Four Daisy
Four
Daisy
My alarm goes off, playing Avicii’s “Wake Me Up,” but it’s pointless: I’m already wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling. My heart
has been racing since last night’s party. Is this normal? Should I go to the hospital? Undecided, I roll over and squint at
the window. Sunlight falls across the two suitcases sitting open, each with some random clothes and skin care products thrown
inside with absolutely no sense of order. Rude.
I wrench myself out of bed, throw on a fresh pair of jean shorts, and hunch over the suitcases. I know Mom and Dave will be
honking the car horn at me in no time, so without thinking, I start throwing more stuff in. Surely, it’s a quantity game,
and if I just manage to assemble enough items, I will avoid forgetting anything essential.
Ugh. I really hate packing. So many decisions; so much demand to imagine your future self and what she’ll feel like wearing and
doing. Probably, a lot of lying on her back staring at ceilings, thinking Did that really happen?
I feel a physical need to text Scarlet, but I’m guessing she’s sleeping in. Also, there’s this equal and opposite force within me that wants to hold on to last night a little longer, keep it mine.
Mom knocks on my door as I’m sitting on top of both bags, trying to zip them up. She pokes her head in and I briefly wonder
if she’s been dyeing her roots since dating Dave, a sure sign that things really are serious. Somehow, me and Georgia and
Eden all got various shades of light hair from our dads, and not our moms (remarkably gray-free) deep brunette or, in Eden’s
case, the jet-black hair of Aunt Nyla.
Mom surveys my room, hands on her hips. She’s wearing khaki shorts, a plain blue tank top, and Tevas. “Wow, sweetie! Are you
actually ready, or do my eyes deceive me?” Her expression is a look of true shock.
“I think so,” I tell her. “Just need to brush my teeth, and can we stop at a Dunkin’ on the way out of town?”
“You know how I feel about you kids having so much caffeine,” she says.
“I’ll ask Dave. He’ll say yes,” I tell her.
Right then, I hear Dave in the hall. I can’t see his sunny smile, curly hair, and glasses, but I can hear his voice. “I do
say yes. I need a coffee, too. Let’s hit the road, ladies!”
I smile. Dave has his perks.
He helps me lug my suitcases down the stairs and out the door, and as we’re cramming them into the trunk—a true Jenga challenge—Mom
waves a postcard at me.
“Daisy, this was on the front stoop for you.” She hands it over, and I try not to blush to the roots of my hair. “Who could it be from?” she asks.
I shrug and get into the back seat of our sedan, slamming the door before she can think to ask any more questions. On the
front of the postcard there’s a picture of the Sage Port Christmas Parade. I smile to myself as I flip it over. The note on
the back is short and sweet, jotted in a messy scrawl I recognize from the many homework assignments we’ve done side by side
over the past two years.
Of course. Incongruous and out of season, his favorite kind of gesture.
The grin on my face physically hurts, and I feel a warm fluttering in my belly. I can picture Owen, his blond hair flopping
in front of his eyes, sitting down to write this note. Did he set an alarm to get up early enough to deliver it to my house
before I woke up?
We must’ve pulled out of the driveaway, but I’ve barely noticed the car moving, lost as I am in my thoughts and memories. . . .
A few minutes later, I’m chugging my milky coffee as we merge onto the highway. Mom and Dave put some sort of mind-numbing
NPR station on, and the voices form a relaxing, hypnotic background noise.
I lean back against the seat, completely exhausted from this morning’s speed-packing effort. And, you know, from barely sleeping
all night. Still holding the postcard, I close my eyes for just a minute.
Savoring last night one more time as I leave Sage Port—and Owen—for the whole summer.
You could hear the music pumping out of Jenna Greenberg’s backyard from down the street by the time Scarlet and I got there
on our bikes, and somehow the neighbors weren’t complaining . . . yet. Sage Port’s the kind of town where if someone’s got
a problem, they’re likely to knock on your door and tell you to your face. But it’s also a town that just loves celebrations.
Every holiday is an excuse for Main Street to get a makeover, and the winter lawn decor is truly off the charts.
I was still fully shook by what Scarlet had told me, but I was starting to settle down a little. For one thing, it probably
wasn’t true. Scarlet had said he likes you with such confidence, but that was always her way. Scarlet had the same confidence when she told me that she’d heard Miss
Trubaker was postponing our test on ancient Rome last month, but she’d been dead wrong . . . and so was I, on about a third
of the exam questions, as a result.
