When My Sister Started Kissing Page 6

  one’s watching. There’s Abi now. If he had any sense,

  he’d stay out of sight. But he waves—to Abi, not to me.

  Abi Doesn’t Want to Talk

  Claire

  I’m not sure what’s going on with Abi. Two days

  have gone by with no real conversation. I think she’s

  avoiding me: going to bed each night before I do,

  and getting up while I’m still sleeping. These

  days, with a baby in the house, everyone’s too busy

  to do the things we usually do together.

  Is there something Abi doesn’t want to talk about?

  She isn’t talking much to Dad and Pam either.

  Grounded

  Claire

  This is not good—Dad comes in from his first time

  out fishing since Blake was born. Abigail? In that

  one word I hear a mountain of trouble. Abi must

  hear it, too, but she tries not to show it. What?

  (Innocent as Blake when he yawns and stretches.)

  Were you at a bonfire party Sunday night? A direct

  question, not even “Where were you on Sunday?”

  She’s trapped. What do you mean? She tries to deflect

  Dad’s question, which doesn’t work. I mean, he says,

  were you at a bonfire party Sunday night? I heard about

  it from Fred Gibson when I was out fishing. He told me

  his granddaughter sprained her ankle, and you went out

  of your way to help her get home—at ten o’clock at night?

  Abi tries again: This girl, Regina, got hurt and we put ice

  on her ankle, and Josh’s sister, Annie, drove her home

  and I went along to help. I was trying to be nice.

  Dad is not so easily distracted. It takes him about five

  minutes to get all the details out of her—well, most

  of them—ten seconds more to ground her

  for a week. No fair! she argues. Dad! At least

  let me go to the beach—with Claire, she adds, like I’d

  be her chaperone. No, Abigail, Dad starts to insist.

  But Abi gets him to agree: You can go to the beach.

  Nowhere else—and only with Claire. Abi can’t resist

  a thumbs-up to me, behind Dad’s back. When he leaves

  the room, she says, You’re on my side, right? Who even does

  that? Dad should know grounding kids doesn’t work. He can be

  so old-fashioned. Oh boy. I can’t wait to see how this goes.

  Claire, Let’s

  Claire

  So now I am my big sister’s babysitter: Claire, let’s go

  out in the canoe. Claire, let’s ride our bikes to the beach.

  Dad, can Claire and I get up early and go swimming?

  Only, once we’re out of sight, out of Dad’s reach,

  especially anywhere in the vicinity of Brock,

  she’s like, You can go now. After three days of this,

  I’m about ready to disown her. Dad can hire

  a professional security guard to keep tabs on his

  beautiful, sneaky daughter. How am I supposed to

  do it? Now we’re at the beach, and I don’t know where

  Abi is. Jonilet comes up to me and says, I saw your sister

  in the woods with Brock. Want to see if they’re still there?

  I don’t know about this, but here goes. We walk slowly

  down the trail and—there they are, leaning against a tree,

  kissing! We turn around before they see us, and after

  a while Abi comes back and tries to convince me

  she’d just gone off on her own for a little stroll.

  That is annoying enough, but then on the way home

  we see TJ and he asks Abi if she wants to go out

  for a boat ride after dinner. Sorry, she says, I’m

  grounded—maybe Dad would let me if Claire comes along.

  Which obviously is not what TJ has in mind. It’s clear,

  even to me, that he likes Abi the way she likes Brock.

  (I don’t remember TJ being like this last year.)

  Dad Didn’t Say

  Claire

  Dad wants to take Pam out for dessert to celebrate

  her birthday tonight. If we get Blake to sleep,

  could you girls babysit for an hour or so? he asks.

  I’m surprised—Blake is barely a week

  old—but it’s good they trust us. Okay,

  I say. I look at Abi, and she seems to be less

  sure, maybe worried about what we’ll do if Blake

  wakes up crying. She thinks for a minute, then, Yes,

  she says, we can do that. As soon as Dad’s not looking,

  she slips out with the landline and comes back

  smiling. After dinner, Pam gives Blake a bath,

  sings him to sleep, and changes into a short black

  dress, with black-and-gold sandals. She and Dad

  go out the front door. Ten minutes later: a knock

  on the back door. Dad didn’t say no one could come over,

  says Abi with a little smile. Surprise, surprise: it’s Brock.

  He comes in for about two minutes; then they go

  out on the porch while I stay inside in case Blake

  wakes up. I hear them talking and laughing together

  as the sun splashes red and orange on the lake.

  Blake stays asleep. Abi and Brock come in when the sky

  turns dark, with a splash of stars and an almost-full moon.

  Brock barely talks to me. He leaves when Abi says,

  Dad and Pam will be getting home pretty soon.

  Don’t Tell Dad

  Claire

  Abi does this big showy yawn, stretches, and says,

  I’ve had a long day. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.

  She hugs Dad, then Pam. (She’s been doing that

  ever since their shopping spree.) In a too-bright

  voice, she adds, Happy birthday, Pam! Good night!

