Sixteenth Summer by Michelle Dalton Read Free Book Online Page A

was silky with thin, delicate straps. When I’d tried it on while I was getting ready, it had looked soft and romantic, like something a ballerina would wear with a long tulle skirt. It had made me feel pretty, almost
too
pretty for the Dune Island High bonfire. But if I’d stashed the camisole away for a special occasion, I might have found myself waiting forever to wear it. So I’d gone ahead and kept it on.
    Little had I known, I’d been going somewhere special after all.
    And maybe tonight I’d be surprised again.
    “Can you meet me at the club at eight?” I asked Caroline.
    Maybe she heard a change in my voice. I was no longer the girl who’d shrugged Will off over a plate of curly fries that afternoon.
    Now I actually had something to lose.
    And though it filled me with a sort of hopeful dread, I had to see this night through; see who this boy was who’d (most likely) lied about liking my ice cream and who’d asked me out in front of my dad.
    He wasn’t afraid to look foolish. So the least I could do was show up.
    Even if it ended up breaking my heart.
    I hadn’t been to the Beach Club since The Scoop catered an ice cream social there two years earlier. As I walked in that night with Sam and Caroline, the entry hall smelled exactly as I remembered it—of slightly fishy ice and Sterno.
    I knew the odor emanated from the ice sculptures and chafing dishes in the large main room. But I always imagined the smell came from the club’s hideous wallpaper. The pattern, a burgundy and gold paisley with forest green borders, made me imagine horrible things usually seen only under microscopes. Just looking at it made my queasiness return. Or maybe I was just nauseous over the prospect of this nebulous perhaps-date with Will.
    Sam wasn’t exactly making me feel better.
    “Anna, if you tell anybody I ditched the Braves versus the Padres to go to
this
,” he threatened, “I’ll seriously have to kill you.”
    “I’m sure there are plenty of guys out there who can tell you the score,” I said, pointing at the wall of windows and French doors on the other side of the ballroom. Through them we could see the pool deck, packed with men in wheat-colored blazers and women in pastel shifts; boys in long shorts and golf shirts, and girls in tube tops and A-line skirts. It was like they’d all gotten an e-mail instructing them to wear a uniform. They skimmed back and forth on the other side of the glass like a bunch of extremely white fish in an aquarium.
    “Yeah, right, I’ll ask
them
the score,” Sam muttered. He looked even more gangly than usual in the low-ceilinged foyer.
    “You are going to keep it together, right?” Caroline asked Sam. “
Please
don’t get in another fight.”
    “What are you talking about?” Sam said. “Fight?”
    “You know what I’m talking about!” Caroline said. She’d been jokey at first, but now her voice had a bit of an edge to it.
    “Anderson Lowell’s party,” Caroline and I said together.
    “Last August?” Sam squawked. “Well, that was totally provoked!”
    “What, a shoobee simply
showing up
at one of our parties forced you to punch him in the head?” Caroline said.
    “What
was
that, anyway?” I asked, with one eye on the French doors. I still didn’t see Will. “I always meant to ask you. I thought you Neanderthal boys always went for the nose or the chin. But you hit him on the
head
.”
    “I didn’t mean to,” Sam said, a semiproud smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. “The guy was so short, I couldn’t reach his face.”
    “Oh my God,” Caroline said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe I allow myself to be seen with you in public.”
    She was joking, of course. But I could hear a thin shard of impatience in her voice.
    And in Sam’s there was a touch of wheedling as he said, “You know that’s not me, Caroline. The guy was a complete jerkwad, throwing his weight around. It was just … a bad moment, I guess.”
    “Well, remind
me
never