Between Us and the Moon Read Online Free

explains the purpose of the silent meditation retreat that she and Gracie are going to at the end of the week. The retreat is to remind her to stay true to herself as long as she can “cut away all the excess noise of culture.”
    “Enjoy the tikka and your silence. Tell Gracie I love her,” I say.
    Gran offers me some extra money for the summer, though I say no. She doesn’t have enough to send to both Scarlett and me. I know she’ll send me more than she has for my birthday. I always tell her to spend her money on a plane ticket instead. By the time we hang up, I exhale and sit back into the seat. I do feel better. Even if it’s only for a little while, even I know Gran’s spell is only temporary.
    Because I am clearly a sick person, I step out to the front of the house and sit on the edge where the lawn and street meet. Sometimes, after Tucker goes out with some of the Pi Naries to the Pizza Palace, he comes over. I do work out here on the curb until I see his lanky frame at the end of the street. He sits down, and we talk. It’s that easy.
    In the fantasy version of my life, he comes to meet me for our tradition. He walks down the street in his familiar Converseand jeans. He has his hands in his pockets and takes those long familiar strides toward me.
    He sits down and looks over my coordinates.
    “They’ve been consistent for eleven months,” I say out loud to the fictional Tucker. “The optics on the Stargazer are hi-res, antiglare,” I add.
    “I knew you could do it, Sarah,” Fantasy Tucker tells me. “Did I mention I’m falling in love with you?”
    I blink away the fantasy to the empty street.
    Little moths flicker in circles in and out of the streetlight. He is not coming. He is never coming. He won’t buy the chips and I won’t hear the debate team gossip.
    A car zooms down the street and stops before the house. My head snaps up—Trish’s blue Fiat. Scarlett gets out and her ballet flats walk up the grass to me. Her pink jeans crop at the ankles and she wears a tiny gold anklet. She stops and sits down next to me. I stare out across the street to the Zuckermans’ front lawn.
    “Trish told me what happened. I called your cell, like, nine times.”
    “How long?” I ask, and my cheeks warm. I will not cry anymore. “How long did you know?” The strain from not crying sends a throb through my neck. I finally meet my sister’s blue eyes. Periwinkle, Gran always says.
    Her voice drops when she speaks and she picks at the grass, “I didn’t know. I wish I did.”
    I am not sure if I believe Scarlett. Trish had to know, and she tells Scarlett everything. Trish also knows everything about everyone in school, so why wouldn’t she know that her ownbrother was going to break up with me?
    “You need to brush it off,” Scarlett says.
    “Brush off my best friend and boyfriend breaking up with me?”
    “Yeah. You’ve gotta get a stronger backbone or people will walk all over you.”
    I stand, leaving my sister on the lawn. I am a few steps from the house but stop.
    “Don’t say anything,” I say without looking back at my sister. “Please.”

THREE

    OUT THE BACK WINDOW OF OUR STATION WAGON , the trees change from the maples and oaks on my street to twisting pitch pines. We’re getting closer to Cape Cod. The bark is so bleached it’s as though all the salt in the ocean has crept into the trunk and up to the leaves. In the way back are the suitcases as well as my state-of-the-art Stargazer 5020.
    I face front again.
    Scarlett would never notice the different types of trees. She is too busy staring at me. Her eyes are blue slits and her mouth purses—staring. The bun on top of her head is in a tighter coil than usual, making her neck seem extra long. Mom always says Scarlett has rose petals for lips. No one ever says this about me.
    “What?” I say.
    “Nothing,” she says but keeps her gaze fixed. I’m sure Scarlett is counting the moments until she leaves for Juilliard’s dance