Up Moody Teenager has included all manner of diversions.
And I’m not complaining. In fact, I kind of love my family
for it.
I help Mom and Frank finish cleaning. They bring in the last of the plates, and I’m going out to make sure we haven’t
left any watermelon rinds for the yellow jackets to swarm over
when Eddie runs up to me, dismayed.
“Cassie! I can’t find my football!”
With an eyebrow raised, I point to the red toddler-sized football in his hands, and he sighs with exasperation.
“My green one, Cassie. I lost it!”
I ruffle his curly, little mop top. “Easy, kiddo. I’ll help you
find it.”
Mom’s voice drifts out from inside the kitchen. “Who wants ice cream?”
Eddie’s eyes brighten like twin comets. I can’t help but
laugh. The kid has got to be the most easy-to-excite human
being on earth.
“Go get some ice cream,” I say. “I’ll find your green football.”
He trundles off, nearly falling over in his eagerness. Shaking
my head with a smile, I survey the lawn. It takes a minute of
looking before I spot it. A small, neon-green football sitting
near the back hedge. Right by the path to the beach.
I exhale. Walking calmly to the path, I keep my thoughts
firmly in check. This is not giving in. I’m just grabbing Eddie’s
toy. I have no intention of…
As I bend to retrieve the toy, the smell of salt and sand
brushes past me on the wind. The soft pound of surf whispers
in the distance. My throat feels dry all of a sudden. Standing,
I tilt my head to peer down the narrow, overgrown corridor.
I can see blue. The ocean. The sand. And I’m pulled toward
the beach.
It’s beyond insane, but he’s sitting on the sand. Just sitting
there on the beach, reading a book.
In a single moment, a series of emotions fly through my
mind in rapid succession. First, a tangible thrill at the sight of
him. Then confusion at how he could possibly be here again.
Then shame, the desire to turn and run before he sees me and
can laugh in my face. Then rage. Pure, trembling rage.
I stomp out, and he whips around. His eyes go wide. He
springs to his feet.
“I don’t believe it,” he says, his face ashen.
Rage still has a hold on me.
“Seriously. Seriously? You’re really showing up here again?
You’re either a bigger jerk than I could have imagined, or you’re
secretly a bum and don’t have anywhere else to sleep at night.”
He shakes his head. “How did you…”
“Why are you here?” I demand. “To gloat? To mock me? Are
you secretly recording this all on your cell phone so that you
can make fun of me to all of your snobby friends?”
“Cassandra—”
“I want you to leave, Lawrence. I have nothing to say to you.”
He takes a step toward me. “Why are you acting like this?”
I laugh, incredulous. “Why? Hmm, gee, that’s a good question. I don’t know… Maybe because you stood me up.”
“What?”
“I waited for twenty minutes, which is, I’m sure, exactly what
you wanted. You probably would have preferred a half hour or
forty-five minutes for optimum humiliation, but hopefully the
twenty minutes will satisfy you.”
Lawrence stares at me, blinking, as if I’m speaking incomprehensible words. He takes a breath.
“Cassandra,” he begins slowly. “I waited for you for a solid
hour on that street.”
The sincerity, the anger, in his tone throws me for a moment.
“Don’t lie,” I say. “There wasn’t a living soul out there. It was
just me and the fireflies.”
Lawrence throws up his hands. “I’m telling you, I waited for
an hour. I would have rung you on the telephone, but I don’t
know where you live. I don’t even know your last name. I have
no idea how to contact you.”
I put my hands to my temples. “What are you talking about?
Of course you know where I live!” I jab my hand toward my
house. “Hello?”