This Is Me From Now On (10 page)

My heart was still skittering when Francesca showed up maybe four seconds later. “Was that Zane?” she asked, out of breath.

I nodded. “He was just advertising. For his dad's store. Don't smile.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” She stared right into my face. “He likes you, Evie.”

“He definitely does
not.
”

“You're wrong. I can tell these things, remember?” She sat down next to me. “So why were you acting so strange before in Spush?”

“Shh!” I grabbed Francesca's arm again. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anybody. I mean it.”

“Who would I tell?”

“That's not the point, Francesca. You have to promise.”

Her eyes looked serious. “Okay, I promise.”

“I think you're right about Espee,” I blurted out. “I saw this passionate love letter she was writing. On her computer.”

“You hacked into her computer?”

“
No.
Of course not! I read it by accident. Well, actually, I read it on purpose, but I didn't know I'd be reading
that.
”

She nodded. “What did it say?”

“I don't know. ‘O my darling, how I wish I could look into your eyes and express my truest feelings. But cruel fate has come between us.'”

“‘CRUEL FATE?'”

“Yeah. Cruel fate. Keep your voice down, okay?”

“Whoops. Sorrysorrysorry. What do you suppose she means by ‘cruel fate'?”

“Who knows?” I looked across the grass to the faculty parking lot. Teachers were getting into their cars and driving off for the weekend. It was so bizarre to think of them having actual messed-up love lives. Especially Espee.

“Hmm,” said Francesca. “All right, Evie, so let's think this through. What ‘cruel fate' could possibly keep her away from gorgeous Theo?” Her eyes lit up. “I know! Maybe the school has some kind of boring rule about teacher romance.”

“The message didn't say anything about Theo Rafferty,” I reminded her. “It could have been to anyone.”

“Evie,” Francesca said, her voice rising dangerously. “Do you really think this letter was to her pet
rabbit
?”

“Of course not! But maybe she has another boyfriend somewhere.”

“I seriously doubt that. You saw the way she looks at him.”

“No, I didn't.
You
saw it.”

“Right. I did.” Francesca sighed. “Poor, poor Espee. How absolutely tragic!”

“We don't know that it's tragic,” I protested. “We don't know anything.”

“Oh, please. Don't be so paralyzed, Evie! We know more than enough.”

Before I could ask her what she meant by that, she stood up, reached for my arm, and pulled me up too.

That was when I felt something shift inside my backpack, like a small avalanche. Espee's books. Somehow, with all the craziness today, I'd totally forgotten about them. But of course I couldn't forget. I couldn't
let
myself forget.

“Listen, Francesca,” I said nervously. “Speaking of Espee. We really, really need to start working on the Attic Project this weekend.”

“Well, we can't.” She took off her zebra jacket and fanned herself. “How can we? We don't even have the diary yet.”

“We can still do research. Espee gave me a ton of books today.”

“Oh, really? What on?”

I stared at her. “The San Francisco Earthquake, obviously. That's what the project is
about,
isn't it?”

Francesca scrunched up her nose. “I'm not personally enthralled with the whole research aspect, to be honest with you. I prefer to think about actual human beings. So if you don't mind, Evie, I'll just concentrate on Angelica Beaumont.”

I could feel my throat getting tight. “How
can
you when there's nothing to concentrate
on
?”

“Well, we'll be getting the diary soon enough. And, anyway, I can't possibly do any research this weekend. I'm going to the shore.”

“What shore? You mean the beach?”

“It's a family tradition. Labor Day weekend at our beautiful, beloved beach house. Actually, it's the perfect chance to snoop about Angelica.”

“You mean like in the
ocean
?”

“Don't be so sarcastic. There'll be tons of relatives there. Somebody will know something.” Then she gave me her dazzling smile. “Maybe you can join us.”

“Yeah. I really don't think so.”

“Oh, come on, Evie. You desperately need to get out of Blanton.
Especially
this weekend. Ask your mom if you can, okay?”

“Francesca.”

“Just ask.”

A few minutes later we were at our two houses. I went inside mine, dropping my earthquake-book-heavy backpack on the kitchen floor. “Mom?” I called. “Mom?” I was positive she'd be off bulldozing mudrooms with Caroline,
but to my shock, she was home, sitting in our freezingly air-conditioned living room, staring at her laptop. And not on her cell for once.

