“What are you talking about?” Sophie blurts out.
“Like I said,” Mo continues, “we didn’t want to tell you like this, but you’re family to us, and word has leaked out and we’re sure you’ll hear about it.”
“How is this even possible?” one of the girls asks. “I know we don’t get the crowds that Surf City does, but business seems like it’s been good.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Mickey says, clearing her throat. “A developer is going to build a new resort, and the bank sees this as a chance to make a lot of money. We’ve tried everything we can think of, but there’s really nothing we can do about it. We will, however, do everything we can to help you all find new jobs.”
We sit there in stunned silence for a moment, and an idea comes to me.
“What about Luigi’s Car Wash?” I say. “Luigi’s was able to stay open because it had been here so long. Doesn’t the same law protect us?”
They share a look and turn back to us.
“We thought the same thing,” Mo says. “We even got our lawyer to file paperwork with the city. But it turns out we opened four months too late to qualify.”
I can’t believe this would happen at the very moment I was happier than ever before. It’s like if one part of my life goes well, then another has to go off the rails. I look around the shop and suddenly years’ worth of memories start to flood through my mind. I can’t even begin to imagine what this is like for the two of them. They grew up here. They’ve spent their lives building a business here. And it’s going to become some ridiculous hotel.
“What can we do?” I ask.
“I’m glad you asked that,” Mickey says. “We know there’s a lot of sadness about this, but we don’t want our last memories of Surf Sisters to be sad. We want to have an incredible last summer. And you’re the key to that. We have accepted that this is going to happen, and we’re going to have fun. We want you to have fun too. If you can’t have fun at the beach during the summer, then you’re really doing something wrong.”
“And that fun starts tonight,” Mo says. “We’re closing a couple hours earlier than planned, and we’re going to set up beach chairs on the roof so we can watch the fireworks, just like we used to with Dad. You’re all invited.”
Suddenly I think about Ben, and I must make an expression, because Mo notices it.
“What is it, Izzy?”
It seems inappropriate to ask, but I don’t know what else to say. “I was just wondering if I could bring a date.”
For the first time all morning, there are smiles around the room.
“We would love it if you brought a date.”
In the world of parades, ours is on the homemade end of the spectrum. We don’t have giant balloons like the Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York, and our floats aren’t lush and intricate like those in the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day. Instead we’ve got some marching bands, people from different civic groups, old guys in antique cars, and about a dozen pickup trucks pulling flatbed trailers decorated with plastic fringe, chicken wire, and tissue paper. The grand finale is the high school drama teacher dressed as George Washington waving from the back of a fire truck with all its lights flashing. It is beyond corny, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Sophie, my mother, and I stake out a spot right at the corner where the route turns off Seagate and onto Ocean Ave. This is the halfway point of the parade as it makes its way from the high school parking lot to the bandshell, and because they have to slow down and wait at the turn, most of the bands play a full song here.
While we’re waiting for the parade to begin, we tell Mom about Surf Sisters, and she’s almost as bummed as we are. This funk hangs over us until we catch sight of Dad’s band coming our way. The Founding Fathers are playing some Dixieland jazz number, and what they lack in precision and synchronicity they more than make up for with enthusiasm and ridiculous costumes.
My dad plays trombone, and I swear he picked it because it’s the goofiest looking instrument. He exaggerates his marching when he sees us, and it’s impossible not to laugh at him. We all shout and wave, and he responds with a wink and a long, drawn out blast from the trombone.
“Has he always been like that?” I ask my mom.
“Always,” she says. “He did the exact same thing when I waved at him during this parade back when he was in the high school band and I was your age.”
Sophie and I laugh at this, but as I watch Mom watching him, I can tell she’s flashing back in time for an instant. She smiles and I notice her cheeks have the same blush that Ben described in mine. It dawns on me that there was a time when my mom felt exactly the same way about Dad that I feel about Ben. I wonder if she had as many questions as I do or if she was one of those girls who had all the answers.
Our next highlight is when Sophie’s little brother marches by with the Cub Scouts. Unlike my father, there’s nothing silly about him. He’s the pack’s flag bearer and takes his responsibility with full patriotic seriousness.
“Way to go Anthony!” shouts Sophie.
He looks over at us and gives us a very grown-up nod. We respond with wild applause and cheering, and he can’t help but break into a little smile.
Behind the scouts is a group of Shriners in miniaturized sports cars. The tassels from their fez hats flap in the wind behind them as they race by and make figure eights in the street.
Next up is my least favorite float. It’s sponsored by Surf City and features Bailey Kossoff, the reigning champion of the King of the Beach surf contest. He’s sitting on a throne next to a fake palm tree, wearing board shorts, a royal cape, and a king’s crown. I’ve got nothing against him. I think he’s an amazing surfer, but I could live without all the Surf City bimbos in their bikinis who surround him and wave to the crowd. Of course Kayla is one of the girls, and when my mother sees her, she says something completely unexpected.
“I know I’m a teacher and I’m not supposed to talk about a student,” she says. “But since this is summer vacation and it’s just us girls, let me tell you something. I cannot stand that girl.”
This is completely out of character for Mom. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say anything negative about a student in front of me.
“I’m serious,” she says. “Her mom was the same way when we were growing up. I tell you, the broom does not fall far from the witch tree.”
Sophie eats it up. “I’ve missed hanging out with you, Mrs. Lucas.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Sophie,” Mom says with a smile. “We should do this more often.”
I wonder if Mom made this unprecedented move because she has somehow become aware of my current situation. I don’t doubt that Kayla’s going to keep flirting with Ben, and my mother probably wants to give me a little boost. Before I can give it much thought though, we hear the sound of approaching snare drums.
“Here comes our girl!” Sophie says, pointing at the band.
Nicole may not always like the fact that she’s six feet tall, but it sure does help us pick her out of crowds.
“Check it out—she’s right next to Cody,” I say, noticing the lineup. “Maybe there’s something to be said for intervention-worthy stalking.”
Mom gives us a look but decides not to ask.
The band marches to the cadence from the drums until they come to a stop right in front of us. They are about to play a song, and since they’ve played the same six or seven songs at every football game we’ve ever attended, Sophie and I try to predict which one this will be.
“‘Hawaii Five-O,’” she guesses.
“‘A Little Less Conversation,’” I counter.
We only have to hear the first few notes before I’m flashing a broad smile and basking in the glow of victory. “Nailed it.”