May 28, 2018

When I tell people online that I'm in a yacht club, an image of wealthy socialites partying aboard a luxury yacht somewhere on the ocean starts to form in their mind, which always confused me when I was younger. The yacht club that I grew up with was a largely middle class organization, with the possible exception of the Sterling-Staffords, and our parties never quite matched landlubbers' expectations. Of course, that didn't mean that the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club didn't know how to have a good time.

Memorial Day was the official start of the sailing season; therefore, it was a good excuse for the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club to throw a party. The first party of the year was traditionally at the commodore's house, and since my dad was the commodore for the 2018 sailing season, our family was hosting the party. After some debate with Mr. Stafford, the vice commodore, and Mrs. Holloway, the secretary, Dad decided to host a Memorial Day cookout, complete with hot dogs and hamburgers fresh off of the grill.

Mom, Dad, Everett, and I spent most of the morning setting up for the party, while the rest of the yacht club was still asleep or downtown watching the Memorial Day Parade. Mrs. Holloway and her seven year old daughter showed up to help after we had already finished setting up the tables and chairs in our yard, and once we had set up coolers for drinks and Dad, Mom, and Mrs. Holloway had started grilling, the other members of the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club had started to arrive.

"Everett, Sylvie, why don't you two go greet our guests?" Mom said.

"Okay," I said, knowing that I wouldn't get much help from Everett. He had found a chair and a bowl of tortilla chips to munch on, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to get him to budge from that spot, no matter how hard I tried. I stood in the middle of the yard, trying to keep an eye on both the driveway and the pier at the same time.

A familiar motorboat approached the shore, and I ran after it. Grandma helped Grandpa out of the boat, and with the help of his cane, he walked towards the party. "Hi Grandma and Grandpa," I said.

Grandpa smiled and said, "Sylvie! It's good to see you again."

"How are things going?" Grandma asked.

"I'm doing fine," I said.

"How's school going?" Grandma asked.

"It's almost over, thankfully," I said.

"I just can't believe that your father's the commodore now," Grandpa said. "Sylvie, did you know that your great-grandfather was the very first commodore of this yacht club?"

"I did," I said. Grandpa had told me this same story a million times.

"Someday, you'll be the commodore too," Grandpa said. "It's a family tradition to be a leader in the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club, and I know that you'll carry that tradition onwards."

"I will, Grandpa," I said. However, my conversation with my grandparents was interrupted when the Reinharts' car appeared in our driveway. "I'll talk to you two later," I said. "Mom and Dad told Everett and I to greet everyone that arrived, and I know that Everett's not going to do it."

Grandma laughed, and I headed to the other side of the yard to say hello to the Reinharts. Eden, of course, immediately volunteered to help me greet the guests as an excuse to get away from her parents and Kelsey, and the two of us cheerfully told the Kaufmans, the Falconeris, the Graves, and the Vegas where to get food and to enjoy the party.

After about fifteen minutes of welcoming yacht club members to our party, Eden and I thought that we were done. I grabbed an orange soda from the cooler, and the two of us found an empty table. "What's new?" Eden asked me.

"Eden, you saw me three days ago," I said. "Nothing has happened in three days."

"That's disappointing," Eden said. "I know that things will get more interesting once sailing season starts."

"Me too," I said.

"Have you found someone to crew for you for the Junior Regatta yet?" Eden asked.

"No," I said.

"That's too bad," Eden said. "I wish I could be on two boats at once, honestly."

"It's okay," I said. "I'll find someone eventually."

"I know you will, although if we're going to be honest, we should have won last year," Eden said. "We were pretty close."

"Let's not obsess over the past," I said.

"Fine," Eden said as she glanced towards the house next door. Over the last several days, our new neighbors had been moving in, although I had never properly met any of them. "What are your new neighbors like?" Eden asked.

"I haven't really met them," I said.

"That's too bad," Eden said. "I thought that your dad asked them about joining the yacht club though."

"He did," I said. "Apparently none of them know how to sail."

"Who moves to Clearwater Lake and doesn't know how to sail?" Eden asked.

"My grandparents don't sail," I said.

