Meet Me at the Boardwalk (6 page)

I
suppose I should explain my little freak-out.

I didn’t even realize what caused it until Turquoise called me late that night (11:45; I was in bed watching
The Colbert Report
). Apparently, right after I’d stomped out, Turquoise had spotted Jade out the kitchen window, crying on the beach. Turquoise didn’t want to interfere.

Instead, about an hour later, once the sun had set, Jade returned and took a shower. They ordered in more pizza and salad and fought over what music to listen to while they ate. (Jade argued for the Beatles—a pretty random call; she seemed much more into Daft Punk these days—and Turquoise argued for Phish.)

Then Jade fell asleep on the couch.

“I think she’s jealous of this Lily-Ann girl,” Turquoise whispered cautiously over the phone. “You know, since you’ve made friends with her. But, ah…and I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay between you guys? Did Jade do something?”

I shook my head, my throat tightening.

“Megan?”

“No, it’s—I don’t know,” I croaked. “I’m just worried about the boardwalk thing. I guess I’m just mad that Jade isn’t.”

Turquoise kept quiet.

I was lying, though. I knew it. It made me feel sick. I began to sweat; my stomach turned—because of the secret I’d kept from myself:
I’m jealous of Jade’s relationship with Miles.
The whole stupid show with Lily-Ann on the boardwalk this morning…that was just my attempt to try to act as comfortable with someone as Jade was with Miles. Which also fed the problem. Jade was equally as comfortable with
both
Miles and me. Why wasn’t I as comfortable with Miles? Oh, right. Because I was in love with him, and Jade wasn’t. It made perfect sense and it made no sense at all.

“That’s really why you’re mad?” Turquoise said. It didn’t sound so much like a question, though. It sounded more like she was calling me on my BS.

“I’ll take the fifth, Counselor,” I muttered.

“Megan, I’m worried about the boardwalk thing, too,” Turquoise said in a sympathetic tone. “But I’m more worried about Jade. She just seems…more lost than she’s been in a while. And I also realize that she has a point: It’s not fair of me to talk about her or criticize her, because I haven’t been home in a while. I
am
like a tourist.”

“No, you’re not,” I answered automatically.

She snickered.

“What?”

“Megan, when was the last time I called you? I’m really not a local. But you and Jade are. You’re the best friend my sister could possibly have. And you never have a bad word to say about anyone. Not even losers like Sean Edwards. So what’s going on?”

There was a nutty irony. Because for a second, I felt closer to Jade than I’d felt all summer long. Turquoise
was
nosy, and pushy, and self-righteous. I could just picture Jade making a crack about how Turquoise always used reverse psychology to make somebody feel stupid. (
“Classic wannabe lawyer move,”
she’d say.)

“Nothing is going on,” I muttered. “I just had a lousy day.”

“That’s what Jade said.”

“Ha, ha.” I yawned. “Listen, Turquoise, I don’t want to—”

“So are you guys serious about this pact party thing?” Turquoise asked, lowering her voice.

I sat up straight in bed, suddenly very wide-awake. I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “You know about the pact party?” I hissed.

“I’m not deaf, Megan,” she said, and I knew she was smiling. “I hear things, even when I’m studying for the bar exam. The walls are pretty thin in this bungalow.”

“Well…”

“If Jade is depressed about something, maybe this pact party could be just what the doctor ordered. We invite a bunch of tourists, and the usual crew from town—Brian Ashe and whoever else—and you and Miles and Jade will hang back, watching everybody try not to hook up, and you’ll have a ball. And hopefully Jade will snap out of her funk. I can play the shrewish older sister.”

I laughed out loud.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing. I um…that’s just…nice. What I’d pay for Jade to be in on this conversation. I wish we were being wiretapped.”

“She’d never believe it,” Turquoise stated. “And don’t joke about wiretapping.”

“Hey, you’re the lawyer. You know more about this stuff than I do.”

“So do we have a deal? Pact party this weekend?”

I nodded. “We do indeed have a deal. Let’s say Saturday—”

“MEGAN!” Mom yelled from her bedroom. “GET OFF THE PHONE AND GO TO BED! YOU HAVE TO CLEAN THE ROTHS’ HOUSE TOMORROW!”

Party time indeed.

M
egan and Lily-Ann were the first to arrive for the pact party, and they arrived together—which didn’t exactly fill me with glee. To Megan’s credit, however, she’d not only called me four times since our fight (if that’s even what it was), but had also e-mailed, texted, and stuffed a handwritten note into our mail slot.

Hey, Jade, I am so sorry about the way I acted the other day. I guess I’m just stressed about the boardwalk situation, and about college applications, and about the summer…and blah, blah, blah. Anyway, very psyched for the big party! So is Turquoise! xoxoxo Your true BFF, Megan. P.S. You can’t ever possibly get rid of me, even if you tried.

I was happy about that, I admit. Even though I got the feeling she was holding something back. Namely, that she knew about Miles and me.

