Page 77 of The End of Summer

“I think you’re better off looking into an after-school position. Something where you can make a difference. What are your hobbies, Gretchen?”

I ponder this. “Um. Dancing, I guess.” Yes, I realize that thestyleof dancing I participate in would not exactly qualify under “transferable skills,” but it’s not a lie, and it’s the only thing I can think of at the moment.

“You have any formal training for it?” she asks.

“I guess,” I say, stretching the truth. “Nothing that I’d put on a resumé, though.”

“That’s okay,” Jane says. “If you’re enthusiastic and can create a simple curriculum for a dance club, you’d be able to prove that you can be a resource both in and out of the classroom. So I would sooner advise that you go that route. You’ll have more of an impact that way, and honestly, you’ll make more money too, because it’s consistent work.”

“Okay,” I nod. I jot downdance clubon my notepad.

“I’d check out the websites of schools in the area. Many of them have postings up for the fall already. Even if it’s not specific to dance, you could help with homework, lead arts and crafts, play games, things like that. I’m sure you’d have no trouble finding an after-school gig.”

“Got it,” I reply. “Thank you.”After school,I scribble.

“Obviously, you should look at Eastport first, just for convenience and ease. But if they don’t have anything, you can expand to Wellingham, Truro, Orleans, wherever else is close by. Just don’t build yourself too much of a commute because anafter-school program is going to need you pretty close to the time that school ends. I know this sounds like it should be pretty straightforward, but you have no idea how many students I’ve worked with who don’t realize some of the basic mechanics of time management.” She laughs.

“No, I get it,” I assure her. “I appreciate the idea. It sounds like more fun than subbing anyway.”

“Yes, and even more importantly, you’ll make a name for yourself in a local school, which will lead to a higher likelihood of that school considering you for employment once you’re certified.”

“Exactly.”

Jane taps her pen against her lower lip. “I’m trying to think. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“I don’t think so. Eastport will contact me?”

“Yes, via e-mail, late August, with directions for drug testing and fingerprinting.”

“I think that’s all, then.”

“Okay. Then make sure you keep me posted on the job search for an after-school position. I’ll keep an ear to the ground as well and let you know if I hear of anything.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Jane sighs. “I love this part of advisory. It’s so rewarding to watch students when they’re right at the brink like this. Like, you’re so close to your goal that you can taste it.”

“It’s definitely exhilarating. I can’t wait for September.”

“Me too. Anyway, you know where to find me if you need anything in the meantime. Hope you enjoy the rest of your summer, Gretchen.”

“Thank you! You too.”

Shegrins, nods, and with the click of a mouse, she disappears.

I spend the next hour diving down an internet rabbit hole, searching for after-school positions and making lists of sites to return to. My resumé is updated from when I went to the Hyannis Career Center, but now I want to consciously include more child-friendly stuff as well as references. I babysat for a set of twins two summers ago, and the mom, Mrs. Girardi, always said I could list her as a reference if I needed to. So, I dig through my phone and find her number. My brain continues to spiral in this way until I realize I’m late for prepping the Jell-O shots for the party tonight, so I need to get myself together and head up to Cosmo.

I call Brady on the way up Route 6 just to say hi. He’s on his way down to the Cape Cod Mall to buy a new pair of shoes for his upcoming interview. I like that we’re both preparing for the future. It’s nice, feeling like we’re about to take a big step forward into a much more adult life together.

I consider the fact that Brady could be my forever-person, and it makes me feel warm inside. I slip into a daydream for the rest of the ride to Cosmo. I picture him proposing to me on a beach somewhere. I imagine my father walking me down the aisle at a sweet backyard wedding at my grandparents’ house in Provincetown where the romantic camellia vines have been growing wild for years. I picture the end of the aisle, Dad lifting my veil and looking at me with happy tears in his eyes. “I trust you, son,” he says to Brady. “I know you’ll take care of my little girl.”

When I get to Cosmo, my daydream is put on the back burner upon the realization that I’m out of Jell-O. I’ve got plenty of alcohol, but sadly, one cannot make Jell-O shots without the Jell-O. I climb back into my Fiesta and begin the sojourn back down 6 to the Stop and Shop in Orleans. It’s as I’m approaching the Orleans Rotary that a man on a bicycle pops out onto the road at Log Cabin Farm. I swerve to the left to avoid hitting him, and then I overcorrect back to the right, which is how I end up slamming into the curb with my front tire.

Which pops. Of course.

I hear a noise, but I assume it’s the sound of the collision with the curb. I’m able to keep driving, so I don’t realize the tire is rapidly deflating until about 30 seconds later, when my pulse (which is already pounding from the scare of the biker) shoots through the roof as my car begins to wobble.The rotary’s too big, I realize, and decide instead to pull off into the grassy area on my left directly opposite Wild Care, the wildlife rehabilitation center. I get out of the car and walk around the front to the passenger side.Yup.That tire’s shot.

I have a donut, but it’s very old and lives underneath the carpet in the hatchback of my car. Also, if we’re being real, I don’t know how to change a tire. I don’t even know if the donut is any good. What Idoknow is that if I call my father, his first question will beWhere were you going at 3:00 p.m. all the way out this way?According to him, I should be at work from 3-11 at the Diamond Excelsior on a Wednesday, not stuck at the Orleans Rotary wearing a pair of leopard print booty shorts and matching bra underneath a pair of loose overalls. Not that he has my “work schedule” stuck to the fridge. Never in my family.

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