The Summer of Moonlight Secrets (17 page)

45

Allie Jo

We decide to take Tara out for a field trip. Our first stop is the front desk. A bunch of people wait in line; the crowd for Taste of Hope is starting to fill the hotel. More people come in and wait behind us. We even had to walk single file down the hallway to make way for people and their suitcases. This is my absolute favorite time of year.

When we finally get up to the front, I'm about to say,
Hay, Clay,
but his eyes boing out of his head when he sees Tara.

Time for witness protection. “Clay, this is Tara … Blume,” I say, giving her the last name of one of my favorite authors. “She's Melanie's cousin.” The cousin part was something I thought of while I was dyeing Tara's hair. I would love to say she's
my
cousin, but Clay would know that wasn't true.

“Nice to meet you,” Tara says, and smiles. So far, she is getting an A-plus.

Clay's face turns red.

“Clay?” Boy, I tell you, liking someone can really turn people into dorks.

“Hi, Allie Jo,” he says without turning from Tara.

I ding the bell a whole bunch of times and say, “Uh … I'm over here.”

Shock takes over Clay's face and it gets even redder.

“Tell Dad we're going downtown.”

He nods.

“Nice to meet you,” Tara says again, and we head outside, where Chase is waiting for us.

Armed with Taste of Hope posters, hammers, and nails, our job is to replace any posters that have fallen off telephone poles or have been ruined by rain. That's why we walk downtown; besides, the shuttle bus was loaded with people heading out to the boutiques.

The first poster has been rained on so much, all the colors have run. I yank it off the post. “Throw this in the trash can over there,” I direct Chase.

Holding a new one in its place, I grab a nail and hit it with the hammer, but the wood's hard.

“Let me,” Tara says. With one powerful thwack, she drives the nail in. Her hair looks a little uneven. I make a mental note to fix that when we get home.

We trudge down the road looking for other signs. By the time we get onto the main strip, we've replaced seventeen posters; looking down the street, I can see at least seventeen more.

You can tell by all the cars cruising the boulevard that the festival is kicking up. Joanie's Closet is having a sidewalk sale; that's where I get most of my clothes. Farther down, people come in and out of Fine Exotics by Sima carrying their purchases in the special silver bags she gives out. I see Miss MaryAnn sitting outside her studio painting; she wears a beret and looks like a real artist, which I guess she is, since she's from New York.

Waiting at the stoplight is pure torture. I roast like a peanut. Tara's face is red, and Chase is scratching his cast. A crowd of people cluster on the other side. Finally, a rooster crows, signaling it's okay for us to cross. Hope Springs doesn't just have a
Walk/Don't Walk
sign; we have a rooster noise hooked up to the light. It's just another one of those things that makes this place special.

As we cross, a couple of people pretend not to look at Tara, but they can't help it. She's so pretty.

I just know she's going to be popular in school, but unlike most popular people, she'll be nice, which will make her even more popular. Sure, she'll have other friends, but I'll be the one she's closest to, because she
picked
me. We'll sit on the porch and do our homework together.

I glance at her, and she smiles back at me. This fall is going to be the best school year ever.

Heat rolls up from the blacktop, and I look at all those signs lining the street. Sweat trickles down my back under my shirt. “Let's go to Brimble's,” I say.

We sit out on the porch, knocking back our lemonades.

Chase leans forward on his rocker. “There's your friend,” he says out of the side of his mouth.

Jennifer Jorgensen! Does she have to be everywhere? “Don't even look at her,” I say, and stare straight ahead. But I'm keeping the side of my eyes on her.

Of course she's not alone—Heather and Lori are with her, and of course they can't just pass by; they come straight up the steps. They don't even have the decency to pretend they don't see us.

Jennifer walks over and squares herself against the banister right in front of Chase. My eyes turn into slits. The other girls don't quite know what to do with themselves because Jennifer's blocking the way.

“Hi, Chase,” she says, trying to make her dimples show. She glances right through me and startles at Tara. Then she straightens up. “Who are you?”

“Tara,” she says. “I'm Melanie's cousin.”

Jennifer screws up her face, turning her nostrils into a pig nose. “You're Melanie's cousin?”

“And Allie Jo's friend.”

She's sticking up for me. My chest swells with emotion. This is what it's like; this is what it's like to have a sister.

Tara stands up, causing Jennifer to look up at her. “What's your name?” Tara asks.

Jennifer's face tightens. She looks a little scared. “Jennifer,” she says.

Lori pushes forward a little. “I'm Lori and this is Heather. Are you a model?”

“Omigosh!” Heather chimes in. “I was just about to ask the same thing!”

They chat Tara up as Jennifer takes her in. Then Jennifer ducks out behind them and kneels by Chase's rocking chair.

“Can I sign your cast?”

He shrugs. “If you want to.”

She pops up and claps her hands. They crowd into the shop and Jennifer comes back lickety-split to Chase's side with a marker. She scans his cast, looking for just the right spot when her eyes land on something that stops her flat. “Oh—
Sophie
.”

With a green heart, like Jennifer's is right now.

