What I Thought Was True. Huntley Fitzpatrick

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      “Didja quit?” Manny asked.

      Pam shakes her head. “No guarantee what I quit for wouldn’t have been even worse.”

      Manny asks, “You gonna rat me out to my dad if I snag a beer?” He’s sixteen and Marco’s strict.

      We shake our heads.

      He comes back, settling down heavily next to us against the waterlogged old tree trunk that’s been on the beach forever. Nic and Vivien carry on like our own private floor show.

      “Must be nice,” Pam says. “Being comfortable doing that. In public.” She shakes her head. “Can’t imagine.” Pam has been with Shaunee, her girlfriend, since eighth grade.

      Manny drains half the bottle, wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “At least they’re putting a ring on it,” he says, lifting his elbow at Nic and Vivien.

      “What? ” I ask.

      “Getting hitched, right?”

      I scoot back in the sand, staring at him. “What?” I say again. Then laugh. “No way. Why would you think that?”

      “My brother Angelo works at Starelli’s Jewelers, in the mall. Nic and Vivien were in this weekend, checking out engagement rings.” Manny scratches the back of his neck, looks uncomfortable, like he just said more than he should have.

      I peek over at Vivien and Nic. He’s smoothing her hair back and giving her these nibbling kisses along her jawline.

      It can’t be true. Vivien’s incapable of keeping anything to herself about Nic (way more than I want to know about my cousin). And Nic, while he doesn’t tell me everything . . . he’d never keep a thing that big from me. Ever.

      Manny’s pushing at the sand with his feet, avoiding my eyes, and I realize I should have said something in return, but I can’t even find words.

      Getting married?

      That’s crazy.

      I mean, I imagine they probably will eventually. Eventually. Vivien is seventeen. Nic just turned eighteen last month . . .

      Mom and Dad were seventeen and eighteen when they got married. But look how that turned out. And that was years ago. A whole different time. Nic and Viv . . . now?

      “Not that crazy. It happens,” Pam comments quietly. I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud. “Dom married Stace right out of SBH.”

      Yeah, and Stacy took their one-year-old and moved to Florida two years ago.

      What about senior year? What about the Coast Guard?

      Is Vivien pregnant? No, impossible, she’s on the Pill and Nic is hyper-responsible.

      I lie back on the blanket, rest my arm across my eyes, listen to the general blur of conversation. It’s still warm, but the angle of the sun has that flat, end-of day slant. When I peer through the canopy of my arm, I can see that Vivien has temporarily disentangled herself and is toasting a marshmallow, carefully turning it to the perfect puff of brown on each side, just the way Nic likes it. At cookouts this summer, I know he’ll nearly burn her hot dog – Viv likes it charcoal-briquet style – and load it down with ketchup, mustard, mayo, relish. After the Fourth of July parade on Seashell, when everyone eats Hoodsie Cups, she’ll snag two but eat the chocolate half of both, swapping with Nic so he gets both vanillas.

      Now he’s watching her lazily, sifting through the sand next to him, probably in search of another flat skipping stone.

      But . . . an engagement ring?

      Hooper is attempting to get Ginny Rodriguez to give him the time of day by asking her to bet on whether he can drink five beers in ten minutes without barfing.

      Manny scratches the back of his neck again, red-faced and uncomfortable. The flush could be the beer, but he seems to know he put his foot in it. “Gwenners,” he starts, then looks up and jumps to his feet. “Dude. You came.”

      I shield my eyes and peer over at the newcomer.

      Great.

      I mean come on. Three times in one day!

      “Sure I did,” Cass says easily, lifting a hand to greet Pam. He gives me a quick glance, then looks down, lashes shielding his eyes. “I’m an island guy now, right?”

      “You are not,” I practically growl, “an island guy.”

      Manny straightens, startled. Pam’s eyebrows rise and she looks back and forth between us.

      “Course he is, Gwenners. He’s working for my dad. He’s an honorary Jose, aren’t you, dude? Nab something from the cooler and take a load off. The first days are killers.”

      “Ah, it’ll be okay,” Cass says, “once I figure out the whole horizontal thing.”

      That’s it. I feel suddenly exhausted. Cass. Nic, Viv, engagement ring. The Robinsons. The lobsters. I clamber to my feet, feeling as though I weigh about a thousand pounds – and, let’s face it, probably looking like it in my baggy, so-attractive clothes. I walk over to Nic and Viv, nudge Nic sharply with my toe, jerk my thumb toward the pier. “Let’s head out.”

      Like Pam and Manny, Nic does a quick double take at my tone, checking Vivien for translation. She glances over at Cass, wrinkles her nose, then stands up, pulling Nic with her. We walk to the edge of the pier, dangle our legs over. Well, Nic and I do. Vivien slides her legs over Nic’s, entwines her hand in his. I open my mouth to ask, then think: If they haven’t told me, they don’t want me to know, and shut it again.

      “Check that out,” Vivien says in a hushed voice, pointing out across the water. It’s low tide, shoals of rippling sand peeking up out of the sea-glass-green water, ancient-looking gray-brown rocks, the sun burning low and pale orange in the sky. “This is the most beautiful place in the world, isn’t it? I never want to leave. Everything I love is right here.” She rests her head on Nic’s shoulder.

      I look at our legs lined up together. Viv’s skinny and already tan, Nic’s well-muscled and sturdy, and mine, long and strong.

      Nic scrounges in his pocket for the skipping stones from earlier, hands me one, nods at the ocean. I squint, slant the stone to what seems the perfect angle, fling it out. One. Two. Three . . . sort of a sinking four. Nic edges Vivien off his lap, cocks his head to the side and throws.

      Six.

      “Still the champion.” He hauls Vivien to her feet, swoops her in for six kisses.

      “It’s not as though Gwen is after what you are,” Vivien points out, a little breathless after kiss number four.

      No, it isn’t. But . . . God, I wish, for the millionth time, that I could be like her and Nic, so sure of what they have, what they want. That I didn’t always feel jangly, restless, primed to jump off a bridge and let the current carry me away. I glance over my shoulder at the distant blond figure standing by the bonfire.

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