“You did good, babe,” Jean said, squeezing her shoulder.
“I was so nervous. I skipped half my speech.” She held up her shaking hands.
My phone buzzed in my lap. Shay responded to my text with Pooch and Neigh?
I almost spit out my water. “Oh my God. I forgot about Pooch! Remember, you made us all call you Pooch? Is Neigh here?” I whispered to Alice, referring to her best friend, Izzy. A fancy lady in a white hat and otherwise head-to-toe Lilly Pulitzer announced Jean’s Artist Guild Young Creator’s Award.
“Uh, yeah. My friends still call me Pooch,” Alice said. “And no, Izzy’s not here.”
The lady called Jean up and put her arm around him. “How many other young men take it upon themselves to start programs that revolutionize the way children view art?” She called three adorable kids up to give Jean the award honoring the Tiny Art Camp he started.
Jean squatted down for a photo with the kids before jumping up and saying, “Thank you for this award and for recognizing the importance of art in kids’ lives. This is the second summer of the Tiny Art Camp and we have twice as many kids this year. Much appreciated.” He held up his ribbon and fist-bumped the kids.
Next up was Alice, who talked about her efforts photographing shelter dogs to give them a better chance at getting adopted. The bushy-eyebrowed guy from the dog rescue played a slide show of pit bulls dressed in pink bandannas and smiling for the camera.
“I’m available to photograph events for free, but only if you adopt a shelter dog.” People laughed and Alice smiled. “Thanks for this. It means a lot.”
“Badass,” Jean said when Alice came back to the table.
“And now I’d like to introduce a young man who has dedicated countless hours to working with developmentally disabled folks. Gordie Harris, come on up.”
The man talked about Gordie’s volunteer work at the Turtle Trail Recreation Center. Gordie stood on the stage with his hands in his khaki pockets, smiling at the crowd. “Thank you,” he said into the mic. Then effortless, perfect public speaker and debate champion Gordie told a story about the time he took a Turtle Trail group on a camping trip. He got sick and the Turtle Trail people took care of him. The moral of Gordie’s story: He gets more than he gives.
I was shocked to find out old Mr. Upton from the farm stand had nominated me and that he couldn’t be at the luncheon because he had been rushed to the hospital.
A collective gasp filled the room.
Mom and Dad and my grandmothers stared at me as the guy read Mr. Upton’s nomination letter.
“I was there that day at the farm stand. This young lady showed presence of mind. She showed quick reflexes. She showed great courage. As a lifelong Rotarian, it is my honor and privilege to nominate Sadie Sullivan for this most deserved award.”
I made my way to the podium.
Mom dabbed her eyes with a napkin, and I stood still for a moment, not quite sure if the man was finished, or what I was supposed to do.
I so wished somebody had told me I needed to write a speech.
I stared out at the back wall of the country club and uttered the only thing that came to my head. “Thank you so much. And remember, if you see something, say something.”
The crowd applauded. I rushed off the stage to where my tablemates were blatantly laughing at me. Even Val, who seemed to be the sweet one.
“I think you ripped off the New York subway slogan,” Alice said.
I sat back in the chair, shook my head, and covered my face with a red napkin. I felt a twinge of pain as the starched fabric rubbed against my scar.
“I am such a loser,” I moaned into the napkin.
Gordie Harris was laughing so hard tears streamed down his face.
The only thing that would have made my Fourth of July Rotary Club Homegrown Hero Award Luncheon acceptance speech more humiliating was if my skirt had flown up and my ass crack had made another appearance.
The clinking sounds erupted again after the staff served coffee and slices of an enormous patriotic sparkler cake.
“In my defense, I bet the Hamptons Hoodlum wouldn’t have done any better,” I said.
“Yes, but she would have been wearing fabulous shoes,” Alice said.
The Rotary MC came over to congratulate us and ask how we were enjoying the cake. “Such upsetting news about Stewy Upton,” he said. “He was darn proud of you, Sadie. We’re all rooting for him.”
I hoped it was nothing, just a run-of-the-mill old-man ailment. I had just seen Mr. Upton, just watched Sissy buckle him into the passenger seat and drive away in the old Lincoln after they’d bought peaches and snap peas and cucumbers.
“Are you done laughing at me, Gordie?” I said after the Rotary guy left.
“So you guys know each other?” Val said.
“Yeah, Sadie’s in all my classes. But she’s too cool to actually hang out with the lowly juniors.”
“Excuse me.” I held up my hand. “Our entire class is a bunch of assholes. Am I wrong?”
“Oh, no. They’re a bunch of assholes. That is true.”
“My best friend and I call them gadflies and ruffians,” I said. “They seem to get even more obnoxious when exposed to technology. And sugar. I think sugar’s a trigger. Because, lunchroom.”
“We have a lot of assholes in our class, too,” Alice said. “Did somebody drop asshole pills in the water the year we were born?”
“Speaking of assholes, where’s your boyfriend, Val?” Jean said, grinning.
“Stop, Jean. He’s not feeling well.” She shook her head and looked at Alice and me. “He has lupus, so it’s tough for him to get out.”
“In your boyfriend’s defense, who the hell would come here of their own volition?” Gordie said.
“Did he just say volition?” Alice said.
“Gordie’s really smart,” I said. “Ignore him.”
Val turned to Gordie. “Where would you rather be, Gordie?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said, smiling cryptically.
“Let me guess, coding or talking about history with Reid,” I said.
“No. Nope. It’s way more scandalous than that.”
“I would do a topless beach,” Jean said. “Or like a topless artists’ cruise.”
“You guys are entertaining. We should hang out,” Alice said, taking her phone out of her giant satchel. “Give me your numbers.”
We joined the mob of Rotary luncheon guests pushing toward the front door of the country club, fielding countless exclamations of “Congratulations” and “Keep up the good work.”
“Hey, Sadie,” Gordie whispered into my ear as we waited for our parents.
“Yeah?” I said, looking up at his grinning face. He pulled back, then leaned in again.
“If you see something, say something.”
FIVE
THREE PEOPLE TEXTED me on our way home from the luncheon to ask if I’d pick them up for the white party. Not going. Have fun, I texted back. WTF? —from Parker. Spleen acting up. That had become my go-to excuse.