For The Summer Page 2

  I spot the light on in my room at the end of the hall. She must have retreated for a moment away from the commotion taking place on the first floor. The loud voices, a mix of cheering and booing, and the sound of plastic cups tapping the table drift up the stairs. It’s getting real down there. I stop a few inches from the door. I can hear muffled voices coming from inside the room, and my hands are starting to sweat. A chill runs over my skin, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding in as I stand frozen on the hardwood, clutching my favorite pink pumps with a death grip. I lean closer, listening to the hushed words.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this here,” Oliver says. His voice is firm and quiet. A tone I’ve heard a thousand times before.

  “What the hell does it matter, Olly? We’ve done it everywhere else. She’s leaving tomorrow anyway.”

  I can hardly process what I’m hearing. The voices are clear. Oliver and Lexi are in my room, arguing over whether it’s an issue to have sex in my house. The sound of their lips meeting in what seems like sloppy kisses meets my ears and I feel bile rising inside my throat. I press my hand to my mouth and take slow deep breaths through my nose. Partly to force the sickness down and partly to stop the tears that are starting to well up. I tilt my head up, swallowing back the bile and wiping the corners of my eyes- the sound of kissing stops.

  “Why haven’t you ended things with her anyway?” Lexi asks and I hear Oliver moan quietly.

  “I figured when she left I could just text her and end it. Why do it to her face and have to deal with the tears and the drama if I can just avoid it and never see her again?”

  "What about California?" she presses.

  "She won't go if we aren't together."

  I take another deep breath and I hear my father’s voice in my mind. Advice he shouted at me when I was five and he spent an afternoon teaching me how to ride a bike. Brenner’s don’t cry, get the hell up and get back on that bike. The last part isn’t particularly helpful; I never actually learned how to ride a bike that day. He wasn't a patient person, and once both of my knees and palms were scraped and bloody, he gave up completely. But the harsh, clipped tone in my memory helps me fight back the tears. I bite down on my molars and reach into my pocket, opening the camera app on my phone. I gently nudge the door just enough to peek in. I'm not surprised to find Oliver laying on my air mattress, Lexi straddling his waist in jeans and a black lace bra, but I am disgusted. Sure, the air mattress is the only piece of furniture left in the room, if you can even call it furniture. The point is, I have to sleep there tonight- gross. As soon as they're in view, I silently snap a picture. Sure it's tacky and an overall low point for me, but hey, they're both eighteen, and we all had choices to make tonight. Oliver's was cheating on me. Lexi’s was sleeping with my boyfriend. And mine is hitting send on the massive group text that includes this photo.

  When I reach the bottom step, I slip my shoes back on and head into the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of Connor's doctored punch. I gulp the first cup down quickly; I knew this stuff would be lethal. The sherbert and carbonation work wonders to mask the vodka. Pouring myself another cup, I head into the dining room. As soon as I enter the room it’s clear almost everyone has checked their messages. Silence falls, and I'm met with pitied looks. A few cautious whispers spread through the crowd as everyone stares at me. Probably wondering what comes next. My father started a new family, my mother and I agreed to leave town in exchange for more money, and now everyone knows that my boyfriend and best friend are going at it upstairs. They're probably just waiting for me to fall apart. To lose control and break down or freak out. Instead, I down the rest of my punch and toss the empty cup on the floor. Like Mom said, this place isn't our problem anymore.

  "Anyone want to play flip cup?" I ask, walking up to one side of the table.

  Heather, a tall blonde I’ve known since Kindergarten, scurries out of the crowd toward me. She ducks her head toward my ear.

  “Kat, are you ok? This is a lot to take in,” she whispers. “Do you want to step outside? Get some fresh air and talk?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, flashing her my rehearsed smile. “Do you want to play?”

