The Forget-Me-Not Summer (9 page)

M
arigold carried her clothes to the little bathroom in the attic and put on her white sundress and the gold wedges that gave her an extra two inches of height. This might be some dinky little town, but it didn't mean that she had to dress like a loser. The only mirror in the bathroom was about as big as a math book and kind of blurry. It was pretty much only good for brushing teeth and making sure your hair wasn't standing up. Still, she applied a little lip gloss and, because her mother wasn't here, some mascara. She brushed her hair and put her cell phone in her purse.

Finding a cell phone signal was the mission of the day. She didn't care how far she had to walk to find it. She would walk out into the ocean if she had to. After her moment of homesickness last night, Marigold decided that she couldn't sit around for three
weeks being sad. She needed to take action. The plan was to get in touch with her brand-new agent. She was determined to go to the audition for
Night Sprites
, no matter what her parents said. Marigold had an emergency credit card, and she would use it to get herself back to Los Angeles if she had to. They would understand when she was a movie star. She would even treat them all to a family vacation in Hawaii, she'd decided.

“Ready?” Zinnie asked as she bounded into the bathroom. “Wow, you look like a teenager, but one who hasn't . . . developed yet.”

“Ha-ha,” Marigold said, observing Zinnie in her shorts and T-shirt with her hair pulled back and an old sweatshirt tied around her waist. “Well, you look like my little brother. And why are you wearing that thing around your waist?”

“Aunt Sunny said the weather here is very unpredictable, so it's always good to have layers. Now come on, let's go.”

Marigold and Zinnie followed Aunt Sunny's map and set off down Anchor Lane. The street was shady, with rambling stone walls on either side.

“Look!” Zinnie said, stopping to look at two horses in a field, their heads bent and their tails swishing. Marigold paused, but only to check her phone. Still no signal.

“Let's keep going,” Marigold said.

At the end of the field they turned onto Harbor Road, which led right into the little village. After only a few minutes one of the bars on Marigold's cell phone flickered. Marigold looked up to see that they were standing in front of a big driveway and a sign that said
PRUET YACHT CLUB
. She took a few steps past the sign into a parking lot, and the signal strengthened for a second.

“Follow me,” Marigold said.

“Okay,” Zinnie said. “Except, um, are we allowed?”

Marigold had to admit this did not seem like a place where everyone could just wander in. There was a guy with a clipboard sitting at a table checking cars as they drove in. She was going to use a strategy she'd learned in acting class: the “magic if.” She could almost hear Ronald P. Harp's voice in her head as she asked herself how she would act
if
she did know the clipboard guy and
if
she did come here all the time and
if
she knew exactly where she was headed.

“Just be casual,” Marigold said to Zinnie through one of her winning smiles. The clipboard guy squinted as he watched them pass.

“Hi!” Marigold called. She waved to him as
if
she'd known him her whole life. He smiled, waved, and turned back to his clipboard. Success!

The girls walked down the long pebbled driveway, past a gray shingled building roughly the size of the Silvers' house and a bright-green lawn with a flagpole,
to find four docks stretching out into a small harbor. Boats were tied up along all sides, and others floated farther out. It felt oddly familiar, even though Marigold had never been here before. The closest thing to this she'd seen had been a marina near L.A.

The Silvers had gone out for a special Mother's Day brunch in Marina del Rey a few years ago, and the view from the restaurant had been of a harbor full of boats. But it had been different from this. There had been ten times as many boats, and they all had seemed gigantic. The Silvers had walked along the docks that afternoon, and Marigold had run ahead. For a moment she got lost. She couldn't see her family. The docks felt like a maze, and the boats were so big with their huge motors and high, wide sides. Loud music was blaring from one of the yachts. It smelled strongly of gasoline. Marigold panicked for several seconds until her family came back into view.

It would be impossible to get lost here, Marigold thought as she took in the peaceful harbor with some big boats, but plenty of small ones, too. A family of ducks swam under one of the docks. The flag's rope clanked pleasantly against the pole. A gentle breeze tousled her hair. Marigold paused for a moment, thinking how everything here—the ocean, the buildings, the world—seemed smaller than in California. Even the seagulls. But then she moved on. She had a phone call to make before she and Zinnie were discovered as
trespassers. She headed down one of the docks, Zinnie trailing behind.

