The Brightest Stars of Summer (10 page)

“I
f you had to write a story about something, what would it be?” Zinnie asked Ashley the next day at the town beach.

They were hanging out at the snack bar. Business was slow lately. More people seemed to be bringing their own snacks. Ashley thought she needed to create better displays to bring in more customers, and she was currently arranging a bowl of fruit. Zinnie was lending a hand by making a sign.

“I'd write a thriller,” Ashley said as she artfully positioned fruit in the bowl. “The kind that keeps you up at night. A real nail-biter.”

“Really?” Zinnie said as she drew an ice pop and colored it a vibrant shade of red. “I never would've thought about that. I don't like superscary stuff.”

“Are you kidding? Thrillers are the best!” Ashley
added some pears to the bowl. “I know what I'd call my story: ‘The Lighthouse of Fear.'”

“Are lighthouses that scary?” Zinnie asked. She'd always thought of them as quaint and old-fashioned. She had a cute T-shirt with a picture of a lighthouse on it.

“Of course they are,” Ashley said, her eyes growing wide. “Oh, my God. You've never been to Pruet Point Lighthouse, have you?”

“No,” Zinnie said, thinking about the lighthouse that they passed on the way to Smith's Market. “The one with the red stripe on it?”

“That's the one,” Ashley said. “And I'm not surprised your aunt didn't take you there, because it's totally haunted.”

“Who do people say is haunting it?” Zinnie asked as she added an ice cream cone to her poster.

“The old lighthouse keeper who—” Ashley abruptly stopped talking and gave Zinnie a
zip-your-lips
signal as a little boy approached the snack stand. “Hi, Carson,” Ashley said to him in sweet voice. “How are you today?” He ordered a bag of chips and Ashley served him with a smile. Once he was safely out of earshot, she continued. “I don't want to scare the little kids. But anyways, as I was saying, rumor has it that the old lighthouse keeper's wife was so lonely that she tried to jump from the window into the sea on a winter's night. The lighthouse keeper pulled her back in and
nailed the window shut so she couldn't jump. And to this day you can still hear him hammering and her screaming, “Get me out! Get me out!”

“Ahh,” Zinnie said as a shiver went through her.

“I'm telling you, this is bestseller material!” Ashley's eyes glinted with mischief. “I'll take you there and we can check it out, if you dare.”

“At night?” Zinnie asked, dreading Ashley would say yes.

“No way!” Ashley said, finishing off her fruit display with a perfect yellow banana. “I want to live to see the tenth grade! We're going during the day. Just tell me when you're ready.”

“Don't hold your breath,” Zinnie said.

A
fter the beach, Zinnie and Marigold went to the library. Now that she'd decided she was going to make a bag for Pilar using Aunt Sunny's sewing machine, Marigold wanted to find something that fit her taste. Meanwhile, Zinnie researched the Pruet Point Lighthouse. She couldn't find anything about its being haunted, and she didn't believe in ghosts anyway. She did want Ashley to take her there, however, because it would make an interesting setting for a story. Then Zinnie checked out Mrs. Lee's book. She thought that if she read it again, it might help her come up with an idea. As Zinnie tucked Mrs. Lee's novel into her bag, she wondered if maybe she would be a novelist someday, too. Maybe even a bestselling one with gold stickers on her books.

Lily seemed to be in better spirits when they
picked her up from camp.

“Today was both good and bad,” she said, toting her handmade Princess Arabella bag for the second day while she waited for the lunch box to arrive in the mail. It was crumpled, but she still seemed happy with it. “It started out really good but turned bad at the end.”

Lily told them all about it as they walked back to Aunt Sunny's. She explained that she'd worn long pants to hide her poison ivy, and everyone seemed to have forgotten that yesterday she was known as Poison Ivy Girl. She had even made one friend, a girl named Anna, by sharing her cookies with her. And she had actually learned a lot about shells today during their field trip.

“So, what was bad?” Marigold asked as they passed the field with the horses.

“Everyone was talking about baseball. I said that my daddy liked the New York Yankees.”

“Uh-oh,” Zinnie said. She knew where this was headed.

“All the other kids
hate
the Yankees,” Lily said.

“You can wear Peter's baseball hat tomorrow and they'll forget all about it,” Marigold said.

“I feel like I don't know anything,” Lily said.

“You know lots of things,” Zinnie said.

