Authors: Catherine Clark
“S
o, are you guys ready for today’s tour?” my mother asked, in an upbeat, chipper mood that couldn’t have been more opposite of mine.
We were gathered out back of the house, by the minivan. I’d managed to haul myself out of bed and swallow a couple of sips of coffee before I’d been rounded up for the trip. Everyone was going, which meant I had to, even though I felt more like spending the day in bed, recovering. Not from partying, mind you—from
lack
of partying. From extreme heartbreak, or at least, disappointment.
“Have a bagel, honey,” Heather’s mother said, holding a paper plate out to me. “You’ll feel better.”
“Thanks.” I took a half and nibbled a corner of it.
But I doubt it.
I leaned against the van and closed my eyes, wishing I were back in bed. I heard the sound of flip-flops snapping toward me and finally opened my eyes, expecting to see Adam or Heather.
“Good morning, y’all!” Blake had sauntered over to greet us. “Where you off to?”
Ugh. I nearly choked on the tiny bite of bagel I’d just swallowed.
He was the last person I wanted to see. And what was with his attitude? Was he so clueless that he didn’t realize what had happened the night before—that he’d been a total jerk? His long, green preppy Bermuda shorts and polo shirt didn’t seem so cute anymore. Neither did his tattooed ankle, his spiky platinum hair, his cut body, and his habit of saying “y’all.”
“We’re going on a drive. See some things,” I said. “Lots of things. Cape Hatteras, you know.”
“That’ll be fun,” said Blake. “If only you could ditch the parents…” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, they’re not so bad,” I said.
Heather came racing around the corner of the house as if someone had just summoned her. Spencer was right behind her, walking at a fast clip.
“Morning, y’all,” Blake greeted them.
“Oh, hi,” Spencer said casually. “Didn’t see you.”
“Wow. Are people still wearing those?” Heather asked, pointing at the obnoxious Bermuda shorts.
“I know my great-grandfather has some,” Spencer said. “Drags ’em out every summer for the family reunion.”
It wasn’t much of a put-down, but I smiled just the same. Blake was glancing down at his outfit, confused. He brushed at some sand sticking on his ankle, by his tattoo.
“Hey, Blake, I’ve been meaning to ask—what’s that tattoo of?”
“It’s a chili pepper,” Blake said. “Got it in Mexico.”
“Really? Is it one of those stick-on ones? Because it looks like it’s coming off,” said Adam
as he approached us from the backyard.
“So what’s that supposed to mean? You’re hot?” asked Heather.
“Looks like a banana,” Spencer observed. “Maybe it’s supposed to mean he’s bananas?”
“Yeah. Well, it’s a jalapeño,” Blake said, sounding a little stung that we weren’t impressed. “Anyway, I have to go.”
“Us too. Have a great day. Y’all,” I tacked on bitterly as Heather nearly dragged me into the minivan.
“Good riddance, y’all!” she added with a giggle.
“In the van again…I just can’t wait to be in the van again.”
I groaned at my father’s reworking of “On the Road Again.” He was almost ruining the beautiful scenery we were passing through on the long, narrow coastal road. There were sand dunes on both sides of us, and sand drifted across the road in places. “Dad, please,” I begged.
He kept singing, though. His voice carried. And carried. And carried.
“Dad!” I urged again.
“What?”
“You sang that yesterday,” I said. “And the day before. You are embarrassing the entire van.”
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Adam commented.
“Do vans get embarrassed?” Spencer asked. “I’m not sure, I’ve never seen a van blush—”
“Shut up,” I said over my shoulder.
“Emily!” my mother said. “That’s not very nice.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Like I said: Mood. Not good. Don’t provoke her,” Adam told Spencer.
“Right. That intense inner ballerina comes out, and when she does, take cover,” Spencer teased. “She’ll go ballistic in a
Swan Lake
kind of way.”
Despite the fact he’d sort of come to my rescue the night before, I wasn’t in the mood to be mocked by Spencer. Not that I ever was, but that day in particular, I felt very thin-skinned.
But
not
in a ballet dancer way, whatever that was. They should check out a ballet dancer’s feet sometime and see just how thick the skin could get when you danced on it every day for hours. Mine had gotten a little softer over the past year, but not much.
