Page 9 of Surfside Sisters

“Damn, girl, you dream big,” Theresa said.

“It doesn’t hurt to dream.”

Tommy Fitzgerald came from a gigantic family, one that had been on the island for decades, even centuries. Part Cape Verdean, part Wampanoag, part Irish, his black hair and black eyes in his craggy face were compelling. He was tall and lean and quiet. In school, Tommy seldom smiled, always walked hunched with his hands in his jeans, staring at the ground as if expecting it to fall away from him at any moment. But he was a great athlete, and quarterback for the junior varsity football team. All bets were on Tommy making varsity his sophomore year.

“Could we talk about something other than boys?” Keely asked.

“Do you mean thereissomething other than boys?” Theresa laughed.

For Keely, there was definitely something other than boys.Books. She had always cherished the dream of being a writer, and all the books she’d read about writing advised her to read, read, read. That was exactly what she did whenever she had any free time that summer. She kept a record of what she’d read and what she thought of each book in a plain three-ring binder. As the summer passed, the pages filled with titles.Wuthering Heights. To Kill a Mockingbird. Peyton Place. The Good Mother. The Giver. Bleak House. Lives of Girls and Women.

Sunday was her favorite summer day. She didn’t have to work, so she got to lie in bed reading, only venturing out occasionally to fetch a bag of potato chips or an apple. Many summer days her father took her out to Great Point to surf cast, but on this Sunday in late August, her father was out deep-water fishing with a friend. Her mother was at work. Keely was lazing around in boxer shorts and a tank top with a novel in her hand. She heard someone knock on the front door, and her first thought when she opened the door was that she hadn’t brushed her hair yet.

“Sebastian!”

“Hey.”

For a moment, she could only stare. He was tall, big-boned, his hair white-blond, his skin tanned, his nose sunburned. He wore board shorts and an old rugby shirt, so many times washed it had faded from red to pink.

She gathered herself enough to speak. “Are you back from Scotland?”

He held his hands out to his sides in aduhgesture. “Probably.”

“Oh, well—is Isabelle home?”

“She is. I’m sure she’ll be phoning you any minute now. But I wanted to give you something before she hogs all your time.”

“You want to give me something?” Keely echoed.

Sebastian held out a book.

The Mysterious Benedict Society.

“Oh!” Keely’s heart sparked when their fingers touched as she took the book.

“Have you read it?”

“No. No, I don’t know about it. Why—” Keely was so moved she was about to cry.

“Because you and Izzy like to read and write.” He leaned on the door jamb, his face close to hers.

“Um…do you want to come in? Have…a Coke?”

“No thanks. I’ve got to get back.”

“Oh. Well…thank you for the book.” She ran her hand over the cover. “It’s really…nice.”

Sebastian leaned forward and kissed her forehead quickly, lightly, and moved away, smiling. “See you.”

She watched him walk away. After a moment, he broke into a jog and disappeared down the street.

She shut the door and sank right down onto the floor, cradling the book to her rapidly beating heart. What did it mean? It was only a book, but it was apresent.

Had Sebastian really thought about her when he was in Scotland?

Did Isabelle know he’d brought Keely the book? Oh, she wished she’d asked him, because either Isabelle would tease Keely unmercifully or she’d be furious that her brother had given her a gift.

She wouldn’t tell Isabelle. She’d let Isabelle bring it up, and if she didn’t, she wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t put the book, in its distinctive British paperback version, on her desk or shelves. She’d hide it under her mattress and bring it out to sleep with her at night. And what dreams she’d have.

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