“But nothing they care about,” Lily said as they walked into Aunt Sunny's driveway.

“We care,” Marigold said, and draped an arm around her.

“Welcome back, girls,” Aunt Sunny said as Marigold, Zinnie, and Lily filed into the kitchen. “Look what arrived today.” She held up the Princess Arabella lunch box.

“Thank you!” Lily said.

“Thank your sisters,” Aunt Sunny said. “They were the ones clever enough to order it for you.” Lily hugged Marigold and Zinnie. Aunt Sunny gave them each a kiss on the head and said, “Today we'll make the frosting.”

“I love frosting,” Zinnie said, salivating at the ingredients laid out on the table: cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar, and vanilla.

“Great, then you can be the one to add in the sugar. We need sixteen cups, added a little bit at a time. Oh, and Tony will be coming by any minute to start building the stage.”

“Yay,” Zinnie said as Aunt Sunny put package after package of cream cheese and stick after stick of butter into the bowl of the electric mixer.

“And you'll be happy to know that we finally have the perfect idea for your table decorations,” Marigold said. Then she carefully removed the shells from the bucket and laid them on the wide windowsill under the big window, where they had put yesterday's collection. Aunt Sunny's kitchen was starting to look like the beach.

“Oh, thank heavens,” Aunt Sunny said, turning on the mixer. “Tell me all about it.”

“Those are bivalves,” Lily said, pointing to various
shells. She looked up at her sisters with pride.

“See how much you know, Lily?”

“You must've learned that at camp today,” Aunt Sunny said. She turned to Zinnie and handed her a two-cup measuring cup and the boxes of powdered sugar. “We need eight of these for sixteen cups.”

“I did learn it at camp,” Lily said. “We took a field trip to the hairy cow beach and identified shells.”

“Did you go swimming?” Zinnie asked as she poured the first two cups of sugar into the mixing bowl. It had been at the hairy cow beach that Lily had stepped into the estuary and was almost carried out to sea last summer. The memory still made Zinnie's pulse quicken and her mouth feel dry. It was why she and Marigold had both enrolled in CPR and water safety classes during the school year. They were the ones who were supposed to watch her. Even though Lily was now a good swimmer, it still made Zinnie nervous to think of her going in the ocean without one of them there.

Four cups,
Zinnie counted in her head as she poured.
Six cups.

“The Young Naturalists don't go swimming,” Lily explained. “We're scientists. We go exploring and make scientific observations. See?” She held out a shell-identification chart that she had colored in and labeled.

“I think you have an aptitude for science,” Aunt Sunny said.

“A creature used to live in here,” Lily said, picking
up a shell. “That's how shells are made.”

Eight cups, ten cups,
Zinnie counted.

“That's right,” Aunt Sunny said. “Life in the sea isn't easy, and the small, vulnerable animals must protect themselves, so they create hard shells to live inside.”

“And then they die and leave behind their shells for us to decorate Aunt Sunny's wedding tables with,” Lily said brightly as she put the shell back on the windowsill.

Twelve cups, fourteen cups,
Zinnie continued as she poured the sugar.

“I don't want to think about the dying part,” Marigold said as she went into the pantry for a jelly jar. “We'll use these jelly jars as vases,” she said as she came out, “and arrange the shells in a heart around them, like this. And we thought those blue flowers that you have in the backyard would look really good.”

“Hydrangeas!” Aunt Sunny said. “I love hydrangeas.”

“I'll go pick one,” Marigold said, “so we can see what the whole thing will look like. Lily, you make a heart with the shells.” Marigold was about to charge out the back door, but she stopped, noticing something. “Who's that boy with Tony?”

“What boy?” Zinnie asked, looking up from the frosting as she poured another two cups.

“Oh, that's Tony's grandson,” Aunt Sunny said. “He's
here to help Tony build the platform for the band.”

Zinnie stood up to get a look. Tony and a boy were unloading some wood from Tony's pickup truck, which was parked in Aunt Sunny's driveway. Zinnie couldn't see the boy's face because his back was to them, but something about him was familiar.

“Does his grandson live here?” Zinnie asked.

“His father, Paul, is the one in the army, so he's lived in a lot of different places. He did spend the last school year here, however, and he'll be staying again this year with his mom, Cindy, while his dad goes to the Middle East.”

