The Rest of the Story. Sarah Dessen
Who the hell is this girl?”
“His cousin,” another voice said, sounding as confident as I wished I had. “Mine, too. So will you get out of her face, please?”
All of a sudden, a girl was standing beside me. Even before I saw she was my height, with the same color blond hair and slightly upturned nose I’d always been self-conscious about, I didn’t doubt for a second that we were related. This was Bailey. I remembered. Again in a way I couldn’t even begin to understand, especially at that moment, but I did.
“Your cousin?” Taylor looked at me again. “You’re forgetting that I know all your cousins.”
“Not this one. Hasn’t been here since we were little kids.” Now, Bailey addressed me. “Hi, by the way.”
“Hi,” I said. This time, my voice didn’t crack.
She turned back to Taylor. “Are we done? If so, let’s make a plan.”
Taylor looked at me again. “Jack,” she said to my face. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, boy,” the guy with the fauxhawk said. “Duck and cover, y’all.”
As someone across the raft snorted, Taylor turned on her heel and walked across the raft to climb onto Jack’s boat. Jack followed, slowly, looking tired. As soon as he was on board, she started talking, although her words were lost as someone else arrived, their engine chugging.
I was no expert, but even at first glance I could tell something about this boat was different. It was longer, for starters, with a third row of seats—not worn, but shiny and clean—and a larger motor. The guy behind the wheel, tall with dark hair, was in shorts and a white polo shirt with some kind of insignia that I felt like I’d seen before. He had on mirrored sunglasses, reflecting our faces back at us.
“What’s up?” he called out. “Got a plan yet?”
“Oh, great,” April said with a roll of her eyes. “Look who’s here.”
“Stop it,” Bailey told her. “I told you, he’s nice.”
April did not look convinced, even as Bailey crossed the raft, jumping across two docked boats—gracefully, how?—to go talk to him. To me, April said, “She knows to watch out for those yacht club boys. Not that you can tell.”
“Yacht club?” I asked.
April nodded across the lake, at the distant big houses. “Over at Lake North. Everything’s bigger and better there, not that it stops them from coming to our side.”
I realized, suddenly, why I’d recognized the boy’s shirt. It was identical to the one my dad wore in the few pictures I’d seen from the summer he’d spent here teaching sailing when he met my mom. I looked at Bailey again, now scratching one foot with the other as she spoke to the boy, who was grinning up at her.
“That’s her boyfriend?” I asked.
“No,” the guy with the fauxhawk replied.
“Not yet,” April corrected, smiling. “Summer just started.”
“She’ll come to her senses,” he told her, rubbing his arm, where a tribal-patterned tattoo covered one bicep.
“And fall for you, Vincent?” she asked him. “Keep dreaming.”
“My point is,” he said, his face flushing, “I just don’t see them together.”
“Why not? He’s totally her type.”
“Which is what? Yacht club?” I asked.
“Rich boy with a dazzling smile,” she said. “And a nice boat. What’s your name again?”
“Emma,” I said. “You’re April?”
“And this is Vincent,” she said, pointing to the guy. “You here for the summer?”
“Just three weeks,” I said.
“How you kin to this lot?” When I just looked at her, not sure what this meant, she said, more slowly, “Are you a Calvander or a Blackwood?”
“Neither. I’m a Payne.” Obviously this was confusing, so I added, “My mom was a Calvander, though. Waverly.”
At the name, her eyes widened. “You’re Waverly’s daughter? Really?”
I nodded, suddenly aware of another set of eyes on me: Roo. He’d been over near another boat, coiling some ropes, but now he turned, looking at me as if for the first time. “Saylor?” he said.
“Her name’s Emma,” April told him. “Keep up, would you?”
“It is Emma Saylor, technically,” I said. “But mostly Emma now.”
I felt like I was apologizing. Maybe because of the way Roo was still looking at me, startled, as if maybe he remembered more of that summer from the group picture than I did. It must have been confusing, for someone to reappear all those years later with a different face and name. Like the past wasn’t what you’d thought. I knew that feeling.
“Okay,” Vincent said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Godfrey’s at eight, then Lucy Tate’s place afterward, but only if we bring our own beer and don’t criticize her music.”
“Since when do we have conditions?” April said. “I’d rather hang out on the dock and do what I want.”
“It’s high season,” Roo told her. “Docks are out until August.”
“Oh, right. Stupid tourists,” she grumbled.
“What’s the plan?” Bailey called out from the other side of the raft.
“Don’t tell her,” April said. “She’ll just invite all the golf shirts.”
“Godfrey’s, then Lucy Tate’s,” Vincent yelled back anyway.
This seemed to be a signal that things were finalized, as everyone began saying their goodbyes and splitting off to their respective boats. Within minutes, the hum of engines filled the air and I was one of the only ones left, along with April and Vincent, with Roo alongside us behind his own wheel, motor idling.
“Let’s get,” Vincent told April. He looked at me. “You need a ride back to Mimi’s?”
I looked over at Jack, who was still sitting on one of those red benches, Taylor standing in front of him. She’d been talking this entire time, and didn’t seem to have any plans to stop soon. Meanwhile, Bailey had jumped in with the guy in the golf shirt and was already puttering away toward shore.
“I don’t know,” I said, looking at Jack. I still felt like a burden, this time to people I wasn’t even related to. “Maybe I should wait for—”
“I wouldn’t,” April said flatly. “No telling how long they’ll be talking. They are always talking.”
“Right,” I said. “Well …”
“I’ll take you, Saylor,” Roo said. When I looked at him, he added quickly, “I mean, Emma. It’s on my way.”
“Great,” Vincent said as April hopped into a nearby small skiff, settling in the stern with the outboard motor there. He untied it, then joined her, his weight wobbling it from side to side. “See you at Godfrey’s.”
Then they, too, were gone, calling out goodbyes to Jack and Taylor as they passed. She was still talking; only he lifted a hand, waving back.
I looked at Roo, who pulled on a faded blue T-shirt before putting his boat into gear. Before, with Jack, I’d waited for permission to get in, which was the wrong thing to do. Then again, I didn’t want to just go for it and risk a repeat of my earlier experience boarding. How could a single step from one floating object to another be so difficult?
I was beginning