“Mom, just because two people are good friends, it doesn’t mean there’s anything going on. I wished I had a tan already to cover it up. I could feel the flush rising up from my chest. “WHAT? You and Jeremiah?” Steven looked sickened. “Belly, do you still like Conrad? From the looks of things last summer, I thought there might be something between you and Jeremiah.”
My mother stuck her head in between our two seats. “Are you thinking about Conrad?” he asked mockingly.įor once the answer was no. Like it had been waiting for me to get there.
The wind making my hair feel sticky, the salty sea breeze, all of it felt just right. The air tasted just the same, smelled just the same. I rolled down the window and took it all in. It held a million promises of summer and of what just might be.Īs we got closer and closer to the house, I could feel that familiar flutter in my chest. It was like coming home after you’d been gone a long, long time. Seeing the town again, Jimmy’s Crab Shack, the Putt Putt, all the surf shops. We drove through town slowly, and even though I’d just teased Steven about it, I didn’t really mind. It was what bothered him most about our parents being divorced, being the lone guy, without our dad to take his side. We both had terrible voices, and Steven shook his head in his disgusted Steven way. I sang even louder, which woke up my mother, and she started to sing too. “Belly, your voice makes me want to run this car into the ocean.” He pretended to swerve right. Steven reached over to switch stations, and I slapped his hand away. Tom Petty was singing “Free Fallin’.” I sang right along with him. I found my favorite station, the one that played everything from pop to oldies to hip-hop. I was as familiar with them as I was with the ones back home, and listening to Q94 made me just really know inside that I was there, at the beach. One of my favorite things about going to the beach was the radio stations. Steven ignored me, and so I started to fiddle with the radio. “That guy in a wheelchair just lapped us!” “Hey, look,” I said, pointing out the window. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.” “If you ever get your license,” he scoffed. “And take your dirty feet off my dashboard.” “Go faster,” I urged Steven, poking him in the shoulder. Even when she slept, she looked alert, like at any second she could wake up and direct traffic. Meanwhile, my mother was passed out in the backseat.
I sat next to him in the passenger seat with my feet up on the dashboard. My brother, Steven, drove slower than our Granna. We’d been driving for about seven thousand years.
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