“Wait! What are you—”
“I didn’t invite you here for an interview.”
“But I thought—”
Piper broke eye contact, jerking her head to Anders’s feet, as if just noticing them. “Why do you have your shoes on?”
“I always wear my shoes.”
“At the beach?”
“Well, I don’t really go to the beach, if I can help it.”
She stared at him incredulously, and then shook her head, muttering. Before he knew it, she had deftly reached down, grabbed his left shoe with both hands, and jerked it off his foot.
“Hey!” he protested, as she did the same with the other shoe, and he was left with his legs sticking straight out, his heels hanging inches from the gray loamy sand.
“Now put your feet down.”
“No.”
She cocked an eyebrow and Anders wondered if she’d been taking lessons in intimidation from Mrs. Olecki. Regardless, he would have protested again, except his thigh muscles had started quivering and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his legs hovering in the air. So he let them drop, making a disgusted face when the mushy, mud-like sand rose up to greet the sides of his feet, sliding between his toes.
“See? How does that feel?”
“Gritty. And slimy.”
“I know,” she said, sighing. “It’s wonderful.”
They sat in silence, Anders wondering what on earth Piper had brought him out here for if not for an interview, and how much longer he’d have to keep his feet in the sludge. When he finally opened his mouth to ask, Piper beat him to it.
“Better now?”
“What do you mean?”
“This is where I come whenever I’m upset. Being out here . . .” She swept her arm at the craggy rocks, the sand, the water. “It helps.”
They sat in silence for a few more beats and Anders stared out at the sea, watched as a seagull dove into the water in search of a fish but came up empty. He studied Piper from the corner of his eye, her face turned up toward the sun like a morning glory. Eyes closed. Peaceful. Content. Suddenly she opened one and caught Anders looking at her.
“You’re still thinking about your podcast, aren’t you?”
Guilty. Anders didn’t respond, but apparently his expression was all she needed.
She closed her eye and sighed. “You can interview me, if you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, why not?”
He had so many questions about her, her life, they swirled around in his head and he wasn’t sure what to ask first. And wasn’t sure he’d get the opportunity again. He pushed the on button on the recorder, and when it blinked red, he began.
“OK, you said you moved here in the sixth grade. What do you miss the most—about living on the mainland, I mean?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know—fast food, movie theaters, driving. Do you even know how to drive?”
“Not really. I tried on Bill’s truck once but never could get the clutch part down, so I quit. And let’s see . . . what do I miss?” She was silent for a few beats. “Oh! Girl Scout cookies.”
“Girl Scout cookies.”
“Samoas, specifically. A troop used to sell them outside the Food Lion in Winder and BobDan would pick up a few boxes for me, but they haven’t been out there for years.”
“So not technology or museums or concerts—wait, have you ever been to a concert?”
She shook her head again and Anders gaped at her. Not that he particularly loved concerts himself. He found them overly loud and hot and there were far too many people singing along with the words, when you hadn’t paid to hear other people, had you? You paid to hear the person who originally sang the songs. But still, to never have actually had that experience in real life . . .
And then he remembered her record collection.
“Hey, tell me about your records.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re just so . . . random. I’ve never heard of most of the bands. I don’t know—I guess I took you for more of a Taylor Swift kind of girl,” Anders teased.
Piper’s brow crinkled. “Who?”
Anders jolted, rounding on her. “You’ve never heard of Taylor Swift?”
Unfortunately for him, when Kelsey was in middle school she played “Shake It Off” on rotation until the entire family was begrudgingly humming it every waking minute and ready to strangle Kelsey—and Taylor, come to think of it. But even if Kelsey hadn’t been obsessed, Anders still would have heard of her. She was ubiquitous, like McDonald’s or cold sores.
Piper’s face remained frozen in confusion for a beat and then melted into a lazy grin, her dimples deepening. “Of course I have. Just a little Frick Island humor.”
She giggled as Anders groaned, tossing his head back and half chuckling. When he righted it and looked out at the water, he felt something—a loosening—as if all his muscles had been tightly holding on to a tug-of-war rope and then just . . . let go. The sand was still gritty and slimy. The rock beneath his butt, hard and uncomfortable. But the sun warming his skin, the repetitive lapping of waves, the tang of the salt air filling his nostrils . . . Anders had to admit, there was something soothing about it all. He sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled slowly, his breath joining the light breeze. He had a brief moment of understanding—of why people might like being on this strip of land. Not for good, of course. But visiting, perhaps, wasn’t so bad.
He glanced back at Piper’s profile. “What about your mom?”
“My mom?”
“Is she really in Australia?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you miss her?” What he really wanted to know, but had no way of asking, was: Did her mom know? About what happened to Tom? About what was going on with Piper? How could she stay halfway across the world when her daughter so clearly needed her? Or needed somebody.
Piper turned and looked Anders squarely on. “I thought your podcast was about climate change.”
He swallowed. “It is.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“And the island. I’m trying to give listeners an idea of what life is like out here.”
“What my life is like?”
Anders paused, a pit forming in his stomach. He cleared his throat to respond, but Piper beat him to it.