  “No, I’ll just watch,” she says, forcing a pained smile. Heather has always been sweet, the mother hen of my grade for as long as I can remember. Popular, athletic, and confident, but somehow none of it ever seems to go to her head. I’ve seen the girl give out gym clothes and spare sweaters as quickly as she’ll charge an extra lunch to her account, and always without a second thought or moment’s hesitation. If anyone else was standing six inches away from me right now staring at me with big green eyes full of pity and sympathy tears, I might actually punch them. Heather is the exception.

  “I’ll play,” a husky voice says from behind me. I look over my shoulder in time to see Connor shove his way through the growing group of onlookers. He brushes my shoulder as he walks past me, stopping on the other side of the table. He turns the three cups in front of him over, grabs a beer from the case on the floor, and cracks it open, filling each cup to the lowest line. Then he sits the open can aside and raises his eyes to mine.

  I stare back for a second before opening a can of beer and filling my cups. Instead of sitting my can on the table, I down the rest in one gulp. When I meet his gaze again, there’s a smirk on his face.

  “Let’s make this interesting, Kitty Kat,” Connor says. He rests his hands on either side of the table, his smirk growing.

  I know he’s drunk. He has to be with the way he was drinking vodka like water, but his words are smooth as the awful nickname slips from his tongue- no signs of confusion or a slur.

  “How?” I ask, my brow creasing involuntarily.

  “If I win you have to kiss me.”

  Murmurs fill the room, but the sound of my quickening pulse is the only thing I can hear. The thumping fills my ears entirely before it settles, and the sounds of the room slowly creep back in. My chest rises and falls heavily as I replay his words in my mind, wondering for a second time in as many minutes if Connor is drunk. I swallow my uncertainty, determined to come out of this party a legend, or at the very least, not a Green Hills cautionary tale for the incoming class.

  “What do I get if I win?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

  “Anything you want.” His smirk turns into a cocky smile and the muscles in his forearms flex up to the cuffs of his t-shirt.

  I can feel my mind lowering my carefully constructed walls, relaxing and telling me to let loose. I look down, spotting my favorite shoes. There’s no way I can lose wearing pink pumps. I realize the two cups of party punch must be kicking in, but even so, my logic is solid.

  “Alright. If you win I’ll kiss you. If I win… to be determined,” I say.

  “On three,” Connor says. “One, two, three.”

  I tell myself not to look up, to focus on the three cups in front of me. I chug the first, set the cup back on the edge of the table, and flip it onto its rim on the first try. The second cup takes me more tries, I lost count after five, but once that one is also flipped onto its rim I steal a peek across the table. Connor, like me, is down to his last cup, he flicks its edge and my chest relaxes when it lands on its side. I look back down at my own final cup resting on its side after a failed attempt. I line it back up on the edge of the table and flick the edge upward. When it lands on its rim I let out a loud “Woooo!”

  Connor chuckles and scrubs his face with his palm before crossing his arms at his chest.

  “Well, what’s it going to be, Kitty Kat?” he asks, eyeing me up from across the table.

  I open my mouth, ready to tell him all I want is for him to never call me that again, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Oliver and Lexi creeping down the stairs. Alcohol and a drinking game were a good enough distraction when they were out of sight. But now, with my eyes locked on their traitorous faces, betrayal and anger and jealousy bubble inside of me and I know exactly what I want. I want them to feel what I
feel.

  I turn my attention back to Connor. I’ve made up my mind. My patent pumps click on the hard floor as I walk around the table and I’m sure the expression on my face is closer to insanity than the lustful look I was going for. I grab his face, push up on my toes, and kiss him. It starts off as a peck but quickly turns into something else. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment, anger, and the million other confusing emotions tumbling around in my mind, or maybe it’s just the alcohol. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his as his thick arms circle my waist. My lips part, and his tongue darts in, caressing and exploring my mouth.

