One Summer

39

“Oh, great,” said Mikki. It was Saturday night and she was at the beach party Blake Saunders had invited her to. There were lots of people already there, and one of them was Tiffany Murdoch, holding court by the large bonfire that spewed streams of embers skyward. There were quite a few large young men in football jerseys and teenage girls in short shorts, tight skirts, and tighter tops. A catering truck was parked on the road near the beach. Mikki, who’d brought a blanket and a bag of marshmallows, looked on in shock as men and women in white jackets carried trays of food and drinks around to the teens partying on the sand.

Blake spotted her and strolled over, a bottle in his hand.

“Hey, glad you could make it.”

“Never been to a beach party that was catered before,” she said in a disapproving tone.

“I know. But Tiffany’s dad is a big football booster, and he pays for the party every year.”

“So I guess that’s why Tiff’s here?”

“Oh, yeah. The center of attention as always. A real queen bee.”

“Bees sting,” Mikki shot back.

“What’s in the bag?” he said.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, hiding the bag of marshmallows behind her.

He held up the bottle. “Want a taste?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“It’s not alcohol.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

A little put off, he said, “Well, there’s plenty of food and drink. Help yourself and then come join us.”

He left, and Mikki went to the tables manned by other adults in white jackets. She asked for a Coke. The woman, weathered looking with stringy gray hair, poured it out for her.

“Thank you,” said Mikki.

The woman looked surprised.

“What?” asked Mikki. She looked down at her jeans and T-shirt. “Something wrong?”

“You’re not with that group, are you?” said the woman quietly.

“No, we just came down from Ohio for the summer. Why?”

“You said thank you.”

“And that’s, like, unusual?”

The woman eyed the partygoers. “With some folks it’s apparently impossible. Ohio? Are you Cee Pinckney’s folks?”

“She was my great-grandmother. I’m Mikki.”

“Nice to meet you, Mikki. Ms. Pinckney was a fine lady. Sorry she’s gone.”

“I take it you live in Channing?”

“All my life, but just not the postcard part.”

“What?”

“You know the part you see on postcards? I live in the area tourists never see. We can’t afford the pretty ocean views.”

“Would that be Sweat Town?”

“So you’ve heard of it?”

“Somebody told me. Sounds like where we lived in Cleveland. What’s your name?”

“Folks call me Fran.”

“It was nice talking to you, Fran.”

“Same here, honey.”

She turned away to serve someone else.

Troubled by what Fran had told her, Mikki strolled around the pockets of people, many of whom were already wasted. The boys looked at her with lust, the girls with hostility.

Why did I come?

“Well, look who we have here.”

Inwardly groaning, Mikki closed her eyes and then opened them. Things were about to get worse.

Tiffany stood in front of her, swaying slightly, plastic cup filled with beer in hand. She had on a string-bikini bottom with a mesh cutoff jersey that barely covered her chest. “What’s your name again?”

Between gritted teeth she said, “Mikki.”

“Oh, like Mickey Mouse.” Tiffany giggled and looked around at the others and made an exaggerated bow. “Mickey Mouse, people.” Laughter swept through the ranks of the partiers. A nervous-looking Blake ran up and put his arm around Tiffany’s bare waist. “Hey, Tiff, let’s go get something to eat.”

“Not hungry,” said Tiffany with a pout. Mikki could sense this was her method of getting what she wanted. Putting her thick lips together and acting like a two-year-old.

Mikki looked at the beer and then eyed Tiffany’s red convertible parked by the catering truck. “Hope you’re not the designated driver.”

“I can be anything I want,” Tiffany replied, a coy smile on her face.

Blake pulled on her arm. “Come on, Tiff, let’s get some food. You don’t want to piss off your dad again, remember?”

“Shut up!” snapped Tiffany. She looked at Mikki. “I hear you and Blake have been running together on the beach.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I was just surprised.”

“Why’s that?” Mikki asked, a hard edge to her voice.

“I didn’t think he liked hanging out with freaks.”

Mikki eyed the other girl’s scant clothing. “You know, next time you might want to consider something that actually comes close to covering your big butt.”

“Shut up!”

“Okay, I’m leaving now.” Mikki turned to walk away.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Tiffany grabbed her shoulder. Mikki’s arms and legs seemed to move of their own accord. Her hand clamped like a vise on the other girl’s wrist. Mikki spun the arm behind Tiffany’s back, jerked upward, angled one of her feet in front of Tiffany’s legs, and gave a hard shove from behind. The next moment Tiffany was lying facedown in the sand, her mesh top up around her head.

Blake looked at her in amazement. “How’d you do that?” he asked Mikki.

Mikki looked down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. “My... my dad taught me.”

They both looked down at Tiffany, who was spitting out sand and crying. Other people were walking toward them.

“I’m outta here,” said a panicked Mikki.

She turned, pushed past some folks, and raced off. As she passed by Fran, the woman winked at Mikki and raised a serving spoon in silent salute.