Water Balloon Read online

  Concentrate on feet in pool, Marley. Just think about the pool.

  It's always eighty degrees in the Martins' pool, which is probably why it was always one of my happiest places to be. My July and August days at Jane's have always been as lazy and long as summer itself used to be. Even when Jane's little sisters and brother were in the pool with us, it was always my idea of what summer should be.

  I hear two girls laughing behind me. I guess it could be about anything. But I know it's about me.

  It's the Fourth of July and it's all wrong. All that lock-the-parents-in-the-house-and-invite-over-hundreds-of-people has turned this into some kind of reality show instead of my annual tradition with my best friends.

  A loud group arrives, four guys, drinking from brown bottles that must contain beer, yelling, "Par-tay! Par-tay!" like they're at a frat house or something, and I'm thinking that they'd better shut up if they don't want Jane's neighbors to hear or her parents to come storming out of the house. I'm also thinking that my father would absolutely kill me, kill me dead and then a little more for good measure, if he knew what was going on here. Parents locked in the house. Older guys. Beer.

  I see the beer guys pass a bottle to the tall guy in the chair by the pool. Great. A drunk lifeguard. That's what was missing.

  There is no place for me here. I think about wading into the pool, but I need to stay away from Jane, who's still having a ball and still not looking at me. They're all involved in some intricate game with rules that are so not obvious to me. There seem to be teams, numbers called, a riot of shouts, then laughter and a splash. I walk around the pool, staying away from broken balloons, checking on the snacks, avoiding Leah, who is not looking at me the same way Jane is. One of the bowls of chips has tipped and I go inside to get a trash bag. I don't know if Mrs. Martin would be more mad about the way a few friends coming over to swim morphed into a crazed crowd in her yard (or has she been peeking out and is okay with this?) or an onslaught of hungry ants. Or the rubbery remnants of smashed water balloons. I can't help myself. I start to pick them up, then feel people looking at me, whispering. Talking. Like, There's that freak who threw the water balloons from the second floor.

  I toss the trash and sit on one of the chaises closest to the pool, just watching and feeling something way worse than lonely, right here in the middle of all these people. It doesn't bother them, though. They all seem to be having a great time. I'll bet this is their idea of what summer should be.

  Except for that weird Monopoly afternoon a few days ago, it's been so long since Leah and Jane and I just hung out. Even when we were together toward the end of school, it wasn't always great. When I tried to tell them how strange everything was after my dad moved out, I could never get the words right. I never felt like they got it.

  And now. Now I've really screwed everything up. There's never been anything like this—both of them mad at me. What am I supposed to do?

  Why did I think the blitz would be great? What an idiot. What an incredible idiot.

  "Marley!" someone says. I can't see for the glare of the sun, so I'm squinting, wondering if it's Jane or Leah, since they're the only ones I know, except this voice doesn't have any hate in it.

  I lower my head so I can look up at an angle. "Callie? Callie Larson?!" It seems almost miraculous that there's someone here willing to look at me. To talk to me. Hallelujah.

  "My LitMag buddy!"

  "My LitMag pal! What are you doing here?"

  "My boyfriend goes to Curtain Call with Jane," she says.

  "Who's your boyfriend?"

  "Ethan Franks. You know him?" I shake my head. "Yeah, he goes to Little Valley."

  "Cool," I say.

  "How come you're not swimming?" she asks.

  One cannot simply describe or explain today. "Not in the mood," I say, single-handedly winning the Understatement of the Year Award.

  "Me neither." We sit and watch the action in the pool for a while. I feel a tiny bit less like the girl with the raw red rash all over her body, sitting with Callie. True, we're quiet and watching. But we're quiet and watching together, which lessens the loser factor. And I like Callie!

  "So what have you been doing?"

  "Not much. I've been stuck watching my little brother a lot, which totally sucks."

  People line up at the diving board. As they jump, the others scream encouragement or low-grade ridicule, depending on the dive and the person.

  Jane does a graceless cannonball that earns her a huge round of applause from the people in the pool. For a thin person, she makes an impressive splash.