"That's different," Eden said. "Your grandpa sailed for a long time, and your grandma judges the races. Nobody moves to Clearwater Lake without any interest in sailing whatsoever. Where are they from anyways?"

"Paris," I answered.

"Wait, really?" Eden said. "Is there a sexy sixteen year old French boy living there?"

"Actually, there's a girl around our age living there," I said.

"Even better," Eden said with a wink. "Is she sexy?"

"I have no idea what she looks like," I said. "I just know that her name is Véronique, and she's from Paris. Stop making assumptions about someone that neither of us has met."

All of a sudden, another motorboat pulled up to our pier. I set my orange soda down and saw that it was the Sterling-Staffords, late to the party as usual. Eden and I both got up from our seats to greet Mr. Stafford, Mrs. Sterling, and Quentin.

"Hi everyone," I said. "Sit anywhere you'd like, and hot dogs, hamburgers, and pasta salad are being served at the table next to the house. Drinks are in the coolers. Enjoy the..."

"Where are you sitting, Sylvie?" Quentin interrupted.

Eden answered the question for me. "We're at the table under the tree," she said. "We thought that it would be nice to get some shade."

"Great, I'll join you there," Quentin said as he headed straight for our table. I stayed behind for a moment and gave Eden an angry glance.

"Sylvie, he's not that bad," Eden said.

I shook my head, and Eden and I returned to our table. Quentin had unfortunately taken the seat next to mine, while his parents found two seats next to the Dawsons. "So, how have you two been?" Quentin asked as he took a root beer from the cooler.

"Fine," I mumbled as I took another sip of my orange soda.

"I know that I tried to ask you out last Wednesday," Quentin said. "Have you given that offer any more thought?"

I didn't quite know what to say. "I'm still not sure," I said.

"You and Eden aren't doing anything tonight, are you?" Quentin said.

"No, we're not," I said, hoping that Eden would spontaneously offer to watch more Pixar movies after the yacht club party. I couldn't give Quentin an honest excuse this time.

"Do you want to head to Culver's then?" Quentin asked. When I didn't respond right away, he suggested, "We could go downtown and eat somewhere nicer, if that's more your style. It seemed like you had a good time at prom - what happened?"

"I'm not interested in you," I blurted out.

"Oh," Quentin said sadly. "Okay. I understand, Sylvie."

"Don't take it personally," I said.

"Sylvie's just picky with guys," Eden said. "That's all."

"I'll just leave you two alone," Quentin said as he slinked back to his parents' table.

As soon as Quentin was gone, Eden and I finished off our drinks and went up to the food table. After both of us had filled our plates, we returned to our table and ate. The food was delicious, as usual, and as we were finishing up, Brooke Falconeri stopped by our table.

"Hey Eden. Hey Sylvie," Brooke said. "This is a pretty great party, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Eden said. "Sylvie's family always does a nice job hosting these."

"Thanks, Eden," I said. Normally, I liked having Brooke around, but now that Eden was crewing for her, I couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous.

"When's the next Girl Scout meeting?" Brooke asked. "My mom wants to know."

"I think my mom was talking about having one next Wednesday," I said, knowing that no matter when we decided to have the Girl Scout meeting, we probably wouldn't get anything done. Eden, Brooke, and I had been the only three girls in Troop 642 since kindergarten, and at this point, it was more of a social organization than anything else.

"Cool," Brooke said. "Are we doing anything exciting?"

"We'll probably just eat ice cream and chat, with my mom making some sort of desperate attempt to be involved," I said.

"If that doesn't sound like a Troop 642 meeting, then I don't know what does," Eden said with a smile.

As if on cue, Mom showed up. "Hi girls," she said. "Do any of you want some cake? We're just starting to slice it up."

"Yes!" all of us exclaimed in unison, and Brooke, Eden, and I rushed up to the food table to get our cake.

As we ate our cake, Eden decided to bring up Quentin Sterling-Stafford again. "Sylvie rejected him earlier today," she mentioned as I rolled my eyes.

"Really?" Brooke said. "Why?"

"I'm not into him," I grumbled. "Can we please talk about anything else?"

