Read Online Wild Swans by Jessica Spotswood - Free Book Online

at nine?”
    â€œBonfire?” Erica raises her perfectly arched eyebrows. “You’re kidding. You let her go to parties at the cove?”
    Granddad nods, jaw tight. “I trust Ivy. She’s never given me any reason not to.”
    â€œUnlike me, you mean.” She purses her glossy red lips and grabs a set of keys from her bag. “Come on, girls. Let’s go.”
    â€œBut Mama! Spaghetti and meatballs is my favorite ,” Gracie whines.
    â€œYou can get some at Giovanni’s. Now, Grace. I can’t breathe in here.” Erica holds the door open and the girls scramble out and she slams the door behind her. Leaving Alex and Luisa and Granddad and me staring at each other in horrified silence.
    Jesus. What a mess.
    â€¢ • •
    The little cove down from the Crab Claw is packed. The flickering light from the bonfire casts shadows over couples cuddled up on sun-faded beach blankets and big pieces of driftwood. Somebody’s speakers blare a country song about getting drunk and kissing a girl in the back of a pickup truck. A few just-graduated seniors are dancing barefoot in the pebbly sand, hands in the air. Guys from the baseball team are drinking Natty Boh and roasting hot dogs. As we get closer, I lose the scent of summer nights on the Shore—brackish water and wet grass—and inhale smoke and beer and cheap cologne.
    I am already having doubts about this.
    Abby grabs me the minute we arrive. “You came! And you look so cute!” she squeals, pointing at my yellow sundress and green flip-flops with lemons and limes printed on them. My hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, and I took the time to put on lip gloss and mascara. I do look cute. But she takes another look and hands me a bottle of lemonade. “Here. I think you need this more than I do.”
    â€œLemonade?” I ask.
    â€œSpiked with vodka. You can hardly taste it,” she promises, whirling away and snagging a can of beer from the communal cooler. “Want to go for a walk? You look like you need to talk.”
    We leave Alex with his baseball bros and head toward the mouth of the cove. A rocky point separates the beach from the marina and the Crab Claw. We clamber over the rocks, me clutching on to Abby because my flip-flops are all slippery. On the other side, the night air smells like fish and salt and fried food. There’s still a trace of music from the party, but now I hear the slap of waves against the dock and the creaking of sailboats moored in the marina.
    I can’t count how many times Abby and Claire and I have snuck over here during parties to talk. Mostly they do the talking—about their family problems and their boy problems—and I listen.
    Something tells me this summer’s going to be different, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve always been comfortable listening. Advising. Talking about my own feelings? Spilling my fears? Not so much. Not even with Abby and Claire.
    We walk down to the end of the first dock, where a couple big sailboats are moored. I kick off my shoes and sit, dangling my feet out over the dark water. Abby leans against a wooden piling, facing me, cross-legged. She’s wearing red shorts—part of her waitressing uniform—but she changed out of her official Crab Claw polo into a white tank top.
    I twist off the cap and take a sip of lemonade.
    She’s right. I really can’t taste the vodka. I gulp down more.
    â€œThat bad?” Abby asks.
    â€œWant to steal one of these boats and run away from home?”
    She makes a face. “Don’t tempt me.” Things have been hard at her house too, ever since last fall when her little brother, Eli, started wanting to wear dresses to kindergarten. It wasn’t entirely out of nowhere; he’d always had his hair long and worn his big sisters’ clothes and makeup around the house. Abby’s mom has been really supportive of what she