Mud Girl by Alison Acheson Page B

GO!!
    They drive all the way into the city, where different smells rise from the summer pavement, where there’s a pulse.
    â€œLet’s go to the ice cream place at the beach,” Jude says, tapping the steering wheel in time with the music.
    They drive, looking for a place to park. The beach is covered with people. There’s the springy thwacks of tennis balls in the courts, and a guitar picks out a tune – she can hear it through thin strains of radio. Jude takes her hand as they walk slowly between the strolling and wheeling people. He walks ahead of her as they thread through to the food stand, and she follows, their arms stretched.
    â€œDoes the vanilla have the little black specks?” she asks the boy behind the counter.
    â€œBlack specks?” Jude raises a brow.
    But the boy knows what she means. He grins. “You mean, is it
real
vanilla! Yes, it is.” He gives her an extra scoop.
    Jude orders black cherry gelato, whatever that is.
    On the other side of the food stand, there’s a grassy hill. The benches are full, but there is a big tree, too broad to wrap your arms around, with thick roots bunching into the ground. “Let’s sit there.” Abi leads the way, sits on the ground, back to the trunk, elbow resting on a root. There’s enough room for Jude beside her. It’s comfy; the shape of the tree, andthe late afternoon sun. Jude stands over her, gives the tree a quick look, then shades his eyes to see farther down the beach.
    â€œI told some friends I’d be here,” he says, and starts off. She feels suddenly foolish in her tree roots and moves quickly to stand. The T -shirt snags on rough bark, and she tugs at it, hears the fabric open. Jude is halfway down the beach. She hurries after him. “I thought you wanted to be alone,” she says, as she reaches him.
    He flashes that smile, that brilliant, beautiful smile. “I want my friends to meet you.”
    She reminds herself not to skip.
    There’s a group playing volleyball, who look as if they’ve been here all day. Girls in tankinis, surf shorts; boys with bare chests, red cresting their shoulders.
    â€œJude!” Two of the girls cry out. “Man – where you been?” says a boy with a bleached flat-top. “We been waiting for you!”
    Jude wraps an arm around Abi. “You know how it is,” he says.
    The volleyball boy looks at her as if he hasn’t noticed her before. And he probably hasn’t. “Oh, yeah. How it is,” he repeats, and smirks at her. The two girls come closer, look at Abi carefully, unsmiling. Another girl nears too, but she’s staring at Jude, and a puppy wriggles under her arm. She’s notletting him go, though, no matter how much he wriggles. “Where’s the Dyl-boy?” is her question.
    â€œWith Grandma,” says Jude shortly.
    â€œI brought Mortimer here to play with him,” the girl goes on. She’s the only one of the group not in a bathing suit. Rather, she’s wearing an old sweatshirt, with the sleeves cut off in deep circles, and a piece of Indian fabric tied around her round hips. Her legs are sturdy. The puppy fits easily in her hands. She turns her eyes on Abi. The girl’s eyes are round too, and big.
    A feeling comes over Abi, a feeling she wants to put words to:
No matter where this girl lives, you feel at home there. If you’re a friend.
    But the girl says nothing to Abi.
    â€œYou’re on,” says the flat-top boy, throwing the volleyball to Jude. And that’s it: Jude’s out in the sand, and it’s just Abi and…
    When they’re standing alone, the girl holds out her hand. “I’m Amanda.”
    â€œAmanda,” Abi says. “I was just thinking of you as Mortimer’s Mum-person. Now I don’t have to.”
    Amanda laughs, a loud, wonderful laugh. “You’re all right!” she says. “So what are you doing hanging