“That one boy is looking at you,” Zinnie said. Marigold turned to see a group of kids who looked about their age. They were all wearing the same blue T-shirts that said
PRUET SAILING TEAM
. There were about eight of them, mostly boys, and they were standing on the dock, listening to a coach demonstrate something from inside a sailboat. Sure enough, a boy was looking at her. His hair was red and cut very short, unlike the boys' in California, who liked their hair long so they could shake it out of their eyes as they did their skateboard tricks.

“Hot tamale,” Zinnie said, and wiggled her eyebrows. “With salsa caliente on the side.”

“Don't be weird,” Marigold said, and glanced back at her cell phone. “Oh, my God, I have a whole bar. I'm going to call Jill!” Marigold dialed Jill's number as she walked, but the call wouldn't go through. Marigold paced the end of the dock. “It's better over here,” she said, standing as far to the left as possible. There was a small sailboat tied up right there. Marigold hopped aboard the boat and caught her balance as she landed.

“Uh, Marigold,” Zinnie said, “I don't know if we're allowed there.”

“I've got two bars out here,” Marigold said, stepping farther out in the boat. “Two bars!”

“Mar-i-gold,” Zinnie whispered, gesturing for her to come back.

“Oh, it's ringing!” Marigold jumped, and the boat rocked. She bent her knees to catch her balance.

“Hello? Yes, this is Marigold Silver! For Jill!” Marigold shouted. Zinnie was gesturing for her to be quiet when the phone went silent.

“Shoot!” Marigold exclaimed. “I lost it!” She stomped her foot. “I dropped the call!”

“I really think we should go,” Zinnie said.

“Will you chill?” Marigold said.

“People are looking at us,” Zinnie said.

Marigold noticed that the whole sailing team was staring at them. She flipped her hair and tucked her phone into her purse. “Fine. We'll walk down to the ice cream store. Maybe there's reception there.” Marigold's phone buzzed. “Oh, I bet that's her,” Marigold said, but as she turned to reach for her phone, her wedge caught on a rope and she lost her balance.
Splash!
She plunged into the murky chin-deep water.

“M
arigold!” Zinnie called. Marigold bobbed to the surface, gasping, her hair slicked back against her head. Zinnie clutched the end of the dock. “There's a ladder over here!” Even if she'd never been the best on the team, Marigold was a pretty good swimmer, so it was no surprise that she made her way quickly to the dock or that she had managed to hold on to her purse, which she tossed up to Zinnie as soon as she reached the ladder. Zinnie caught the purse. It was soaked. She peered down to see Marigold reaching to collect her floating shoes and toss them onto the dock. Then she climbed the ladder and hauled herself up, shivering and dripping, her eyes squeezed tight against the salt water.

Marigold's filmy white sundress, which just an hour ago had looked so fancy and grown-up, was now soaked
through to her skin and completely see-through. Zinnie could see her white underpants with blue stars on them. Marigold crossed her arms protectively over her chest as she coughed and spit out salt water. Zinnie felt short of breath. She would much rather Marigold act imperious and haughty than look like a half-drowned kitten. If she could've traded places with her, she would've in a second.

“Are you girls okay?” a voice called. Zinnie turned around and saw the sailing coach running toward them, followed by the entire sailing class.

“We're fine,” Zinnie called, hoping against hope that the coach and those kids would turn around and go back to their business.

“Oh, no,” Marigold said under her breath, teeth chattering. “This sucks.”

“Quick,” Zinnie said. She untied her sweatshirt from around her waist and threw it over Marigold's head. Marigold pulled it on, stretching it down to her thighs, just as the team surrounded them.

“Are you sure you're okay?” the coach asked.

“I'm fine,” Marigold said, and stood up tall to prove it.

“You girls should not be here unsupervised,” the coach said. “Where are your parents?”

“They're not here today,” Marigold said. “My sister and I were just going out for a sail.”

“I've never seen you before. Do you even belong to this yacht club?” the boy with the very short hair asked.