  Two guys jump off together. One right after the other. I'm scared someone's going to get hurt. Shouldn't the drunk lifeguard be stopping them? I stop watching for a while, instead just listening to the cheers and jeers. When I hear Leah say, "Watch me, you guys," I look up. She does some goofy sideways dive. Then it's totally silent.

  I look around. One of the girls I don't know is elbowing another and rolling her eyes, but it seems like no one else is paying any attention.

  I start clapping. "Good one, Leah!" I yell. Callie claps too.

  Leah looks our way before swimming to the shallow end.

  ***

  When the sun goes behind the trees that line the yard, people get out of the pool and start hanging in small groups on the chaises, at the tables, in the hammock. The outdoor lights come on. Jane's on Sage's lap in the back by the fence. It's weird, because she doesn't look at all stiff and uncomfortable. She looks like she's just where she wants to be, her fingers in his longish black hair. His hand is at the bottom of her back. I try to make eye contact with her; I need to apologize. She won't look my way.

  Callie goes off with her boyfriend, so I scan the yard for Leah. I finally spot her moving around, going from group to group—not staying with anyone for too long. I watch her with one group of guys—she actually gets herself in the middle of their loose circle. Yup! There it is. Her trademark. The Leah Stamnick Casual Arm Touch. Sometimes she claims she's not even flirting, that it's just the way she is, really touchy-feely. I'm not sure I believe that.

  But even the Casual Arm Touch is failing to get her noticed. This is unprecedented. I grab two sodas from a tub and walk over to her just as she's walking away from that group. I try to hand her one but she doesn't take it. Finally, she puts her hand on her hip and asks, "What, Marley?"

  "Listen," I say. "I'm so sorry. That was so stupid. I thought it would be funny, but it was just the worst idea."

  "Is there a word that means 'worse than worst,' because really, I think that's the word you're looking for."

  "Thank you?"

  "OH! My God, Marley. Jane is so pissed."

  "I know. I have to apologize, but she won't even look at me."

  Leah looks around, and I can't help but assume that she's worried that people will see her standing with the loser. How can everything change so fast?

  I start walking and pull Leah's arm. "Come with me. I need to apologize."

  "Just wait. Not now."

  "Now. I swear, this is bad, this is so bad, and I need to make it better. Like, now."

  Leah looks at me, and though there's not a lot of friendliness in her eyes, she does give a shrug of understanding. Or something like that. "Wait here. I'll get her."

  So I just stand there, like the world's biggest loser. Forever.

  But forever, it turns out, is not long enough. Because what's coming at me looks fierce. Leah's face just looks blank, but Jane! Jane could kill people with the meanness on her face.

  I look for courage. When I fail to find any, I remind myelf that we have always been friends and that this is the only way to fix it. I force myself to start talking. "Look, I'm sorry about before. That was a really bad idea. With the balloons. I screwed up. I thought it would be funny. It wasn't. It so wasn't. I'm really, really sorry."

  "God, Marley! Do you know how long I planned this party? How hard I worked? I can't believe I even invited you. You just completely ruine
d it. This will always be the party when ... Uch, I can't believe you."

  She is shouting at me.

  Everyone is staring.

  Jane lowers her voice. Now she is hissing at me. "Did you really think we were going to be having little water balloon fights? Or maybe sit around playing Monopoly all night? I mean, aren't you ever going to grow up?"

  I think I have stopped breathing.

  I do not know where to look.

  I somehow find the strength to turn my head and look to Leah. She heard Jane. She heard the meanness. Shouldn't that set off some alarm, some realization that people don't talk to their friends like that?

  Leah catches my eye for only a second, an accidental second, before looking away.

  I walk to the driveway and get my bike. There's still enough light in the sky for me to find my way home.

  Fireworks in Miniature

  A blast of sound vibrates the ground and startles me so much, I almost lose my balance. It takes longer than it should for me to realize the fireworks have started. Once I get used to the light and sound explosions, it's kind of nice to have something to entertain me and keep the sky lit as I make my way back home.