“Does Tony have any grandchildren my age?” Lily asked.

“No, just a teenage boy and twin baby girls,” Aunt Sunny said.

“I always wanted a twin,” Lily said. “Then we could play tricks on everyone.”

“I
thought
that was him!” Zinnie said, dumping two whole extra cups of sugar into the bowl as the boy turned around and shook his long bangs out of his face.

“Oops!” Zinnie said. “I think I poured eighteen cups!”

“A little extra sugar never hurt,” Aunt Sunny said.

“So I didn't ruin it?” Zinnie asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Aunt Sunny said, testing a sample.

“Good!” Zinnie said, then shouted, “Max!” as she ran out into the backyard, the screen door slamming behind her.

Max and Tony were leaning planks of wood against the truck.

“Zinnie,” Max said, and smiled one of his solar-system-sized grins. They did their secret handshake and it only took them two tries to get it right.

“Hey, Tony,” Zinnie said, her cheeks hurting from smiling so hard.

“Hey there, Zinnie. You two know each other?” Tony asked.

“We met at the beach,” Zinnie said. “I was looking for shells and Max was—” Max looked worried for a second. But Zinnie would've never told Tony about the dog tags. “Max was just hanging out. And we started talking. And then we started laughing for, like, no reason. It was funny, right, Max?”

“Yeah, it was—” Max started, but he didn't finish his sentence. It was no longer his smile that was taking up his whole face, but his eyes, which seemed to have doubled in size as he stared over Zinnie's shoulder. Something, or someone, had mesmerized him. Not only were his big brown eyes lit up, he appeared to be holding his breath. Zinnie turned to see what had caught his attention. But she really didn't need to, because she already knew.

It was Marigold.

“A
m I interrupting your writing?” Aunt Sunny asked, knocking on the door of Zinnie's writing room. She was carrying a glass of lemonade and a leather-bound book.

“Nope,” Zinnie said, turning away from her laptop. “Come on in.” She was actually relieved to see Aunt Sunny. She had been staring at her laptop screen for what felt like days but in reality had only been an hour. She knew because she'd watched each minute pass, hoping that a “real” idea would fly into her mind, but she hadn't had any luck. Zinnie had thought of a story about a baby dragon egg hatching in the middle of mall in Los Angeles, another about a time portal inside someone's locker at school, and another about a girl who found she had the power to control her sister's dreams, but nothing “real.” Nothing good enough for
her Writers' Workshop application.

She'd decided that she was going to write a short story for her submission to the Writers' Workshop for a couple of reasons. First, there were lots of short stories in
Muses
, so obviously Mrs. Lee must like them. Second, short stories were short! Zinnie didn't have a lot of time to produce the greatest thing she'd ever written, and so far she had nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.

And anyway, how was she supposed to come up with the greatest thing she'd ever written by July tenth when all she could picture was Max's face once he'd seen Marigold? Zinnie had thought that Max would've wanted to hang out with her more than Marigold. He laughed at her jokes. They had a secret handshake. He'd called her his hero! But as soon as he'd seen the beautiful Marigold, it was like he'd forgotten all about Zinnie. Even without her “mane of glory,” chic outfits, and a part in a movie, Marigold still managed to be the star.

Zinnie replayed the moment in her mind, wondering if there was anything she could have done differently.

“This is my sister Marigold,” Zinnie had said as Marigold approached them.

“Well, hellooo there,” Max had said. Then he'd turned bright red and shaken his head. “
Hello there?
Gosh, that sounded weird. Ugh. I meant just, you know. Hey. Hi.”

Then Marigold had waved hello.

“This is Max,
my
friend,” Zinnie had said, hoping to send Marigold the message. But she was losing Max quickly. She watched his Labrador-like goofiness drain away and be replaced by something else, something more catlike. Something cooler. Zinnie didn't want Max to be a cool cat. She liked his playful, puppyish self. “We met on the beach while I was looking for shells, and it was really funny.”

“Where are you girls from?” Max had asked, completely ignoring Zinnie's mention of their beach-time fun. And while he'd said “you girls,” Zinnie had the feeling that he was really only asking Marigold.

“California,” Zinnie answered. The name of her home state had come out faster and sharper than she'd expected. Even though Marigold didn't seem to notice Max staring, and even though she was obliviously swatting at a mosquito that was circling her head, he'd still been captivated by her. Zinnie wanted her sister to
go away
. Max was her first boy-who-was-a-friend and possibly maybe even boyfriend. She wasn't sure yet. She hadn't decided. But she didn't want Marigold to take him away from her. It wasn't fair.

