Picture Perfect (5 page)

Heather turned and gave him a disparaging look. “Who invited you? This is a private conversation.”

“Then don’t have it on the stairs. Because other people have to use them,” Spencer said. “I’m only getting ready because she told me
to.” He pointed at me. “But you’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Spend the trip being boy crazy,” Spencer said. “Just like last time.”

“No, not like last time,” Heather said.

I coughed. “Definitely not.”

“Unlike you,
we’ve
actually gotten more mature,” Heather said. “So it’s not the same thing as being what you call ‘boy crazy,’ because that was us when we were eleven.”

“Fifteen,” Spencer coughed.

“Plus, we go out more often. Unlike you, I’m betting,” Heather said.

“We do?” I said. “Right. We do. All the time. Constantly going out.”

Spencer laughed in my face. “Yeah. Right.”

How was it he could always manage to see right through me?

And how was it that I didn’t punch him?

“E
verybody say ‘squeeze!’”

“Squeeze!” Heather and Adam yelled, while Spencer stood a little sullenly off to one side. I didn’t mind. I was actually getting good shots of him being less posed. This way, I’d get his true, miffed, unpleasant expression.

“Whatever happened to saying cheese?” he complained.

“We’re from Wisconsin,” I reminded him. “People call us cheeseheads. It’s a bad stereotype.”

“Too cheesy,” Heather said.

We were standing on the observation deck of Currituck Lighthouse, and so far I’d taken pictures of everything: the tall grasses below,
the ocean sound between the strips of land, the lighthouse and its 214 spiral steps to the top, which had made us all break a sweat but had given me very cool photos.

Before the lighthouse tour, we’d gone on a short hike, looking for the wild mustangs that supposedly roamed the area. We only ended up seeing one horse, and it was so hot and buggy that we’d made a dash for the van after not too long. My dad wouldn’t stop singing this old U2 song, “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?”, only changing the lyrics to “Who’s gonna find those wild horses?”

My dad has to sing a lot. In public. It doesn’t make sense, given the fact he’s an accountant, and they’re supposed to be stable, boring types. It’s because he was in a band in college—I’ve seen the videos and he wasn’t half bad (back then, anyway).

Still, despite my dad’s occasional bursting into song, I’d gotten a sense of how beautiful the area was, and how amazing it must have been in the past, before people like us were tromping all over the place, scaring off the wild horses.

“
Take
it already,” Spencer said to me. “How many group photos do we need?”

“I’m getting it. I want the shot to be perfect,” I said. “We need the lighthouse in the background and—”

Spencer let out a loud and overly obvious sigh. “It’s like I said. Seen one lighthouse, you’ve seen them all,” he said.

“Your enthusiasm is so refreshing,” Heather commented, shoving him so hard that he moved out of my view just as I pressed the button.

“Perfect,” I said. I turned off my camera and put it into my bag. “So, what’s next?”

“We have to meet at the van at one,” Adam said. “According to your mom. Who told me that about six times.”

“Why do I feel like we’re on a school field trip?” Heather asked.

“I know,” said Spencer. “We have to take off on our own tomorrow. It’s not like we don’t have enough vehicles—and do we really have to go everywhere together?”

“My mom would never let me leave the group,” I began to explain.

“Mine either,” Heather added.

Spencer stepped back, putting his hand on his chest. “Not even with a reliable older person like me?”

I shook my head.

He looked a little shocked. “What, I’m not good enough?”

“Please. You’re only ten months older than us,” I said.

“If that,” added Heather.

“I think I know when my birthday is,” Spencer said with a laugh.

“Look, who cares? We can always just ask if we can go somewhere together without parental supervision,” Adam said. “We’ll phrase it in a way that they’ll have to say yes. We’ll tell them we’re going somewhere safe.”

“And won’t we be?” I asked, wondering what exactly he had in mind.

“Sure, of course. I just meant…they might not like the concept of us all going scuba diving or something like that.”

“Great idea—I’ve always wanted to try
that,” said Spencer.

“Me too,” added Heather. “Love those fins. Dead sexy.”

“Oh, yeah, we’ll go scuba diving. We’ll
totally
do that,” I said.

“Why not? It’s a great idea,” Spencer said.

“It’s not a great idea. Trust me. You’ll have a mysterious accident somewhere off the pier,” I said. “You’ll end up on
Dateline NBC
.”