Anyway, I felt thin-skinned over the whole Blake episode. Everyone knew that I’d liked him; now they knew he was not into me. I was desperately hoping that we could put it behind us. Getting away from the house for the day was a great idea, even if it meant listening to my dad sing.
In the grand scheme of things, Blake didn’t mean all that much to me. I’d remember his shoulders. The way he could wear board shorts and his rock-hard abs. I’d show his picture to my friends at home and tell them how he’d invited me to a party, how he’d loaned me his sweatshirt, how I’d kissed him a few times. That was all true.
It would sound good, in retrospect. Running into him over the rest of our stay would be awkward and embarrassing,
but I could handle it.
We pulled into the parking lot of Bodie Island Lighthouse, and Spencer sighed. “Here we go again. Seen one lighthouse, you’ve seen ’em all,” he complained.
“Not really,” I said, scooting over to the door to get out of the van. “This one’s got stripes.”
“As opposed to what?” He climbed out of the backseat. “Polka dots?”
“Just be a good tourist for once in your life, okay?” I sort of snapped at him.
“Maybe you could stop by the gift shop for some chocolate,” he suggested before walking away with Adam. “Like, a pound.”
While Heather veered off from the group to use her cell phone, my mother slipped into place beside me. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Your shoulders always slump when something’s wrong. Your posture goes south. So tell me, what is it?”
I tried to raise my shoulders back to their regular height, because I didn’t want to talk
about it with her, at least not right now.
“Did something happen last night?” Mom asked.
“It just wasn’t that much fun,” I said. “Loud music, rude people. You know how it is.”
“Oh. Well, better luck next time, hon,” she said, then she hurried to catch up with Heather’s mom.
What, did she have something better to do?
I didn’t know whether to feel insulted or elated as I meandered along around the lighthouse park grounds. I mean, it was great that Mom had friends and that the spotlight wasn’t on me, for a change. But I could have at least used a hug.
By the time I reached the lighthouse, everyone was turning back.
“We can’t tour this one,” Mrs. Flanagan told me.
“What a shame,” Spencer muttered.
“Look at it this way, kid.” His dad slapped him on the back. “That’s two hundred and fourteen steps you don’t have to climb.”
Spencer looked over at him. “Who said I
was going to climb?”
“Aren’t you working on being a good tourist today? That’s what Emily said,” his father replied. “Good tourist means participating—”
Spencer lifted his father’s hand off his shoulder. “Dad, I’m not eight, okay?”
“Emily. We’re waiting for you!” my mother called.
“I’m here. Present and accounted for.” I looked at her, not getting it. “What?”
“Before we go, don’t you want to get our picture? That’s your job,” she said.
“Oh. Right. I forgot.” I took out my camera while everyone arranged themselves in front of the visitor center sign. Other tourists were streaming in and out of the frame, but I decided it didn’t matter—maybe I’d catch something unusual.
“Ready? Everyone say squeeze!” Heather yelled.
“What? Why?” commented Mrs. Flanagan. “Who am I supposed to squeeze, anyway?”
“It’s an expression, Mom,” Spencer said. “Roll with it.”
He looked at me and rolled his eyes, like we’d both had more than enough of our parents for the morning already. I managed a small smile. “Everybody. One-two-three, squeeze!” I called, snapping a picture just as a tall man walked right in front of me.
“Oh, no. Sorry, miss. Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Let’s just go down to Cape Hatteras and have our picnic lunch,” my mother declared, and we headed back to the van.
“How much farther is it?” I asked.
“Oh, only about an hour and a half.” She opened her backpack and pulled out a box of salt water taffy, which she handed to me. “Pass these around. It’ll make the drive go faster.”
“I’ll sit next to you,” Adam volunteered. “Just in case you need help opening the box.”
“No way are you hogging the salt water taffy,” Spencer said, jostling for position beside me as we climbed into the van. “Remember what happened on that trip in Maine? You ate the whole box, then got sick on the Ferris wheel.”
“I was eight,” said Adam.
“Those who don’t learn from history are condemned to repeat it,” Spencer said, settling onto the bench seat beside me.
I handed him the box. “Help yourself. Go wild.”
“Why are we the only ones doing this?” Spencer asked halfway up the steps to the top of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse.
