The Brightest Stars of Summer (7 page)

B
y the time Marigold made her way downstairs, her sisters were already on their second helpings of blueberry silver dollar pancakes.

“Why are you so fancy today?” Lily was asking Aunt Sunny, who was pouring more batter on the griddle. Marigold would hardly say that Aunt Sunny was fancy, but she was definitely more dressed up than usual in a khaki skirt, a button-down shirt, and even a pair of earrings.

“I have to go to work,” Aunt Sunny said. “The Piping Plover Society has become quite an organization—we have our own offices and with computers and a copy machine and everything.”

Marigold could feel Zinnie eyeing her as she took a seat at the table.

“Why are you so . . . unfancy today?” Zinnie asked.
“Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm dressing casual this summer,” Marigold said as Aunt Sunny put three hot pancakes on her plate.

“Why?” Zinnie asked.

“Just because,” Marigold said.

“Speaking of getting dressed,” Aunt Sunny said, and checked her watch, “Lily, you need to finish up and get ready for camp. We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”

Lily nodded and dutifully stuffed her last pancake in her mouth.

“I put your clothes on your bed,” Marigold said as Lily carried her plate to the sink.

“And don't forget to brush your teeth,” Zinnie added.

“I know, I know,” Lily said as she left the kitchen. “Jeesh.”

“Let's talk about our bridesmaid duties,” Marigold said to Aunt Sunny.

“Okay,” Aunt Sunny said as she sat down with her coffee and a pad of yellow paper. “First on the list is making the cake.”

“What kind of cake?” Zinnie asked.

“Lemon blackberry with cream cheese frosting,” Aunt Sunny said. “My mother's recipe.”

“Oh, yum!” Zinnie said.

“We can start today,” Aunt Sunny said.

“But we won't be eating the cake until the wedding,” Marigold said. “Won't it get stale?”

“My mother always said that cake baking should
never be rushed, and we have a lot of baking to do. And then we have to assemble the layers and frost and decorate the tiers. We'll make as much of the cake as possible in advance, freeze it, decorate the layers the day before the wedding, and then put it all together on the big day.”

“So we'll do the baking today?” Zinnie asked.

“We have to make six cakes, two for each tier, so I think we'll do half of them tonight and half tomorrow. I don't have enough cake pans to make them all at once. Our first task will be to find the recipe! It's in one of my recipe boxes, and I'm just praying that it didn't get lost over the years.”

“We can always just use another recipe,” Marigold suggested.

“I have my heart set on this one,” Aunt Sunny said. “This was my mother's favorite. Every summer, as soon as the blackberries were ripe, we'd go to Davis Farms and fill two baskets with the juiciest, sweetest blackberries in the world. Of course, we inevitably ate half of them by the time we got home, which is why Mom always had us fill two baskets. Using this recipe will be my way of having my mother and sisters with me. We're going to have eighty guests, but oh, how I'll be missing those three. Especially Beatrice.”

As Aunt Sunny bowed her head for a moment, Marigold and Zinnie exchanged a melancholy glance. Beatrice was Aunt Sunny's much older sister, and she
was also their grandmother. Grammy, as they called her, had passed away in the fall. The girls hadn't been close to their grandmother, who lived in Florida. Zinnie remembered visiting her when she was very little, but for the past several years she hadn't been well enough to have visitors. But once, many years ago, she had been a great beauty and, their Mom said, a whole lot of fun.

“It's really sad she missed your wedding,” Marigold said. “Mom said that she used to love parties.”

“She certainly did,” Aunt Sunny said. “She was such a social butterfly before she became ill.”

“How are you going to fit eighty people in here?” Marigold asked.

“We're going to put up a party tent right there,” Aunt Sunny said, pointing to the lawn. “There'll be a dance floor and a buffet and even a platform where Tony's band is going to play. And we'll have ten tables where people will eat their dinner. We'll need place cards so people know where to sit, and of course tablecloths and napkins. I have a great collection of them in the attic, but they need to be sorted. Can you believe all of this hadn't even occurred to me? I'm so glad you girls are here to help!”

“We need balloons, too,” Zinnie suggested. “Everyone loves balloons.”