What I still wasn’t happy about was that Megan had clearly engaged in secret phone conversations with my sister, and that Turquoise had taken her sisterly new hippie vibe beyond the style phase and into the realm of reality. Where was the ice-cold condescension? Where were the complaints about my crappy attitude, appearance, and diet? Not that I missed that stuff…or did I?

But what bothered me the most was that Megan and
Lily-Ann
still seemed to be peas in a pod.

Exhibit A: In addition to showing up together, they also showed up with perfect makeup, hair parted in the middle, wearing black spaghetti-strap tops and short white skirts, and both carrying large ceramic bowls covered in Saran Wrap. With Megan’s dark hair and Lily-Ann’s flaxen waves, they looked like a photo and its negative.

“Hey, Jade!” Lily-Ann exclaimed.

“Hi.” I peered at their bowls. Both were filled with some sort of red punch.

Megan gave me a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like expensive perfume.

“You look really cute,” Lily-Ann remarked. “I love that dress.”

I glanced down at myself. I hadn’t even remembered what I’d thrown on—only that it was an easy something-or-other to go over my bathing suit, something I could whip off in case people wanted to splash around in the ocean later. I was hoping they would. Better to keep the riffraff outside than allow them to roam our house freely…and now that I looked at it, it wasn’t cute at all. It was a horrible blue sundress with beads on the skirt that Dad had bought me for my fifteenth birthday.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Here, let me take that,” Turquoise said, breezing past me and grabbing the bowl from Lily-Ann’s arms. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jade’s sister, Turquoise. Welcome to the Cohen household. I’d welcome you, too, Megan, but what’s the point?”

“Um…that punch isn’t spiked with anything, is it?” I asked as they stepped into the kitchen.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Turquoise snorted. “Lily-Ann made it. Why don’t you help out and be a host, and then you can taste for yourself.”

At the very least, Turkey sounded like herself again. “How do you know Lily-Ann made the punch?” I asked.

“Megan told me,” Turquoise said absently, grabbing a soup ladle from the drawer.

“Oh,” I said.

Megan and Lily-Ann exchanged a quick glance, the sort of glance Miles and I would exchange whenever the conversation veered dangerously close to our secret.

Turquoise joined the glancing, too. Yes, the pact party was off to a great start.

“Megan called to ask what she should bring, and Lily-Ann offered to make some punch,” Turkey explained. “Now will you stop standing around like a basket case and help out a little? Turning our humble little home into the Jade Cohen party house was
your
idea, if I’m not mistaken.”

Touché.
Turkey was definitely back. And I was strangely glad. I opened the pantry and scooped out some long rolls of plastic cups. Turkey stirred Megan’s bowl of punch. “So what’s in there, anyway?” I asked.

“Vitamin water and vodka,” Lily-Ann responded. “Power C.”

“Vodka?” I asked, staring at Turkey.

Lily-Ann nodded. “Just a splash. My dad gets vodka sent specially from Iceland or something. I figured, what the hell? He didn’t seem to mind. It isn’t all that much. Less than a quarter bottle for each bowl.”

“Great!” I beamed as broadly as I could. “Turkey? Are you okay with all of this? Serving booze to a bunch of kids?”

“I’m not a kid,” she said casually. She kept stirring. “And since when did
you
become a lawyer? It’s not like I’ll get disbarred. I haven’t even taken the exam.” She raised her eyes and grinned.

Megan and Lily-Ann giggled.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, this is nice. It’ll mark the very first time I’ve gotten drunk in my life. I’m glad I can share it with my darling sister, my best friend…and a perfect stranger. Dad would be so proud! Should we call him and let him know?”

Lily-Ann shook her head. “You won’t get drunk,” she said firmly. “I promise. There’s barely anything in there.”

I rolled my eyes. “I feel so much better. You’re right. I think I’ll have a cup.”

“Anyway, I’m not a perfect stranger. I’m your best friend’s
employer
.”

I gazed down at the bowls. Megan had grabbed a wooden spoon out of the cupboard and had begun to stir her own drink. I wondered if Miles would indulge. Why not? He’d already indulged in sharing our secret. At least, I was pretty sure he had.

But no, this was the pact party. The whole point was abstinence. Right?

I tore open a cylinder of plastic cups, snatched one out, and scooped up some punch—drenching my hand in the process. I leaned back and chugged as rapidly as possible. It tasted acrid, sweet, and poisonous.

So much for abstinence.

I
knew this was party was a lousy idea. I knew it as soon as I turned the corner onto Ocean Street. Brian Ashe, Sean Edwards, and I all happened to arrive at the same time: Sean, by BMW; Brian, by dirt bike; me, by skateboard.

Plus, there was the weather. A storm was coming. It felt like the night of August 11 last year. On humid overcast evenings, the Cohens’ remote beachside block tends to smell more of dead crabs than sand…and the cozy bungalows tend to look a little more gray and depressed than usual…
Bad karma
, as Jade’s dad might say.