“No, you will,” Spencer said. “As a…a
fun
predator. Someone who tries to find and then kill all the fun.” He stared at me, and I felt very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“Me? I’m no fun-killer,” I said. “You’re the one who hates lighthouses and refuses to get in the picture.”

“I’m just thinking ahead. I can see you Photoshopping me into something really embarrassing.”

I took out my camera and turned it back on. “I hadn’t thought of that yet, but thanks for the suggestion.” I started to focus on Spencer again, noticing the small scar near his left ear where
he’d gotten cut when we had a winter reunion once and he sliced his face with an ice skate in a bad fall. This will probably sound weird, but I loved that scar. I could look at it forever. It reminded me of being kids together and how easy it was to just play all day long, without ever having to talk or delve into anything deeper than whether we wanted fries or onion rings with our lunch. (Me: fries; Spencer: onion rings; Heather: celery sticks; Adam: ketchup.) And in another way, something about it was sort of sexy, too.

“Quit it!” Spencer said, pushing my arm to try to get the camera, which I was still pointing at him, lost in memory—or something like it. “What about you, why don’t you get in the picture?” We were suddenly wrestling for my little camera, and I was so worried it would fall to the ground and break that I wrapped my arms around his waist and tried to trap him by the edge of the lighthouse wall.

“Okay, you guys, lighten up. We don’t need someone falling off the edge.” Adam grabbed
my arm and separated us.

“What is with you guys? Let’s quit arguing and focus, here. Suppose we do get a car.” Heather took a pack of gum out of her pocket and popped a square piece into her mouth. “Which is a great idea, but like it or not, we’re going to be traveling as a pack. Where should we go?”

“I’ve studied the guidebook, and there are lots of possibilities,” said Spencer.

I sighed. “I’m sure my mother’s already planned group outings to all of them.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go twice,” Spencer argued. “We’d see things differently. You guys are too pessimistic.”

“No, more like realistic.” Heather offered the gum to the rest of us.

“I’m thinking of another
r
word, actually,” Spencer said as he took a piece.

I looked over at Heather. “He must mean ravishing.”

“Or else really, really, r—”

“Revolting?” suggested Adam.

“Rigid.” Spencer stood ramrod straight, arms at his side.

“You guys fight like two old married couples,” my dad commented as he passed by us.

The four of us looked at each other, and Spencer made an exaggerated shiver.

Oh, yeah, like it was such a horrible thought. He could be so arrogant. How could I even have cared about him or his stupid scar, once upon a time?

“Excuse us,” said Heather. “We have to get back to our actual
life
.” She dragged me toward the spiral staircase. “Everyone knows that if you want to find out where to go in a place, you ask the locals. So, let’s find some.”

I followed her down the winding stairs, noticing that there were some okay-looking guys on their way up, and wondering if we should turn around and follow
them
.

We stopped outside the lighthouse door and surveyed the parking lot.

All I saw was a steady stream of tourists, mostly of the middle-aged variety. Cars with Ohio, Illinois, and New York license plates
cluttered the parking lot, and several people who passed us looked as if they hadn’t seen the sun in months—or a lighthouse, judging from their excitement.

“Do they look local?” I asked, pointing to a couple of guys on bicycles coasting into the parking lot. We watched as they rode up to an ice-cream vendor parked in the lot.

“Who cares
where
they live?” said Heather, and she dragged me over to where they stood in line, casually slipping into place behind them. Before I could think of a way to meet them, of anything slightly witty or interesting to say, Heather tapped the taller one on the shoulder. He turned around, a confused look on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Hey.” Heather smiled up at him—he was at least a foot and a half taller than her. “I was just wondering, um, where are you guys staying? Because we totally want to rent bikes, too, but we don’t know where.”

“They’re not rented,” he said. “They’re ours. We live here.”

“Oh, you live here? Really? How cool,” Heather said.

“Really cool,” I added before I could stop myself from saying something so ridiculously redundant. They both looked at me as if I were a bit short in the IQ department.

“We could give you the names of a couple of rental places,” his friend suggested.

“That would be great. Thanks. So, where do people go here in Corolla?” Heather asked. “I mean, for fun.”

“It’s pronounced Cur-all-a. Not Corolla, like the car,” the taller one said. “Not that anyone
cares
,” he muttered to his friend.

Somehow I didn’t think we would end up going anywhere with these guys. They already thought we were idiots.

“We care,” Heather told him. “We’re going to college in this town in Michigan that nobody can pronounce—Pishnachaumegon.”

“Bless you,” the taller guy teased, and we all laughed.

