Someone Else's Summer Page 2

  My eighth-grade year was the worst. We all went to private school from kindergarten through eighth grade, so I’d been with Storm and Cameron since I started school. But that year, they’d moved to the public school, Muscatine High, leaving me all alone. With them gone, I finally realized how much they were the center of my life. I had no other friends; I knew the kids in my classes and was friendly with them, but I’d never tried to become close with them, and by eighth grade, everyone already had a group to hang out with. I ended up eating lunch with some girls from my social studies class, but I was decidedly “other.” I didn’t get invited out bowling or to birthday parties. I was lonely.

  During the last month of school, the Muscatine High cheerleaders came to our school to recruit for tryouts. They held a small assembly in the auditorium where they showed off some of their routines and told us all about how wonderful cheerleading was. I don’t really remember what all they said. I sat there, bored, with the rest of my classmates, watching the clock tick by to the final bell. What I do remember is one of the cheerleaders running up to me at the end of the assembly. She was all wild red hair and sparkly eye shadow, a ball of energy in a neon tank top.

  “Hey,” she said breathlessly.

  “Um. Hi?”

  She shoved a stick of gum into her mouth and held the pack out, offering me a piece. I waved it away, and she slipped it back into her pocket with a shrug. “Are you gonna try out?”

  “Um…”

  “Because you totally should. I’m only on JV this year, but I think I’ll make Varsity next year.” She laughed, throwing her hair over her shoulders. “Oh, sorry.” She giggled. “I’m Piper.”

  “Anna,” I said with a weak smile.

  “So, will you? Our coach really wants us to each bring someone, and I just moved here halfway through the year so I don’t really know any eighth graders to ask.”

  I must’ve looked as hesitant as I felt, because she grabbed my hand and her voice took on a pleading tone. “Please? I think you’d be great—no, really! I can just tell. Please?”

  The bleachers were emptying now, some of my classmates lingering behind to talk to the other cheerleaders and take fliers. I found the girls I’d been eating lunch with that year; they stood in a small clump at the edge of the gym rolling their eyes whenever someone walked past them with a tryout form in hand. I looked back to Piper and shrugged. “Okay.”

  Visibly excited, she looped her arm through mine and led me toward the sign-up table. “‘Louis,’” she said, “‘I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

  And it was. From the first night of tryouts on, Piper and I were inseparable. Before long, I had a new group of friends and parties to go to and games to cheer at. I spent fewer and fewer evenings with Storm and Cameron until one day they stopped asking me to hang out. It wasn’t a big deal at the time—I had my own friends to hang out with—but now? Now I felt the distance like a chasm in my heart, and it was too late to close the gap.

  Chapter 3

  Mom and Dad rise, and I realize the service is over and the crowd is waiting for the family to exit before standing. Just another chance for our grief to be paraded before them. My parents hug, clinging desperately to each other. Tears stream down Dad’s face, and Mom’s small frame shakes with her sobs. She sounds like an animal, feral and injured.

  We stand as a unit, Aunt Morgan, Cameron, and me. Piper and Jovani follow suit, and the two of them quietly make their way out to the aisle to let us pass. Still, I refuse to let go of my anchors, so we make our way past my friends’ vacant seats, an awkward, six-legged creature, followed closely by my shaking parents. An old man—the funeral director, maybe?—leads us from the chapel via a small door behind a curtain, and then we are alone. Finally, I release my grip on Cameron’s and Aunt Morgan’s hands. I flex and stretch my fingers, coaxing blood back to the tips.

  Piper makes her way past Cameron and wraps her arms around me, tight. My face disappears into her hair, and I inhale, her familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon grounding me.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” I say.

  She squeezes even tighter. “Don’t be stupid,” she says. “Where else would I be?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, and I feel a laugh working its way into my voice. It feels foreign. “Maybe anywhere in the world other than a church.”

  She lets go and backs up just enough to look at me. “Not just any church, either,” she says. “This is, like, the most uptight, conservative church ever.”

  Cameron chuckles, and I realize how close he’s stayed by my side, as if I never let go of his hand.

  “That’s the Holloways,” he tells Piper. “Go big, or go home. If you’re going to church, you better really go to church.”

  Dad makes his way across the room now and wraps one arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. I melt into place there, and finally the dam breaks. Tears flood from my eyes so fast I don’t even know how they got there, and pretty soon, I’m a mess of sobs and snot and tears. All the sadness, anger, fear—everything I’ve forced down for the past ninety minutes—rushes to the surface, fighting to be the first out of me. I gasp for air, my lungs screaming. Black spots prickle the edges of my vision.

  “Bring her here,” Aunt Morgan says. She sounds far away, her voice muffled. It’s like when Storm and I used to play in the pool during the summer, talking to each other under water, telling secrets and jokes, never really sure if we heard things right. Suddenly, hands are on my upper arms, guiding me across the room. I can’t see through the tears.

  Something pushes against the back of my knees. I fight it for a moment, but finally allow them to bend, and I crash down onto the couch. A hand presses my back, forcing me forward. I don’t fight it. I can’t—I can’t focus on anything but trying to pull air into my lungs. They burn. My head throbs. The room spins around me.

  The hand forces my head between my knees then starts tracing soft circles across my back.

  “Breathe,” the voice whispers into my ear. “Just take a breath, Anna.”

  I reach my hand out and grasp at the air for a moment before he realizes what I’m doing. Jovani takes my hand in his, continuing the circles with his other. “Come on, Anna,” he says, his voice as calm and steady as always. “We’re here. Just take a breath.”

