Umbrella Summer by Lisa Graff Page B

stars and firework dust. Everyone started rustling around, picking up their stuff and heading back to their cars. I wanted to stay there forever, stretched out on the grass in the dark with just the hint of a breeze.
    â€œYou coming, Moonbeam?” Dad asked.
    I sighed big and sat up, shoving the last of the watermelon back in the cooler.
    There were a million and a half cars leaving the lake, so Dad had to drive about an inch per minute slow, which made me glad because what Doug had said about car accidents was making me extra worried. I decided right then that I was going to wear my helmet whenever we drove somewhere. I twisted against myseat belt to watch the boats on the lake as we drove by, and I got to thinking. Mostly what I was thinking about was how, between the hosing at the car wash and having to take off all my Band-Aids and the ducks and the hot dogs and everything, it had been the worst Fourth of July in the history of the universe. And the more I got to thinking, it all got to making me mad.
    â€œDad?” I said finally, when we were just a block from home.
    â€œYes, Moonbeam?”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about the uniforms?”
    â€œWhat’s that?” He kept his eyes on the road as we turned the corner.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me I didn’t have to wear my stupid Sunbird outfit today at the car wash? Mrs. Harper called you and told you, and you didn’t even say anything.”
    â€œSorry, Moonbeam,” he said, slowing down to pull into our driveway. “I guess I must have forgotten.”
    He stopped the car and turned the engine off, plowing outside before I had a chance to say anything else. Ifollowed him into the house and found my mom coming down the stairs with a basket of laundry.
    â€œHey there,” she greeted us as Dad closed the front door. “How were the fireworks?”
    I gave her an eyeball glare so fiery hot it could’ve toasted marshmallows. “They were fine ,” I said. “You would know that if you’d been there.”
    Dad glanced at my mother and then looked at me. “Now, Moonbeam…,” he said. I swiveled on my heel and gave him the eyeball glare too.
    â€œDon’t call me Moonbeam anymore,” I told him.
    â€œWhat?” he said.
    â€œDon’t call me that anymore unless you mean it.”
    Mom came down the last few steps. “Annie, are you okay?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
    I shook my head at them, at both of them. “You still have to be my parents, you know. Even if Jared’s dead. You still have to be my parents.” And then I bolted past my mom up the stairs and into my room, slamming my door closed behind me.
    Ten minutes later I was stretched out on my bedwith my arms over my face when there was a quiet tap on my door, and Mom peeked her head inside my room. “Annie?” she said, wispy-quiet. I didn’t answer.
    She opened the door all the way and walked softly softly over to my bed, sitting on the edge beside me. “We’re trying, you know,” she said. She took a long, deep breath. “Your father and I. We’re really trying.”
    I didn’t say anything, just stared at the inside crook of my elbow. I had a headache, right at the front of my brain, and I was thinking it was probably a migraine.
    After a few minutes Mom stood up and gave me a peck on the forehead, then left my room as quiet as she’d come in, shutting the door as she went.
    When the door clicked closed against the latch, I turned to look at it.
    â€œTry harder,” I said. But it just came out a whisper.

fifteen
    The next morning I still had that headache, and my stomach was a little bit queasy too. So after I watched Mom drive off in her car for work, and Dad was busy clacking in his office, I went on another search for the big green book.
    I searched for an hour and a half almost, in the weirdest spots I could think of—at the