Authors: Sarah Dessen
“We’re going for sushi, remember?” Daisy said to him.
“I don’t eat raw fish,” he grumbled.
“You’ll like this,” Theo assured him. “They have a mix of modern and traditional fare.”
Like this would be a selling point to Morris, who subsisted mainly on Nabs crackers, Mountain Dew, and sausage biscuits. Instead of thinking about this, I concentrated on the road. The next sign we passed said
CAPE FROST: 32 MILES
. Even though I risked a certain ticket going above the speed limit, I still felt every one of them.
Once at Haiku, I hoped for a reset, a chance to start things fresh. But as soon as we were seated, Morris looked at the menu and announced there was nothing on it he liked.
“It’s, like, ten pages long,” I pointed out to him.
“I don’t eat raw food,” he said again.
“It’s not all raw.”
“Look,” Daisy said, turning to one of the last pages. “They have a basic burger, it’s just got Asian slaw.”
“Oh, no ordering off the For the Americanos section!” Theo said. “That’s against table rules!”
We all just looked at him. I said, “The what section?”
He took a sip of his water. “For the Americanos. That’s what my dad called the section on a menu that’s specifically for people who won’t try anything out of their comfort zone. In our family, you weren’t allowed to get anything like that. You had to go native, or go home.”
“I’d love to go home,” Morris muttered, but I was pretty sure Theo didn’t hear him.
“I’m not the most adventurous eater either,” Daisy, always the peacemaker, said more audibly. “Maybe we can both pick
something a bit different but not
too
radical?”
“Just let me order some appetizers for the table,” Theo said, opening his own menu. “I promise, you’ll like them.”
He wasn’t all wrong. The edamame was great (although Morris, who was not a believer in vegetables other than pickles, avoided it on principle), the tempura shrimp a hit all around. The cabbage dumplings were tolerable, once dunked in soy sauce. Not so much the seaweed salad, which, despite Theo’s insistence that we all try a bite of everything, remained on three out of four plates as they were cleared. One course down, I thought. It had only been thirty minutes.
For dinner, only I’d agreed to sushi. Daisy had gone with a dish that looked not unlike standard chicken and broccoli, which I knew because I was looking at it longingly while forcing down my hurricane and spider rolls. Morris, out of spite if nothing else, had gone all-out Americanos with a burger and fries. Worse, when Theo gave us a detailed tutorial on how use our chopsticks, he’d made a big show of using his to dip his fries in a pond of ketchup. I’d been so ready for dessert, if only because I figured by then we’d be past the worst of it.
Now, I looked down at the folded piece of paper with the bow on it, then back at Theo. “Open it,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. “It’s not a bomb.”
I glanced at Daisy—who, by her expression, was not convinced of this—then slid my finger under the single piece of tape, letting the paper fall open.
DANCING! MOONLIGHT! PRIZES! GET FORMAL FOR A GOOD CAUSE!
it said in big block letters over a background of a picture of a retro-style couple waltzing. I couldn’t even read the
rest of it, as I was too busy anticipating the oncoming explosion. Ka-boom.
“It’s this dinner and dancing thing,” Theo was saying excitedly from beside me. “I kept seeing flyers all over the place, so I went into this clothing shop and asked about it.”
“The Beach Bash,” I said.
“From what the girl there said, it’s pretty awesome,” he went on, clearly unaware of the silence from the rest of us. “So I bought us VIP tickets. We get a sit-down dinner before. Just like the prom! I’ll have to rustle up a tux somewhere.”
I had a flash of those poufy, ruffled dresses Daisy had shown me a few weeks earlier. I hadn’t had a fitting yet, but I knew by now one had to be on the dressmaker form in her bedroom, covered in pins and chalk marks, at least halfway to something fabulous.
“Wow,” Daisy said quietly. “I didn’t even know they had a VIP option.”
“Because you’d never do it,” Morris told her.
“You guys have been to this before?” Theo asked.
“They go every year,” Morris told him, gesturing to me and Daisy. “Together. It’s a tradition.”
“Oh.” Theo looked at Daisy, then at me. “Wow, sorry. I didn’t mean to step on any—”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “I normally make our dresses and I’ve been so busy getting ready for school I’ve totally dropped the ball this year.”
I looked at her, surprised. “Really?”