  My eyes widen in shock and confusion when I feel someone grab my arm and pull me away. I look over my shoulder and see Heather, a terrified look plastered on her face as she tugs me free with one last yank. A second later I see what’s happening. Oliver storms across the room leaving Lexi at the base of the stairs. He doesn’t falter or hesitate. As soon as he’s in range, he pulls his right arm back and his fist collides with Connor’s left cheek. Oliver throws two more frantic punches, landing one on the side of Connor’s head before being shoved away. Connor straightens his back, drawing attention to the couple of inches he has on Oliver. He touches his cheek briefly before looking over at me.

  “Are you ok?” he asks.

  “I’m fine.” I nod through wide eyes and heavy breaths.

  Oliver isn’t done. He puts his hands on Connor’s chest, shoving him with all of his strength.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” Oliver shouts. His face is red and his body is shaking with rage. “Hooking up with my girl!”

  Connor’s brow creases and he chuckles once. A dry, bored laugh.

  “Might want to check your phone, dude. She’s not your girl anymore.”

  Oliver reaches into his back pocket, swipes his screen, and just stares at it. The room is silent, aside from the nervous shuffling and restless movements filling the air. His eyes find mine and he stares at me for a while before he opens his mouth.

  “Don’t,” I warn, my words laced with venom.

  “Kat,” he breathes. My name is barely a whisper as it crosses his lips. He takes a step toward me. Our eyes are locked, exchanging messages of their own. His offer apologies, mine say goodbye.

  The front door opens and the sound of jingling keys fills the silent space. My mother looks up from her purse. Her eyes scan the mess and take in the hundred or so teenagers holding solo cups and beers. She sighs and drops her head low.

  “No one is driving. You all need to call cabs or one of those rideshare thingies you kids love to use,” she says in an even flat tone. “Preferably from the front lawn.”

  Once everyone has left and the door is locked, we head upstairs, leaving the mess for Jim’s realtor to deal with. I follow Mom into her room and flop down on her air mattress beside her. There is no way I’m sleeping on mine.

  “Did you have a good time?” she asks, brushing a strand of blonde hair off my forehead.

  “Oliver cheated on me,” I say plainly, staring up at the strands of moonlight stretching across the dark ceiling.

  “That happened to me once,” Mom says.

  I look over and see the smile on her face and can’t help but laugh. Then we’re both laughing hysterically and I can’t be sure which tears are happy and which are sad.

  There is no such thing as a good hangover, but some are worse than others. Being hungover for a nine-hour car ride is as bad as it gets. The sun. The moving. The music. And my very cheerful mother. I can’t blame her though; the life she loved came to an abrupt end two years ago. Since then she’s basically been in limbo, anxiously awaiting the day I finished high school so we could both move on. So, she woke me up at five o’clock this morning, practically brushed my teeth for me, and shoved me into the car, only stopping for gas and coffee before pulling onto the highway.

  To say my mother is excited to start the next chapter of her life would be a monstrous understatement. I get that and, honestly, after last night, I’m ready too. I guess all I needed was a push from the universe. That push was more of a shove in the form of my boyfriend and best friend hooking up in my childhood bedroom at my going away party. Then there’s the whole mess of confusion my kiss with Connor caused. I was sure Oliver’s friend was nothing more than a cocky jock with a potentially problematic love for booze. But the heat I felt when we kissed, the way he wrapped his arms around me, and the concern in his eyes after Oliver attacked him… That was concern for me. Those things have me rethinking everything, every look and conversation we’ve exchanged, was there always something there? Did I feel that way when Oliver and I kissed? I groan and drop my head into my hands at the thought. I’m supposed to be heading toward a fresh start, not dwelling on the past, and definitely not wondering if I should have spent the last three years wrapped in a different guy’s arms.

  “How are you doing over there?” Mom asks, stealing a sideways glance at me.

  “Please stop talking out loud,” I whisper in response.

  “That good, huh?”

  This time I just groan, resting my head against the passenger side door. I close my eyes, letting the car’s vibration lull me to sleep.

