The Summer I Turned Pretty

Around sunset, Cam came and picked me up for mini golf. I waited for him on the front porch, and when he pulled into the driveway, I ran up to his car. Instead of going to the passenger side, I walked right around to the driver’s side. “Can I drive?” I asked. I knew he’d say yes.

He shook his head at me and said, dryly, “How does anybody ever say no to you?”

I batted my eyelashes at him. “No one ever does,” I said, even though it wasn’t true, not even a little bit.

I opened the car door, and he scooted over.

Backing out of the driveway, I told him, “I have to be home early tonight.”

“No problem.” He cleared his throat. “And, um, can you slow down a little? The speed limit is thirty-five on this road.”

As I drove, he kept looking over at me and smiling. “What? Why are you smiling?” I asked. I felt like covering my face up with my T-shirt.

“Instead of a ski-slope nose, you have, like, a little bunny slope.” He reached over and tapped it. I slapped his hand away.

“I hate my nose,” I told him.

Cam looked perplexed. “Why? Your nose is cute. It’s the imperfections that make things beautiful.”

I wondered if that meant he thought I was beautiful. I wondered if that was why he liked me, my imperfections.

We ended up staying out later than I’d planned. The people in front of us took forever on each hole; they were a couple, and they kept stopping to kiss. It was annoying. I wanted to tell them, Mini golf is not where you go to hook up. That’s what the drive-in’s for. And then after, Cam was hungry, so we stopped for fried clams, and by that time it was after ten, and I knew my mother and Susannah would already be asleep.

He let me drive home. I didn’t even have to ask; he just handed me the keys. In the driveway when we got home, I turned off the ignition. All of the lights in the house were off except for Conrad’s. “I don’t want to go inside yet,” I told Cam.

“I thought you had to be home early.”

“I did. I do. I’m just not ready to go inside yet.” I turned on the radio, and we sat there for five minutes listening.

Then Cam cleared his throat and said, “Can I kiss you?”

I wished he hadn’t asked. I wished he’d just done it. Asking made everything feel awkward; it put me in a position where I had to say yes. I wanted to roll my eyes at him but instead I said, “Um, okay. But next time, please don’t ask. Asking someone if they want to kiss you is weird. You’re supposed to just do it.”

I regretted saying it right away, as soon as I saw the look on Cam’s face. “Never mind,” he said, red-faced. “Forget I asked.”

“Cam, I’m sorr—” Before I could finish, he leaned over and kissed me. His cheek was stubbly and it felt kind of rough but nice.

When it was over, he said, “Okay?”

I smiled and said, “Okay.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “Good night.”

Then I got out of the car, and he came around and took the driver’s seat. We hugged, and I found myself wishing that Conrad was watching. Even though it didn’t matter, even though I didn’t even like him anymore. I just wanted him to know I didn’t like him anymore, to really know it. To see it with his own two eyes.

I ran up to the front door, and I didn’t have to turn around to know that Cam would wait until I was inside before he drove away.

The next day my mother didn’t mention anything, but she didn’t have to. She could make me feel guilty without saying a word.