She nodded. “I just didn’t want to tell you, because I feel
so slack. I was kind of hoping, you know, we could let the whole going-for-the-win thing slide this year.”
I so, so wanted to believe this. But I knew Daisy. First of all, when it came to dresses and vision, she was never slack. Secondly, and more tellingly, she was always unerringly, overwhelmingly polite. Even if it meant lying about something important to her.
“Why don’t we buy another pair of tickets?” Theo said to her. “We can double-date!”
“She already bought tickets,” Morris said. Clearly, Theo feeling bad was not his concern. “Weeks ago.”
I swallowed, looking back down at the cake. After everything I’d forced myself to try, I couldn’t deny the truth: it looked delicious.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Theo said to Daisy, clearly meaning it. “I had no idea. The last thing I want to do is, you know, get in the way of something that’s important to you guys.”
“It’s really fine,” Daisy assured him again.
We all just sat there for a second, the awkwardness like another person at the table. What a disaster, I thought. Beside us, the tourists were laughing, having a blast. Of course.
“It’s just,” Theo said, finally, “the thing is, I, um, didn’t really get to do the dinner-dance, prom thing in high school. Like, at all. I know all this fanfare was kind of stupid, with the cake and sparklers, the big reveal …”
“Yep,” Morris said. I kicked him, hard.
“But,” Theo continued, reddening slightly, “when I saw this flyer, I thought it was my chance for a do-over. To have
that memory, that kind of touchstone moment. The one I didn’t have because I was at home, dateless, watching French films with my parents.”
I saw Daisy’s face soften at this. There, I thought.
This
is the boy I wanted you to meet.
“I mean, seriously,” Theo was saying now, “back then someone like Emaline wouldn’t even have looked at me, much less agreed to going to something like this.”
“Theo,” I said quietly.
“What?” he replied. “You’re special, Emaline. You’re not just any other girl.”
He had no way of knowing, I was sure, what I felt hearing these last three words. Like it was a code or password, unlocking a secret, distant part of my heart. All this time, I’d seen it from the other side, as a way of focusing on all the things I wasn’t. But to him, to be different was the better choice, even ideal. Yet again, he was giving me another view, and I liked how I looked from here. A summer of firsts, indeed.
“I think it’s really sweet,” Daisy said to Theo now. “It’ll be great, really fun.”
I looked at her, trying to catch her eye so I could let her know how much I appreciated this. Okay, it had been kind of an awful night. But it wasn’t like when I was with Luke we were all one big happy group either. And I
was
happy now.
“Here,” I said to him, cutting a large piece of the cake. “This is for you.”
He smiled, pleased. “Yeah? Thanks.”
“Thank you.” And despite Morris and Daisy watching right across the table, despite everything, I kissed his lips.
And then, I slid that piece of my heart on the plate with a flourish, making it an event, and gave it to him.
The ride back home was considerably better. Maybe it was what Theo had said, or the cake, or the fact that Morris dozed off shortly after we left Cape Frost. Whatever the reason, we rode in amiable silence, with just the radio on. Every once in a while, I’d look over at Theo, who was sitting beside me, one hand resting on my knee, and smile.
The trip from Cape Frost to Colby was all one two-lane road, with a few stretches where there was nothing but scrub brush and mile markers. It was along one of these that we came upon a stopped blue truck with its hazards on and a U-Haul trailer attached. One of the trailer’s tires was flat. The driver, in a beat-up baseball hat and a flannel shirt, was pulling out a jack from the truck box to change it. I slowed down.
“What are you doing?” Theo asked.
“I’m going to see if he needs any help,” I replied.
“Emaline, I don’t know …” He paused. “It’s kind of late, don’t you think? And there’s not much around here.”
“Exactly,” I said. “If he doesn’t have a phone he’s screwed.”
“Everyone has a phone these days.”
“Not in Colby. Roll down your window.”
He hesitated, his hand on the button. The guy still hadn’t seen us. “I’m serious. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Theo. The guy’s stranded out here in the middle of nowhere and there are four of us.”
“He’s got a weapon, though.”
“That’s a
jack
,” I told him. “And there’s a Finz sticker on that truck bumper, as well as a Colby beach permit. He’s a local.”
“But you don’t recognize him.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“I don’t know,” he said again.
