The Summer I Turned Pretty
Page 19
He was tall, taller than Steven or Jeremiah, maybe even Conrad. He looked like he was maybe half-white, half-Japanese, or Korean maybe. He was so pretty I felt like I could draw his face, and I didn't even know how to draw.
He caught me looking at him, and I looked away. Then I looked back over and he caught me again. He raised his hand and waved it, just slightly.
I could feel my cheeks flaming. There was nothing for me to say but, "Hi." I walked over, stuck out my hand, and immediately regretted it. Who shook hands anymore?
He took my hand and shook it. He didn't say anything at first. He just stared at me, like he was trying to figure something out. "You look familiar," he said at last.
I tried not to smile. Wasn't that what boys said to girls when they came on to them at bars? I wondered if he'd seen me on the beach in my new polka-dot bikini. I'd only had the nerve to wear it the one time, but maybe that was what had gotten me noticed by this guy. "Maybe you've seen me on the beach?"
He shook his head. "No....That's not it."
So it hadn't been the bikini, then. I tried again. "Maybe over at Scoops, the ice cream place?"
"No, that's not it either," he said. Then it was like the little light went on in his head, because he grinned suddenly. "Did you take Latin?"
What in the world? "Urn .. . yes."
"Did you ever go to Latin Convention in Washington, DC?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. Who was this boy anyway?
He nodded, satisfied. "So did I. In eighth grade, right?"
"Yeah . . ." In eighth grade I had a retainer and I still wore glasses. I hated, hated that he knew me from back then. Why couldn't he know me from now, in my polka-dot bikini?
"That's how I know you. I've been standing here trying to figure it out." He grinned. "I'm Cam, but my Latin name was Sextus. Salve."
Suddenly giggles rose up in my chest like soda bubbles. It was kind of funny. "Salve. I'm Flavia. I mean, Belly. I mean, my name is Isabel, but everyone calls me Belly."
"Why?" He looked at me like he really wondered why.
"It's my dad's nickname for me from when I was little. He thought Isabel was too long a name," I explained. "Everyone just still calls me that. It's dumb."
He ignored the last part and said, "Why not Izzy, then? Or Belle?"
"I don't know. It's partly because Jelly Belfys are my favorite, and my dad and I used to play this game. He'd ask me what kind of mood I was in, but I would answer him in Jelly Belly flavors. Like plum if I was in a good mood ..." My voice trailed off. I babbled when I was nervous, and I was definitely nervous. I'd always hated the name Belly--partly because it wasn't even a real name. It was a child's nickname, not a real name at all. Isabel, on the other hand, was the name of an exotic kind of girl, the kind of girl who went to places like Morocco and Mozambique, who wore red nail polish year round and had dark bangs. Belly was the kind of name that conjured up images of plump children or men in wifebeaters. "Anyway, I hate the name Izzy, but I do wish people called me Belle. It's prettier."
He nodded. "That's what it means too. Beautiful."
"I know," I said. "I'm in AP French."
Cam said something in French, so fast I couldn't understand him.
"What?" I said. I felt stupid. It's embarrassing to speak French when it's not in a classroom. It's like, conjugating verbs is one thing, but actually speaking it, to an actual French person, is a whole different thing.
"My grandmother's French," he said. "I grew up speaking it."
"Oh." Now I felt stupid for bragging about being in AP French.
"You know, the v is supposed to be pronounced w "What?"
"In Flavia. It's supposed to be pronounced Fla-wia."
"Of course I know that," I snapped. "I took second prize in oration. But Flawia sounds dumb."
"I took first prize," he said, trying not to sound smug. I had a sudden memory of a boy in a black T-shirt and a striped tie, blowing everyone away with his Catullus speech, taking first place. It was him. "Why did you pick it if you thought it sounded dumb?"
I sighed. "Because Cornelia was taken. Everyone wanted to be Cornelia."
"Yeah, everyone wanted to be Sextus too."