  I push away all thought and concentrate on my legs, pushing pedals, getting home. I do not think about the Water Balloon Blitz Disaster. I do not think about how much I do not like my friends. I do not even go near wondering who my friends are if they're not Leah and Jane. I just pedal. Pedal. Pedal.

  I put the bike in the garage and walk into the house. Dad's on the phone, so I just mouth I'm home. He gives me a look saying he didn't expect me. Rig spots me and comes trotting over for his long-lost-friends-reunited-at-last greeting. "Come on outside," I say, and walk out the back door.

  Rig races out faster than usual. "Hey there, Rig," I hear from the other side of the hedges. "Hey."

  "Jack?" I say.

  "Marley?"

  "Yeah."

  "I thought—"

  "Long story."

  "Well, I have time. You wanna see something?"

  "What?"

  "Just take a walk with me."

  "Let me tell my dad."

  I run back in the house. He's still on the phone. I mouth, Taking a walk. He nods.

  Jack leads Rig and me to the front of his house, then we head down the block. The night keeps going dark and then lighting up again. I keep thinking the fireworks are over when another set lights up the sky.

  He stops in the middle of an empty lot. The rest of the street is filled with houses and yards, and here's this random empty, undeveloped spot, marked out in a long rectangle by trees around the property line.

  "What's the deal with this?" I ask him.

  "My father says it's about fire access, some kind of reason they couldn't build anything here. Look. There it is."

  He points up. There, on top of a tree, is an old tree house for kids, with dirty signs out front saying KEEP OUT and PRIVATE PROPERTY.

  "Shall we?" he asks, pointing to the ladder up the back.

  I hate to be the voice of reason, but I have to ask. "Is this trespassing?" More than that, I'm thinking, You? Me? Up there? Just us?

  "My brother helped me and Will build it. It's ours. Well, mine now, I guess."

  "Who's Will?"

  "He was my best friend, remember? The one who moved away."

  "Did he live nearby?"

  "Very," Jack says. "In the house your dad moved into." He looks so sad.

  Oh no. NO! Here come those tears again. I've been so good for days! I cannot cry in front of Jack. Poor Jack lost his best friend. And poor me. I'm not sure if I even like my best friends anymore. And I'm absolutely certain they don't like me.

  "Will and I used to watch the fireworks from here every year."

  I step ahead of Jack and climb the ladder that's nailed to the tree's trunk. When the sky brightens from a flurry of white light, I try not to think about Jack staring at the backs of my legs.

  Rig starts to whine. "Just wait down there," I tell him. He circles the tree twice, then settles down, his head resting on a small bump of tree root. I think of Rig staring at Beulah the boxer's house. Is that how Jack feels when he's looking at Dad's house? Is he really willing me out or just longing for Will?

  It's dirty in the tree house, disintegrated-leaf dirty. It smells like old rot. "What did you guys do up here?"

  "Guy stuff," Jack says. My brain has an image, all at once, of little boys playing pirates, on the lookout for land; of baseball cards in a pile; comic books traded back and forth; marbles. What about when they were older?

  "Like what kind of guy stuff?"

  "I could tell you," Jack says. "Sadly, I'd then have to kill you. Sorry."

  "Hmm," I say. "You don't sound sorry."

  He shrugs. "Nothing I can do about it. Guy Code secret."

  I wonder if Guy Code is anything like our code. I'm pretty sure my friends did not honor the unwritten rules of friendship tonight. Oh, God, no. Tonight.

  "So what do you think of the joint?" Jack asks, smiling. I sit down before I can register how weak in the knees I feel. That smile has an effect on me that is not like anything that's come before. I sit down with my back against the wall. Jack sits against the wall to my left. Our sneakers are touching.

  My crushes have always been intense, but wholly one-way. With Jack, it feels like there's a possibility that this might be a two-way street. Couldn't he be interested in me too?

  I want to ask him, So are we going to do guy stuff? but it sounds like a come-on. I wish I could bring myself to brush his arm with a trademarked Leah Stamnick Casual Arm Touch or let my sneakered foot play with his.

