Endless Summer

“Don’t I count?” Adam asked from inside the refrigerator.

“That’s Adam, right?” Tammy whispered.

“Right,” I said. “Sean is holding court by the palm tree in the living room. The art geeks are outside in the grass.”

“The football team is on the dock, shooting bottle rockets into the lake,” Adam offered. I knew where his heart was.

“The trumpet line from the marching band is on the deck,” I said. “Who were you looking for?”

“You!” Tammy said. She handed me a small present wrapped in Valentine’s paper.

“Hey, thanks!” I said, ripping it open. “What’s it for?” My birthday was still a week and a day away, and I didn’t think anyone from school knew when it was. “How sweet!” I held up the eyelash comb, twirled it between my fingers, and slipped it into the pocket of Adam’s sweatshirt. I hoped I remembered to take it out again at the end of the night. If I didn’t, Adam would have some explaining to do next football season when it fell out of his pocket at practice.

“It’s a hostess gift,” Tammy said. “You know, when you come to a party, you bring a present for the hostess.”

“But I’m not the hostess. This isn’t my house.” I wondered whether she’d tripped over some te

“You’re the hostess because you’re the girlfriend of one of the hosts,” Tammy said.

Without meaning to, I glanced up at Adam. He’d closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it, watching me.

“Or pretending to be,” Tammy added.

Adam’s blue eyes widened at me. Something told me—and I am sure this was not feminine instincts, because we have established I did not have any of those—but something told me my explanation of how Tammy knew about the plot might go over better if I heated Adam up. I slid my arms around his waist and pressed close to him, backing him against the refrigerator. His eyes grew even wider.

I gave him a coy half-smile that probably ended up looking like the first signs of a seizure. “You know how girls are. Girls can’t make a move without telling other girls about it.”

“Yeah, girls are like that,” Adam told me, “but you’re not.”

Tammy cleared her throat.

Adam cleared his throat.

I cleared my throat, removed my hands from Adam’s waist, and brushed imaginary dust off his bare shoulders, setting straight any oafish damage I might have done.

From now on, whenever I got the idea that maybe he liked me a little, I would remember that he did not like me a little. I didn’t need to read his mind.

“Heeeeeeey,” Tammy squealed. She must have seen Holly or Beige or a super-cute boy—but no, it was only McGillicuddy. ey disappeared into the living room with their heads close together, shouting over the music. If she got rid of my approaching brother for me because she thought I needed some alone time with Adam to talk out our problems, she was wrong-o about me. Again. I started to follow her.

“Di

I looked toward the table in the kitchen. He’d set two of the places with knives, forks, spoons, and napkins. He’d placed a sandwich on each plate and sprinkled parsley flakes in a circle around it. Bam! He’d stacked the potato chips artfully in dessert bowls. He’d even lit one of his leftover birthday candles between our places. It all would have been really cute if he’d meant it. It was still pretty cute as a farce to make Rachel jealous, I supposed, but I wasn’t in the mood.

“Let me help you,” he said, pulling out a chair for me, as if I were a girl or something. Vivid imagination, this boy. I sat, and he scooted me up to the table.

He took a bottle of soda from the fridge and held it in front of me, like he was a wine steward. I nodded that the year was okay. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to me. I sniffed it like a wine cork, nodded my approval again, and handed it back to him. He poured soda into wine glasses for both of us, then sat down with me.

He took a gargantuan bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and looked at me. “What’s wrong?” Oh, nothing. That’s what a girl would say, and she’d sulk for the rest of the night. But I wasn’t capable of keeping my mouth shut. “I’m confused.”

“It’s not really wine,” he said. “It’s Diet Coke. And if anyone ever serves you brown wine with a foamy head, send it back.”

“ank you, Dr. Science.” I took a dainty bite of my sandwich. Adam was a real gourmet. Peanut butter and strawberry jam. “I’m confused because I thought you said I was flaunting, and now I’m not even a girl? I thought you said I was a good flaunter.”

“You are a good flaunter.” He swirled the Diet Coke in his glass and sniffed the bouquet.

“Then why am I not a girl?”

“You—Shit, I knew that’s what you were mad about. I didn’t mean it that way.” He leaned his head to one side and popped his neck. “You know as well as I do that you don’t act like other girls.”

“I’m working on it, though.” I was working so hard! I felt like crying into my salt and vinegar chips, which was a step in the right direction.

“But it’s good you don’t act like other girls. Of course, I don’t have any say in it, because you’re not after me. You’re after Sean.”

“You wouldn’t have any say in it anyway, you patriarchal freak.” I chomped a chip and said with my mouth full, “anks for cooking di

He glared at me. “Eat up. We have work to do.”

“What kind of work? Devious kissing work? May I point out that we both have peanut butter breath?”

“Eat up,” he said again. Sean’s jovial voice escalated over the music in the living room, which made me want to speed up eating to get out of there, but also made the sandwich sit on my stomach like a rock.

We went upstairs. Adam shared his bathroom with Sean and Cameron, and the bathroom looked it. He brushed his teeth, then sipped straight from a bottle of mouthwash. As he swished it around in his mouth, he nudged my bare tummy with his toothbrush and prompted, “Hm.”

“You want me to use your toothbrush?”

He spit in the sink. “You might as well. You’re about to do a lot worse.”

At this point, I realized what I’d thought was stress and peanut butter indigestion was actually butterflies, which began dogfighting in my stomach at the idea that Adam and I were about to kiss some more. As I brushed my teeth with his toothbrush, I watched him watching me in the mirror. His muscled arms were folded on his strong, ta

If his parents hadn’t been in the next room with the ten o’clock news turned way up over the music downstairs, I might have made a move on him right there in the bathroom. Yes, I know, odds were I would have tripped and knocked him down and made him hit his head on the toilet. I was so turned on, I was almost willing to take this chance.

Instead, he took my hand again and led me down through the party, indoors and outdoors, to the end of the dock. e football team had run out of bottle rockets. e party had reached the stage where boys played quarters. e drinking game was run very professionally by experienced people. If Mr. Vader had found out, he would have shut down the party—because kids were drinking underage at his house, or because he would have known one of his sons had stolen beer from the marina. In any case, as a precaution, a wall of people stood across the dock, talking and flirting, shielding the boys playing quarters from the prying eyes of the Vaders in their bedroom.

e wall of people included Sean and Rachel, facing each other and holding both hands like they were about to dance a polka. Rachel hadn’t taken the precaution of kicking her shoes off before she stepped onto the dock. She was likely to catch her heel between the boards and fall flat. (Shrug.) Rachel obviously valued beauty before balance.