Now we were coming right up next to the guy, and Theo still hadn’t even cracked the window. I turned to look at Morris, who was in the backseat, asleep, his mouth hanging open. To Daisy I said, “Wake him up, will you?”
She shook his shoulder. He came to quickly, the way I knew he would: Morris could sleep anywhere, deeply, and upon waking go right back to whatever he’d been doing without missing a beat, a skill he’d perfected in high school. “What’s going on?”
“This guy’s broken down,” I said.
Immediately, Morris lowered his window. “Hey, man. You need some help?”
The guy turned, the jack in his hand, and squinted at us. “Yeah, that’d be great. I know there’s a spare for this thing but I’m not sure where it is.”
I reversed, then pulled behind the truck, and Morris hopped out. We sat there in silence, watching as the driver opened the back of the trailer to check on whatever he was hauling. It was crammed full of what appeared to be canvases or … paintings. Lots of paintings. I looked at his face again, more closely this time.
“Holy crap,” I said. I got out of the car.
“Hey!” Theo called out, worried. “I don’t think you should—”
I walked over to the trailer, and the driver looked at me. “Emaline! What are you doing here?”
“I’m with him,” I said, gesturing at Morris. “You know Clyde, Morris?”
Morris glanced at him. “Oh, yeah. Right. Hey.”
“Hey,” Clyde said. He looked back at my car. “You guys out tonight, huh?”
“We went to Haiku for contemporary Asian fare,” Morris told him.
“What the hell is that?” Clyde asked.
“Exactly,” Morris replied. “Emaline, you got a flashlight? I think the spare’s actually up front.”
“In the car,” I said. “Hang on.”
I walked back over to my door, then got in, reaching across Theo to the glove compartment. “I know you think you know everyone here,” he said. “But that guy could be a serial killer.”
“Or one of the most noted collage artists of the nineteen nineties.”
It took him a minute. Then he looked back at the truck. “That’s Clyde?”
“Yep.” I shut the glove box. “Be right back.”
This time, he didn’t hesitate. He was out of the car in a flash, falling in step behind me as I walked back over to the trailer. “Clyde,” he called out. “What’s the problem?”
“Who’s that?” Clyde asked Morris, squinting into the dark.
“Mr. Sushi.”
I handed Morris the flashlight, and he went around the front of the trailer, picking up the toolbox on his way.
Theo was just looking at the paintings, his eyes wide. “These are yours?”
“Yeah,” Clyde replied, his attention on Morris. “Just emptying out an old storage unit over in the Cape. Hey, you need any help up there?”
There was a clank. “Nah, I’m good. I found it.”
“These are …” Theo said, approaching the trailer and running his finger along the edges of the canvases. “There are so many of them. I can’t really make out the details, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen—”
“Got it,” Morris called out, reappearing. Clyde stepped in front of Theo, cutting him off both in view and midsentence, then reached out for the spare as Morris handed it out. “It’s not in great shape. The ones on rentals never are. But it should get you there.”
“Great,” Clyde said. “Thanks.”
“You need help putting it on?” I asked. It was one of my dad’s rules that all of us girls had to be able to aptly change a tire before he’d hand over the keys to any of his cars.
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
Morris and I looked at each other. “It’ll go faster with two pairs of hands,” Morris said, picking up the jack.
“Oh, and I can help, too,” Theo offered. However, as Morris squatted down by the flat tire, Clyde beside him, Theo didn’t move. He was still looking at the paintings.
“This is,” he whispered to me as they got the jack into place, “seriously amazing. Seriously. I don’t think Ivy, or anyone else for that matter, had any idea he had work that hadn’t been seen and cataloged. The possibilities for this are mind-boggling.”
“Or,” I said, “they could all be nothing, which is why he never showed them to anyone.”
“This is Clyde Conaway. As far as anyone knows, he has a very limited oeuvre.”
“Which means …?”
“Even if they’re nothing,” he replied, “they’re something.”
There was a clank. “Shit,” I heard Morris mutter.
Clyde adjusted the flashlight. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. This lug nut’s just being a bitch.”
Of course it was a female. I sighed.
Theo said, “Ivy’s going to
freak
. Especially if this means he might be considering the idea of a tour.”
“A tour? Of what?”