This Year
I laughed and ran my hand through Max’s silky blond hair. “Max, Robby and I can’t be identical twins,” I said. “Because he’s a boy and I’m a girl.”
His serious blue eyes were locked on mine. I could see he was thinking hard about it. My cousin Max is only five, but sometimes I think his brain is much older. He always seems to be thinking hard about things.
“Harmony, are you and Marissa twins?” he asked finally.
I had to laugh again. “No. We’re just sisters.”
“But you look a lot like her,” he said. His eyes went to the driveway of the lodge, where Dad was helping Marissa unload all her bags and suitcases from the van.
Robby should have been helping them. He promised he would. But Robby has a way of disappearing whenever there’s any heavy lifting.
“Marissa is five years older than me,” I said.
Max grinned. “I’m five.” He held up the fingers on one hand.
“But we’re sisters so we look alike,” I said. “Same black hair, right? Same blue eyes? Same string-bean bodies?”
He shrugged. He was losing interest. Five-year-olds didn’t have great attention spans, I knew, unless they were craving candy or ice cream. I babysit Max a lot, and whenever he thinks sweets are a possibility, he develops a one-track mind.
I shielded my eyes from the sun, which was floating high over the red tile roof of the lodge. A shadow soared low over the long log-cabin-styled building. A bird with a wide wingspread. Maybe a hawk.
“Max, look where we are!” I exclaimed. I took his hands and swung him around to face the mesa. “We’re on top of a mountain in Colorado. Do you believe it?”
He got that thoughtful look on his face again. “Can we go skiing, Harmony?”
My mouth dropped open. “Huh? It’s summer. You can’t ski in the summer, silly.” I squeezed the shoulders of his red T-shirt. “Besides, we’re here for a wedding, remember? Marissa is marrying Doug tomorrow.”
He scrunched up his face. “You have to get married on a mountain?”
The kid is hilarious. But I had to be careful. Sometimes when I laugh at him too much, he gets hurt, and his angry pout is epic.
“Is this the first wedding you’ve ever been to?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Well . . . people like to get married in beautiful places. And our family used to own this place, and we came here every year when Marissa and I were little girls. And Marissa always thought it was the most beautiful place on earth.”
In front of the lodge, Dad had Marissa’s wedding gown in its layers of plastic wrapping draped over his shoulder. He was struggling not to let it touch the driveway. Marissa followed him, carrying her big makeup bag.
Robby suddenly appeared and came jogging over to them. “Can I help? What can I carry?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “It’s all done. You’re too late.”
“Where were you?” Marissa demanded.
Robby shrugged. “I had to do a thing—”
“Oh, shut up,” Marissa snapped. “We know where you were. On the phone with Nikki.”
Our brother, Robby, is obsessed with Nikki Parker, and Mom and Dad can’t stand her. That’s why she wasn’t invited to the wedding, which totally pissed Robby off, of course. He’s been bitter and horrible and about as obnoxious as he can be about it, which is a lot.
He and I are seventeen, but guess who is the grown-up? And it’s not just that girls are smarter than boys, which everyone in the world knows. I mean, it’s proven by science.
Robby has always been shy and gotten nowhere with girls. I mean, we’re both seniors this year, and Nikki is his first real girlfriend . . . ever. Can you imagine?
Now maybe I’m not one to judge. I like boys. Mom and Dad think maybe too much. But I don’t see what’s wrong with enjoying yourself and having fun when you’re a teenager. Especially if you’re careful.
What I’m saying is, Nikki is cute, but she’s just as immature as Robby. And my parents hate the way she’s always nuzzling his neck and tickling him and being very physical in front of everyone.
Robby loves all that, but my parents aren’t physical people. Dad kisses Mom on the cheek sometimes. Of course they love each other, but they just don’t always show it.
Dad says they’re private people, and that’s fine with me. Because they keep their privacy, and I keep mine. I hardly share anything with them. Why would I? They more than likely wouldn’t approve, and there’s no reason to look for trouble.
I try to like Nikki but it’s hard. She’s kind of . . . flaky. You know. Sometimes I overhear Robby helping her with her homework, and I don’t want to say she’s dumb. But she’s not . . . deep.
Again, I shouldn’t talk. I got into Penn by the skin of my teeth. (Nikki’s going to the junior college in Martinsville, the next town, because her parents can’t afford to take out a big student loan.)
And Robby? He says he needs a gap year. You know. To find himself. He says maybe he’ll travel or something. But I know the truth. If he stays in Shadyside, he’ll be able to see Nikki all the time. I told you, he’s obsessed.
Mom and Dad are furious about it. They think Robby should get out of the house and start his life like everyone else. They blame Nikki and say she’s a bad influence on Robby. I’m sure that was one reason Nikki wasn’t invited to Marissa’s wedding. Just meanness on their part.
There’s no reason to sugarcoat it. My parents can be mean when they want to. After all, we are Fears, and the Fear family has a long line of incredibly mean people. There’s even a book about us, about our family history and how messed up we are.
A black SUV pulled up the gravel driveway to the lodge entrance and pulled in next to our van. Doug Falkner, the groom, and his buddy Harry Marx, the best man, piled out and stretched their arms and backs as if they’d driven two thousand miles or something.
I watched them gaze at the lodge and then turn to see the mesa, the tall grass sloping up, away from the building, up to the sharp rock cliff. Harry said something and they both burst out laughing. Harry is the comedian in the group.
I don’t think Doug has much of a sense of humor. I’ve never heard him make a joke or anything. I mean, he’s okay, I guess, but he’s serious a lot of the time. He has a stare that’s kind of intimidating. It reminds me of a bull with his head lowered, staring at the matador, trying to decide whether or not to attack.
I don’t know where that came from. But Doug is kind of a bull. He’s big and wide and bulked up, and he talks in this low growl . . .
Okay. I admit it. I don’t think he’s right for Marissa.
But no one ever asked me. And remember? I keep my mouth shut.
So I called out to Doug and Harry and, waving, went running across the grass to them. They waved back. But I stopped halfway with a thought. “Where’s Max?” I asked it out loud.
I shielded my eyes and made a complete circle, searching for him. I was supposed to be watching him while Uncle Kenny checked in at the front desk. Where did he disappear to?
“Max? Hey—Max?”
Then I spotted him. My heart stopped beating and a scream burst from my throat. “Noooo!”
He stood at the edge of the mesa, looking down at the rock cliffs at his feet. He leaned over the side, as if daring himself, or maybe trying to get a better view.
And I screamed again. “Max—get back! Get away from there! Max—step back!”
That’s when his knees bent, his arms flew up, and he started to tumble over the side.