“See? We understand,” Heather said. “So can you tell us—where should we go? I mean,
where do people here go at night?” Heather pressed. “Or, I guess we’re staying in Kill Devil Hills, a little south. So what’s down there?”

They started rattling off names of places, clubs, and it struck me they were probably old enough to
go
to bars, whereas we weren’t even close.

Heather must have had the same thought, because she stopped jotting down names on her arm, and said, “You know, I almost forgot. There’s this party tomorrow night. Not at our house, but next door.”

My eyes widened. What was she doing?

“Seriously?” asked the taller one.

She nodded. “We’re staying on the beach—come find us, we’ll hit the party.” She quickly jotted down the address on the edge of a lighthouse brochure, then added her cell phone number and handed it to him. “My name’s Heather, and this is Emily.”

“Hey. I’m Dean,” he said. “This is Chase.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Call us if you’re in the neighborhood, okay?” Heather said, smiling up at Dean.

“Cool.” He nodded, and sounded genuine when he said, “We will.”

“See you later!” Chase held up his cone in a kind of toast motion to us, then they got back onto their bikes and rode off. They managed to hold their ice-cream treats in one hand and steer with the other, something I’m sure I could never accomplish, and definitely not with people watching me.

Heather and I laughed as she grabbed our ice creams and we walked over to where the guys were waiting for us, outside the van.

Spencer was leaning against the van, foot propped behind him. “Don’t tell me you just tried to pick up a couple of guys at the ice-cream truck. That’s so middle school of you.”

“We didn’t,” Heather said.

“Good.” Spencer nodded.

“We didn’t
try
, I mean.” Heather smiled, then we both burst out laughing again. “We succeeded,” she said.

“Yeah, right,” Adam scoffed. “That’s why they rode away at top speed.”

“You don’t know anything,” I said. “They’re
coming to the party tomorrow.”

“What party?”

“The one next door at Blake’s. I invited them,” Heather announced.

“I hate to have to point this out, but…that’s not your party,” Spencer said. “How could you invite them?”

“Oh, come on. You know how these beach things are. Totally casual, laid back. Haven’t you ever watched a surfer movie? So,” Heather said, turning to me. “Which one do you want?”

“Which one? Um, how about the sherbet—”

“Not that, silly. The guys.” Heather handed me the cup of rainbow sherbet. “Do you want the one with the blue shirt or the one with the orange shirt? Chase or Dean?”

“Wow, you guys are picky,” Spencer commented drily. “I thought you only dated guys with red shirts.”

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him wearing a Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream T-shirt. “Well, I don’t know, but green shirts are definitely out of the question.”

“Ouch. Ouch!” Adam pretended to dab
blood from Spencer’s nose.

We were arguing about whether it was ethical to invite people to a party that wasn’t yours when our parents marched up. My mother stared at me. “Ice cream? Honey, you’ll ruin your lunch.”

“It’s not ice cream. It’s sherbet,” I said.

“But we’re going to Awful Arthur’s. Home of the Happy Oyster,” she said.

“Well, then. Forget this,” I said, tossing my nearly empty container into a trash can. “Not that I like oysters or have ever tried one or wanted to try one.”

“Is it true what they say about oysters?” Spencer asked.

“What?” My mother put her hand on her throat. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“They’re supposed to have an aphrodisiac effect,” said Spencer. “Do they?”

Heather stared at him, then scrunched up her face. “You mean they make you afraid to leave the house?”

“No, that’s agoraphobic,” Spencer said as we all laughed.

“Let me get this straight. You got into Linden, and I didn’t,” Adam said to Heather. “Really?”

“You know how they want a very diverse student body,” Heather said. “Well, I’m diverse.”

“As diverse as they get,” Spencer muttered.

“So what
does
it mean?” Heather asked.

“It means we should be going,” my mother said as she opened the van’s side door. “Quickly. Climb in, everyone!”

Spencer got into the van. “Heather, it means that eating oysters makes you have certain thoughts. About members of the opposite sex.”

“
Really
. Interesting,” she commented. “Maybe we should look into that.”

I felt myself blushing at the very suggestion as I sat in the second row back.

“Maybe
you
don’t need to, Heather,” Adam said, laughing as he dropped into the spot beside her.

“Hey, I saw you checking out that girl in the gift shop—” Heather began.

“Me? I was not.”

“Yeah, she was too busy asking for my number,” said Spencer, tapping his cell phone in front of my face as if that proved anything.