoughts, because I’m worried Lucy Keating is writing them.”
“Okay, well, say this is true,” Ava ponders aloud. “I get it; she’s like God. But she’s not everywhere. Where’s the one place a writer never writes about? Where nothing interesting usually happens?” Ava breaks into a slow smile.
“I don’t know,” I say in bewilderment.
Ava is now in full-out grin mode. “The bathroom,” she says.
“Gross!” I yell.
“Gross or not, it’s your only way out. If you’re feeling a little nuts, go sit in the bathroom until your head clears. Now, let’s get out of here; we need to figure out what we’re wearing to this party.” She grabs her tote bag and the blanket and starts walking toward the Boardwalk.
“Hey, Ava?” I say as we walk back along the Boardwalk, passing tattoo parlors and vendors who are packing up their art for the day, and all the things that make this beach so crazy—like the guy who walks around in a Star Wars stormtrooper uniform. “You’re so much more than a sidekick to me.”
“I know,” she says, turning around and wrapping an arm around my waist.
“But you are a killer emotional support pony,” I say quietly, and she gives me a playful shove.
When I get home from the beach, Mathilda Forsythe is standing on my lawn, watching The House like she is waiting for it to answer a question. I look at her, and she looks back, providing no explanation.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Just then my mom walks outside, wearing worn-in jeans and a linen sweater. “Oh, honey, you’re back earlier than I expected.” She hesitates, but puts on a bright smile. “Mathilda is interested in buying The House.”
I feel instantly nauseous. This is all wrong. This house can’t belong to Mathilda, with her limited conversation and her black ensembles. This has to go to a family. With a brother and sister, and a small dog with an attitude problem. I think fast.
“Did you tell her that the heat only works half the time?” I say, placing my hands on my hips.
“Annabelle,” my mother says. “Cut it out. Mathilda knows it all. She wrote about the place, after all.” And to Mathilda, she says, “I’m sorry, Annabelle is having a hard time adjusting to the move.”
“Does she know the upstairs toilet spins the wrong way?” I blurt out.
“That’s not even true!” my mother exclaims.
“It could be.” I jut my chin out. “Now you’ll always wonder. Also, the neighbors always park in front of our garage, no matter how many times we tell them not to. And they throw tons of parties that go late into the night. Nobody gets any sleep around here.”
“Well, now you are just making stuff up,” my mom says, the color rising in her cheeks. “Go to your room.”
“Not my room for long,” I announce, and march into The House. I sit on my bed for a minute, my whole body vibrating. I should go for a run, even if it’s about to get dark. I get up and start pulling on my gear.
This is all unfair, and it’s happening too soon. They can’t just tell me they’re separating one week, and sell the whole house the next. Especially not to Mathilda. She doesn’t belong here. I plug my headphones into my ears and jog downstairs, ready to burst through the front door, but decide to detour and give my parents one last piece of my mind.
“You know what?” I announce as I march through the doorway, and then stop. The living room and the kitchen are empty. There is nobody around to even be mad at.
Just then I hear a noise coming from the garage, a few thumps followed by someone yelling, and choose to investigate. Curiously, I make my way through the mudroom. When I push open the door, I find Elliot out there on the drums.
“What is it?” he asks, sweaty, stopping to take a sip of water and stare at me in the doorway. “You look like hell. Did something happen to Diane Sawyer?”
“My mom has someone here to look at The House.” I blurt out, and ignore his joke.
“Gross,” he says. Then, “Come here.”
I make my way over to the drums, and with a serious look, he hands me the sticks.
“What do I do with these?” I say, holding them like they’re on fire.