Outcast (14 page)

June. The temperatures soared over one hundred degrees. Air conditioners labored. Potted flowers wilted and crisped under the sun’s scorching rays. Their drooping arms were too dehydrated to yearn for a sprinkle from the watering can. So much seemed to die in the
Arizona
summer.

But the school year was over, so relief cleansed me like holy water. In two days we would be in
Orlando
. Even the thought of spending two weeks with my grandparents surpassed the degradations of school. Then Grace spoiled my good mood.

“So you’re going out with Mike again?”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s not what he told Jake.”

“I don’t care what he said. I mean, my mother doesn’t even let me date.”

“Apparently he’s okay with that.”

“Geez.”

“I’m just telling you what I heard.”

“I’m not interested,” I pleaded with Grace. “Please straighten things out with him.”

We flew to
Orlando
. There was no point in worrying. I was out of there for two weeks.

Orlando
was hot and balmy.

Becca moped throughout the entire flight. She wanted to stay home and do her own thing. My mother—knowing she had a boyfriend—preferred to keep tabs on her in Florida. She never even considered the beaches, Becca’s bikini, and the lifeguards.

My grandparents met us at the airport. My Grandpa Hitchcock wore tan
trousers
and a short-sleeved shirt. He looked cool compared to my grandmother. She had on a pair of teal
slacks
with pantyhose underneath. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse with a pimento sweater. It made me sweat just to look at her.

“There they are, my girls.” My grandmother hugged and kissed us both, then headed for my mother. Becca pulled away, a skulk ironed on her face.

“Hi Jack,” my grandmother said, giving him a brief wave; he didn’t rate as high as the rest of us.

My grandmother kept pace with my mother and me. My grandfather shook my dad’s hand, and they engaged in a conversation about sports. Becca dragged her feet in the back.

My grandparents didn’t actually live in
Orlando
. Their house was in
Smyrna
Beach
. They lived in a three-bedroom with a lanai and no swimming pool. It had central air, but they didn’t use it. Even coming from
Arizona
, their house felt hot like the inside of a sauna.

My father pretended not to notice, but I saw him check the thermostat. Eighty-five degrees. The air conditioning switch mocked him from its off position. He swabbed his forehead and sunk into a kitchen chair.

My grandparents refused to sacrifice their bedroom to anyone. If the President visited, they would have forced him to sleep on the floor. My parents took the guestroom. The third bedroom belonged to Spanky and Tiger, my grandparents’ two tabby cats. They had their own bed, and the room swam with cat toys and kitty condos. I hated them. Those animals took precedence over any homosapien. Distant cousin or granddaughter, it didn’t matter. The room belonged to the cats.

Since we were only blocks from the beach, Becca and I immediately begged to go. My mother reluctantly let us. With our bathing suits hidden under our street clothes and a bag of towels and sunscreen, we left.

“Be back by four-thirty. We’re going out to dinner,” my mother called. “And be careful.”

We meandered to the coast. When we were far enough away from the house, Becca removed her button down shirt, revealing a string bikini in a stop-sign red. She would definitely bring guys on the beach to a halt. I didn’t realize she had so much cleavage. She must have seen my eyes bulge with amazement because she smiled proudly.

“What mom doesn’t know isn’t going to kill her.”

“But if mom finds out, she’s going to kill you.”

“Let’s get something straight right now.” She turned serious on me all of a sudden. “You’re not going to tell mom anything about what goes on at the beach. And, if you do anything that in any way makes me look bad, you can’t hang out with me anymore. Got it?”

What kind of ultimatum was that? Did she think I was privileged in some way to be seen with her?

“If I find out you’re being a little tattle-tale, I’ll tell mom you went to the Spring Fling with a college guy.”

“How did you—”

“I have my ways.”

So the law was laid down between Becca and me.

Becca revealed even more flesh once we arrived at the beach. She looked good in her bikini—I had to give her that. As a matter of fact, I was embarrassed to remove my clothing and show the world—or at least
Smyrna
Beach
—that I was flat-chested and looked like a twelve-year-old boy in a one piece suit. I hunkered down near the sand so no one would see as I slipped my shorts and shirt off. I smothered Hawaiian Tropic over my alabaster skin then hid behind my book. Guys of all shapes, sizes, degrees of tan, and various styles of swimming trunks examined Becca as she lounged on the beach. Not one of them looked at me. I may as well have been the beach towel.

We spent every day at the beach. Becca flirted at the concession stand while I watched longingly from my place in the sand. Apparently, she was too embarrassed to introduce them to her sister who, by all appearances, could have passed for her younger brother.

One morning as we made our ritualistic walk to the shore, Becca stopped in front of a shop and looked me directly in the eyes.

“We need to do something about that.” She glared at my bathing suit, treating it like the family member nobody wants to talk about. “Frankly, I can’t have you humiliating yourself any longer. Guys are never going to look at you in that old-lady getup you’re wearing.”

The shop bell jangled as she pushed the door and went inside. She combed through racks of two-piece suits, holding different styles and colors up to me. All were too revealing. She pulled out three different bikinis and shoved them into my arms.

“Try these on.”

“I don’t think—”

“Do you want to hang out with me or not?”

Of course I did. I felt like I was learning from her merely through observation. I ducked into a fitting room, trying each of them on, then showing Becca.

“Too sporty … Makes you look anorexic … The color’s all wrong for you.”

