That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (read more books .txt) 📕

That was what Cade had started calling her, him and his friends. Beatrice still wasn’t sure if she liked it, if Beebee was the kind of cutesy nickname you’d give a little girl, or if, instead, it called to mind a BB gun.

She waved. Cade rolled up alongside her, keeping pace with her as she walked.

“You’re going to be late,” she told him.

“I’ve got a free.” Cade was a junior, and upperclassmen at Melville were allowed to spend two periods each week off campus, with their parents’ permission. Most of them, as far as Beatrice could tell, only went to the Starbucks directly across the street from campus. The really daring ones made it all the way to the burrito place next door.

“Hey,” said Cade, “I like your outfit.”

Beatrice smiled. She was especially proud of her day’s look. She’d found an honest-to-God 1950s housedress at a thrift store in Philadelphia. It was blue cotton, with shiny black buttons and a round Peter Pan collar and a tie at the waist. She’d hand-washed the dress, stitched up a rip under the armpit, and ironed it before confirming the perfect fit that she’d seen in the dressing-room mirror, twirling around to make the skirt swish, thinking that she looked like Lucille Ball. She’d tied a pink-and-white polka-dotted kerchief over her hair, and instead of her Doc Martens she’d found a pair of black canvas Chuck Taylors that she thought looked just fine.

“I like your car.”

Cade grinned and patted the dashboard. His hair had gotten longer in the few weeks Beatrice had been at Melville. It stuck up from his head in a way that reminded her of a poodle. His cheeks wore their usual flush, and his teeth looked very white beneath them. “My sixteenth birthday present.”

“Lucky you. Happy birthday.”

“It was in December. Don’t worry. I didn’t not invite you to my party.”

“I wasn’t concerned.”

“Just in case you were.”

This was how it went with Cade. He’d banter and tease her, always, it seemed, finding ways to let her know that she was the new girl, that he knew more than she did—more people, more teachers, more about Melville, more about everything.

“You want to go for a ride?”

She stared at him. “I’ve got Latin.”

“Amo, amas, amat,” Cade recited. “Come on. It’s only five demerits if it’s your first cut.”

Beatrice bit her lip. “Yeah, but I’ve already gotten three demerits for dress code violations.” Evidently wearing Doc Martens in gym class was demerit-worthy, which, in her opinion, was ridiculous. The girl who sat beside her in Earth Sciences spent most of her time making TikToks; the boy next to her in Advisory wore a T-shirt with the Confederate flag on it, completely visible through his button-down; and she was the one getting in trouble.

“Come on,” Cade said. “Don’t be like the rest of the sheep!” His baaa-ing noise made Beatrice giggle. She looked up at the door. The bell was ringing, and unless she sprinted and risked disarranging her hair, she’d be tardy. If she was already in trouble, she decided, it might as well be for something fun.

She climbed into the passenger’s seat, pulled her seat belt in place, and said, “Where are we going?”

Cade seemed a little startled by her assent, but he made a smooth recovery. “Uh, my place?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Uh, no?”

She wondered if this was a plan to get her up to his bedroom and out of her clothes. The night she’d met him at the movies, Cade had held her hand, for a few minutes, when Beatrice was sure none of the other kids were looking. There’d been three other people in the car when he’d driven her home, and he’d walked her to the door but hadn’t tried to kiss her. When she sat with him at lunch, he asked her lots of questions, and she’d caught him staring at her a time or two in class, but lots of kids stared at her at Melville. What did Cade Langley want with her now?

“Are you bringing me to your house so you can have your way with me?” she asked.

“Have my way with you?” he repeated. “Do you always talk like you’re in a book?”

Beatrice smiled. She was remembering a recent talk she’d had with her mother, about how she should never change herself, or dumb herself down, for some boy’s benefit. Beatrice assumed her mother had gotten the speech from some article or expert, given the fact that she herself had dropped out of college and moved to Pennsylvania for some boy—namely Beatrice’s father. But Beatrice had decided not to say so.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

She thought for a minute, leaned forward, and punched an address into the mapping app on her phone. “Follow my directions,” she said, and pointed toward the road.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a large, sober-looking brick building that took up the better part of the block on Twenty-Second Street. It would be a test, she’d decided as they drove. If Cade laughed, or told her it was weird, or refused to go inside with her, she’d have nothing more to do with him. But if he could appreciate it, or even just keep an open mind, then he had potential.

She led Cade through the wrought-iron fence, up the stairs, and right to the entrance of one of her favorite places in all of Philadelphia. By then, he’d figured out where they were.

“The Mutter Museum?”

“Moo-ter,” she said, correcting his pronunciation. “There’s an umlaut. Have you ever been?”

He shook his head. “It’s, um, medical oddities, right?”

“The only place in America where you can see the preserved skeleton of conjoined twins,” she said happily. “And a cross section of Albert Einstein’s brain!” Beatrice bounded inside, flashing her card at the guard at the front desk.

“You’re a member?” Cade asked, then, shrugging, answered his own question. “Of course you are.”

Beatrice grinned at him. Her sneakers squeaked on the marble floor. This was one of her happy places.