Most Likely to Succeed

“Let’s get going,” Harper said. “I love the beach in the morning.”

I didn’t have an excuse to hang around the kitchen until Sawyer came back. We left for Harper’s cottage without me exchanging another word with him, or a glance, or gaining any more insight into whether he’d really found our note, or what the kiss was for.

At Harper’s granddad’s private strip of beach, just across the road and a block down from her house, I grilled her and Tia on ideas for where we could hold the homecoming dance. Tia predictably opted out because she didn’t like being told to think too hard. Harper, who was good at thinking outside the box because that’s where she lived pretty much all the time, couldn’t come up with a single idea when I really needed her.

Finally I gave up and played in the water with them, floated in the ocean, and soaked up vitamin D on the beach to try to feel better about my life spinning out of control. I took deeper breaths, telling myself to relax or die, when I thought about going home to lunch with my mother.

I’d gotten a pass for the morning because Barrett and Dad were out on the sailboat. But my mother was making a big lunch with all Barrett’s favorites—this was a little strange to me, because she cooked so seldom lately that I doubted she knew what my favorites even were—and I was required to be there.

* * *

Sure enough, the family lunch was everything I’d feared it would be, and more. My mother riddled Barrett with questions about college, ending each one in a barb about why he didn’t make better grades. Barrett said as little as possible. Dad gently encouraged my mother to back off.

At some point my mother noticed I was there and asked, without much enthusiasm, “How was your game last night?”

“Pretty bad,” I said. “Aidan broke up with me.” I took another bite of salad.

My mother’s jaw dropped. “I warned you about your mutiny. I hope it was worth it.”

“Sylvia, wrong thing to say,” Dad scolded her in an even tone, which was the only tone Dad had. But I was already pushing back my chair.

“No, ma’am,” my mother called sharply. “You are not excused.”

I stomped out of the dining room, down the hallway, and halfway up the stairs. At that point I realized the stomping was childish. I wasn’t going to sit there at the table while my mother insulted me, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me throw a tantrum, either. She would use that as ammunition later when I asked permission to do something.

I walked more softly up the rest of the stairs and into my room, not even slamming my door. In my bathroom I spit my mouthful of salad into the toilet and flushed.

Then I sat down in my reading chair, crossed my legs, and waited for my mother to send Dad up to talk to me. In the meantime I struggled not to cry. I couldn’t look like I’d been crying when they made me come back downstairs, and I couldn’t let them hear me sobbing.

But I wanted to. I struggled for every breath as I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about how unfair my life had become. This was not what high school was supposed to be like. I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, exactly as I had when I’d run the Labor Day 5K keeping pace with Cathy, who had longer legs than mine.

By the time Dad predictably knocked on my door and let himself in half an hour later, I was more or less calmly looking out at the neighbors’ gardener cutting their grass behind our house. My parents’ bedroom and Barrett’s had the views of the lagoon out the front.

I nearly bawled and threw myself into Dad’s arms when I saw him, but that’s what I’d done when I was little and had an argument with my mother. So I sat quietly while he told me to make my mother happy, just this once, and come downstairs to spend time with my brother in the short space we had left together as a family.

Obediently I sat with Dad on the sofa in the family room, watching college football, which is probably what I would have done even if I hadn’t been ordered to, since it gave me time with Dad. I just did it with less shouting at the TV than usual.

My mother was in her office, catching up on the work she’d missed when she left the bank early on Friday.

Barrett was up in his room, on his laptop. So much for spending family time together.

Luckily, we had another happy memory scheduled, one that would trap us all at the table together again. For dinner Barrett wanted his favorite meal, shrimp and fries at the Crab Lab.

The Crab Lab was one of the bigger restaurants downtown, with lots of waiters. Even though Sawyer was working tonight, there was no reason to think he would wait on us. We’d been there as a family plenty of times, and he’d never served us before. In fact, I hoped he wouldn’t, after what my mother had said about him yesterday.

But I did hope I would catch a glimpse of him. Share a joke with him. I could casually repeat the joke later when I texted him to ask whether, according to parliamentary procedures, Aidan could really oust me as student council vice president. In three years I’d never tried to get close to any guy except Aidan, and I wasn’t sure how it was done. I promised myself I would try with Sawyer. At least that gave me something to look forward to on this horrible weekend.

I should have been more careful what I wished for.

7

“GOOD EVENING, MS. BEALE,” SAWYER said in a tone even brighter than the pleasing-the-elderly speeches I’d heard from him at breakfast that morning. “Hello, Mr. Gordon. I’m Sawyer, and I’ll be your server this evening. Barrett.” He looked down into my eyes. “Kaye. You look beautiful in blue.” He set a basket of bread closest to me.