Chapter 4
Frankie
“I can’t believe this is an actual job,” Alex says, bouncing his knee up and down.
I shield my eyes from the sun, which slices through the small wooden welcome hut at the Pelican Island Tennis and Beach Club. “Kind of crazy they let the babies have the best gig.” I elbow him in the ribs and reach for a salt-and-vinegar chip from the bag in front of us.
Millie and Lucy complained about being on welcome-hut duty during the summers between their freshman and sophomore years. I can’t really see why. We’re only a few hours into our first shift, and I can already tell it’s going to be the easiest job of all time.
All we have to do is say hi to our neighbors as they stop by to pick up free sunscreen and fresh fluffy towels, tell people where to go for their tennis lessons, and make sure visiting relatives have guest passes.
Besides that, we can basically do whatever we want.
For Alex and me, that means working through the hardest level of logic puzzles from the big book I found in my dad’s office around the holidays.
It’s as heavy as my world history textbook, but it’s ten years old, marketed as a study guide for law school hopefuls taking the LSAT, and when I asked Dad about the book, he waved his hand.
“I do them for fun. They keep you sharp.”
Dad handed it over, then bought me a few more books for Hanukkah, each one leveling up in difficulty. “The associates at my firm can barely get to level ten,” he said. “But you will.”
I’m almost there, but really only with Alex’s help. I find them relaxing and Alex’s competitive streak makes him to want to solve them as fast as I do. He’s the perfect partner for this kind of thing.
I extend my long legs beneath the desk, wincing as my joints ache. My doctor called the consistent pangs growing pains, but I don’t totally understand why reaching my full height has to cause such distress. Especially when both of my sisters remain at a very average and nonpainful five-foot-four.
“Want some ice?” Alex asks, motioning to my knee, which I’m bending back and forth. “I can grab you a bag from the Snack Shack?”
I swat at him. “You want to go over there because Rishi is working today.”
Alex blushes but doesn’t deny it. He’s had a crush on that kid for months, and even though Rishi sometimes flirts back, we’ve never been able to confirm if he might be into Alex.
“You’re so annoying when you’re right,” Alex says with a grin.
I flip open the thick book and find a puzzle we haven’t yet done.
“This one’s a grid murder mystery.” I start to scan the clues, but before I can read the puzzle aloud, a short woman wearing tennis whites rushes up to the check-in hut.
She’s clutching a tote bag, and her brow is knit into a deep, worried V shape. A thick gold bracelet catches the sun.
“Hi, Mrs. Godwin,” I say. “Are you here for your court assignment?” I page through the tennis sign-ups. “Looks like the Ladies Clinic is on court four. Mitch is the pro over there today.”
I smile wide and wait for Alex to do the same, but suddenly he turns his attention to the corkboard on the wall.
Mrs. Godwin waves her hand. “No, no,” she said. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen Billy.”
Alex snaps his eyes to me, and I know it’s my job to give her an answer.
I flip to the staff sign-in sheet and scan the list of names, but it looks like Billy hasn’t checked in yet. “Sorry, he’s not here.”
Mrs. Godwin’s mouth turns into a frown. “Let me see that.” She grabs the book from my hands and mutters something under her breath before dropping it on the counter. I look at Alex and turn my mouth into a straight line, but he shakes his head. He has no idea what’s going on either.
“Do you want me to radio down to the courts and see if he showed up early?” I ask. “Forgot to sign in?” Based on the fact that Ethan said he threw a party last night, my guess is that he woke up naked on the beach half a mile down the sand.
Mrs. Godwin lets out a frustrated sigh, but before she can respond, someone calls behind her, “Sally, hello!”
My spine stiffens as my mother approaches, kissing Mrs. Godwin on the cheek.
Beside her is Mrs. Vreeland, another woman in their doubles group.
She’s got dark hair tied up in a bun, beaded bracelets that make clanking noises when she raises her hand to wave at us.
“Hope these kids aren’t giving you too much trouble,” Mom says.
Mrs. Godwin offers a weak smile. “Looking for Billy, that’s all.”
“Well, the search party will have to wait, because Mitch is ready to whip us into shape so we’ll be prepared for the tournament,” Mrs. Vreeland says, swinging her racket.
Mom readjusts her tennis visor. “Hopefully we won’t have to play each other until the semifinals.”
“You’ll crush it, Debbie,” Alex says.
Anyone else’s obvious sucking-up-ness would bother me, but Alex is the best when it comes to my mom. He knows it’s easier to deal with Debbie Gold when she doesn’t suspect you of anything, and she’s always on my case about something.
“Thanks, Alex.” Mom winks at him, which is honestly mortifying.
“If you see Billy, tell him his mother is looking for him. Okay?” Mrs. Godwin says. Her voice is shaky, and Mrs. Vreeland pats her on the arm.
“Sure, Mrs. Godwin,” I say.
Mom’s eyes travel to the top of my head. “You really should tie your hair up while you work, hon,” she says as she starts to walk away. “And at least wear some mascara. It’s not like it’ll hurt.”
My cheeks burn, and I press my lips together.
Mom has no idea how to deal with a daughter like me.
She’s always nitpicking about stuff I can’t control, like how my uniform skirts are too short (I grew six inches in a year!) or how my hair is a frizzy mess (I don’t want to spend an hour fighting with a diffuser!) or how I should be more like Millie and Lucy when it comes to my “overall appearance” (can’t a girl not be interested in makeup?).
Alex once suggested I talk to her about this stuff and tell her how much it bothers me when she critiques me like that, but the idea of confronting my mother is as appealing as swimming in the Sound on New Year’s Day.
An idea reserved for sociopaths. No thank you.
Alex nudges my foot with his, checking in.
“I’m good,” I say, and focus my attention on the logic book in front of me, not even reading the clues. Having my mom speak to me like that in public was like being seen right when you come out of the shower, flushed and naked with your hair flat, stuck to your scalp.
“Liar. Doesn’t matter, though. I like your curls like this.” He pulls at a ringlet and lets it spring back into place.
“Thanks,” I say softly, warmth filling my fingertips.
For a moment, we’re both quiet, listening to the sounds of the toddlers behind us splashing in the shallow end, the thwacking of distant tennis balls, the gentle crashing of tiny waves from the Long Island Sound.
I inhale and take a whiff of sweaty sunscreen and fried food from the Snack Shack. I roll my shoulders down my back and point to the book. “Here’s the first clue,” I say, and start to read aloud to Alex.