“Um, Marigold, don't you have some hydrangeas to pick?” Zinnie asked. “Like, now?”

“Oh, yeah,” Marigold said, and headed toward the hydrangea bushes with Aunt Sunny's kitchen scissors. Max followed her with his gaze like she was angel who'd descended from heaven.

One of the worst parts about this whole thing was that she couldn't even get mad at Marigold. Marigold hadn't
tried
to get Max's attention. It's not like she knew how much Zinnie liked him and then had put on her prettiest dress and impressed him with stories of her acting career. She'd been wearing shorts and a T-shirt and had barely said a word. In fact, the only thing she'd said was “Oh, yeah,” but Max had looked at her as if the words “Oh, yeah” had been penned by Shakespeare.

Thankfully, Tony had told Max seconds later that it was time for him to go home for dinner, because it would've been nothing less than torture for Zinnie to watch him stare all googley-eyed at Marigold for any longer than she'd had to. She couldn't stand sitting across from Marigold during dinner, even when Marigold asked her if she wanted to search for the lacy tablecloths in the attic. Aunt Sunny had said they were “up there somewhere” and they'd be perfect for the buffet table if the girls could “unearth” them. Going through Aunt Sunny's attic was something Zinnie had genuinely been looking forward to. The place was like a giant treasure chest, full of cool old clothes, antique toys, and items that Aunt Sunny had called “relics of a simpler time,” like a typewriter, a record player, and something called a Dictaphone.

“No,” Zinnie had responded, and cleared her plate. “I need to write. Some of us have work to do.”

And here she'd sat for the last hour “stewing in her own juices,” as her dad would say. Maybe Aunt Sunny would be able to help. Maybe the lemonade had magical properties. Maybe it would bring ideas the way that her brownies brought surprises.

“How's it going?” Aunt Sunny asked, placing the lemonade and the book on the little green desk.

“Terrible,” Zinnie said, pulling on one of her curls. “I don't have any ideas for a short story. Not a single one.”

“You have a case of the can'ts,” Aunt Sunny said.

“What's that?”

“It's when your mind is so tight and wound up, it feels like you just can't do anything. So then you start
thinking
that you can't do anything and the next thing you know, you're paralyzed. Stuck in a rut with a case of the cant's.”

“But it's not that I'm not trying. I'm trying so hard.”

“Maybe too hard,” Aunt Sunny said. “Your spirit has seemed heavy ever since you saw Max today. Did something happen with him?”

Aunt Sunny had this way of looking at Zinnie that was like the tide pulling back the ocean to reveal spinning shells and churning sand. Her gaze brought Zinnie's truth tumbling to the surface, snails and all. She thought that she was just mad about what had happened, but with Aunt Sunny's understanding eyes meeting her own, Zinnie began to feel tears well up.

“I saw Max first. We met at the beach,” Zinnie said.

“I see,” Aunt Sunny said.

“I found his—” She was about to tell Aunt Sunny about the dog tags (it was really hard to keep anything from Aunt Sunny), but somehow she managed to stop herself. “I found something that he'd lost, and he called me his hero.”

“It must've been something very important,” Aunt Sunny said, producing a tissue from inside her sleeve.

“It was,” Zinnie said, taking the tissue and dabbing her eyes. “And I've never had a boy friend, and by that I mean a boy-who-is-a-friend, not, like, a
boyfriend
-boyfriend.”

“It's perfectly okay to want one of those,” Aunt Sunny said.

“I wasn't sure,” Zinnie said. “I just knew that I liked him and he liked me. I could feel it, you know what I mean?”

“I do,” Aunt Sunny said.

“But then he saw Marigold,” Zinnie said. “And he just went gaga for her.”

“Hmm,” said Aunt Sunny, nodding. Zinnie was relieved that Aunt Sunny didn't say something like “I'm sure that's not true” or “There's no way that happened.”

“Max is a very charming boy,” Aunt Sunny said. “He has a wonderful smile. And he's a nice person, too. This winter he salted my driveway after every storm.”

“That's so nice,” Zinnie said, before realizing that she had no idea what Aunt Sunny was talking about. “Wait, why did he put salt on your driveway?”

