Mary Anne

On the first Saturday in June, Sam dropped me off at Boston's Logan International Airport. I always have to laugh when I hear the name of our airport—Logan Bruno was the name of my first boyfriend. I haven't seen or heard from him in years, but whenever I fly out of Boston I think of him and the kid I used to be.

Because Sam couldn't cross security, we said our goodbyes at the baggage check. "I love you," I said. I wrapped my arms around him as far as they would go. Sam's big—not fat, just athletic—and I'm petite. It sounds corny, but inside his embrace is the best place I can imagine.

"Here." Sam handed me my iPod. "Don't forget this. I took it out of your backpack last night and added a new play list. Songs to remind you of us."

A tear came to my eye, and I knew I was going to lose it. "I'm going to miss you so much," I sobbed.

"I'm going to miss you, too. Like crazy. But there's no reason to cry. We'll still talk to each other, and you'll be too busy having fun with your friends to miss me. Just think of all the fun we'll have when we get back." Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I know. I just hate goodbyes." I stood on my toes to rest my head on Sam's shoulder. We stood like that for a minute, oblivious to the commotion around us. Finally, Sam broke our embrace. "You need to get going. Don't want to miss your flight."

"Right. I'll call you when we land in Chicago, and again in California." I picked up my carryon and put on my bravest smile. We kissed once more before I headed toward the security line.

I'd purposely scheduled my flight with a layover in Chicago so Kristy and I could fly into San José (the closest airport to Santa Cruz) together. I spent the two hour flight reading Memoirs of a Geisha. When we landed I discovered I wouldn't have to change terminals, so I got a vanilla latté and a muffin at the Starbucks kiosk on my way to our gate and sat down to wait for Kristy.

"Mary Anne!" I heard Kristy before I saw her. For such a small person, she sure has a large set of lungs. She was running toward me, hauling a backpack that one might take to scale Mount Everest. In one hand she carried a Starbucks cup, which I knew contained her standard black. In the other hand was a McDonald's bag. Kristy flung her food and the backpack to the floor and caught me in a huge one-armed hug.

I'm sure onlookers thought we were sisters reuniting after months spent apart. Kristy and I look enough alike that we could actually pass for sisters. We both have the same brown hair and eyes, the same petite physique (although I have a good three inches on Kristy). "It's so good to see a friendly face," Kristy said as we broke apart. Honestly, you'd think she'd just been released from prison. I knew things had been rough for her since her breakup with Cary, but I hadn't realized what a toll it had taken on her until now. On the surface she looked like the same old Kristy—jean shorts, solid red T-shirt, running shoes, brown hair cut into the chin-length bob she'd worn since our Freshman year of high school—but her eyes seemed sad.

"What's in the bag?" I asked.

"Egg McMuffin and a fruit and yogurt parfait. I didn't have time to eat."

"No, the other bag." I gestured to the enormous backpack.

"That's my stuff. Can you believe I fit everything I'll need for the summer into one bag? I didn't want to have to check anything."

"I hope they let you take it on the plane. What's in it?"

"Just a few shorts and T-shirts, running clothes, some flip flops and an extra pair of running shoes, my swimsuit, and some other stuff. Books, iPod, sunblock. And a dress. Just in case we go out." Kristy grimaced. She still hates getting dressed up.

"You stuffed a dress into a backpack? Only you, Kristy."

"It's the Tomboy dress from Title 9 Sports. The catalog copy actually says you can stuff it in the bottom of a bag."

I laughed. "I'm glad you decided to come, Kristy. I thought you weren't going to."

"Well, you know, it sure was tempting to go back to Stoneybrook and live in a house with four teenagers. But in the end I decided you and Dawn were right. If I'm going to get on with my life, I need a change of scenery. Maybe if I'm not around all the places that remind me of Cary, I'll get over him. Surfer boys, here I come!" She raised her coffee cup in the air for a toast.

"I'll drink to that," I said, raising my own cup.

"So you're up for meeting some surfer boys? That doesn't seem like your type, Mary Anne."

Uh oh. We were entering sensitive territory, here. "Really?" I asked casually. What is my type?"

"You know. Sensitive. Quiet. Emotional."

"Kristy, you just described Clay Aiken."

"You know what I mean. You've never been interested in that type. Most of the guys you've dated aren't exactly the athletic sort."

"Well maybe I'm tired of my type. Maybe I want someone strong and manly. What would you say to that?" Please don't let her see through me, I prayed.

"I'd say I'm the last person who should be dishing out the romantic advice," Kristy sighed. "I'm sure there are more than enough surfers to go around."

"Excuse me." A teenaged kid tapped me on the shoulder. "I hate to break up your little reunion, but we're boarding."

"Thanks," I said. I grabbed my bag and we got in line behind the kid.

Kristy and I spent the four hour flight to San José gossiping about people we knew from home and making plans for the summer. She decided she wanted to get to San Francisco to see a Giants game. "Maybe we can spend a couple of days there. I've always wanted to see Alcatraz."

"Alcatraz has a night tour that's supposed to be really great," I said. "And I wouldn't mind exploring the city. You know, Lombard Street holds the record for being the world's crookedest street." My friends make fun of me for my photographic memory when it comes to recalling information I've read in tour guides, but I can't help it. I think being so sheltered when I was younger gave me my love of cities and exploring new places.

"How do you think Dawn is doing?" Kristy asked. "She doesn't tell you very much about herself when she talks to you, does she?"

"I think Dawn is just one of those people who assumes she talks to you more than she does, so when she does actually call she leaves out all the important details because she assumes you already know them. Between my dad and Sharon, Jeff, and I, we've managed to figure out that she's not going back to school and is teaching Pilates classes. She got arrested last year for getting too close the the governor when she was protesting his environmental policies at a speech he was giving. That's pretty much the latest."

"Doesn't Dawn know that the Terminator is the last person you want to piss off? Mary Anne, you and your father married into Crazy."

"Yeah, but she's letting us stay with her this summer, so you can't go calling her that to her face. And Sharon and Jeff aren't crazy. Sure, Sharon's scatterbrained and Jeff's your typical frat boy, but that's normal. Dawn's the only one who's taken up residence in Crazy Town."

"Well, you know what they say. California's the land of fruits and nuts."

And pretty soon, we would be among them.