“Adam’s up there. Somewhere,” I said. “So, we’re not the only ones. We’re the slow ones.”
Heather had stayed behind and had been sipping an iced tea when we decided to take the tour. I was so jealous of her right then that I could spit. Or sweat, anyway. The back of my shirt was getting damp.
“I was only trying to be a good tourist. It’s your fault. You’re the one who coined the phrase and now my dad is addicted to it,” Spencer said. “I didn’t read the sign. How many steps is this?”
“Two hundred and sixty-eight,” I said, out of breath. “The sign said that it’s equivalent to
climbing a twelve-story building. I thought, how hard could that be?”
Spencer coughed. “Obviously you’ve never lived in a twelve-story building. It’s really hot in here.”
“Not to mention humid,” I added.
“Hey, slow down. You’re going faster than I am. Maybe I shouldn’t have had those twenty-five pieces of salt water taffy in the van.”
“Or that country farmer’s breakfast last night,” I added. “Was that eight pieces of bacon or ten?”
“I don’t know why we have to see the view. I mean, if you’ve seen one…lighthouse…” Spencer panted. “You’ve seen ’em…” Suddenly, he tripped, his foot hitting a step. He fell forward onto me and we both toppled awkwardly onto the stairs with a yelp.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Spencer stood up and brushed himself off.
“Maybe if you weren’t barefoot—”
“I’m not barefoot!” Spencer protested.
“Then it’s the fact you’re not used to wearing shoes,” I said as I got up and brushed some
dirt off my arm. “You don’t know how to walk in them.”
“I tripped! I’m not a
cave
man,” Spencer said.
We both walked a few steps farther, then stopped on a landing to rest. A white-haired elderly couple passed us.
“So that’s who was breathing down my neck,” Spencer whispered.
“They’ve got to be, like, sixty,” I said. “This is getting embarrassing.”
“Getting?”
“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Adam asked, already on his way back down.
“Just great! Show-off,” Spencer muttered under his breath.
“We paid seven dollars to abuse ourselves like this?” I asked. “Okay, so technically my dad paid, but…” No wonder Heather had stayed behind.
“I thought I was in shape,” Spencer said. “I am so…not…”
“Sure you are. You’re just not in as good shape as half the senior citizens here.”
We both collapsed in out-of-breath, winded giggles.
“Come on, if we don’t get going we’ll get lapped by the next tour,” I said, urging him to continue. “You go first this time.”
“Fine, but Emily? And I mean this. No pictures,” Spencer said. “Okay?”
“What are you thinking? That I wanted a picture of your butt?”
“Who doesn’t?” he replied, posing with a little bump to the right.
Another pair of grandparents passed us on the way down and gave us a look that could have stopped—or at least slowed—stairs traffic.
“Do we have to walk all the way back down or can we just rappel?” Spencer asked.
We were standing at the edge of the top of the lighthouse, looking down at the ocean. We’d finally made it after all. “What do you think this is,
The Amazing Race
? I mean, if you want to try skydiving, go ahead, but I don’t see anyone holding a mattress down there, and I don’t think the ground is very soft.”
“I’ve been skydiving before,” Spencer said. “And rock climbing. The only thing I’m not so good at is walking down all those circular steps. It makes me dizzy.”
“We don’t have to rush back down,” I said.
“Technically, we do. There’s a time limit, because there’s a limit to how many people can be up here at one time.”
“So we’ll recuperate really quickly.”
“Okay, but I want to be a good tourist. Not a bad one who lurks on the side and messes things up for everyone else.” He glared at me.
“Keep working at it, you have a ways to go,” I said. “How about enjoying the view?” I walked around the top of the lighthouse gazing at the expanses of water and land below.
“Come on, you two—time to get going,” our tour guide said. “Time to begin our descent.”
“Okay, but first—can I please take a few photos?” I said.
“Sure, but make it quick.” She nodded at me.
“Do you have a timer on that thing?” Spencer asked.
“Of course, but—why? We don’t need a
picture of us together,” I said as I focused the camera on the light at the top.
“Sure we do,” Spencer said. “We’re the only ones who had the legs to climb this thing.”
“And Adam,” I reminded him.
“Oh. Right, I forgot.”
“Did you want me to get your picture planting the flag or something? You know, like people do when they climb Everest?” I teased.