  ***

  I startle awake, sitting upright and looking out the windows frantically. The car is parked beside what appears to be a bright red barnyard. The parking lot is paved, and over a dozen other vehicles are scattered throughout the lot. A moment later, the driver’s side door opens, and my mom slides into the seat holding a brown paper bag.

  “Where are we?” I ask, my voice is dry and sleepy.

  “West Virginia. About halfway.” She unrolls the top of the bag and pulls out a wrapped sandwich and a Gatorade. “I thought you could use some electrolytes.”

  “From a barn?” I mumble, squinting at the building in front of us.

  “It’s a charming southern cafe.” Mom smirks.

  I stretch, noticing immediately that I feel a lot better than I did a few hours ago. Unscrewing the cap, I take a long sip of the cold blue liquid, quickly unwrap the sandwich and take a big bite.

  “Mmmm.” I sigh, chewing a huge bite of turkey and multigrain. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the sandwich was in my lap, and now I’m not sure if this is really the best thing I’ve ever eaten or if I was on the verge of starving.

  My mother’s laughter fills the car as I shove another corner of the sandwich into my mouth. I shield my obnoxious chewing with my hand.

  “What?” I ask. My question is muffled.

  “When your father and I were in college, anytime I would drink at a party I always made him drive me to the late-night taco place just off campus,” she says with a smile.

  “I thought he hated Mexican food?” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

  “He does.” Mom laughs. She looks up for a minute and swipes a tear from the corner of her eye.

  My forehead creases and I can’t help but hate him a little bit more if that’s even possible. I want to say something about how awful he is or how she’s better off without him. But I know that won’t help. She knows those things are true, but the memories are still there, and the feelings that go along with them don’t disappear just because you want them to. Instead, I reach over and place my hand on hers, resting my cheek on the headrest.

  “I like Mexican,” I whisper.

  Mom sniffles and nods her head for a few seconds. She takes a deep breath. “Four hours to go,” she says. Then she presses the button to start the car and turns the radio on.

  “Find us some tunes,” she says, pulling out of the parking lot.

  After scrolling through stations for twenty minutes, I give up and queue up my Bluetooth. I settle on the latest Taylor Swift album Mom and I are both a little bit obsessed with and set it to shuffle and replay. My notifications catch my eye. I have four unread messages, and I know I shouldn’t click on that little white envelope, but I do it anyway.

  Oliver: Can we talk?

  Oliver:
Please?

  I take a deep breath, deciding to ignore Oliver all together. I drop my phone into my bag on the floor. This album will have to get us through the next four and a half hours because I’m not touching my phone for the rest of the drive. Longer if I can help it. I’m not usually the type to ignore problems and brush things under the rug. Why bother? They always come back to bite you anyway. But putting a pin in drama, giving myself some time to breathe and process before addressing it- I’m perfectly ok with that.

  The best thing about my mother is her ability to let things go, to avoid those touchy topics most moms feel the need to dig into. With my dad being absent for most of my life, she and I have created a pretty perfect balance between mother, daughter, and friends. It helps that she’s always been there so she knows the type of person I’ve turned into, but she’s also a genuinely cool and laid back person. Regardless, she hasn’t asked about the scene she walked in on last night or the fact that Oliver cheated on me. We both know that I’ll talk about it when I’m ready. When the dust has settled and I feel it less.

  The rest of the drive flies by, mostly in silence as we listen to the music and take in the scenery. When Mom pulls off the highway and begins turning through smaller roads I sit up, paying closer attention to the area. We drive down a quaint main street with a vintage historical vibe. Small restaurants and retail shops take up most of the storefronts. A brick coffeehouse stands out from the rest. It’s the kind of road you would see in a Hallmark movie, a network of local business owners following their passions while creating a bustling downtown. I sigh, wondering how it feels to know what you want to do every day for the rest of your life. I don’t even know what I’ll do at the end of the summer.