"Why?" I said. Immediately I regretted it. "Oh. Never mind."
Cam laughed. "Eighth-grade boy humor isn't very developed."
I laughed too. Then I said, "So do you stay in a house around here?"
"We're renting the house two blocks down. My mom sort of made me come," Cam said, rubbing the top of his head self-consciously.
"Oh." I wished I would stop saying "oh," but I couldn't think of anything else.
"What about you? Why'd you come, Isabel?"
I was startled when he used my real name. It just rolled right off his tongue. It felt like the first day of school. But I liked it. "I don't know," I said. "I guess because Clay invited me."
Everything that came out of my mouth sounded so generic. For some reason I wanted to impress this boy. I wanted him to like me. I could feel him judging me, judging the dumb things I said. I'm smart too, I wanted to tell him. I told myself it was fine, it didn't matter if he thought I was smart or not. But it did.
"I think I'm going to leave soon," he said, finishing his water. He didn't look at me when he said, "Do you need a ride?"
"No," I said. I tried to swallow my disappointment that he was leaving already. "I came with those guys over there." I pointed at Conrad and Jeremiah.
He nodded. "I figured, the way your brother kept looking over here."
I almost choked. "My brother? Who? Him?" I pointed at Conrad. He wasn't looking at us. He was looking at a blond girl in a Red Sox cap, and she was looking right back. He was laughing, and he never laughed.
"Yeah."
"He's not my brother. He tries to act like he is, but he's not," I said. "He thinks he's everybody's big brother. It's so patronizing. . . .Why are you leaving already anyway? You're gonna miss the fireworks."
He cleared his throat like he was embarrassed. "Um, I was actually gonna go home and study."
"Latin?" I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from giggling.
"No. I'm studying whales. I want to intern on a whale watching boat, and I have to take this whaling exam next month," he said, rubbing the top of his head again.
"Oh. That's cool," I said. I wished he wasn't leaving already. I didn't want him to go. He was nice. Standing next to him, I felt like Thumbelina, little and precious. He was that tall. If he left, I'd be all alone. "You know what, maybe I will get a ride. Wait here. I'll be right back."
He caught me looking at him, and I looked away. Then I looked back over and he caught me again. He raised his hand and waved it, just slightly.
I could feel my cheeks flaming. There was nothing for me to say but, "Hi." I walked over, stuck out my hand, and immediately regretted it. Who shook hands anymore?
He took my hand and shook it. He didn't say anything at first. He just stared at me, like he was trying to figure something out. "You look familiar," he said at last.
I tried not to smile. Wasn't that what boys said to girls when they came on to them at bars? I wondered if he'd seen me on the beach in my new polka-dot bikini. I'd only had the nerve to wear it the one time, but maybe that was what had gotten me noticed by this guy. "Maybe you've seen me on the beach?"
He shook his head. "No....That's not it."
So it hadn't been the bikini, then. I tried again. "Maybe over at Scoops, the ice cream place?"
"No, that's not it either," he said. Then it was like the little light went on in his head, because he grinned suddenly. "Did you take Latin?"
What in the world? "Urn .. . yes."
"Did you ever go to Latin Convention in Washington, DC?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. Who was this boy anyway?
He nodded, satisfied. "So did I. In eighth grade, right?"
"Yeah . . ." In eighth grade I had a retainer and I still wore glasses. I hated, hated that he knew me from back then. Why couldn't he know me from now, in my polka-dot bikini?
"That's how I know you. I've been standing here trying to figure it out." He grinned. "I'm Cam, but my Latin name was Sextus. Salve."
Suddenly giggles rose up in my chest like soda bubbles. It was kind of funny. "Salve. I'm Flavia. I mean, Belly. I mean, my name is Isabel, but everyone calls me Belly."
"Why?" He looked at me like he really wondered why.
"It's my dad's nickname for me from when I was little. He thought Isabel was too long a name," I explained. "Everyone just still calls me that. It's dumb."
