Under the Same Stars(52)
I looked at him blankly. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Oh, you invited her to the house?” Connor asked Marco.
And one, two, three: it clicked. The ?lvarezes owned a house on the Jersey Shore. According to Dad, they usually rented it out for most of the summer, but…
“Yeah,” Marco said. “My parents have been down there for the last couple weeks, and I’m driving down on Friday. I was hoping Mads would come.” He paused. “You too, McCallister.”
“That’s awesome!” Lauren replied, unaware that the invitation had not been extended to her. “I love Stone Harbor. There’s this one ice cream place—”
“Don’t you have club practice?” Connor asked me.
“Yes…” I said slowly. “I do.” I felt my lips twist in a smile. Marco was a genius, helping me spend time with Connor sans Lauren. “But if you want to go, Con, I’ll skip it.”
Fifteen
Marco had offered Connor and me a ride to Stone Harbor, but Connor had an afternoon allergist appointment he couldn’t reschedule, so I volunteered to stay behind and leave a few hours later with him. As an extrovert, Connor didn’t love long solo drives, and being alone with him today was thrilling. Finally, no Lauren.
“She’s still upset I didn’t invite her,” he said while turning out of our neighborhood. “Pretty pissed off.”
“It’s not your invite to extend,” I pointed out. “We’re going to Marco’s house.”
“My words exactly.” Connor chuckled. “Marco actually told me I could bring her, but…” He trailed off and shook his head.
But what? I wondered. But she’s super clingy and you need a break from her?
Nevertheless, I smiled and punched him on the arm. Because for once, Connor McCallister realized not every get-together needed to be “the more, the merrier.”
On the drive down, we moaned and groaned about our summer reading list, even though Connor loved audiobooks and I’d been reading a lot more lately. Both of us cheered when we crossed Stone Harbor’s causeway and drove through town. I’d been there before, so I smiled when we passed Bill’s Pancake House, the (bougie) Reeds hotel, and Hoy’s, the famous five-and-dime store. My mouth watered when I spotted kids licking giant ice cream cones.
Soon enough, Connor slowed to a stop at the ?lvarezes. Their house was simple, its shingles painted a pale sea-glass green with white shutters that matched their white picket fence. A detached garage sat at the end of the crushed seashell driveway, and instead of a grassy front lawn, the yard was covered with beige pebbles. It was a quaint Jersey Shore cape built in the 1950s set amid grand new homes, but I knew if Marco’s parents decided to sell it, they could get millions. Marco had mentioned the cottage was less than a block from the beach, and now, I could see his family owned a double lot. Someone would pay a king’s ransom to tear down their house and build some massive mansion in its place.
“Welcome!” Mrs. ?lvarez called to us, the cottage’s screen door slamming shut behind her. I didn’t know her well but hugged her back when she pulled me into one. “Marco and my husband are out grabbing some lobsters for dinner,” she said after hugging Connor, “but they’ll be back soon.” She gestured to the house. “Let’s get you all set up!”
I immediately felt at home upon walking through the front door into the family room. Eclectic paintings hung on the white shiplap walls, in between framed family photographs and wreaths made of seashells. Built-in bookshelves showed off worn paperbacks and jars of sand. Somewhere, a wind chime started singing. Connor and I made eye contact.
I love this place, I mouthed.
“My sister’s family is here, too,” Marco’s mom said as she led us down the hall, “but we’ve shoved her kids in the back bunk room.” She stopped outside two doors across from each other. “Connor, you can take Marco’s other twin bed.” She pointed to the right, then the left. “And Mads, Carina’s room is all yours.”
“Thank you, Mrs. ?lvarez,” I said. “We’re so excited.”
“Oh, please, call me Rose.” She smiled and waved a hand. “I’ll let you get settled. Dinner will be around seven.”
Connor and I exchanged a look once she was gone, and I couldn’t help but laugh when he said: “When should I tell her I’m allergic to shellfish?”
***
We hit the beach at practically the crack of dawn. “We’ve got to,” Marco insisted, somehow carrying two beach chairs and a red-and-yellow-striped umbrella, while also pulling a wagon loaded with beach towels, shovels, and his cousins’ sandcastle-making equipment. “Otherwise, we won’t get a prime spot.”
Connor nodded midyawn. He’d never been an early riser.
Marco had walked to the beach barefoot, but Connor and I kicked off our flip-flops in the dunes before we claimed our territory. The white sand felt like soft sugar. Our “prime spot” included an unobstructed view of the blue-as-could-be Atlantic Ocean and was only ten yards away from the tall white wooden lifeguard stand. “Morning, Marco!” one lifeguard called, sporting a pair of aviators with a whistle around her neck. She looked familiar, her golden-brown curls in a carefree messy bun.