“To melt the snow,” Aunt Sunny said. Zinnie was picturing Max trudging through the snow shaking salt over the driveway with the saltshaker from the kitchen table when Aunt Sunny continued, “In any case, if Max decides to court Marigold, I'm afraid there's not a lot you can do to stop him. But, Zinnia, if ever there was a girl who didn't need to worry about making friends in life, it's you. People want to be around you. There's something irresistible about you. You have star quality.”

“Marigold is the movie star, remember?” Zinnie said.

“I'm talking about the stars of the Milky Way,” Aunt Sunny said. “The bright photons of heat shining in dazzling constellations. I'm talking about that supernova heart of yours. If Max doesn't see your luminescence, someone else will in a minute.” Zinnie couldn't help but linger on Aunt Sunny's word choices, especially “luminescence.” Though she didn't know the exact definition, the word itself seemed to glow. Aunt Sunny smiled and said, “You're feeling a little better. I can see it.”

“A little. But I'm not going to like it if I have to see Marigold and Max all lovey-dovey.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Aunt Sunny said. “Heroes are not soon forgotten. Besides, Marigold may not be interested. I thought she liked Peter.”

“That's true,” Zinnie said, feeling a small weight lifting from her chest. For the past couple of hours she'd forgotten all about Peter. But if Marigold and Peter were boyfriend and girlfriend, then Max would lose interest in Marigold and he and Zinnie could be friends again. Or, who knows? Maybe they would be more. She still wasn't sure about that, but things seemed less terrible than they had a minute ago. She sipped her lemonade, which was tart and sweet.

“And as for your story,” Aunt Sunny said after giving Zinnie's forehead a powdery-smelling kiss, “why don't you email your teacher, tell her that you're struggling, and ask her for some advice.”

“Teachers are usually good with advice,” Zinnie admitted. She noticed the book Aunt Sunny had placed on the table. “What's this?”

“It's a book of poetry with the Shakespearian sonnet that I'm hoping you'll read at the wedding. I've marked the poem with the ribbon.”

“Okay, great,” Zinnie said. “I'll look at it tomorrow.”

Then she finished her lemonade and wrote Mrs. Lee an email. New and technologically advanced neighbors must have moved in, because Zinnie had discovered that if she stood on the very edge of the lawn, back
behind the garage, she could pick up a faint Wi-Fi signal. Before bed, Zinnie sent her email.

Dear Mrs. Lee,

I hope that Summer Scribes is going well. I am having a fun time on Cape Cod. I'm taking many notes about my observations and recording sensory details as you suggested. However, I'm having a really hard time coming up with an idea. Do you have any advice?

Sincerely,

Zinnie Silver

To Zinnie's surprise, Mrs. Lee wrote back right away.

Dear Zinnie,

How nice to hear from you! I'm so glad that you are enjoying the Cape. Summer Scribes is going very well, but L.A. has been miserably hot, so enjoy your time at the New England seaside for all of us! As for your question, I can tell you that in Summer Scribes we've been talking about transformations, and that almost all good stories have one in them. A simpler way of saying this is that a character changes, usually because he or she is faced with a problem. Can you think of a character who starts out one way and ends up another? For instance, a character may start out scared, but then, in the face of a challenge, she finds herself becoming brave. Of course, this is just one example. The possibilities are infinite. And remember,
sometimes the best stories are right under your nose! I look forward to reading your submission. And don't forget that the deadline, July 10th, will be here before you know it.

Good luck!

Mrs. Lee

P.S. Occasionally, I give writing prompts in class to get students started. Would you like me to send them to you? You can use them when you feel stuck.

Zinnie wasted no time in writing back.

Dear Mrs. Lee,

I would love to get the writing prompts!

Sincerely,

Zinnie

Mrs. Lee was clearly sitting at her computer, because she responded quickly.

Hi, Zinnie,

Great! Here they are. Don't feel you have to tackle them all at once. Start with whichever one grabs you.

       
1. Write about an argument you've had—but from the other person's point of view.

       
2. Be a detective! Listen to a conversation. See if you can write down some of it word for word. Characters all have distinctive voices. What do you notice about the way a person talks that you that might not have otherwise picked up on?

       
3. Go to a place you've never been before and write about it from all five senses.

Have fun!

Mrs. Lee