  "So what's the deal with that camp, anyway? Are you like a counselor? Or—"

  "There's no name for what I am. I don't pay to go. They don't pay me. I'm just ... in the middle. I help out. I love it there."

  I look up at the wall. There's a poster of the Yankees team from six years ago on one wall, and another listing all their championships next to it. He sees me looking. "Will was a Yankees fan too," he says. "Your house is destined to be occupied by Yankees fans. It has been decreed."

  I could just casually mention that maybe I'm not as big a Yankees fan as he thinks I am. But if I like talking about the Yankees with Jack, and I do—I like talking about everything with him—then maybe it's okay?

  "Where does Will live now?"

  "South Carolina."

  "Oh. That's far."

  "We thought we'd visit each other a lot, but so far we've talked on the phone a little and done some IMing. I don't know. So what about you?"

  "What?"

  "You said you had some long story about tonight. About why you're home now instead of with your friends."

  "Oh, just this thing."

  "What kind of thing?"

  "A bad thing."

  "Some kind of fight?"

  "No, not a fight. I don't know. They had this party with some new friends and ... I don't know. I'm sure it'll be okay." I don't really believe the words I just said. I can't imagine any way this can all work out. But we've always been friends. It never occurred to me that could ever change. Those friendships have been a fact of my life, as true as math. But right now it's turned into an equation I cannot begin to figure out.

  "Were they acting like—"

  "Jerks? Kind of. Yeah."

  "I get pissed when people treat me bad. If you're going to be my friend, you need to always treat me right, you know? I can't stand it when people are jerks. I don't need that."

  That's it. I can't say it, but that's exactly it. I do need them. They're my best friends. They've always been my best friends. Tonight, though, he's right. They didn't act that way. I'm sure they think that what I did was even worse.

  "It just wasn't a great party," I say. "I didn't know anyone and I sort of felt like a loser." No. Stop talking, idiot. Do not tell him about the Water Balloon Blitz Disaster.

  "So what'd you do?"

  "After making a complete fool of m
yself by throwing water balloons out the window onto the people at the party?" Marley! Hey, Marley? Shut up!

  His face! He's silent-laughing, like he can't believe what I'm saying. "Should I even ask what you did next?"

  "I left."

  "Well, at least that was smart."

  "I guess." I wonder what they said when I left. Do they hate me? I'm not wild about them right now, but it's not like I meant to throw away my two best friends, either.

  I hate feeling like a fool. I felt so brave when I was up in that bathroom, in pre-Blitz mode. I wonder if brave and stupid are sometimes a little too close to each other.

  Talking about stuff like this with Jack, that takes some courage too. Only I'm not sure how much more of that I have. Or if I should trust my judgment to know when I'm being brave and when I'm being stupid. I'm not at all sure I know the difference.

  We're quiet for a while. I don't know if he feels it too, but it's almost as if there are some warm, delicious sparks flying, Fourth of July fireworks in miniature, right here in this tree house.

  I wonder what it says about me that I'm more comfortable in a little kids' tree house with a guy I've known for less than a week than I was at a party with my best friends since second grade.

  Nasty Princesses That Knock Down Stuff

  My dad insists that we play tennis before dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the two slow days for his lawn care business. I complain like crazy in the beginning, but the truth is, tennis helps to pass the time. It keeps me from checking my cell phone every other minute. Is it working? Do I have messages? Why don't I have messages? How can this be happening?

  I have bad days on the court and good days, like always, but it does seem that the more we play, the fewer bad days there are. On one of the bad days, when I'm gathering up all the balls I've hit into the bushes, I see Leah and Jane out with their Curtain Call friends.

  I would have thought that the stunning shock of a pain like this would wane, but it's still raw, like new. Leah's the easiest to spot, as that awful yellow and pink bike would stand out anywhere. Also, she's the only one on a bike, as if everyone decided at once that they don't ride bikes anymore only no one remembered to tell Leah. There's a guy who I think is Sage, and two other girls. It seems as though Jane and Sage are a little off by themselves. I don't know if they see me, but if they do they don't let on.