She was on a mission. And when I finally stepped out of the fitting room wearing a sapphire bikini with spaghetti straps and a barely-there bottom, she beamed.
Mission
accomplished.

“I can hardly believe I’m saying this, but you actually look sexy.”

Of course, the top had extra padding to give me the boobs I didn’t have.

Becca paid for the suit and had me wear it out of the store. We rushed to the beach to make up for lost time. All of a sudden, guys paid attention to me.

As we basked in the glow of the passing glances, I felt empowered in my bikini. I suddenly knew where Becca’s confidence came from. She felt secure in her femininity, and she used it to gain attention. I was seeking advice from the wrong person. What did Aunt P really know? She was in her early forties—old. Becca was young. I needed to stay on her good side and learn the ropes from her.

We were all expected to attend church on Sunday. At our grandparents’ house, there was no room for argument or debate. We just went.

I listened to nothing. Instead, my thoughts drifted to
Chad
. I thought if I became Becca’s apprentice, I may be able to get him back. I didn’t have the slightest clue how to do any of the things she did: touching biceps, invading personal space. The art of flirtation was foreign to me. All I ever did was be myself. I guess that was a big part of the problem. I did manage to catch
Chad
’s attention for a short time. Though if I wanted to, I probably couldn’t get it back.  

I was totally intrigued by the one-woman show that Becca had become to me. I figured I needed to start taking notes.

Back at the beach, I pretended not to listen when Becca flirted with a tanned, tow-headed guy clad with muscles. A dragon tattoo decorated his shoulder blade. I stole glances of him over the top of my sunglasses. He was an early-twenties cute. He milked a beer bottle nestled in his hand. He offered Becca sips, and she willingly accepted. He seemed to make her forget that Kevin ever existed.

“So you coming tonight or what?” He played innocent, making eyes at her and running his fingers through the sand.

“Why should I?” she gushed with flirtation.

“Because I’ll be there.” His finger moved to her tanned leg, lingering there.

“So.” She played hard to get. It was pretty sickening. “I need more incentive than that.”

“Oh, I’ll give you plenty of incentive. You can even bring your friend if you want.” He motioned toward me.

“She has other plans.”

“Well, I’ll be here.”

He and his muscles stood.

“See you tonight.” His tone was filled with implication. Becca eased back into her tanning session. The guy—who
se
name was Bay—checked me out as he left. He may have been catnip for the eye, but I didn’t like how he leered at Becca.  

“I need you to cover for me tonight,” Becca pressed while sunning herself.

“I don’t know.” I looked in Bay’s direction.

Becca sat upright, squinting at me through the sun.

“After all I’ve done for you, you’re not going to help me?”

“You bought me a swim suit.”

She rolled her eyes and forced a heavy sigh through her Clinique-painted lips.

“I’ll pay you back if you’re that upset about it.”

“It’s not about the money or the swim suit. You’re so naïve, Noelle.”

“I
am
not.”

But the more I thought about it, maybe she was right. Maybe I was naïve.

After dinner at the Village Inn, we played Monopoly. Becca checked her watch under the table. She tried to lose the game. As nine o’clock approached, a wave of sleepiness suddenly passed over her.

“I’m going to bed.”

The aged sleeping bag where I rested smelled of mothballs and dust. When everyone seemed to settle into sleep, I watched Becca change into a short sundress and freshen her makeup.

“Thanks for covering.”

“What about Kevin?”

“Kevin’s not here right now. Is he?”

I looked down the hall. “Maybe I should go with you.”

“No way!”

“After this, you owe me,” I reminded her. 

Becca grabbed her purse. “Leave the door unlocked, okay?”

“When will you be back?”

“Don’t act like mom, all right?” She tiptoed toward the front door.

“Becca,” I whispered after her.

“What?” Her irritation was growing.

“What are you going to do with Bay?” Visuals of Aunt P and Doctor Doug flashed through my mind.

“Go to sleep, Noelle.”

I lay awake most of the night. If I do
z
ed off, the grandfather clock nudged me with its hourly chime. By one-thirty, Becca still wasn’t back. I started to worry. What if something horrendous happened to her? What if Bay made her do things she didn’t want to do? What if Bay murdered Becca and threw her body in the ocean where it was devoured by sharks and bottom feeders? What if she went missing and wound up on Nancy Grace? Maybe I should wake my parents, let them know that I noticed Becca missing in the middle of the night. That way, I could still save myself. But if Becca just lost track of time, she’d be furious with me for snitching on her. Maybe I should go look for her. However, the more I thought about venturing onto the streets at one thirty in the morning, the more waiting seemed like the better option.

At two-ten I heard footsteps in the hallway. I panicked and pretended to sleep. But it was only Tiger. I crawled out of my sleeping bag as he scampered across the room. At that moment, the door slowly opened and Becca entered the foyer.

“You’re still awake?” she whispered as she slipped out of her street clothes and dressed in her pajamas. I noticed love bites the color of cocktail sauce sprinkled across her abdomen and neck.

“Cat woke me up.” I didn’t want to tell her I was frightened about what might have happened to her.

She wiggled into her sleeping bag and closed her eyes as if she had simply made a trip to the bathroom. I crawled back to my own bag and watched her for awhile. She opened her eyes, probably sensing my stare.

“What?”

I wanted so desperately to find out all of the details of her night with Bay, but she and I didn’t have that kind of sisterly relationship.

“Nothing.” I closed my eyes and eventually fell asleep.