“Balloons are festive,” Aunt Sunny said, “but they also create debris and pose a hazard for wildlife, and
as the director of the Piping Plover Society, I'm afraid I can't have that.”

“I didn't know that,” Zinnie said.

“How about shells and flowers as decorations for the tables?” Marigold suggested, realizing that arts and crafts was something normal that she could be good at. “You have a whole garden full of flowers, and we can collect shells at the town beach.”

“Marigold, that's a lovely idea!” Aunt Sunny said. “But I want to make something very clear. As glad as I am for your help and as much as I need it, you girls are here to relax and have fun. Kids are so overscheduled these days. I'm hoping that you girls will follow your whims, climb the trees, ride the waves. When we were your age, my sisters and I thought of our own adventures every day. We had chores, but for the most part our time was ours. That's what I wish for you.”

Marigold smiled. This sounded perfect to her.

“Oh gosh, now look at the time. I've got to get to work. I've packed you both lunches. They are in the fridge. Don't forget to pick up Lily at three o'clock.”

“Of course!” Marigold said.

“And would you mind stopping by the yacht club for me? Jean and Mack make the most delicious blackberry jam, which they serve for yacht club brunches. Jean said she'd be happy to give me some jars of it for the wedding cake.”

“No problem,” Marigold said. Jean and Mack were
Peter's parents. Mack was the manager of the yacht club. Stopping by to pick up the jam would give her the perfect excuse to see Peter.

She had everything to look forward to: a day at the town beach, the possibility of seeing Peter Pasque, and the chance to reinvent herself, one ordinary outfit at a time.

J
ust as they had done many times last summer, Zinnie and Marigold walked down the road to the beach. Zinnie kept her eyes peeled and her mind open. She had her notebook and pen in her back pocket as she looked for a story. “Remember, stories are everywhere,” Mrs. Lee had written in her email. “Some are hidden and some are in plain sight.” Zinnie ran her hand along the stone wall, its texture rough under her fingers. She looked at the names on the mailboxes. She observed the flowers in the gardens they passed, the telephone wires above her, and the sound of Marigold's flip-flops slapping her heels as she walked beside her. Where were the stories?

When they reached Harbor Road, she studied the boats at their moorings. The clouds cast shadows on the water, creating dark patches on the bright-blue
surface. She squinted into the sun to check out the wooden sign for the general store. The red letters had been repainted since last summer. She noticed the grass growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, the station wagon that drove by with a wet, happy dog leaning out the window, and a pile of lobster traps in the back of a truck. She saw the details and she made notes in her notebook, but without imagining wind spirits in the clouds or fairies in the stone walls or the voice of that dog shouting out a joke, she just couldn't find the stories.

“Holy moly, is that who I think it is?” Ashley called from behind the snack bar as Zinnie and Marigold placed their towels on their old spot at the town beach.

“Yup!” Zinnie called back as she kicked off her sneakers and headed toward the snack bar. With the warm sand between her toes, a cool breeze on her face, and the sight of her old friend waving at her, Zinnie couldn't stop smiling. It was good to be back. She and Marigold had come to the town beach almost every day during their visit last summer. Here the water was perfect for swimming, the sand was ideal for lounging, and there were cold, delicious treats when Zinnie was thirsty or had a snack attack.

“Hi!” Zinnie said, running the last few steps to greet her friend. “You didn't forget about me, did you?”

“Uh, no,” Ashley said, reaching into the freezer and
handing her a red ice pop. Last summer, Ashley had always saved a red one for her. They were the most popular flavor and often sold out before lunch. “You're unforgettable. How long are you in town for?”

“Two weeks,” Zinnie said, taking the delicious treat. “My aunt Sunny is getting married and I'm a bridesmaid. My sisters and I came early to help her get ready. Today we're collecting shells for decorations. What have you been up to since you won first place in the talent show?”

“I joined the chorus at school and I was even asked to sing at the mall last Christmas.”

“That's so cool!” Zinnie said, proud that she'd had a role in her friend's success. After all, Zinnie was the one who'd organized the talent show.

“Where are your sisters?” Ashley asked.

