The Moon and More(19)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“On your right!” I heard a voice say, and a second later a bike was moving past me, ridden by a shirtless guy in swim trunks. Behind him was a girl in a bikini, a woven bag over one shoulder with a rolled up towel sticking out of it. They went a little farther before stopping in front of Abe’s Bikes, where a girl with curly brown hair in a bright pink T-shirt was standing with a clipboard. Behind her a sign said QUICK, EASY BIKE RENTALS! PAY AND RIDE AWAY! She waved at us, and as we passed, Daisy tried to hand off the flier to her. She shook her head.

“Come on, Maggie,” Daisy said. “It’s the hottest club in Colby.”

“Since when?” Maggie replied. “No, no, no to Tallyho. Nice try, though.”

“I hate that somehow I’m responsible for killing this tree.” Daisy sighed, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into a nearby trash can.

“You going to do the window?” Maggie asked her.

“Yep,” Daisy said. “Florals are so last month.”

“You would know,” Maggie said, taking the bikes as the riders dismounted. She was just asking them if they were sure they didn’t want another hour—at half price!—as we came up on Clementine’s. Sure enough, the mannequins in the window were all in flowered dresses, with petals scattered around their feet.

“Looks pretty cute for something already passé,” I said to Daisy as I pulled the door open.

“It is,” she agreed. “But it’s time for a change. I’m thinking robots.”

“What?” I said, but she was already walking past me inside, the chime sounding over our heads announcing our arrival.

“There she is,” I heard a voice call out from behind the register. I looked over to see Heidi, the owner, sorting bills into the drawer, while her stepdaughter Auden pegged stretchy bead bracelets with a pricing gun. “Our fashionista has arrived.”

“You know I hate that word,” Daisy replied. “It makes me sound like I’m starting a revolution.”

“Aren’t you?” Auden asked. The gun stuck suddenly. She banged it on the counter, once, twice.

“One robot at a time,” I said.

“Robots?” Heidi raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

Daisy nodded. “Silver, futuristic. Metallics. Contrasted with deep skin tones, plus maybe some bead or sequin trim for texture.”

Heidi nodded. “I like it.”

“I,” Auden said, picking a stray sticker off her shirt, “have no idea what you guys are talking about.”

“Which is why you’re not doing the window,” Heidi told her. To me she said, “You here to help? You know I’m hiring, if your mom would ever let you jump ship on the family business.”

“Unlikely,” I told her. My mom and Heidi knew each other from the chamber of commerce, where they always seemed to end up on one committee or another together. They were the younger members, often joining forces against long-timers like my grandmother and her friends. Everything was small in Colby except the personalities. “I’m just procrastinating.”

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Heidi observed.

“I’m starting a revolution,” I told her, and she smiled.

Just then, the door chimed from behind us, announcing the arrival of two girls in bikini tops and sarongs. As Auden put down the gun to go greet them, I followed Daisy as she made her way back to the storeroom, stopping along the way to pluck pieces that caught her eye.

Before she’d taken the job, Clementine’s window, like that of any other beach clothing store, featured a few mannequins and lots of bathing suits. Now, it was a local institution. She did zombies (in bikinis) for Halloween, a tableau based entirely on coal for Christmas, a slasher theme in deep reds for Valentine’s Day. It had been pointed out to Heidi more than once that Daisy’s windows might be a bit too “visionary” for the Colby boardwalk, but she maintained that whatever else, they made people stop in front of the store. And once they stopped, they were that much more likely to come in.

Now, Daisy assembled an armful of shiny bathing suits, then fetched the oversize tackle box where she kept all her pins and props. As she got to work, I sat in the doorway that led into the window, alternately watching her and the crowds passing by. En masse like this, the tourists all blended together into types: younger folks moving in packs; parents with strollers, toting huge beach bags full of gear; older couples, walking slowly. The only constants were sunglasses and the feel of spare time. Again, it occurred to me how weird it was to be permanent in a place that to everyone else was only temporary. Like I could never be sure if they were the ones who weren’t real, or if I was.

“I think I’m going to need a few metal rulers,” Daisy said, holding up a gold bikini top and squinting at it. “And maybe some saw blades.”

“Sounds dangerous,” I told her, as a group of girls walked by, outright gawking in at us. It was like they didn’t realize we could see them as well. “I thought this was about robots.”

“Dangerous robots,” she murmured. She was getting into the zone, that quiet place where her ideas came together. No need for me to stick around. Pretty soon she’d forget I was there anyway.

“I gotta go,” I told her, getting to my feet. “I’ll call you later?”

She nodded, and I slipped out of the store, waving at Auden and Heidi. As I headed back to the parking lot, it was nearing two p.m., which gave me about two hours before my father and Benji crossed the bridge over here to my side.

I got in the car, rolled down all the windows, then turned around to the backseat floor to dig for my drive-by list. Just beneath it, I saw a piece of card stock poking out and grabbed it as well. It was one of my graduation announcements, left over and forgotten. I ran a finger over it, reading the letters of my name and my high school. It had been such a big deal at the time, like the finish line of a race I’d been running for as long as I could remember. My mom and dad were there, my sisters, my grandmother, all of my friends. But as was so often the case, it was the one person missing who you thought about more than the ones who were right in front of you.

Stupid, I thought now, tossing it back behind me and turning my attention to the drive-by list again. House after house, their names like fairy tales: Gull’s Cry, Carolina Dream, Driftwood Escape, Tide Traveler. I’d hit them all, slowing down to peer again from the outside at someone else’s vacation, looking for anything amiss or suspect. But if they happened to glance out, they wouldn’t even realize this. To them, I was just another girl passing by.