“Why would we even be here if we didn't belong?” Marigold asked as she squeezed out her ponytail and water splattered on the dock. Zinnie felt the panic in her chest loosen its grip as she basked in the glow of her sister's confidence. Somehow, Marigold was going to make this all okay.

“I've definitely seen you before,” the coach said to Marigold. Zinnie bit her smile. He didn't know that he'd seen her on TV! “But unless you girls really know what you're doing, you really shouldn't be taking out a boat.”

“Okay,” Marigold said.

“Let's get back to practice, kids,” he said to his team. “And you girls, I don't want to see you out here alone again. You're either registered for sailing school or with an adult.”

“Got it,” Marigold said.

Zinnie and Marigold started down the dock. Even though Marigold's feet squished in her gold wedges and the purse flung over her shoulder was dripping wet, she walked with her head held high and her shoulders pulled back like she was president of the place.

T
hey had almost reached the end of the dock when Marigold felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see the boy with the short red hair.

“I don't believe you,” he said.

“Believe what?” Marigold asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I don't believe you're here to go sailing,” he said. “First of all, I've never seen you before. And I know everyone at the PYC because my dad's the manager.”

“Maybe you just never noticed us,” Marigold said, her ears adjusting to his accent. When he said “before,” it sounded like
befo-ah,
and “manager” sounded like
managah
.

“I would have noticed you,” he said, blushing, then quickly added, “And second of all, your shoes. No one goes sailing in high heels.”

“These aren't high heels; they're wedges,” Marigold said.

“Whatever they are, they're not meant for sailing.”

“These are very sturdy. And you just haven't met us before because we happen to be new in town,” Marigold said, smiling. “Okay?”

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Seraphina,” Marigold said. “And this is my sister . . .”

“Xiomara,” Zinnie said, naming another Night Spite.

“I mean, what's your last name?” he asked Zinnie. Marigold flinched. The Night Sprites didn't have last names.

“Snoopy,” Zinnie said.

It was so ridiculous Marigold almost laughed. And she knew why Zinnie had thought of it. Right in front of them was a white motorboat with the name Snoopy painted in gold on the back. She bit her cheeks. She had to keep it together. The boy raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but she was not about to let him outwit her. In acting, it was important to commit to the imaginary circumstances.

“You heard her,” Marigold said. “We're the Snoopys. What's your name?”

“Peter,” he said.
Peet-ah
. “Peter Pasque.” It was like they were having some kind of staring contest. His eyes were certainly blue. Almost as blue as Clint Lee's.

“Well, we gotta go, Peter,” Zinnie said, and tugged
at Marigold's arm. “Come on, Seraphina.”

“Wait a second,” Peter said. “If you're a sailor, then you know how to tie a bowline.” He smiled and held out a rope that was coiled on the dock. “Here, use this line.”

“Tie a what?” Marigold asked, gathering that a rope was called a line on a sailboat.

“A bowline. It's a knot,” he said.

“I know that. It's just . . . I'm really not in the mood,” Marigold said.

“That's what I figured,” Peter said, and spit off to the side.

“Ew!”
Marigold eyed him with disgust. “Anyway, I just got this manicure.” She wiggled her fingers daintily. The dark-purple color on her nails was called No You Didn't.

“Tell you what: if you can tie a bowline, then I'll pay for your new mani—whatever it is,” Peter said.

Marigold put her hand on her hip. He just wasn't going to give up, was he? “Well, in that case,” Marigold said. Then, with her hair still dripping wet, her white ruffled sundress sticking to her legs, and her toes sliding to the front of her sopping-wet sandals, she extended her hand. Peter gave her the rope. Her fingers started to fly. Zinnie's jaw dropped.

“Bowline,” Marigold said, and handed the knot to him.

Peter examined it and then looked back up to
Marigold in disbelief. “Not bad, Miss Snoopy.”

“Someone owes me a manicure,” Marigold said. “Now excuse me, but Xiomara and I have horses to see and ice cream to eat. See ya around.”

“Yeah,” Zinnie said. “See ya around!”

As Marigold sauntered away, she was so glad Zinnie's sweatshirt was covering her butt. She had to admit that sometimes little sisters came in very handy.

So did Girl Scouts.