Sarah Dessen - Keeping the Moon

Table of Contents

If You Come Softly Jacqueline Woodson
Lisa, Bright and Dark John Neufeld
Second Star to the Right Deborah Hautzig
Someone Like You Sarah Dessen
That Summer Sarah Dessen
A Time for Dancing Davida Wills Hurwin

I would like to acknowledge Janet Marks
and the Hensley family for their unwavering presence
and support, and Phil and Vicki Campbell for my years at
the Flying Burritothe inspiration for this story and
countless others. Thank you.

My name is Nicole Sparks. Welcome to the first day of the worst summer of my life.

Colie, my mother said with a sigh as she walked down the train platform toward me. She was in one of her FlyKiki workout suits, purple this time; she looked like a shiny grape. Her assistant, standing by the station door, took a not-so-subtle look at her watch. Will you please try not to look so tortured?

I fake-smiled at her, crossing my arms more tightly over my chest.

Oh, thats even worse, she said. Another sigh. With your hair that color and that thing in your lip you look terrible even when youre smiling. She came closer, her sneakers making squeaky mouse noises on the concrete. Like everything else, they were brand-new. Honey, you know this is for the best. You couldnt stay by yourself at the house all summer. Youd be lonely.

I have friends, Mom, I said.

She cocked her head to the side, as if she doubted this. Oh, honey, she said again. Its for the best.

The best for you, I thought. The thing about my mother is that she always has good intentions. But thats as far as she usually gets.

Kiki, said the assistant, whose name I hadnt even bothered to learn because shed be gone by the time I got back, fired before they even reached the airport, probably, weve got to go if we want to make that flight.

All right, all right. My mother put her hands on her hipsthe classic Kiki Sparks aerobic stanceand looked me up and down. Youll keep up your workouts, right? It would be a shame to gain all that weight back.

Yes.

And youll eat healthyI told you Im sending along the complete Kiki lineso youll have your foods with you at Miras.

You told me.

She let her hands drop to her sides, and in that one brief moment I saw my mother again. Not Kiki Sparks, fitness guru and personal trainer of the masses. Not the talk show Kiki, the infomercial Kiki, the Kiki that smiled out from a million weight-loss products worldwide. Just my mom.

But now the train was coming.

Oh, Colie, she said, and she pulled me close, burying her face in the jet-black hair that had almost made her have a total breakdown when I came to breakfast that morning. Please dont be mad at me. Okay?

I hugged her back, even though Id told myself I wouldnt. Id pictured myself stony and silent as the train pulled out of the station, my angry face the last image shed take with her on her European Summer FlyKiki Fitness Tour. But I was the opposite of my mother, in more than just the fact that I always had bad intentions. And that was as far as I got.

I love you, she whispered as we walked toward the train.

Then take me with you, I thought, but she was already pulling back, wiping her eyes, and I knew if I said it the words would fall between us and just lie there, causing more trouble than they were worth.

I love you too, I said. When I got to my seat I looked out the window and found her standing by the station door, her assistant still fidgeting beside her. She waved, in all that purple, and I waved back, even as the lump formed hard and throbbing in the back of my throat. Then I put on my headphones, turned up my music as loud as I could, and closed my eyes as the train slipped away.

It hadnt always been like this.

In my first real memory, at five, I am wearing white mary janes and sitting in the front seat of our old Volar station wagon in front of a 7-Eleven. It is really, really hot, and my mother is walking toward me carrying two Big Gulps, a bag of Fritos, and a box of Twinkies. Shes wearing cowboy boots, red ones, and a short skirt, even though this is during what we call the Fat Years. Being obeseshe topped out, at her worst, at about 325 poundsnever stopped my mother from following fads.

She opens the car door and tosses in the loot, the bag of Fritos banking off my leg and onto the floor.

Scoot over, she says, settling her large form in beside me. Weve still got half a day till Texas.

The rest of my early memories are all of highway, coming toward me from different landscapes: flat, dry desert; thick Carolina pines; windy coastal roads framed by dunes. Only a few things stayed the same. My mother and I were both fat. It was usually not too far to the next place. And we were always together, us against the world.

The last of our stops was Charlotte, North Carolina, three years ago. Its the longest Ive ever stayed in any one school. Its also where my mother became Kiki Sparks.

Before, she was just Katharine, college dropout and master of a million small talents: shed pumped gas, peddled cemetery plots over the phone, sold Mary Kay cosmetics, even arranged appointments at an escort service. Anything to keep us in food and gas money until she started itching to travel again. But after a few days in Charlotte she applied for a job at a dry cleaners which she didnt get and, in a fit of frustration, accidentally rear-ended a Cadillac in the parking lot. Since we were flat broke, she talked the owner of the car, who ran a gym called Lady Fitness, into letting her work off the cost of the repairs. She started by cleaning the machines and answering phones, but after a few weeks the woman liked her so much she gave her a full-time job and a free membership. A week earlier wed been back to ketchup soup and ramen noodles, sleeping in the back of the car; now, we had a steady income and a decent apartment. Back in the Fat Years, things always seemed to work out at the last minute.