What does Scarlet know? I told myself as we dropped our bikes near the front stoop. Just be calm. Just be normal.
And then the door swung open before we could even knock, revealing Owen.
He smiled, and for possibly the first time ever, considering how long I’ve known him, I was struck by how cute he is, with a grin that’s slightly too big for his face, blond hair that’s slightly too long and disarrayed, and squinty blue-gray eyes that make him perpetually seem on the brink of laughing or crying.
He was wearing a too-big T-shirt that said IT’S NOT CONTAGIOUS, over dusty black jeans.
“Yo, are you the butler?” Scarlet asked as he stepped aside, holding the door for us.
My shoulder brushed past his bicep, and that’s when I started basically hyperventilating. This is crazy, I kept repeating to myself. It’s just Owen!
He smirked. “I was literally standing in the front window and saw you guys coming.”
I nodded like a broken bobblehead, suddenly devoid of human language.
Thankfully, Scarlet was being normal. “What were you doing inside, loser? Isn’t everyone out back?”
He shrugged. “Trying to fix this,” he said, holding up what looked like a Game Boy console but was clearly his shopping cart
remote-control thingy. I didn’t even notice if his contraption was out on the lawn, that’s how brainwashed I was by what Scarlet
had told me.
Owen likes me. Owen likes me?
Wait, do I like Owen?
The answer wasn’t readily available. Owen had never given me that vibe; never given me any sign whatsoever. His attention
was always so focused on whatever his latest obsession was . . . who’d believe his brain could even run a separate, concurrent
track on which he’d be holding a secret crush? It really didn’t seem possible.
And it probably wasn’t. I should probably set Scarlet’s weird rumor aside and enjoy the last night before everyone departed for their summer camps and vacations.
“Let’s party, fools.” With that, Scarlet marched ahead of us through the house.
“Come on, Daze,” Owen said, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Our leader has commanded we go to the backyard and socialize
with the plebes.”
Scarlet looked back, tossing one of her long dark braids over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes at us.
Then we all stepped out onto Jenna Greenberg’s back porch, from which you could see the rest of the party people spread out
around her massive lawn under twinkling fairy lights. Beyond them, her yard sloped down to the bay. There was a “Happy Graduation,
Holly” banner drooping between two trees, and I saw Jenna’s dad manning the grilling station, flipping burgers, while Jenna’s
mom was chatting up a couple other parents who’d stayed to hang out.
But I couldn’t take in the details of who was there or what music was playing or really anything other than the smell of Owen’s
T-shirt, freshly washed with his mom’s favorite laundry detergent. Why did it smell so good?
In one corner of the yard, people were dancing, and Scarlet beelined for that crew, leaving me and Owen alone. He took his
arm off my shoulder, which was both disappointing and also a relief. I needed to get my bearings.
“I’m starving,” Owen said, which helped break the spell. “I’m gonna grab a burger. Do you want one?”
I felt like I was going to throw up. “No thanks. I’m gonna chase down Scarlet.”
And then I did the cowardly thing and physically ran away. I found Scarlet in the dancing crowd. “I can’t be alone with him now,” I told her. “It’s too weird!”
“Well, good, let’s practice our choreo,” she said.
And for the next hour, I tried to ignore Owen chatting with his other friends, focusing instead on Scarlet and Jenna and our
dance moves. After a while, I had loosened up and drunk too much Sprite and was on a sugar high. Just having fun at a party.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had one eye on Owen the whole night. There was a moment where I gazed out at the ever-darker
yard and couldn’t see him, and I panicked. Had he left? Had I screwed up our last evening to hang out for the whole summer
by avoiding him out of nervousness?
“I have to pee,” I told Scarlet, and left the group to go find him.
But as I was crossing the crowded lawn, someone grabbed my arm. “Daisy!”
I turned—and sighed, realizing who it was. Here we go again.
“Hey, Anthony,” I said, trying to smile.
Anthony put both his hands in his jeans pockets and tilted his head. “I didn’t know you’d be here!” he said. “Owen told me
Jenna said it was okay for me to come.”
“That’s great!” I lied.
Jenna only invited a handful of friends to her sister’s graduation party, and Owen knew it was our last night to hang out, and yet he invited Anthony to come, too?
I mean, Anthony is nice enough. There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just annoying and insecure . . . and kind of in love with me, which is sweet but very one-sided. Owen’s always
saying, “Are you gonna take pity on Anthony at the dance this weekend?” And I’m always saying, “Absolutely not a chance,”
and then he gets this look like he feels bad for his friend, and then we move on.