Welcome to Dog Beach (18 page)

I wish I could be one of those people who can roll with the punches, who jumps into any new situation with open arms and an open mind. That's Bennett. Nothing fazes him. He can be thrown into a roomful of strangers and be totally fine. His mom could tell him tomorrow that they were becoming year-rounders, and he wouldn't even stress about it. He'd find a year-rounder friend and play Ping-Pong and be as happy as can be.

I'm the opposite, and I hate that about myself.

But maybe I just need to accept myself and how I react. And maybe I just need to accept the chaos and not try too hard to tame it. Maybe I just need to accept my weird feelings about Bennett, and that Micayla is making new friends. Maybe worrying is just making the problems seem bigger and making me feel worse.

I see Mr. Brookfield walking toward me out of the corner of my eye, and I try to look away, look down at my feet or gaze at the ocean, so he doesn't see me. I like him, but I just don't feel like talking to him right now.

“Funny meeting you here,” he says.

I guess there was no way of avoiding saying hi.

“Hi.”

“I thought this was my bench,” he says, sitting down. “Usually I'm all alone when I come here.”

“I was alone until you got here.”

“A penny for your thoughts, Remy,” he says. He even hands me a penny, and I hold it in my hand, planning to save it for later when I'll throw it into the wishing well.

“Well, I gave you the penny,” he reminds me after we're quiet for a few seconds. “So start talking.”

“I don't know what to say,” I admit. “I'm just feeling a little blue.”

“Still about that dog of yours?”

It takes me a minute to understand what he's talking about. Of course—he's thinking of Danish. It surprises me, because I actually haven't missed Danish as much lately.

“No.” I shake my head. “Just a really tiring day.” I tell him how I'm so tired from watching the dogs today and how it was hard to do it alone, and I tell him about the whole tangled seaweed incident and the other stuff. I explain that the more I try to control the dogs' behavior, the crazier they act.

He half smiles. “I think there's more going on inside that head of yours.”

“I guess it's everything, really.” I shrug.

He folds his arms behind his head. “Go on.”

I don't know if I even want to unload all of this right now, but I guess it's better than keeping it locked up in my thoughts.

“Well, everything feels so different than it was last summer and all the summers before. My friends don't want to do the same things we always did before. And I guess I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to make things go back to the way they used to be.” I can't look at him. I can't look at anyone right now. Eye contact with another human would only make me start to cry. A dog would be okay, maybe. But a human, no.

“Things don't always go back to the way they used to be,” Mr. Brookfield says. His legs are stretched out in front of him, and his tube socks are pulled up to his knees. At least the way he dresses always stays the same. “Believe me. I know that personally.”

I hand him the penny. “Now your turn.”

He chuckles a little. “I spent years wishing things could go back to the way they were when I was in the movies, when I was auditioning, when my scream was a big deal.” He sighs, and I worry that he'll start to cry. “And the years I spent wishing that things would be back to the way they used to be were years that I wasted. Years that I didn't pay as much attention to my children and my wife, years that I didn't pursue new hobbies and learn new things.”

I swallow hard. I'm a different kind of sad now—sad for him and not for me.

“And I still long for the old days, believe me. The old days of the movies, sure. But other old days—when my children were young.” He smiles and hands the penny back to me.
“But the new days are good days too. And if we spend too long thinking about how to get the old days back, we miss the new days. The new days are the important ones.”

I nod. “But what do you do when the new days seem so strange? And everything changes so fast, before you even have time to prepare for it or to see it coming?”

“It's hard,” he says. “I'm not going to tell you that it's easy.”

“But you'll tell me that everything will be okay?” I look at him, finally. He has bright blue eyes, and I never noticed. I guess that's where Calvin and Claire get their blue eyes.

He readjusts a tube sock, and I wonder if this is a good time to suggest sandals. Wearing sneakers and socks on Seagate is practically a crime. “I promise you that everything will be okay … eventually,” he says. “And things will be okay before you even realize that they're okay. So make sure you pay attention.”

“I'll try to believe you.”

He looks at his watch. “It's almost six! And it's pizza night in the Brookfield home. You're coming, right?”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

“Too bad the boys are coming back tomorrow,” Claire
says, putting on the Scream recording. I'm surprised that she does that, because Bennett's always the one to put it on, and Claire's always the one to complain about it. “It's been so quiet and un-gross without them. Right?”

“I guess.”
Un-gross
is a funny way to describe it. I grab a mushroom slice from the box. “Maybe it's been too quiet?”

“Well, it's just you and me tonight. I texted Micayla to come, but she asked if you were coming, and when I said yes, she said she was busy.” Claire narrows her eyes at me. “What's that all about?”

I take my slice and a glass of lemonade to the green Adirondack chair and hope I can find a way to change the topic.

“Come on, what's going on with you guys?” Claire asks, sitting in the blue Adirondack chair next to me. “I thought
you guys didn't fight all the time. I thought you were different from Phoebe, Jenna, and me.”

“I thought so too.”

“So?” she asks.

“So, I don't know.” It comes out more harshly than I'd meant it to.

