The Forget-Me-Not Summer by Leila Howland Page A

Instead of taking a freeway to get there, they simply walked down Aunt Sunny’s long driveway, along the shady road lined with mossy stone walls, and down the grassy path between the fishing store and the sandwich shop. Dotted with colored umbrellas, beach chairs, and towels, the town beach wasn’t even as big as the parking lot at the Santa Monica Pier. And because it was nestled in the harbor, there were hardly any waves at all. The only creatures surfing here were the small browncrabs Zinnie and Marigold had spotted scuttling along the shore. But the sand was soft, and the water was always warm enough for swimming, even on a cloudy day. There was a little snack bar that sold soda, ice pops, hot dogs, french fries, candy bars, and little containers of ice cream that came with small, flat wooden spoons attached to their lids. Aunt Sunny said that as long as Marigold and Zinnie stuck together and didn’t swim past the floating dock, they could go by themselves as often as they liked.
    Walking to the town beach without an adult was a whole new level of freedom for Zinnie. Without the constant gaze of a parent, babysitter, or teacher, Zinnie felt both more grown-up and a little wilder. Her first thought was that she wouldn’t have to be appropriate all the time. “Appropriate” was a favorite word of teachers and parents. It was used so often that it had become impossible to put her finger on exactly what it meant. Yet she was disappointed to find the only thing she could think of to do that was inappropriate was make fart noises, and Marigold didn’t find them very funny.
    Even though this was only their fourth visit to this beach, when they arrived that morning, Zinnie was starting to feel like it belonged to her and Marigold. They had a favorite spot off to the left, near the lifeguard’s chair, close to the water. They had even started to get to know the teenagers who worked at the snackbar. The girl with the bangs had an accent like Peter Pasque’s, only stronger. By their second visit to the town beach, Zinnie knew that her name was Ashley, she was fourteen, this was her first summer job, and she wanted to find a boyfriend. Today Ashley saw Zinnie approaching the snack bar and produced a red ice pop before she even asked for it.
    â€œCan I also get a water?” Zinnie asked.
    â€œWhy don’t you just get a drink at the bubblah?” Ashley asked.
    â€œBubblah?” Zinnie repeated, confused.
    â€œYeah, y’know, the bubblah,” Ashley said, pointing at the water fountain attached to the snack bar.
    â€œOh, okay,” Zinnie said. As she turned the handle of the water fountain and a burst of water gushed up her nose, she thought that “bubblah” was a much better name than “water fountain.” Ashley started to sing along with the radio. “You have a really pretty voice,” Zinnie said, wiping her mouth. “You should go on America Sings .”
    â€œYou think so?” Ashley asked as she restocked the candy bars.
    â€œI’d vote for you,” Zinnie said. “Like ten times, and that’s the maximum they allow from the same number.”
    â€œThanks,” Ashley said. “Maybe I’ll try out someday.”
    As Zinnie walked back to Marigold, she couldn’twait to tell her about this new word. Bubblah, Zinnie said to herself, and giggled.
    Marigold was stretched out on a towel in her favorite bathing suit. It had a single delicate strap that wrapped around her neck, navy stripes, and the words “Excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît” written in glittery silver sequins across it. Zinnie’s plain blue suit was less stylish. Technically, it wasn’t even called a bathing suit. It was a rash guard, which was what surfers wore. The top was like a T-shirt and the bottom like shorts. She liked that there was no way it would slip off when she jumped off the floating dock, as she’d done at least five