She scribbles her trademark signature, a big
J
followed by smaller letters in the bowl of the
J
. So really, if you had to pronounce it, you'd have to say
Enniferj
.

After she goes back into Brimble's, I get up. “Let's finish these signs,” I say. And get far away from Enniferj.

46

Chase

“I didn't want her to sign it,” I say to Allie Jo as we head up the road. “I just didn't know how I could say no.”

“I know,” she says.

Tara goes, “It's cool.”

I look at Tara and laugh. “Excellent!” Man, she's quick.

The sun blasts us as we work our way up the street, pounding in the new signs. We have two left; they're on wickets and we're supposed to stick them in the park where Taste of Hope will be.

Allie Jo tugs the back of my shirt. “Let's go in here first.”

Joanie's Closet. Oh, no. I sag, my arms drooping like a toy robot that's run out of batteries. I hate shopping. My aunt forces me to go with her sometimes. I'd rather scrub toilets with my toothbrush than look at clothes.

“C'mon,” Allie Jo says. “It'll only take a minute.”

I groan. That's what they all say.

Joanie's Closet smells like a basement, musty but good. There is no way I'm looking at clothes, so I kind of wander around and find myself at a jewelry counter.

I take a mood ring from on top of a basket of loose jewelry and put it on.

A lady steps up behind the counter. “What mood are you in?”

I watch the ring as the blackness dissolves into swirls of color. “I don't know,” I say.

She looks down at the ring through her bifocals, then pulls out a chart. “Violet,” she says, running her finger across the card. She looks up at me and smiles. “You're feeling happy and romantic.”

“Cheeyah.” I jerk the ring off my finger and drop it into the basket. “Those things don't really work. They just measure your temperature, that's all.”

“Not true,” she says. I wonder if she's Joanie. “It's all scientific.” She snugs the ring onto her own finger, waits a minute, then says, “See? Blue. I'm relaxed and lovable.” She grins.

I sort through the jewelry and spot a glimmer of green near the bottom. Fishing through all the chains and stuff, I hook the band and pull out a silver ring with a shiny, light green stone shaped like a heart.

Sophie! This will make it official.

“Happy and romantic,” the lady says as she rings me up.

I don't want Allie Jo and Tara to see it, so I shove it into my pocket and tell them I'll wait outside for them. When they finally come out, they sit on a bench and pull out everything they just bought and admire it. Now this is something I don't understand: Didn't they just spend twenty minutes looking at that stuff? Did they already forget what it looks like? They laugh and giggle, telling each other how good the other will look in this or that shirt. I shake my head. They're just like my aunt.

I look across to the hilly park, where vendors have parked their trailers and begun to set up.

“Hey, there's my dad!” I say.

We cross over, shoving the wicket signs in as we climb the slight hill. Cords lie all over the grass, snaking to their owner's tents. Not all the tents are built yet; some have only the framework up, and some spots have the equipment dumped in a heap. It looks like a battle encampment.

“That's good,” Dad says, scribbling down the thing about a battle encampment. “Mind if I use it?”

“Don't forget my percentage,” I say. Onlookers mill around, dodging wires and poles. The smell of cut grass wafts in the air.

“Hi, Mr. Dennison,” Allie Jo says after she and Tara catch up to me. She introduces Tara, then asks, “You getting stuff for your article?”

Dad shakes his head in wonder. “This town went from dead to population explosion overnight. It's incredible!”

“Almost two hundred thousand people are expected,” Allie Jo says. She talks like a guidebook. “That's ten times more than the number of people who live here.”

Dad scribbles that in his notebook.

“Just for fireworks?” I can't believe that.

“Not just fireworks,” Allie Jo says. She gestures toward the tents. “There'll be painters, street entertainers, food and hospitality booths—this is, like, one of the biggest festivals in Florida.” She looks at Dad. “Did you get all that down?”

He laughs. “Yes, I did.”

She leans over and puts her finger on Dad's notebook. “Could you put that The Meriwether will be serving five-star food, including blueberry pancakes and shrimp cocktail?”

Pancakes with shrimp. “That's gross!” I say.

“Not together!” She turns to Dad. “Chef will turn the menu over for lunch and dinner.”

Tara runs her hand over her hair, looks from me to Allie Jo. “I need to go.” Sweat rolls down the side of her face.

Allie Jo points to the portable toilets. “Let's go.”

Tara's pupils widen. When she looks at me, I feel pinpricks of heat.

“I don't think that's what she means,” I say to Allie Jo, watching Tara warily. Something's wrong, only I can't ask in front of Dad. “Can I have my percentage now?” I ask him. “We're too fried to walk back.”

He gives me bus fare for all of us and says he'll meet me at the hotel later. Tara walks so briskly to the bus stop that I think we might have gotten back faster just by keeping up with her. But the bus comes around quickly and the air-conditioning chills me as soon as we step on.

I settle in the back with them, slouching in my seat. Finally out of that heat.

Tara's taken the window, leaning forward just enough to see out. Her back is straight and her hands are clasped in a knot on her lap.

Even though the air-conditioning blows directly on me, the heat pinpricks bristle from my face to my legs. Man, there's no escape from it.