“Lily is at camp and Marigold is right—” Zinnie looked toward where their towels were, but Marigold wasn't there. Zinnie scanned the beach until she saw a flash of her sister's hot-pink bathing suit in the water out by the floating docks. “Oh, there she is,” Zinnie said, pointing.

“She's doing laps?” Ashley asked.

“I guess so,” Zinnie said. She'd hoped Marigold would be her old self once they'd arrived in Pruet, but she was still acting totally strange.

“At the beach? Weird. That's what the old ladies usually do,” Ashley said.

“She hasn't really been herself lately,” Zinnie said with a sigh as she watched Marigold switch to the breaststroke. “Anyway, I have to go collect shells.”

“There aren't a lot of good shells around here. You have to climb over the jetty,” Ashley said, pointing to the long line of rocks that extended into the water. “And look on that part of the beach where there aren't as many people.”

“Got it,” Zinnie said. “See ya!”

Even though Marigold called them “the ugliest things on the planet,” Zinnie was so glad she was wearing her water shoes, which were like tight-fitting mesh sneakers, as she climbed over the jetty. The pile of rocks was uneven and a little jagged, and she nearly stubbed her toe as hopped to the other side. There were hardly any other people over here, just a couple of ladies reading magazines in beach chairs. She picked up some shells as she waded in the water.

Farther away was a boy who appeared to also be looking for shells. He was walking slowly through the shallow water with his head down. He had longish hair that fell in front of his face, but she could tell by the way he was moving that he was looking very carefully. He paused, wiping his eyes. Zinnie thought she saw his shoulders shake.
Is he crying?
she wondered as she walked into the surf up to her ankles. She couldn't tell. But by the way he turned away and buried his
face in his hands, she guessed that he didn't want anyone to see him. Respectfully, she looked away. The tide pulled on her feet as it drew back to reveal a tumbling layer of sand, swirling with little stones, shells, and even some spinning hermit crabs.

Zinnie plucked a few shells out and examined them in her hand. Most of the shells looked the same: small, fan-shaped, and pale pinkish, which was why the shiny rectangles of metal stood out so clearly even as the water foamed. She put the shells in her bucket and then bent to pick the shining objects up and see what they were before they were carried back out into Buzzards Bay by the waves. She realized the rectangles of metal were connected on a chain. It was some kind of necklace. It fit neatly in the palm of her hand and had a name, “Cima, Paul,” a number, and the words “O Positive” and “Christian.” She rinsed it again and held it up.
Here's
a story,
she thought. Then she heard the splashing sounds of someone running toward her.

“You found them!” She looked up to see the boy from down the beach.

Zinnie thought the boy was probably her age, maybe just a little bit older. With his shaggy brown hair, the way he had loped through the waves to reach her, and the friendliness of his impossibly big brown eyes, he reminded her of a Labrador puppy. She was pretty sure that he was the kind of boy the girls in her class would call cute. As he stood there beaming at her for
finding this necklace, she couldn't help but match his grin in both size and wattage.

Because she went to an all-girls' school and only had sisters, she didn't have a lot of boys who were friends. Actually, she didn't have any. When she was really young, she'd wanted nothing to do with boys. They seemed so rough and different. They chewed with their mouths open, couldn't seem to sit still and have a conversation, never wanted to play her make-believe games long enough for her, and always seemed to want to be hitting things.

Now that she was twelve, she knew that boys weren't all maniacs and gross eaters. She was well aware of the fact that a bunch of girls in her class had completely reversed their position on boys and now wanted to kiss them. She had even seen—with her very own eyes—Marigold kiss Peter Pasque last summer. But it wasn't something that she thought she was ready for. When Zinnie saw kissing on TV, she thought it looked messy and strange. She had absolutely no interest in touching mouths with anyone. But now, with this grinning boy in front of her, his nose scattered with freckles, and his eyes sparkling with mischief, she was definitely interested in having a boy as a friend. After all, her dad had been a boy once, and he was her favorite person in the world.

“You're looking for this?” Zinnie asked, offering him the necklace.

“Yes!” he said, taking it and clutching it tightly. “Thank you, thank you! I mean, seriously! You just saved the most important thing in the world to me.” Zinnie couldn't believe it, but his smile grew even bigger. “You're my hero.”

