Welcome to Dog Beach by Lisa Greenwald Page B

you, Remy. He’s hoping his grandchildren can make the most of their summer here.”
    â€œIt doesn’t seem like they try very hard,” I grumble. “And Seagate isn’t a place you have to make the most of. It’s a place where you relish every second.”
    â€œThat may be true for you, but what’s true for you isn’t true for everyone.”
    It is as far as I can see.
    A few minutes later, Micayla and Bennett text that they’re going over to Mr. Brookfield’s too, and I immediately feel better. It won’t be that bad. If you’re eating slices from Seagate Pizzeria, you don’t really have much to complain about.

    At six, we all meet over there. I’m the first one to arrive, so Claire takes me up to her room and shows me some of the new jeans she got when she was home.
    â€œThese are called the Five-Pocket Rocket,” she tells me. “I hope I’m the only one to have them when we start school.”
    â€œThey’re really nice,” I say, not because I notice anything that special about them, but because she seems so happy and proud.
    She puts that pair on her bed and takes another pair out of the pale pink shopping bag. “And these are the Toile Stamp. They’re brand-new, but the lady at the jeans store said they’re definitely the next big thing.”
    â€œI like the stitching on the pockets.” It was all I could come up with. To me, jeans are jeans. I can’t ever tell the difference.
    â€œThat’s exactly why they’re going to be such a big deal,” Claire says, holding the jeans up in front of us. “The stitching is all hand-done, and each pair is a tiny bit different.”
    â€œI could tell,” I say, feeling proud I noticed something special. Then, a second later, it feels weird to be proud of noticing something I don’t care about, like jeans.
    We hear the doorbell, and for a moment I’m disappointed. Claire and I were finally connecting. Sure, it was about something totally superficial, but I still felt good about it.
    â€œMy man! Bennett!” I hear Calvin say. I look over the second-floor railing as they greet each other. They slap ahigh five so loud that I’m sure it made their hands sting.
    â€œCalvin!” Bennett yells, and they do this weird chest-bump thing. I’ve never seen Bennett like this. It’s almost as if he’s acting in a play.
    As soon as he sees me, he straightens his shirt a little and starts talking in his normal voice again. Soon Micayla arrives, and we sit in Mr. Brookfield’s backyard drinking lemonade and eating cookies.
    â€œHere we eat dessert before dinner,” Mr. Brookfield tells us. “It’s kind of a house rule.”
    â€œMy kind of rule,” I add.
    Bennett and Calvin play paddleball against the back of Mr. Brookfield’s house, and Claire, Micayla, and I sit around, still talking about Claire’s new jeans. It seems that if we’re talking about what she wants to talk about, she’s happy. That’s probably not a good quality, but it’s better than having her rain on everyone else’s fun.
    â€œPizza delivery!” Mr. Brookfield walks into the backyard carrying five pizzas. I’m pretty sure he over-ordered. Bennett jumps up to help him, and I feel proud again, prouder than Claire was about her new jeans.
    Bennett is a good person. So what if he talked in that crazy voice before? He’s good. He always does the right thing. I watch him talking to Mr. Brookfield as they set up the pizza, and I realize something. It doesn’t matter who you are—if Bennett is talking to you, you feel like you’re the only person in the world.
    We sit and eat our pizza on Mr. Brookfield’s Adirondack chairs.
    â€œWould anyone care for some nice music while you eat your dinner?” Mr. Brookfield asks.
    â€œPut on that scream recording,” I tell him.
    â€œYeah!” Micayla