Local Girls : An Island Summer Novel (9781416564171) by Jenny O'connell

going home.”
    â€œI can drive you,” she offered, only instead of moving she just stood there, squinting in the sun.
    Damn. I’d forgotten I didn’t have the car. I’d forgotten that Mona had access to not one but three cars in Malcolm’s circular driveway. But worse than realizing I had to either takeMona up on her offer or take the bus was realizing that for the first time in our lives, Mona was the one in the driver’s seat.
    â€œThat’s okay, I can take the bus.”
    There was no bus. Just me waiting underneath the VTA sign for five minutes as I imagined Mona standing on the deck outside her bedroom, watching me. And even though I turned toward the beach so Mona wouldn’t be able to see my face, I hated it. I hated that I didn’t know if Mona offered me a ride because she really wanted to or because she felt sorry for me. I hated that she kept her whole life in Boston a secret from me. And I really hated that I probably looked completely pathetic standing at the bus stop kicking rocks with my foot while tourists passed by me as they left the beach. Which was why I finally gave up on the bus and started walking home.
    I didn’t live within walking distance of Malcolm’s house, so it wasn’t like I actually expected to walk the entire way. I was just hoping to catch the bus somewhere along its route and in the process get as far away from Malcolm’s house as possible. But because the only land running along Atlantic Drive was the grassy pasture of the Katama airfield, no matter how far I walked, Malcolm’s gray shingled house was visible in the background, a five-thousand-square-foot reminder that I might have just lost my best friend.
    I kept my eyes on the fence running around the perimeter, only taking them away to watch a bright red biplane taking off down the grassy runway, looking up as it lifted into the air above me.
    â€œHey!” someone screamed over the sound of the propeller, startling me.
    I turned toward the road, where a pickup truck had slowedand was creeping along beside me. There could only be one truck that color, a dull, milky pea green. And even if there managed to be another truck that color, I doubted it would have the same brownish red rusty patches running along the bottom of the passenger-side door.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Henry asked, yelling across the empty passenger seat.
    â€œWalking home,” I told him, even though we both knew it wasn’t likely.
    â€œCome on, I’ll drive you.” He reached over and opened the door from the inside, pushing it out so I could get in.
    I had two choices: continue walking and hope the bus showed up at some point, or take Henry up on his offer.
    I got in.
    â€œThat’s a long walk,” Henry said as the truck started moving faster. “Isn’t standing on your feet all day enough for you?”
    The front seat of Poppy’s truck was just like I remembered, the vinyl bench seat slippery from so many years of wear. Whenever Poppy and Mona picked me up at my house, Mona always slid over to the middle, saying she liked sitting like that, sandwiched between us. There was no CD player, just a broken cassette player and a radio that only got the AM stations. “I went to see Mona.”
    â€œAnd she wouldn’t drive you home?”
    I didn’t have to tell Henry what happened. I could gloss over the entire argument, make it sound completely normal that I’d choose to walk four miles rather than let my best friend drive me home, and hope that Mona would call me and we’d work it out. But I wasn’t that optimistic. And I kind of wanted to hear what Henry would say, whose side he’d take.
    â€œWe had a fight.”
    â€œWhat? Like that time you two were fighting over that Snoopy Sno-Cone machine and who got to pick the first flavor?” Henry looked over at me, a serious expression on his face. “The battle between cherry and