It’s not easy being Bean. Bean Donohue lives for her guitar, but her mom threw her out of the house during a snowstorm for singing. No way she’s going to get permission to go see The Grateful Dead at the Fillmore East.
Zak, her almost-boyfriend, will get drafted if he doesn’t get into art school, pot makes Bean paranoid, and her best friend can’t stop talking about sex. 1970’s not for wimps—but neither was 1885...or 1945. So why does Bean keep sliding backwards in time?
14+ due to adult situations
Although it was cooler than it had been upstairs, the night was still close, and the heat had made Bean slow and sleepy. I could wring out my hair like a dishrag, and it would dribble on the floor. The party swirled around her: ladies in rustling dresses of blue and yellow, gentlemen in evening jackets laughing together.
At the other end of the room was a cut crystal bowl, full of what looked like iced tea. Bean felt like she could dive into it. Standing in a circle around the punch bowl were a few more men in evening jackets.
How can you even think of wearing a jacket in this weather? She wandered over to the punch, which smelled wickedly alcoholic, like the bottle of rum Juuulia bought to make eggnog every Christmas. If she picked up one of the tiny glass cups next to the bowl and ladled punch into it, would it seem to those men in their stifling evening wear as if the glass were filling itself? That was kind of amusing, actually, but probably not a great idea. Besides, the stuff smelled like it would make you more thirsty, not less.
Maple leaves outside rustled again in the breeze, and the breeze offered no relief. She thought about Zak, and wondered if she’d be too miserable and sweaty to hug him right then, if he were with her. Which, of course, he was not. She thought about her room at home, her all-year Christmas lights, her guitar. She closed her eyes and tried to will herself back.
Outside, in the garden, Edwina laughed again. What a wonderful laugh she had! It sounded like it came straight from her belly, like she wasn’t afraid of being un-ladylike. Was she the one who had been crying on Bean’s last trip to this time and place? It certainly seemed like the same evening: the party, the Japanese lanterns, the night’s humid breeze...