he called “girly books.” Her mother adored him. She made delicious jams and jellies from the fruits they picked. She dressed and grilled the fish they caught and brought home. When she could, she went with them in late autumn, during islander scalloping time. The three of them drove to Great Point in the winter to see all the seals, and the first “book” Keely wrote was about an orphaned seal adopted by a family just like hers.
Isabelle loved hanging out at Keely’s house because she could escape her noisy family, and Keely loved being at Isabelle’s house because she loved being around that noisy family. Plus, secretly, Keely had a crush on Sebastian.
Sebastian was two years older than Keely. She was ten, he was twelve. The end.
She hid her hopeless childish love from Isabelle, who had sharp edges when it came to her brother. Isabelle was constantly confiding to Keely about how Sebastian was so perfect she felt she could never measure up. She carried a massive inferiority complex on her slender shoulders. It didn’t help that half the girls in town, older and younger, sucked up to Isabelle, acting all sweetie pie–best friends only because they wanted to get into the Maxwell house and flirt with Sebastian.
That wasn’t the case with Keely. She had chosen Isabelle first, and knew they would always be best friends. She couldn’t even imagine life without Isabelle. And often, she felt as if she were a small but real part of the Maxwell family. When they went to the fair in the summer or a Theatre Workshop play in the winter or out in the Maxwells’ Rhodes 19 sailboat for a day at Tuckernuck, Keely was often invited along. They even kept a life jacket just for Keely hanging on the hook in their back hall. The fifth chair at the dining room table was called “Keely’s chair,” no matter who sat in it. Mr. Maxwell made Keely feel bigger, better, more worthy of simply being on the planet. Keely adored him, but she kept this to herself as much as she hid her infatuation with Sebastian. She was an only child, good at keeping her own confidences.
“My parents are boring,” Keely confessed one day when she and Isabelle were idly dangling on the complicated swing set in the Maxwells’ backyard. They were ten, too old to play on the swings, young enough to enjoy their joke: “hanging out.”
“You’re nuts!” Isabelle said. “I’d give anything to live your life. No big brother flicking my ear and forcing me to play catch. I could lie in my quiet room reading and reading.”
“Or writing and writing,” Keely said.
In fifth grade, they confessed to each other they wanted to become writers. They were already best friends, but this shared, slightly eccentric hope bonded the two girls like superglue. They spent long summer hours writing scenes and stories, reading and discussing them with each other. They’d phone constantly to suggest new plot ideas, to mention a cool new word (quixotic, ethereal) they’d learned. They planned their glamorous new lives. They’d have their novels published at the same time. They’d have apartments across from each other in New York. On the island, Isabelle would drive a Porsche convertible. Keely decided on a Mercedes SUV so she’d have room for all her children.
But they weren’t snobs or freaks. They did stuff with the other girls. They went to all the home football games, to slumber parties, and even the occasional day trip to the Cape with friends to shop and eat at the mall.
Still, they treasured their secret ambition. They felt like superheroes, masquerading as silly girls secretly aiming for the stars.
* * *
—
The summer the girls were ten, the Maxwells went off on their European “jaunt”—as Mrs. Maxwell called it. One afternoon in the middle of August, they returned. As always, even before she unpacked, Isabelle phoned Keely. “I’m home!” Then she biked to Keely’s house as fast as her legs would pedal.
Keely was out on the lawn, waiting, jumping up and down with excitement. The girls screamed with joy when they saw each other. Keely and Isabelle hugged and whirled around and fell down on the soft green grass, laughing like hyenas.
“I missed you so much,” Isabelle cried.
“I missed you more,” Keely insisted. “You have to tell me everything.”
Keely’s mother came out of the house. “Isabelle. Let me look at you. Oh, honey, I think you’re two inches taller.”