Neither Eden nor Brooke had enough time to propose another topic of conversation. Dad stood up and yelled, "Hey yacht club!" and the whole yacht club went silent. It was the commodore's turn to speak. "Happy Memorial Day and welcome to another new season with the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club!" Dad said, smiling. "Unfortunately, I don't have race results to announce, but we do have races going on next weekend - please check out the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club website, designed by our own Theo Reinhart, for the full schedule. I would like to point out that the deadline for signing up for the yacht club for the 2018 season is in a week and a half, so if any of you know someone who might like to sign up, please let them know. We are also accepting new members of the judging committee, especially for the Junior League races. Does anyone have a birthday coming up?"

When a few yacht club members raised their hands, we sang "Happy Birthday" to them. Then, Dad continued his speech. "I would also like to mention that we have revitalized our initiative to end pollution in Clearwater Lake. If you don't already know, it is called Keep Clearwater Clear, and you can find more information on our website, also designed by Theo Reinhart, called keepclearwaterclear.org. We have a lake cleanup tomorrow at 3:30 PM, and I invite all of you to attend. For those of you who are coming, we will meet here at my house and split up from there to clean up garbage dumped in the lake and on our shores. If you take any pictures there, please share them on social media with the hashtag #keepclearwaterclear. It's very important that we spread the word about Keep Clearwater Clear to everyone living on the lake and in the surrounding area.

"In addition to the lake cleanup, Keep Clearwater Clear is trying to stop local businesses from dumping industrial waste into the lake. Most of them are complying with the Wisconsin EPA's regulations, but right now, Pigglyville Toys, Inc. is the main contributor to pollution in Clearwater Lake. Keep Clearwater Clear has sent them a rather strongly worded letter about the dangerous chemicals that they are dumping into our lake..."

"And as a senior executive at Pigglyville Toys, Inc., I can confirm that we have received that letter," Mr. Stafford interrupted. "We plan to take action to reduce our impact on Clearwater Lake's water quality, but until then, there's no need to panic. Clearwater Lake is fine, and I find it quite disrespectful that our commodore is promoting his own interests during his speech."

"I only meant to remind the yacht club about tomorrow's lake cleanup," Dad said quietly. "Pollution in Clearwater Lake affects all of us. Anyways, thank you all for coming, and have a great season!"

The entire yacht club went back to their conversations, but after Dad's speech, guests slowly began to finish up their cake and leave. The party was dying down, as it almost always did after the commodore spoke. Before long, even Eden and Brooke needed to leave. I said goodbye to them, and when everyone except for the Holloways, the Sterling-Staffords, and my immediate family was gone, we started to put chairs, tables, and extra food and drinks away.

My dad and Mr. Stafford refused to speak as they cleaned up, while Quentin and I both avoided each other. As Mrs. Holloway's daughter and I put leftover chips away, I thought of Dad's speech again. Keep Clearwater Clear had always been an uncontroversial organization, but it had also been an ineffective one. As far as I could remember, Clearwater Lake had never quite lived up to its name. Perhaps it had when my great-grandparents arrived here, but that was a long time ago. Nevertheless, I didn't know why Mr. Stafford thought that it was a good idea to complain. Didn't everyone want Clearwater Lake to be clean?

When the Sterling-Staffords and the Holloways returned to their respective homes, we finally got the chance to talk about the party. "Phil, you did a wonderful job today," Mom told Dad once we were inside. "You'll make a great commodore. Don't you think so too, kids?"

"Greg Stafford just had to ruin everything," Dad mumbled. "He made me look like a fool for bringing up Keep Clearwater Clear."

"He didn't ruin everything," Mom said. "I think most of the yacht club members know that the lake needs to be cleaned up, and that he was the the one who was acting in his own self-interest. We'll get a good turnout at the cleanup tomorrow. You'll see."

"I don't know about that," Phil said.

"Dad, you were awesome out there," I said as I quickly gave him a hug. "Don't let Mr. Stafford get you down."

"Thanks, Sylvie," Dad said.

"Yeah, I thought your speech was really good, Dad," Everett said.

Dad smiled, and for once, it was clear that the whole family agreed on one thing. Even if he had an uncooperative vice commodore, Dad would make an excellent commodore this season.