He ignored the last part and said, "Why not Izzy, then? Or Belle?"
"I don't know. It's partly because Jelly Belfys are my favorite, and my dad and I used to play this game. He'd ask me what kind of mood I was in, but I would answer him in Jelly Belly flavors. Like plum if I was in a good mood ..." My voice trailed off. I babbled when I was nervous, and I was definitely nervous. I'd always hated the name Belly--partly because it wasn't even a real name. It was a child's nickname, not a real name at all. Isabel, on the other hand, was the name of an exotic kind of girl, the kind of girl who went to places like Morocco and Mozambique, who wore red nail polish year round and had dark bangs. Belly was the kind of name that conjured up images of plump children or men in wifebeaters. "Anyway, I hate the name Izzy, but I do wish people called me Belle. It's prettier."
He nodded. "That's what it means too. Beautiful."
"I know," I said. "I'm in AP French."
Cam said something in French, so fast I couldn't understand him.
"What?" I said. I felt stupid. It's embarrassing to speak French when it's not in a classroom. It's like, conjugating verbs is one thing, but actually speaking it, to an actual French person, is a whole different thing.
"My grandmother's French," he said. "I grew up speaking it."
"Oh." Now I felt stupid for bragging about being in AP French.
"You know, the v is supposed to be pronounced w "What?"
"In Flavia. It's supposed to be pronounced Fla-wia."
"Of course I know that," I snapped. "I took second prize in oration. But Flawia sounds dumb."
"I took first prize," he said, trying not to sound smug. I had a sudden memory of a boy in a black T-shirt and a striped tie, blowing everyone away with his Catullus speech, taking first place. It was him. "Why did you pick it if you thought it sounded dumb?"
I sighed. "Because Cornelia was taken. Everyone wanted to be Cornelia."
"Yeah, everyone wanted to be Sextus too."
"Why?" I said. Immediately I regretted it. "Oh. Never mind."
Cam laughed. "Eighth-grade boy humor isn't very developed."
I laughed too. Then I said, "So do you stay in a house around here?"
"We're renting the house two blocks down. My mom sort of made me come," Cam said, rubbing the top of his head self-consciously.
"Oh." I wished I would stop saying "oh," but I couldn't think of anything else.
"What about you? Why'd you come, Isabel?"
I was startled when he used my real name. It just rolled right off his tongue. It felt like the first day of school. But I liked it. "I don't know," I said. "I guess because Clay invited me."
Everything that came out of my mouth sounded so generic. For some reason I wanted to impress this boy. I wanted him to like me. I could feel him judging me, judging the dumb things I said. I'm smart too, I wanted to tell him. I told myself it was fine, it didn't matter if he thought I was smart or not. But it did.
"I think I'm going to leave soon," he said, finishing his water. He didn't look at me when he said, "Do you need a ride?"
"No," I said. I tried to swallow my disappointment that he was leaving already. "I came with those guys over there." I pointed at Conrad and Jeremiah.
He nodded. "I figured, the way your brother kept looking over here."
I almost choked. "My brother? Who? Him?" I pointed at Conrad. He wasn't looking at us. He was looking at a blond girl in a Red Sox cap, and she was looking right back. He was laughing, and he never laughed.
"Yeah."
"He's not my brother. He tries to act like he is, but he's not," I said. "He thinks he's everybody's big brother. It's so patronizing. . . .Why are you leaving already anyway? You're gonna miss the fireworks."
He cleared his throat like he was embarrassed. "Um, I was actually gonna go home and study."
"Latin?" I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from giggling.
"No. I'm studying whales. I want to intern on a whale watching boat, and I have to take this whaling exam next month," he said, rubbing the top of his head again.
"Oh. That's cool," I said. I wished he wasn't leaving already. I didn't want him to go. He was nice. Standing next to him, I felt like Thumbelina, little and precious. He was that tall. If he left, I'd be all alone. "You know what, maybe I will get a ride. Wait here. I'll be right back."