“Okay. Sheesh.”

I sit farther back in my chair and we eat our pizza quietly. Even though Claire has grown on me, I wish these weekly pizza dates hadn't become a tradition. Mr. Brookfield thinks I'm some kind of crazy person now, and Claire thinks I'm a mean friend.

I keep counting the minutes until Bennett gets back, but even when he does, it's not like I can expect him to make everything better all on his own.

“Do you think Micayla has a crush on my brother?” Claire asks, totally out of the blue. Maybe she was tired of the silence. Or maybe she really has been wondering.

“What?” I ask, not able to hide my shock. “Um, no.”

“Hey! Don't say it like that.”

“Say it like what?” I turn to look at her and notice she has some pizza sauce in the corner of her mouth. “You said yourself he's gross.”

“I'm allowed to say it.” She glares at me. “He's my brother. You're not allowed to say it.”

“Okay.” I'm confused but don't want to admit it. “I'm sorry.”

Claire gets up to grab another slice. When she comes back, she asks, “So does she?”

“Honestly, I don't think so. She likes Mason Redmond.” I sip my lemonade and debate saying anything more about how he invited me to Sundae Best and how Micayla thought I was interested in him. Maybe I shouldn't have even told Claire about the whole Micayla and Mason thing. Is this another thing she'll be mad at me for?

“Oh, Mason—the kid who helps at Dog Beach?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah, I don't really get what she sees in him. He's kind of nerdy.”

Claire cracks up. “Hello? Remy? You started a day camp for dogs. That's a little bit nerdy too.”

I should probably shrug off her comment, but it stings. It seemed like Claire and I were finally becoming friends, and now she's making fun of me.

“Aw, don't go cry about it.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You want brownies? I made some earlier.”

We go inside and have brownies, but I keep thinking about what she said. And I wonder about Micayla. Maybe she really does like Calvin but hasn't told me. She's kept other secrets. I want to know why Claire asked, but I feel too uncomfortable.

“You didn't need to say my business idea was nerdy.” I finally get the courage to say it when we're up in Claire's room and she's going through her jean collection for the millionth time.

“I was kidding, Remy.” She throws a T-shirt at me. It still
has the tags on, and it cost more than fifty dollars. “I still think you're cool, even with your nerdy business. Don't be so sensitive.”

Claire thinks I'm cool. Really? I mean, I know she wouldn't say it unless she meant it. That's the thing about Claire. She says what she thinks—whether it's appropriate or not, whether it's nice or not. It's kind of helpful to have a friend like that.

A little while later, Claire and Mr. Brookfield offer to walk me home, but I tell them that I'm fine on my own.

The truth is, I just want some time to clear my head.

I thought I was feeling so much better after the talk with Mr. Brookfield and after that dinner with Claire and her mom, but I'm just as confused as ever. The dog-sitting business is going well, but Micayla and I are in our first real fight, and I have all these feelings about Bennett that I don't know what to do with.

It's like a mosquito bite that just keeps itching and itching. The more I scratch it, the worse it gets.

I can't fall asleep that night, so I text Micayla at
eleven thirty. I wouldn't normally do that, but it's summer and people stay up late. And I'm not sure I can go another day being in this fight with Micayla. It's too painful.

Come to my house for breakfast tomorrow before dogs. We need to talk.

I wait and wait and wait for a response. Finally, an hour later, she writes.

Will let u know in AM

But when morning rolls around, I still haven't heard from her. I assume that she's coming and that she just forgot to text me back. I decide to scramble some eggs and toast some rye bread. I'll even cut up strawberries and bananas and put some grapefruit juice in a pitcher.

My mom comes in, frazzled because she's late for a meeting
with the Seagate Community Association. “Ooh, maybe I'll take some fruit to go,” she says. “Wait. Did you make this for me?”

I shake my head. “No. For Micayla. I hope she's coming.”

“Is everything okay, Rem? I'm starting to worry.”

“It's okay. Go to your meeting. You're going to be late.”

She nods reluctantly and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I'll see you this afternoon. You and I have a date. We're splitting a banana split. No arguing!”

“Deal.” I smile. Then I start digging through the pots and pans for the little omelet pan. I can't make an omelet in any pan but this one.

I know it's a little bit weird to have so many feelings about an omelet pan, but there's a good reason for it. It's so small and perfect for making eggs for one or two people. On the other hand, I also hate it. I hate it because I imagine Grandma making eggs in it, all by herself. She never had people over for breakfast, so when she was using this pan, she was all alone. I hate to think about her all alone on Seagate during the year, without us. But then I get happy using this pan because it makes me think of Grandma, and I like thinking about her.

It's confusing how I can really think this much about a tiny frying pan.

I continue with the breakfast even though I'm not sure if Micayla is coming or not. Luckily, the doorbell rings at nine thirty, so all this food will not go to waste.

“Smells good,” Micayla says, not really looking at me. She comes right in and takes a seat at the kitchen table. She pours herself a glass of grapefruit juice and butters her toast before I've even sat down.