“Filene! Casper! Blackie! Rex!”
The girl banged a big spoon against the bottom of a cake pan, and the yard answered her. Cats came at a run from every direction; a black dog beat them all to the veranda. The cats rubbed against her bare legs while the dog planted himself in front of her, tongue lolling, tail whipping the air.
“You crazy ole dog! Wait your turn!”
A kitten tottered under the dog’s front paws and she swooped, plucking it clear half a second ahead of disaster. Her light-brown hair swung across one cheek as she bent. She pressed the kitten to her face and breathed it in.
“Ooh, poor baby! Did that big ole dog scare you?”
She crooned to it, cheek against fur. The kitten wanted none of her. It squirmed against her soft voice, her gentle hands, until she set it back on its feet.
Tim stood in the doorway that first evening of summer, sixteen and rooted to the floorboards. Evening sun poured through the thin cotton of her dress and turned her skin to burnished gold.
Maggie straightened and caught him staring. She held his eyes for one flat second, then returned to her bowls as if he were something the porch had grown.
A hand closed on his arm and yanked. Gabe. His brother always sneaked up on him, and Tim wondered if he’d been caught looking.
“Hey, come shoot pool with me. They have a table in the basement.” Gabe cut his own quick sidelong glance at the girl in the summer dress.
“Okay.”
“Yeah. Great that Mr. Glanville founded this club. So who’s the girl?” Gabe asked on the stairs down.
Tim kept his eyes on the steps. “Must be his daughter.”
“Think she’ll join? She’s something!”
“Um... maybe she will.”
“Well, think she’ll come shoot a game with us?”
“Maybe.” Tim shrugged and busied himself racking the balls.
That summer never finished with him. It ambushed him at strange hours: blossom perfume riding heavy air, the swing ticking back and forth under the oak, Maggie’s clean scent as she brushed past him. He loved her even then. Pure and simple.
Some days he trailed her from room to room, or parked himself where he could listen to her, always with a sick, hollowed-out stomach. Looking back, he knew how creepy that was, even for a sixteen-year-old.
She treated him with disdain from the first day, and disdain changed nothing. Not that he never tried to evict her from his head. Some weeks the wanting wore itself out and drained him flat, and in that flatness he could actually talk to her. Learn her. Collect her secrets. Become, of all things, her friend. Then her nearness would wake the whole ruckus again, set something winged loose in his gut, and thoughts of her ran their circuits day after day while love coiled itself tighter around his heart.
By popular vote, after much wrangling, the group named itself Dream Builders. A hokey name, Tim thought, though the losing suggestions had been worse.
Mr. Glanville announced that the front door would stay unlocked until 7:00 in the evening on weeknights, 10:00 on weekends, so members could drop in for pool, board games, or just a place to be.
Maggie began showing up. Her father’s nagging had paid off, Tim suspected. Through the meetings she sat with her hands folded in her lap, cutting glances at her father, and she vanished the minute a meeting ended.
Once a month or so, the Dream Builders went out into the world: hikes, community projects, debates against other clubs, museums, the beach. Maggie went along, resentment packed like a sandwich in her bag.
At the beach she kept a ritual. She ran straight at the sea, kicking up foam, and dove. Tim held his breath every time until her head broke the surface.
Once he waded out to join her romp. She tolerated him for a while. Then he tried to tickle her, and his fingers brushed her breast, and without one word she swam in, rose from the surf, tugged her suit straight, and walked to her towel. For a long stretch afterward she found no reason to speak to him.
There came a time, though, when Maggie welcomed his arms around her and allowed him his immature kisses.
Early one evening, while she fed the animals, her father’s voice came through the house calling her name. Tim had dropped by to help with math; Maggie had cornered him in the school cafeteria over homework problems that would not behave.
“I’m out here, Daddy,” she called, bent over the bowls, spooning food.
Tim ducked behind the family-room sofa, which gave a clear view of the back veranda. He loved how she bossed and petted that ragged congregation.
Mr. Glanville came out in a foul mood. He hated the animals. On his best days he barely stood them.
Rain hammered down from a gunpowder-gray sky that evening, and thunder had the animals pacing and jittery.
“These animals are a nuisance, Meg!” He strode onto the porch and nearly planted a shoe in a water bowl.
Maggie stopped mid-scoop and straightened. Her hand shook a little, pushing hair off her face.
“Meg, did you hear me? I’m tired of these animals! We should get rid of them! What good are they, anyway? All they ever do is eat!”
He came toward her. She bent fast and scooped a kitten into the crook of one arm.
“And these kittens, they’re everywhere! I just want to sit on my own porch and enjoy my... oh!”
He had stepped on Filene’s tail. She hissed. He backed into Casper, who spat and shot under a chair. Rex growled as a shoe caught his bowl and sent it spinning. Annoyance climbed into fury. Mr. Glanville unbuckled his belt and stripped it through the loops one-handed.
“Oh, my god! No! Daddy! Don’t!”
Maggie clutched the kitten and grabbed his raised arm with her free hand, the belt hanging over the animals like weather.
He rounded on her, face surly. “Get outta my way, girl!”
“No, Daddy! You’ll hurt them!”
She hung on. He shoved her back.
“Daddy, please!”
She lowered the kitten to the floor, and her father’s shoe caught it and sent it into a corner.
“Daddeee!”
She grabbed for both his arms now. He slammed her against the wall.
“I told you to get outta my way, Meg!”
The slap cracked across her cheek as she twisted to get free.
“Please, Daddy! No! Don’t!”
Tim broke from behind the sofa, ran onto the porch, and hauled at Mr. Glanville’s arms from behind. Sixteen and already five foot ten, but Mr. Glanville stood over six feet and carried well past 250 pounds. One shrug threw Tim off, and a second slap landed on Maggie where she cowered behind her hands.
Tim drove punches into the man’s broad back, all 130 pounds behind every one. Another shrug. Tim landed on his backside on the porch boards.
Then Maggie surprised them both. As her father’s hand rose again, she came off the wall and buried her fist in the soft place between his ribs and his belt. From where Tim sat, the punch landed at his eye level. Air left the man in one long whoosh.
Folded in half, Mr. Glanville wheezed, “Meg, how could you do this to me?”
Maggie stood with her eyes streaming and her fist still closed. Tim picked himself up off the boards and went to her. She let him smooth her hair, murmur his useless comforts, kiss her brow. He walked her to her room and left her only long enough to wring out a cool washcloth.
He drifted through the rest of that summer in a daze.
Whenever his mind went to Maggie, it went to that summer first and stayed there longest. Other summers followed, of course. None of them ever banged a spoon against a cake pan and brought everything he loved running.
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What a first read! I really liked it :)