Summer Days and Summer Nights - Stephanie Perkins Page 0,3
Vans and spend the entire afternoon there by himself, then pick up his big backpack and trundle back home like some kind of weird blond pill bug, but not before he stopped at the DQ—apparently to order a cherry dip.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Annalee.
It was too hard to explain. Gracie shrugged. “He’s a little bit the worst.”
“The cherry dip of humans?”
Gracie laughed, then felt bad for laughing when Annalee peered at her over those thick plastic frames and said, “Because you’re the town sweetheart? You could use some more friends.”
Gracie tugged at the frayed end of her newly cut shorts. She had friends. Mosey Allen was all right. And Lila Brightman. She had people to eat lunch with, people who waited for her before first bell. But they lived in Greater Spindle, with most of the kids from her school.
“What would Eli Cuddy know about Idgy Pidgy, anyway?” Gracie asked.
“Spends all his time in the library, doesn’t he?”
Annalee had a point. Gracie tapped her fingers on the table, scraped more of the chipped lilac polish from her thumbnail. She thought of the story of the green-eyed baby and the river god. “So you’ve never seen anything like Idgy Pidgy?”
“I can barely see the pen in my hand,” Annalee said sourly.
“But if a person saw a monster, a real one, not like … not a metaphor, that person’s probably crazy, right?”
Annalee pushed her glasses up her nose with one gnarled finger. Behind them, her brown eyes had a soft, rheumy sheen. “There are monsters everywhere, tsigele,” she said. “It’s always good to know their names.” She took a bite of the puddle that was left of her sundae and smacked her lips. “Your friend is here.”
Eli Cuddy was standing at the counter, backpack weighting his shoulders, placing his order. The problem with Eli wasn’t just that he liked to be indoors more than outdoors. Gracie was okay with that. It was that he never talked to anyone. And he always looked a little—damp. Like his clothes were clinging to his skinny chest. Like if you touched his skin, he might be moist.
Eli planted himself in a two-seater booth and propped a book open on the slope of his backpack so he could read while he ate.
Who eats an ice cream cone like that? Gracie wondered as she watched him take weird, tidy little bites. Then she remembered those shapes moving in the lake. Sunlight on the water, her mind protested. Scales, her heart insisted.
“What’s tsigele mean?” she asked Annalee.
“‘Little goat,’” said Annalee. “Bleat bleat, little goat. Go on with you.”
Why not? Gracie wiped her palms on her shorts and ambled up to the booth. She felt bolder than usual. Maybe because nothing she said to Eli Cuddy mattered. It wasn’t like, if she made a fool of herself, he’d have anyone to tell.
“Hey,” she said. He blinked up at her. She had no idea what to do with her hands, so she planted them on her hips, then worried she looked like she was about to start a pep routine and dropped them. “You’re Eli, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Gracie.”
“I know. You work at Youvenirs.”
“Oh,” she said. “Right.” Gracie worked summer mornings there, mostly because Henny had taken pity on her and let her show up to dust things for a few dollars an hour. Had Eli come in before?
He was waiting. Gracie wished she’d planned this out better. Saying she believed in monsters felt sort of like showing someone the collection of stuffed animals she kept on her bed, like she was announcing, I’m still a little kid. I’m still afraid of things that can curl around your leg and drag you under.
“You know the Loch Ness monster?” she blurted.
Eli’s brow creased. “Not personally.”
Gracie plunged ahead. “You think it could be real?”
Eli closed his book carefully and studied her with very serious, very blue eyes, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. His lashes were so blond they were almost silver. “Did you look through my library record?” he asked. “Because that’s a federal crime.”
“What?” It was Gracie’s turn to scrutinize Eli. “No, I didn’t spy on you. I just asked you a question.”
“Oh. Well. Good. Because I’m not totally sure it’s a crime anyway.”
“What are you looking at that you’re so worried people will see? Porn?”
“Volumes of it,” he said, in that same serious voice. “As much porn as I can get. The Little Spindle Library’s collection is small but thoughtfully curated.”
Gracie snorted, and Eli’s mouth tugged up a little.