Goodbye, Rebel Blue Hardcover by Shelley Coriell

turtles.
    I rub at my temples and wonder how I’m going to get the money for the next item on Kennedy Green’s bucket list: Start my own 501(c)(3) charity.
    As I thumb through the papers and read about bylaws, boards of directors, tax ID numbers, and IRS guidelines, I realize Kennedy Green is more annoying dead than alive.
    On the floor below, someone shrieks, and then something clanks and crashes. It’s probably one of Aunt Evelyn’s ceramic roosters. Uncle Bob and Aunt Evelyn drove to San Diego for the night because Aunt Evelyn has an early-morning open house there tomorrow. It’s Saturday night, and Pen and the Cupcakes are having a party.
    I read about mission statements and visions, but the words shimmy and shake in time with the music. Tiberius, the next-door neighbor’s rat terrier, starts to bark.
    I pull the plugs from my ears because I’m not going to be able to get anything done tonight. And, honestly, I’ve had enough of Kennedy’s bucket list today. The latest stumbling block: School administration threw a fit when I brought the Red Rocket trees to school this morning. Apparently I hadn’t acquired them through an approved vendor, nor did I fill out the proper paperwork for “supply acquisition.”
    “I just want to do something good,” I told the principal.
    Percy stepped in and said he’d take care of the paperwork. On Monday I plan to give Percy one of Macey’s pies. Yoo-hoo, Bronson, another friend.
    Downstairs in the land of Cupcakes, I duck past a boisterous group playing Twister and weave through another half dozen of Penelope’s friends lounging in the kitchen eating pizza and jelly beans.
    I stop at the counter and grab a piece of pizza. After downing it, I dig through the jelly beans, picking out the black ones. No one says a word. With jelly beans in hand, I walk out the back door onto the porch.
    Tiberius pokes his head through a new hole under the fence. His ears tilt forward, and his crooked teeth flash in his version of a smile. I hop over the porch railing and toss him the jelly beans. He lunges, snapping up the sugary treats with gnashing teeth.
    Then I follow the sound of waves.
    Tonight bonfires dot the beach. Tongues of flames lick the inky sky, and in the back of my head a new design takes shape, a mosaic with elongated bits of amber and yellow sea glass, maybe on a black frame. I stroll along the boardwalk, past the sand, past the people. At the back of the grassy dunes a lone man reclines on a piece of cardboard. He smells of ripe sweat and rich earth. With his matted hair and scarecrow arms, he’s probably homeless, but he must find solace in this place of shifting sea. He rocks back and forth to the music of the ocean.
    I pick my way past the tide pools and climb toward the outcrop of rocks. I try not to picture Nate putting his arm around me and pointing out the dolphins. I try not to remember falling through the air and landing in his arms. I try not to feel the brush of his breath on my skin. Slipping through the craggy rocks, I search the sea. Maybe I’ll see dolphins or whales or glow-in-the-dark algae, because now would be a good time to stop obsessing about Nate. As I near the point, one of the boulders shifts.
    It’s not a rock but a person. In profile I make out neat hair, a square chin, and chiseled nose. And if the moon were brighter, I’d spot two curving dimples.
    It’s fate.
    I spin and tiptoe back across the rocks.
    “Got another pod of dolphins out there,” Nate calls.
    I run the toe of my flip-flop along a pile of rocks. I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But why? So we breathed together. So he makes me jump and leaves me off balance. I can’t deny that, but I also know that boys like Nate prefer to breathe with girls from the herd.
    I join Nate on the cliff and take a seat on a smooth rock. Squinting, I spot dorsal fins. It’s hard to tell in the blue-black sea of rolling velvet, but there are six, maybe seven. I pull my knees to my chest,