“I am?” Zinnie started to giggle.

“Yes!” Then he started to giggle, too. The sun was now directly overhead, and light was bouncing off of the water in every direction as the two of them stood there laughing.

“Why are we laughing?” Zinnie asked.

“I don't know!” the boy said. “I'm just so happy.”

“Because of a necklace?” Zinnie asked.

“Actually, these are my dad's dog tags,” the boy said.

“Dog tags?”
Maybe he really is part Labrador,
she joked to herself.

“People in the military wear them in case . . . something happens to them. These are an old set. My dad gave them to me and I never ever take them off, even though he's home right now. But then this morning, when I was out here, my friend told me that shiny things in the water attract sharks.”

“Sharks?”

“Don't worry,” he said. “I don't think there are any around here.”

“You don't
think
?” Zinnie said, heading for dry land. She was only in up to her ankles, but still.

“Seriously,” the boy said, catching up with her. “They're pretty rare.” This didn't make Zinnie feel much better, and she walked a few more steps away from the water. “I just got freaked out. So I took the dog tags off and left them on the sand. And when I came back, they were gone. I'd been looking for them for hours and . . .” The boy took a breath and looked away. “I didn't think I was going to find them.”

“I thought you were crying when I first saw you,” Zinnie said. The boy turned bright red. “Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“It's okay. It's just that these dog tags are really important. It's weird, but they make me feel like he's safe even when he's off fighting. So losing them is like . . .” He looked away again.

“Don't make me cry now, too,” Zinnie said, feeling choked up. She took a deep breath and gathered herself. “Look, the important thing is that we found them, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Sorry. I'm not usually a crybaby.”

“Don't worry. I cry all the time. Well, not all the time. But when I'm sad I do. Everyone does.”

“Not guys,” the boy said.

“You should see my dad,” Zinnie said. “He cries when he looks at our baby pictures or whenever my sisters and I give him Father's Day cards. And you're
not going to believe this, but he also cried at the movie
Annie
.”

“The one about the orphan?” he asked. Zinnie nodded. The boy's grin returned. “No way.”

“I swear,” Zinnie said. “He's very sensitive.” She tilted her head and held her hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun. “I'm Zinnie, by the way.”

“Max,” the boy said. At the very moment Zinnie extended her hand to shake, he held up his hand for a high five.

“Whoops,” Zinnie said, reaching up to give him five just as he went low for the handshake.

“Gah!” Max said as they switched again. They laughed.

“High five or handshake?” Zinnie asked. “Let's try to coordinate.”

“Handshake first,” Max said. They shook. “Then bring it up”—they raised their hands together and then pulled them apart once they were over their heads—“and high five!” They high-fived.

“A secret handshake,” Zinnie said.

“Totally,” Max said. His eyes narrowed as he looked over her shoulder. “Shoot. That's my mom. I was supposed to meet her like an hour ago at the house. If she knew I lost the dog tags, she'd be so upset.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Zinnie said.

“One more time?” Max said, holding out his hand
for a shake. They did their secret handshake again before Max ran down the beach, hopped over the jetty, and turned around to wave.

As Zinnie watched him go, she wondered if this light and happy feeling meant that she liked Max in a boyfriend-girlfriend way. How was she supposed to know? She'd heard the girls in her class talking about butterflies in their stomachs. She walked back toward the beach towels, putting a hand to her tummy to feel if anything was flying around in there. She didn't think so. It just felt like her belly, though she did notice that her stomach was grumbling. She was looking forward to the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fresh blueberries, and surprise brownies that Aunt Sunny had packed for their lunch.

“Where were you?” Marigold asked. She was lying on her towel faceup, slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed.

“Looking for shells,” Zinnie said. “Ashley told me the good ones were over there.” She hadn't collected as many as she'd hoped to, but she had a dozen or so, which she emptied from her bucket and laid out on the towel. “Why were you swimming laps?”

“I'm going to try out for the swim team in the fall,” Marigold said.

“But you hated swim team,” Zinnie said, sitting on her towel and arranging the shells in different patterns.

“I'm giving it another try,” Marigold said, squeezing the water out of her hair.

“But you used to say all that stuff about the chlorine in your hair and—”