Everything Changes-The Summer I Turned Pretty

Twenty

I didn't really know what to get Belly for her birthday. Because we hadn't hung out one on one all summer, it was hard for me to tell what she was interested in, what she wanted.

Mom and I went to the store a couple days before and she helped me choose a lip gloss, nail polish, and pack of hair clips that she thought would suit Belly. Then I made her a card like I've done every year.

For the first time in what seemed all summer, Belly woke up before me. I'm the only one in our room when I wake up. I throw off the comforter and wait for my sleep fog to clear, and then immediately I remember what day it is. Belly's sixteen. She'll be a different age than me for the next six months. I always hated that half the summer her age was different than mine because it made me feel so much younger than everyone.

I especially hate that thought this year.

"It's fine," I think to myself, forcing myself not to groan and get anxious. Belly's been more mature the past few weeks, less rude to me. It's fine.

Judging from the time on my phone, I assume that I'm the last to be awake. I throw on a pair of joggers and a purple shirt, grab Belly's birthday gift, and then my phone chimes to confirm my suspicions. It's Jeremiah texting me that breakfast is ready.

Belly's birthday breakfasts are always one of the best. That's when we have the cake, with sides of strawberries, Sour Patch Kids, and Cheetos – her favorite snacks. It's only as I've gotten older that I realize how unhealthy and almost gross that combination of food sounds, but it's tradition. And that's exactly what's on the table this morning, just like it's been since Belly was old enough to chew.

"Good morning, Kristin," Mom says, kissing the top of my head.

"Morning." My voice sounds rugged, like I obviously just rolled out of bed. I clear my throat and wish Belly a happy birthday.

"Thanks," she smiles at me and looks down at her phone.

"Are you texting Cam?" Jeremiah asks, looking over her shoulder before sitting down.

Belly shakes her head. "I don't want him to feel like he has to get me something. I don't want it to...change things."

Jeremiah shrugs. I can tell he wants more to talk about. More "tea" as he calls it when it's just him and I having a conversation. "So, when are you gonna ask him to the deb ball?"

"Soon, probably."

Jeremiah nods. "'Kay," he says. He blinks and reaches toward the bag of Cheetos. "Can we dig in yet?"

"Not until we sing to Belly," Mom says. She looks to Laurel who starts the song. Everyone else joins in, but Conrad sings the quietest. He looks preoccupied. Exhausted. Almost sick.

After breakfast, we meet in the living room for presents. Belly opens her mom's and then Steven's – a sweater sent from Princeton. My mom gives her a pearl jewelry set that she says she got for her sixteenth birthday.

"Cherish it, like I did," Mom tells her.

I remember the first time I saw that set of pearls. I was young and I snuck into Mom and Dad's room. I wasn't allowed to play in Mom's jewelry box, but just one peek wouldn't hurt. And it didn't. But over the years, I'd occasionally open the box, slip the bracelet over my wrist, and hold the necklace around my neck. It went well with my hair and looked pretty when I was tan. I always wanted to wear them for real.

I asked her for my eighth grade graduation. My dress was a dark green that would've contrasted perfectly with the pearls. But Mom told me no, that they were something special that she received from my great grandparents many years ago. She said that she was afraid that something would happen to them.