“Oh yeah? What memories does that pink polo shirt hold for you that makes it so hard to get rid of?”
“That time my mom trusted me to do the laundry and I messed up royally.”
I shook my head. “Well, pick up the pace, okay? I don’t wanna have to go through more of our stuff by myself. And if your mom comes here to find out what’s taking so long, she’s gonna putallof that in the trash.”
Grumbling, Lee tugged the towel-cape from around his neck and bunched it angrily into a ball before shoving it into the already-pretty-full trash bag. I took a second to go get another one. Judging by the amount of stuff Lee had been hoarding in his dresser, we were going to need it.
In the kitchen, June and Rachel were sitting, drinking tea, laughing about something.
“Found this in the back of the cupboard,” June told me, tapping her mug. “Lavender and orange. You want some?”
That would explain the funky smell hanging around here,I thought, and tried hard not to wrinkle my nose.
“Er, no thanks. Just came for another one of these.” I waved the black trash bag I’d just torn off the roll, and my eyes fell on a plastic box and a roll of Bubble Wrap. “Are you packing upeverythingtoday?”
“Oh, no. I doubt we’ll even really make a dent in it today, sweetie. We just thought it’d be a good idea to get started as soon as possible. Besides, we can’t pack up the kitchen yet—not if we’re going to be back and forth here all summer while we sort everything out and get this place ready to sell.”
“Right.”
It wasn’t much consolation, but it was something, I guessed.
I slunk back to the bedroom before I got roped into a conversation about how much work the beach house needed. It didn’tneedany kind of work.
I mean, sure, every other summer Lee and I would paint the porch, just for it to peel off again a while later. Andyeah,okay, maybe this place was always full of sand, and the bushes and scrub outside by our path to the beach were always overgrown, and maybe the kitchen window leaked when it rained sometimes….
But it didn’tneedanything. This place was just perfect the way it was. It wasours.
Back in the bedroom, the piles of stuff I’d set aside drove the air from my lungs. Lee had even managed to separate out a couple of piles, although his keep pile was still pretty large. Wordlessly, I set down the new trash bag and then moved to the closet we shared.
A blown-up beach ball fell out, hitting me in the face and then collapsing on the floor with a wheeze, deflating slightly into a misshapen lump.
I kicked it to one side and Lee immediately piped up, fixing me with an accusatory look. “Hey, make sure you don’t put that in the trash. That’s a good ball.”
“You want me to donate it?”
“No.Keep.”
Well…I mean, itwasa good ball….It had been our most faithful volleyball and soccer ball, as required, for several summers—we’d had to switch out a real ball for this inflated one after everyone realized that whenever I tried to join in a game, I mostly just got hit by the ball instead.
But, nope, we had to be ruthless. I nudged it onto the trash pile, hoping Lee didn’t notice and try to keep it.
I had more stuff than Lee in the closet. We both had windbreakers in there—andanotherone each right at the back of the closet, a clichéd pink and blue pair, which, judging by the tags, we’d gotten when we were ten. After rummaging through some of the clothes—everything going into the donation pile except for the jeans Lee had left here last summer that he thought he’d lost and a jacket of mine I’d forgotten all about that miraculouslystill fit—I went on my tiptoes to scout out the top shelf.
“Hey, Mr.Sentimental, come give me a boost. Put those football muscles to good use.”
Lee sighed loudly, muttering about how I was interrupting his flow (he’d been looking at a bunch of receipts he’d just found and there was zeroflowgoing on), but he didn’t hesitate to crouch down as I stood on the bed. I climbed up onto his shoulders and he carried me the few steps back to the closet. Lee had spent last summer working out and beefing up a little, and after being on the football team throughout senior year, he’d built up some serious muscles—which were definitely coming in handy right now.
“Don’t you dare drop me.”
He swayed, and I smacked the top of his head, making him laugh.
“Anything good?”
“Um…” My face scrunched up at the layer of dust on the shelf—and how did sand even get all the way up here? I pulled out an old beach bag, another towel, a collapsed neon-green rubber ring, and some old floaties. I tossed them all onto the floor near the trash bag.
“Oh my God!” I cried, leaning forward and reaching in with both hands for a stuffed bear, gray with a tartan bow tie…and still fluffy! I gently brushed some of the dust off before nuzzling the bear against my face and then holding it down in front of Lee’s. “Look! It’s Bubba! I thought I’d lost himyearsago.”
Mom and Dad had gotten me Bubba when they’d brought Brad home from the hospital after he was born.