“Evie,” she said as soon as I walked into the living room. She closed her laptop and frowned at me. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale, honey.”

“I feel pale,” I said weakly. “Maybe I should go to the beach this weekend.”

“The beach?”

“With Francesca. She invited me.” I flopped down on the loveseat. “It's a family tradition. We'll be doing research for our history project.”

To me it sounded like a lie. Or a joke. But weirdly enough, Mom wasn't laughing. “What about Nisha and Lily?”

“I think they're busy. On their own project.”

“The entire Labor Day weekend?”

I sighed. “It's a major assignment. For Ms. Pierce. You remember how crazy she made Grace.”

Mom pretended I hadn't said that. “Well, good for Nisha and Lily. I mean for working so hard. Grades are so important, Evie.”

“I know.”

“Because look at your sister. She wants to go to a top-tier
college, but they're all so competitive these days. And don't think that just because you're in middle school—”

“I don't,” I said quickly. Because I knew this speech by heart. And once Mom got started on the subject of Why Humans Need Straight A's, it was hard for her to stop. “My grades are fine, Mom. They always are.”

“Oh, of course. I'm just saying.” I could see the worry lines between her eyebrows start to fade. Not totally disappear, though. “Okay, so what are you telling me, Evie? You've become buddies with Francesca now?”

“She's just my partner.” I shrugged. “I barely know her.”

“But you want to spend the weekend together. Well, I'll certainly need a few more details. Like what beach we're even discussing.”

“You mean I
can
?”

“Why not?” She smiled tiredly. “Grace wants to visit some colleges, and that'll be a bore for you. And it'll be good for you to get away. You've been so stressed lately.”

I jumped up and gave her a gigantic hug. “Thanks,” I said. “Really, Mom.”

“Glad that I'm not being
unfair
for once,” she teased. Then her cell phone rang. So she patted my butt and walked off into the kitchen, doing her Delightful Voice.

While Mom was on her cell talking over the details with Samantha Pattison, I stuffed my backpack for the weekend: two tanks, extra pair of shorts, underwear, flip-flops, flower-patterned bathing suit that sort of camouflaged my chest, Lily's too-big San Diego Zoo T-shirt for sleeping, Spush notebook, earthquake books. Plus sunscreen, lip gloss, and my cell. Plus pens and my toothbrush and three packs of Bubblelicious, in case I got carsick. Or nervous. For a second I thought about taking my amber-mosquito necklace, but it was too precious to risk losing in the ocean. So I left it in my desk drawer. For safekeeping.

Early Saturday morning, Dad stopped me at the door. “So you were just planning to run out? Not even a good-bye kiss?”

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I thought you guys were asleep.”

“Even if we were,” he answered, giving me a big hug that smelled like sleep. Then he looked in my eyes. “Have a little fun at the beach, kiddo. Don't be nuts about schoolwork like your sister.”

From his bathrobe pocket his BlackBerry made a windchime noise. He took it out and groaned as he read the screen.

“Don't
you
be nuts about work-work,” I teased. “And enjoy Grace's colleges!”

“Yeah, I'll certainly try,” he muttered, typing something and shuffling into the kitchen.

“And we're OFF,” shouted Francesca as the black convertible screeched down the driveway. “Here we come, beach! YEEE-HAW!”

“Okay, girls, but put on sunhats,” said Samantha Pattison, who was wearing a pink Florida Marlins cap and these huge actressy sunglasses. “Or you'll both scorch before we get there.”

“Don't worry, we won't!” Francesca answered. “We're
dripping
with sunscreen. And besides, we want to feel the wind in our hair! Don't we, Evie?”

“Sure!” I said. My mouth was grinning so much, it was hard to talk, especially over the hot wind.

Samantha turned on a country CD by some singer I'd never heard of, and then she started singing along in a beautiful alto voice that sounded like warm honey. (The whooshing car-air was so noisy, I couldn't hear exactly what she was singing, but it sounded like, ‘Baby, this something pain in my something.') Pretty soon Francesca joined in, mostly off-key, and then finally I did, even though I didn't know any words. As soon as the CD was finished, Samantha popped in another, and then another, and we just kept speeding up the thruway singing our lungs out, with the wind snapping our hair in our faces.
Yippee,
I yelled to myself.
Bye-bye, Blanton! For three whole days!