  Blake is awake and Pam asks, Want to hold him, Claire?

  I say, Sure. I’m getting to like him more and more,

  his wrinkly little nose, these soft curls in his hair.

  Dad, Pam, Blake, and I stay up another hour after Abi

  puts on her “good night” show. At ten-fifteen, I give

  Blake back to Pam, hug Dad, and head to bed.

  What? Seriously? Does my sister think I can live

  in the same room with her for my entire life, and be

  tricked into thinking two or three pillows under

  her blanket are actually her, fast asleep? Where is she?

  The screen is pushed up about an inch. I wonder …

  I bet she climbed out the window to go meet Brock.

  Don’t tell Dad. She doesn’t even have to say it,

  or leave a note; she just assumes I’ll do what she

  wants—that I’ll know I have to stay awake and wait.

  When we were small, Dad would come in every night

  to tell us stories and sing to us before we went to sleep.

  Around the time he married Pam, I guess he thought we

  were too old for that, but sometimes he still tries to keep

  up the old tradition. What if he comes in tonight

  and notices that Abi isn’t here and she’s trying

  to pull off this pillows-and-blanket trick?

  He’d ask me where my sister is—and I stink at lying.

  A Path of Moonlight

  Abi

  Let’s meet at the dock, and go for a night swim.

  We made our plan when Brock came over.

  At first he said, I don’t have my swim trunks.

  But I convinced him to go home and put them on

  under his clothes. Come back at ten o’clock, I said.

  I threw a towel over my shoulders, climbed out
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  my window into the night, and now we’re swimming,

  quiet as we can—kicking underwater, gliding along

  a path of moonlight toward Anna’s Island. Look, I whisper:

  An owl soars to the top of a tree whose branches

  sweep clouds from the sky: a sudden, long-ago

  memory of Mom brushing hair out of my eyes.

  Night Swimmers

  The lake

  What are they doing? I

  hold these crazy youngsters

  as they swim out into the night

  toward the island. My strong

  current will help them

  at first, on the way there, but

  not on the way back. Of course

  Abi knows about that, but Brock is

  not as good a swimmer as she thinks he is.

  Yes, he said when Abi asked if he could swim

  out to the island and back. He plunged right in.

  Now they’re out where the water gets deeper.

  Either he will find out he can do it, or this is

  going to be harder than they thought.

  I’m impressed, so far. He’s trying

  very hard. But will he become

  exhausted before Abi does?

  You’re sure your sister won’t tell

  on you? he asks. Abi answers, Yes, I’m sure.

  Unless … If she got scared, then I think she might.

  Good—they’re floating on their backs now,

  resting for a while, looking at the sky,

  enjoying the full moon, the stars,

  and their own quiet conversation on

  this warm midsummer night. Still full of

  energy, neither of them seems anxious to

  return. Abi, look—two loons, swimming right

  toward us, whispers Brock. Where? Abi asks.

  He stretches out his arm and lightly touches

  Abi’s shoulder as he points out the loons.

  Now, Brock and Abi swim on together.

  No one in the world knows they’re

  out here. This is dangerous.

  Which means: exciting.

  I Need Your Help

  Claire

  It’s almost midnight when Abi shows up at our window.

  Claire! she whispers. Is Dad up? This time, I refuse to check

  for her. How should I know? I ask. I keep my voice down,

  but that’s as much as I’ll do to help. If she wants to trick

  Dad, she can do it on her own. She pushes up the screen,

  climbs in, and perches on the edge of her bed. She’s

  wearing her swimsuit, and her hair is wet—it’s obvious

  she’s been night-swimming! Claire, she whispers, please,

  Brock and I need your help. Get dressed! Shhh … I’ll explain

  when we get outside. She puts on dry clothes, grabs a towel

  and a dark green hoodie, and climbs back out the window.

  I don’t know what to think—I get dressed and follow.

  As we walk down to the lake, Abi tells me she and Brock

  swam to Anna’s Island in the moonlight. Halfway

  back, Brock got too tired to keep swimming, so now

  he’s waiting for her on the sandbar. It’s chilly, I say.

  I know, Abi says. Brock was shivering when I left him—

  that’s why I need your help. We’ll get there faster if the two

  of us paddle as hard as we can. We put the canoe in the water,

  I get in the front, Abi pushes us off, and we head into

  the moonlight. It’s so peaceful I almost forget how mad I am.

  At the sandbar, Brock is doing jumping jacks to keep warm.

  Abi gives him the towel and the hoodie. Why didn’t you bring

  my clothes? he asks. Oh! says Abi. I forgot. He puts his arm

  around her. It’s okay. Thanks, he says. She gives him a kiss,

  and says, We should thank Claire. She really helped us out.

  I’m sure, to Brock I’m only Abi’s pesky little sister,

  but he does say, Thanks, Claire. I’ve heard about

  the current in this part of the lake—but it’s stronger than I thought.

