Sure.”
Sarah slipped her headphones into her ears, and we sidestepped around each other.
I like to think that if I had lived at a time when tremendous bravery was called for—in Nazi Germany, for example, or in the South before the Civil War—I would have been one of those people who risked her life in order to do the right thing. That I would have hidden Jews in my attic or helped slaves escape along the Underground Railroad.
I like to think that.
But I have the bad feeling it might not be true.
AS IF IT WERE ON MY SIDE , the weather held for the rest of the day. It never completely cleared up, but by the time I headed over to the main house to go with Sarah to Larkspur, the sun was making a truly valiant effort to poke its way through the clouds, and not a drop of rain had fallen since morning.
I’d spent the day trying on and rejecting outfits. I kept telling myself, You don’t even know if Adam will be there. Maybe he’s a vegetarian with a moral objection to barbecues. Maybe his parents make him stay home every Fourth of July and read the Constitution out loud to them.
But no matter how many times I told myself not to get my hopes up about seeing Adam, I couldn’t stop their hovering just above the stratosphere.
Even if I hadn’t wanted to wear something that would make Adam notice me, I would have faced a major fashion dilemma. The problem was, I had no idea what to wear to a Fourth of July barbecue at a place like Larkspur. If we had been going to the Olympia Club, it would have been easy—even when people just go to play tennis or swim, they can barely lift their arms because of all the jewelry they’re layered in, and when Laura had her sweet sixteen there, and the invitation said “festive casual,” I bought a fancy new dress and so did my mom.
Maybe fancy was the way to go. Just because the Larkspur population wasn’t particularly bejeweled didn’t mean they weren’t the type to get dolled up to celebrate our nation’s birth.
I’d only brought one real dress with me, a strapless wild profusion of purple and red flowers with a stiff crinoline under it. For a minute I wondered if crinoline + sand = major catastrophe, but slipping the dress over my head and feeling its smooth, stiff bodice glide over my shoulders erased that fear. I spun around. The dress was sooo pretty. Adam just had to be there to see me in it.
Satisfied with my wardrobe choice, I took off the dress and went to shower, and when I got out, I saw that Meg had called me back; I’d completely forgotten about the message I’d left her. The message on my voice mail was typical Meg. She was so sorry she’d missed me, and she was sure I’d misunderstood Mom’s behavior, and this was such a hard time for everyone, and blah blah blah blah.
I barely listened to the whole thing since I’d realized in the shower that I had a major shoe dilemma on my hands. The high-heeled red sandals I’d bought to go with the dress were going to be kind of hard to walk in on sand, even sand that had been packed hard by the morning rain. I put on the dress and slipped on the sandals. They were really high, and I felt unsteady just crossing the room. I took them off and put on my flip-flops— maybe together they’d look all elegant yet sportif! I went over to the mirror to check out the combination.
Disaster.
I took off the flip-flops and put the shoes back on. It wasn’t like I was going to have to walk miles or anything. They probably had waiters and stuff to bring food to your table.
I checked myself out in the mirror. The dress was low-cut without being tacky, the three-quarter skirt coy yet sexy.
I looked like a total New York girl. Or at least I thought I did. Right up until I saw an actual New York girl.
When I walked into the living room, Tina and Henry were lying on the couch, each of them reading a section of The New York Times . I’d said hello to Jamie, who was puttering around in the kitchen, and I tried not to let the
Sarah slipped her headphones into her ears, and we sidestepped around each other.
I like to think that if I had lived at a time when tremendous bravery was called for—in Nazi Germany, for example, or in the South before the Civil War—I would have been one of those people who risked her life in order to do the right thing. That I would have hidden Jews in my attic or helped slaves escape along the Underground Railroad.
I like to think that.
But I have the bad feeling it might not be true.
AS IF IT WERE ON MY SIDE , the weather held for the rest of the day. It never completely cleared up, but by the time I headed over to the main house to go with Sarah to Larkspur, the sun was making a truly valiant effort to poke its way through the clouds, and not a drop of rain had fallen since morning.
I’d spent the day trying on and rejecting outfits. I kept telling myself, You don’t even know if Adam will be there. Maybe he’s a vegetarian with a moral objection to barbecues. Maybe his parents make him stay home every Fourth of July and read the Constitution out loud to them.
But no matter how many times I told myself not to get my hopes up about seeing Adam, I couldn’t stop their hovering just above the stratosphere.
Even if I hadn’t wanted to wear something that would make Adam notice me, I would have faced a major fashion dilemma. The problem was, I had no idea what to wear to a Fourth of July barbecue at a place like Larkspur. If we had been going to the Olympia Club, it would have been easy—even when people just go to play tennis or swim, they can barely lift their arms because of all the jewelry they’re layered in, and when Laura had her sweet sixteen there, and the invitation said “festive casual,” I bought a fancy new dress and so did my mom.
Maybe fancy was the way to go. Just because the Larkspur population wasn’t particularly bejeweled didn’t mean they weren’t the type to get dolled up to celebrate our nation’s birth.
I’d only brought one real dress with me, a strapless wild profusion of purple and red flowers with a stiff crinoline under it. For a minute I wondered if crinoline + sand = major catastrophe, but slipping the dress over my head and feeling its smooth, stiff bodice glide over my shoulders erased that fear. I spun around. The dress was sooo pretty. Adam just had to be there to see me in it.
Satisfied with my wardrobe choice, I took off the dress and went to shower, and when I got out, I saw that Meg had called me back; I’d completely forgotten about the message I’d left her. The message on my voice mail was typical Meg. She was so sorry she’d missed me, and she was sure I’d misunderstood Mom’s behavior, and this was such a hard time for everyone, and blah blah blah blah.
I barely listened to the whole thing since I’d realized in the shower that I had a major shoe dilemma on my hands. The high-heeled red sandals I’d bought to go with the dress were going to be kind of hard to walk in on sand, even sand that had been packed hard by the morning rain. I put on the dress and slipped on the sandals. They were really high, and I felt unsteady just crossing the room. I took them off and put on my flip-flops— maybe together they’d look all elegant yet sportif! I went over to the mirror to check out the combination.
Disaster.
I took off the flip-flops and put the shoes back on. It wasn’t like I was going to have to walk miles or anything. They probably had waiters and stuff to bring food to your table.
I checked myself out in the mirror. The dress was low-cut without being tacky, the three-quarter skirt coy yet sexy.
I looked like a total New York girl. Or at least I thought I did. Right up until I saw an actual New York girl.
When I walked into the living room, Tina and Henry were lying on the couch, each of them reading a section of The New York Times . I’d said hello to Jamie, who was puttering around in the kitchen, and I tried not to let the
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