Finally, we were there. Or rather, a mile from there. When we got to a curvy little path sprinkled with beach sand, Samantha made us get out of the car and brush our hair. We watched her put on some glossy pale pink lipstick and stretch her mouth, as if she were about to go onstage. And then we got back in the car and drove up to the beach
house, which was maybe the weirdest-looking place I'd ever seen. In my
life.

Because it wasn't just one house. It looked like four different teeny houses scotch-taped together: a gray-shingled bungalow attached to an ultra-modern glass room on one side and a run-down-looking white ranch on the other. The second story looked like something straight out of Blanton: much newer, painted in a color Mom liked to call “eggshell,” with huge, curvy windows and a little balcony. And then the garage, which was separate from the house, basically looking like a damp cardboard box just big enough to store two cars and a lawn mower.

“Well? What do you think?” asked Francesca, her eyes shining.

Before I could answer, two incredibly freckled, Mom-aged women came racing out of the house wearing serious navy blue bathing suits and no shoes.

“Frankie!” they shrieked. “Sammy! What took you so long!”

“Traffic,” Samantha lied, stepping gracefully out of the driver's seat. Francesca leaped out of the back and started hugging the freckled women. And then two men,
one sunburnt, the other with an enormous belly, came out of the house demanding hugs of their own.

I wasn't sure what to do so I just stayed in the car and watched.

“Evie! Come over here!” Francesca ordered. “Meet Aunt Bitsy, Aunt Beebee, Uncle Croy, and Uncle Gib.” I took a breath and walked over to them and shook everybody's hand.
Omigod,
I thought.
How am I supposed to remember who's who? They don't even have real names!
I looked them over frantically, trying to think of how to tell them apart.

Aunt Yellowteeth gave me an enormous smile. “We're so pleased you could make it, Evie. Frankie's told us so much about you.”

She had? “Well, thanks for inviting me. We're really psyched about our project.”

“What project?” Uncle Big Belly demanded.

“Oh, it's nothing. Just for school,” Francesca said. “We'll tell you about it later.”

“You bet later,” Uncle Sunburnt said, smiling. “This is supposed to be a vacation, young lady.”

“So where's Quentin?” Francesca asked, grabbing her bag from the car.

“He's down at the shore waiting for you,” Aunt Ponytail answered. “With Timmybear, who we're supposed to call Timmy, now that he's started second grade.”

“Quentin?” I asked Francesca as I lifted my own backpack.

“My cousin. Fourteen. Staggeringly immature, but c'est la vie. Ooh, Evie, let's see if we can have my favorite bedroom!”

She sprinted down the hallway to the ultra-modern side of the house, where two cots were set up in the middle of a room so empty, it could have been a closet. (Not Samantha's, obviously—I mean a normal closet.) But the amazing thing was that it had enormous windows facing the water, and if you stood on a cot and looked out (which Francesca did, and which she made me do too), it almost felt as if you were out on the ocean.

“Mother Darling loves this room,” Francesca said happily. “She says it makes her feel as if she's on a fabulous cruise ship.”

“You mean your mom comes here?”

“Once in a great while. She says it's the only place in the States where she feels peaceful. Of course, to be peaceful, it has to be empty. Meaning no relatives.” She picked up
a clamshell from a small table dividing the two cots. “She found this on the beach a few winters ago. It's utterly boring, but for some reason I like it. Isn't that odd?”

“It's very nice,” I said. Even though, frankly, it was your basic normal clamshell.

Five minutes later we were in our suits and running down to the shore to join Quentin and Timmy. Timmy was just a little kid, but Quentin looked kind of like an eighth-grade jersey-wearer (except of course he was wearing swimming trunks). Immediately Francesca grabbed Quentin's boogie board, and she and Timmy headed out for the waves, laughing and yelling these dorky pirate expressions. So then Quentin and I took after them, yelling even stupider taunts and splashing like crazy. We had a giant ridiculous sea battle until the water got black and freezing and Timmy's lips started turning blue. And when we came inside the house, shivering and tired and dripping sand all over the kitchen, Quentin touched my elbow. “That was fun, Evie,” he said, and I grinned back at him because it really, really was.