  Could you drop me off at my house, so I won’t have to walk home

  from your dock? Abi hesitates. Okay, I guess so, she says, then

  whispers to me, Let’s hope Dad doesn’t get up and go in our room.

  We Paddle Past the Island

  Claire, in the canoe

  Brock and Abi paddle while I

  sit in the canoe, watching. I want

  to be as strong as Abi—I try to

  keep up, but she can run, swim,

  paddle—all better than me. We get to

  Brock’s and he gets out, wearing the

  green hoodie. We paddle past the island,

  so beautiful, bathed in moonlight—and

  head home. Oh! Abi says. A light in the back

  room. I don’t answer. I’m on the lake with-

  out permission—in as much trouble as Abi.

  An Owl Hoots

  Claire

  We tie up the canoe as silently as we can, and

  tiptoe up the path to the cabin. Blake is crying,

  so we wait in the dark until he stops, then

  sneak around to our window, trying

  not to step on a branch or make any

  kind of sound. We hear a coyote howl,

  and Dad steps onto the porch to look around.

  I don’t think he sees it, or us. An owl

  hoots from the top of a tall pine. It’s scary

  in a good way, outside at night. We keep an eye

  on our window after Dad goes in, hoping

  he doesn’t open the door to our room. I

  don’t even dare whisper to Abi. Finally,

  all the lights in the cabin are out—Dad must

  be back in bed. We stay outside for about

  half an hour longer, until we can trust

  that everyone is asleep. Then we push up

  the screen and climb in. I’ve never been so glad

  to bury my face in my pillow. Abi picks up

  Benjamin Bunny and whispers, We’re back.

  Think, Claire, Think

  Claire

  Did I have a wild dream, I ask, or did that really happen

  last night? I can tell by the sun, we’ve woken up late.

  Abi blinks a few times before answering. It happened

  all right. Lucky we didn’t get— She stops. Oh, no. Wait …

  She jumps up and pulls on the first clothes she finds,

  runs into the kitchen and out the back door. I look

  through the window and see her tearing down the path

  to the dock. When I go in the kitchen, Pam says, Abi took

  off running like her life depended on it. What’s up?

  Blake peeks over Pam’s shoulder. She pats him

  on the back, and he looks around like he, too, wants

  to know what’s going on. Maybe she’s going for a swim

  before breakfast? I really have no idea. While I’m eating

  my cereal, Abi comes running back in, all out of breath.

  Where’s Dad? she asks, and Pam says, He got up to go fishing

  this morning around five o’clock. Is anything wrong? I expect

  him back soon. Abi says, No, nothing’s wrong. Claire,

  she adds, I’m going back down to the dock—come with me?

  I just remembered—I have to keep you with me at all times.

  I don’t mind going with her, but why the urgency?

  As soon as we get outside, she tells me: They’re not there!

  (What’s not where?) Brock’s clothes and shoes were on our dock

  when we went swimming. I forgot to pick them up when we

  got back last night. If Dad went fishing at five o’clock,

  he must have found them. I am SO busted. You h
ave to help

  me come up with an explanation. Think, Claire, think.

  Let’s see … Some stranger, I suggest, wandered by, dove into

  the water, and drowned—he must have had too much to drink,

  we better call 911? That might distract everyone for a while.

  Except they’d drag the lake for a body, which they wouldn’t find.

  Seriously, Abi—you got yourself into this, don’t expect me

  to get you out. Suddenly her face lights up, her brilliant mind

  at work again. Maybe, she says, Brock remembered in time.

  He got up early to go running, and came and got his clothes

  before Dad went fishing. She’s desperate enough to believe it.

  Right, Abi, I say. Why were you even worried? Who knows,

  maybe he swam over here, just to prove he could do it.

  We hear a boat—Dad? Abi gets a panicky look on her face.

  Maybe he won’t ask any questions, she says. Then the boat

  comes closer and we see: It’s not Dad’s boat. It’s TJ’s.

  Thanks, TJ

  Claire

  TJ pulls up to our dock, shuts off his motor, and says,

  Strangest thing—I got up at four-thirty to go fishing, and I

  swung by your place to see if your dad might be going out—

  had some extra bait I thought he might use. I wondered why

  these clothes were on the end of your dock. Seemed like

  someone must’ve gone in swimming—but no one was in the water.

  Abi keeps her face still. Looked like rain, TJ adds, so I picked them up

  and put them in this bag. Like a lamb that was headed to slaughter

  and escaped on the way, Abi smiles and accepts TJ’s gift.

  He ties up his boat, gets out. Hey, he says, you guys want the fish

  I caught this morning? I take the fish, and Abi says, Thanks, TJ!

  She grabs him and gives him a big hug—and a little kiss.

  A Friend-Kiss

  Abi

  Claire, would you just shut up about who I’m kissing?

  I don’t even know what you mean about TJ! He knows

  we’re just friends. Believe me, boys can tell the difference

  between a friend-kiss and the other kind. TJ is almost like

  a brother to me. He’s nice to me because he’s a nice person,