One Daisy #2
I know she’s a little nervous, but I can’t believe it.
She gets to drive—alone—in her own car—to New York City—to see the best human in the world (our cousin Eden), and then the two of them get to spend the weekend doing whatever they want before driving up to the lake house together.
While I get to sit in the back seat while Mom and Dave listen to NPR for the entire drive up to Laurel. It’s completely and wildly
unfair.
But if it means Eden gets to spend the summer with us in the Catskills, I’m all for it. I love her like the sister I never
had, which is to say, I love her like the sister I do have, but better, because she’s more fun. I’m thinking she’ll be a good influence on Georgia, and the three of us are going
to have the best time.
Besides, we all know this may be the last time it gets to be like this. With Georgia and Eden off to college in the fall,
who knows how much life is going to change. Which is why I’m all about seizing the moment and carpe diem-ing the crap out
of this summer.
Starting with tonight’s party. Technically, it’s a graduation party for Jenna’s older sister, Holly, but Jenna is allowed
to invite a bunch of her own friends, too.
I watch Georgia jog back up the stairs to her bedroom to grab the last of her things. Then I turn back to the mess of melted
ice on the kitchen floor.
Someone should really clean up around here.
“So, Owen told you he’s coming tonight?” Scarlet says, cocking her head to the side, causing her bike helmet to tilt.
Two long black pigtails stick out the bottom of the helmet and hang down her chest. She’s waiting for me to get my bike out of the tangle of pedals and wheels in the corner of our garage where I usually leave it.
“Yeah,” I grunt, pulling the handlebars to no effect.
“Did he tell you that, or was it a text?” Scarlet asks.
“What? I don’t know. I don’t remember. Probably both?” I’ve finally dragged my bike out of the heap. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I was just curious.”
I look at her. It’s hard to read her expression because she wears one of those hardcore helmets with an eye screen. It could
double as a welding helmet. “Since when are you so curious about Owen being at parties?” I ask.
Owen’s less of a going-out-to-parties kind of friend and more of a let’s-do-our-bio-homework-in-front-of-the-TV-together type.
Usually, Scarlet and I make our own plans.
“Oh, you know, I wasn’t sure if he was in trouble with his parents again or what,” Scarlet says.
Which is a fair concern, given that Owen is almost never not in trouble for something.
He can’t help himself; he’s got big golden retriever energy.
Like, he means well, but if a squirrel crosses his path, forget about it.
And the squirrel could be anything from some snide comment Aaron Eckles made in fourth-period English to, well, that stupid idea for a remote-controlled grocery cart he’s been building in his garage.
It never seems that bad to me, but I know he struggles with grades and gets himself into too many fights that he always claims he didn’t start (and for the record, I totally believe him).
He’s in Principal Carver’s office so often he knows the names of all her plants.
It’s gotten to the point where his parents have been talking about moving him to a more integrative school in Providence, which would probably be great for him but selfishly would suck for me.
I shrug. “I guess not. Or maybe? We’ll find out!” I tell her, hopping onto my bike seat and giving the pedal a twirl.
“When does he leave for his camping trip again?” Scarlet asks.
“It’s not a camping trip,” I remind her. “It’s thirteen days backpacking around Europe with his grandfather.”
Scarlet laughs. “Whatever. I heard the word backpacking and my brain went dead.”
“Same,” I tell her. I start rolling slowly down my sloped driveway, but Scarlet isn’t with me. I stop and turn to face her.
She’s straddling her bike but her feet are down, and now my psychic senses are tingling (though I’m way less talented at reading
the minds of friends. The skill is mainly focused on Mom and Georgia).
“So, you guys haven’t talked,” she says slowly. “Since the last day of school? Or . . .”
“Oh my god, Scarlet, no, we haven’t talked. I don’t think. Why? Is there something you’re not telling me? Is there something going on with Owen? What’s going on with
Owen and why aren’t you just spitting it out? Do I need to take my helmet back off for this?”
“What! No! Nothing. I don’t know anything about it!”
She’s not looking at me.
“Anything about what?” I prod.
“Anything about anything! I know nothing about you and Owen! At all!”
“Nothing about me and Owen? There is no ‘me and Owen,’ ” I say. And then the wheels start turning in my head. “Is there?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t say anything, and you didn’t hear it from me. But if you must know, Daisy, he likes you.”
“Whhhhaaaaaat?!” It’s a good thing my helmet doesn’t have a wind screen thingy like hers, because it would be splattered with
the spit that just went flying out of my mouth.
“Oh, come on,” Scarlet says, finally placing her feet on the pedals and rolling down the slope to the street. “You can’t be
that shocked.”
She starts biking away from me, and I push to catch up. “What the—! Scarlet!” I shout.
Can’t be that shocked? Oh yes, I very much can.
My head is spinning, my heart is racing—though maybe that’s from how hard I’m pumping the bike pedals. The cool June breeze
does little to calm me down or clear my head. I try to make sense of what Scarlet just told me. Owen. Owen? Really?
Honestly, it doesn’t click. It doesn’t make sense. All this time we’ve been friends and it just . . . never occurred to me.
As we ride through our neighborhood, evening descending over the houses and turning the bay in the distance from a sparkling
blue gray to an undulating purple, there is only one conclusion I can draw from all this: my mind-reading skills fully suck.