“Dude!” Brian shouted. He was rapping on the front door. “Caught you skateboarding on the boardwalk the other day! Bold move with your gimp leg!”

“Thanks, Brian!” I shouted back.

“So, is your leg, like, permanently damaged?”

“Hey,” Sean chimed in before I could respond.

“Hey, Sean,” I said.
Funny,
I thought. For once, I liked the guy. Maybe it was because he’d finally decided to dress like a normal human being (disregarding the seashell necklace)—whereas Brian had donned a suit jacket, jeans, and wife-beater T-shirt combo. It was old-school
Miami Vice,
gone completely wrong.

“Why
are
you dressed like that?” I decided to ask Brian. I couldn’t really help it.

He clapped me on the back and turned the knob. “Door’s open!” He kicked it ajar with his foot and strolled—or, I guess pimp-rolled—inside. “I heard that this was a no-hooking-up party, Bro. You and your weird chick friends came up with the idea. Another bold move! Just trying to look as nasty as possible.”

I turned to Sean.

“Me, too?” he said, sounding bewildered. “Megan invited me. You know, because we both work at the Roth place—”

“Hey, guys!”

Jade lurched into view, clutching the door frame, dressed in a bikini.

I blinked at her. She never wore bikinis; she was strictly one-piece. She laughed loudly. Her teeth were pink, as if she’d been drinking Kool-Aid. I forced myself not to look at her body. Her eyes were a little glassy.

Sean waved at her and quickly scurried in after Brian. “Thanks for the invite.”

“Welcome to the punch party, Miles,” Jade murmured.

“You mean
pact
party, right?” I leaned forward and sniffed. “Are you drunk or something? You smell weird. Where’s Turquoise?”

Jade rolled her eyes and stumbled after Sean, her bare feet smacking on the front hall tile floor. “Always the charmer, Miles. Turkey’s even drunker than I am.” Her voice was lost in the din of laughter and some monotonous hip-hop drumbeat.

I glanced back at my skateboard. It sat on the little patch
of dried grass next to the cobbled brick walkway. I could easily hop back on it and ride back home. I wondered what Megan would think when she found out I’d bailed on the pact party.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder.

I turned around, hoping to see Megan. It was Lily-Ann Roth.

“Hi,” I said, feeling heat cross my cheeks.
Damn
.

“Hi back.” She waved a cup in my face, her blue eyes boring into my own. “Come on in, Miles Gordon. It’s your pact party. You can cry if you want to.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Keeping myself from staring at Jade’s body was one thing; keeping myself from staring at Lily-Ann’s wasn’t possible. The hair, the manicured toenails, the miniskirt, the black bikini top, the stomach, the belly button ring…She was the classic perfect tourist. And I was so, so attracted to her.

“What do you mean, I can cry if I want to?” I heard myself ask.

Lily-Ann sneered. “You’ve never heard that song?”

Get on the skateboard now.

“Um, no. I haven’t.”

“Oh, well, Turquoise put it on,” Lily-Ann muttered. “I think she’s a little tipsy.” She waved her cup back toward the music, spilling a little as she did so. It landed on the floor with a bright red splat.

I peered inside. “Um…why aren’t any of the girls here wearing shirts?”

“Ha!” Lily-Ann hiccuped. “Jade said that everybody who was wearing a bathing suit under their shirts had to take off their shirts. She wants us all to dive into the ocean later. And that was pretty much…everybody.” Lily-Ann leaned closer. I could smell her shampoo on her blonde curls. It smelled a lot better than what was in her cup. “I think Jade might be a little tipsy, too,” she whispered.

I drew back. “What about you? Not that you’re slurring your words or anything, but you strike me as less than sober right now.” I jerked a finger straight up at the sky. “And even though it’s cloudy, the sun still hasn’t gone down. Isn’t it a little early to be hitting the sauce?”

“No it isn’t,
D-A-A-A-D
,” Jade retorted, cocking her eyebrow at me. “Why don’t you relax and have a cocktail? Seashell Point is a ‘resort town,’ isn’t it? That’s what my dad says, anyway. And he should know. My mom thinks he’s Satan.”

Mom and Dad issues, all in one,
I thought.
Just like me.

At least, Megan and Jade only had one of each. But Lily-Ann and I…we had both. My mom occasionally thought my dad was Satan, too—especially when he suggested that I take truck-driving lessons “because it’s an important skill to have.” I imagine it would be, if one wanted to drive a truck for a living. He said this to me when I was still in the ICU. Translation:
Son, you’re clearly a moron, so why don’t you set your sights a little lower?
Thank God, Mom told him to shut up.

“Well, everybody’s parents are Satan every now and then,” I said—only because I was a little self-conscious about the long stretch of quiet between us.

Lily-Ann laughed. “Everyone’s kid can be Satan, too. Like me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means: Why don’t you come in and have a drink? It’s not like we’re gonna hook up. It’s the pact party, remember?” She turned and beckoned me toward the kitchen, through a dancing mob of tourists.

Once again, I tried not to look at her body.