  He talks to me like that, his voice soft and soothing, until my sobs have turned into quiet, erratic hiccups. When I pull myself back up to sitting, my head protesting the movement violently, he’s there beside me, waiting. My parents are huddled together at the edge of the couch, Aunt Morgan holding Mom’s arm, and Cameron and Piper stand just behind Jovani.

  “Sorry,” I say shakily. “I don’t know—”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Jovani says. “You’re allowed to fall apart, you know.”

  I nod. Focusing on my breathing for a couple minutes, feeling my heart slow back to a normal cadence, I look up at everyone assembled in the room. “I’m better.” I turn to Mom and Dad. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  Mom still looks shaken, but Dad smiles softly. “It’s okay, pumpkin. It’s okay.” He glances at his watch. “We need to get back to the house. Cameron?”

  “Yes, sir?” Cameron pulls at the collar of his shirt. As far as I remember, he’s never called my dad sir. Ever. Red blotches climb up Cam’s neck and into his cheeks.

  Dad doesn’t seem to notice Cameron’s nerves. “Pastor Willitz is going to drive us home. Can you take Anna with you, please?”

  The room is a vacuum—I’m not sure anyone even breathes. Cam’s face crumples, and he makes his way to the couch to sit next to me, silent tears hanging on the edges of his eyelashes. I watch as the realization hits Dad.

  Just days before, after the graduation ceremony, Dad clapped Cam on the shoulder. “Congratulations,” he said jovially.

  “Thanks, Roger.” Cam waved his diploma cover in front of his face. “Of course this thing is empty, so maybe they aren’t going to let me out of
here after all.”

  Dad laughed his bellowing Dad laugh. “Hey,” he whisper-shouted conspiratorially, “I’m taking Storm’s car back home to detail it. We’re getting her that paint job she’s been so subtly hinting at for graduation. Can you take her with you to the party, please?”

  That was the last time we saw her, as she left the gymnasium with Cam in their polyester robes. When did she convince him to come get my car? Why couldn’t she just ride with him like Dad asked?

  Now, finally, a noise breaks the silence of the room. Mom pulls in a shaky, shuddering breath, then speaks the first words I’ve heard from her in days. “You know we don’t blame you, Cam. You’re still our favorite.” She forces a caricature of a smile onto her face.

  Cameron slumps farther into the couch, his whole body relaxing beside me until our arms are pressed together.

  “Told you nobody blames you,” I whisper. Then I look up at my parents. “We’ll be fine,” I say.

  “You can come with us, baby,” Mom says. “We just thought…”

  “No,” I interrupt. “You’re right. I would rather Cam just take me home.” I force a pathetic smile and stand to hug my parents. Mom feels like she might break under the pressure of my arms, but Dad is strong and solid. I pull him tighter. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He kisses my head then lets me go before grabbing Mom’s hand, leading her out of the room. Pastor Willitz is waiting on the other side as they swing the heavy door open, and he looks past them at me, his eyes full of pity. Aunt Morgan gives one last look over her shoulder, too, searching my face for any indication she should stay, but I wave her away.

  As soon as the door shuts, Piper starts, “We got Mama Mae’s soccer mobile, so there’s room for you with us, Anna.” Jovani drives an old Civic Del Sol, so whenever there are more than two people, he charms his mom into giving him the keys to her minivan. Piper looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to jump up and go with them. Which I would, any other time.

  Today, with the warmth of Cameron’s arm pressed against mine, instead of leaving with my best friends, I look at Piper and say, “That’s okay. I’ll see you guys there, all right?”

  “Sure. Give me a call if you need me to grab you anything. I should probably go give the Mom Mobile back,” Jovani says. On the surface, he’s completely calm, but I know him and know that, underneath, he’s hurt. But he won’t show that—not in front of Cameron. Piper, though, stares at me, fire sparking in her eyes. She swears the stereotypes about redheads—that they have fiery tempers, that they are heartbreakers—are completely false, but she pretty much embodies them both. She glares at Cameron then looks at me, disbelief painted across her face.

  “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “Fine,” she snaps, softer than her normal lashing, but still. “I’ll see you there, I guess.” She follows Jovani out the door.

  Cam and I continue to sit. Neither of us makes a move toward the door. “You could have gone with them,” he says after a minute passes.

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Why didn’t I? I could tell him it’s because Dad asked him to drive me, but we’d both know that’s a lie. It’s not that I’m a complete rebel—I typically stay in line—but Dad asking Cameron to drive me is definitely not enough to stop me from riding with my friends, and we both know it. I’m not sure I can fully explain why, but I try.

  “You get it,” I say. He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “I love Jo and Piper, but they will never get it the way you do.”

  “Get what?”

  “Storm. They are part of my world, not hers. They never knew her the way you do. They just… they can’t get it. They don’t know what it’s like to lose her.”

  He nods, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. We sit as the clock on the wall clicks away the seconds. Then Cameron holds his hand out to me.

  “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go face this.”

  Chapter 4

  Cars line both sides of our street for as far as I can see. Cameron pulls the truck into his driveway, blocking his mom’s car. Not that it matters—she’s probably at my house anyway. The rest of the town certainly is.

  I don’t want to go in; I want to sit here in Cameron’s truck, listening to the radio, to silence, anything other than the soft chatter inside my home. But he’s already opening his door, so I do the same.

  The walk from his driveway to my front door is only about forty yards cut across my lawn, but it seems to stretch for eternity. Each step closer, my anxiety ratchets up, and the urge to turn and run the other direction grows stronger.

  We reach the porch. Climb the three steps to the front door. I stare at the door, willing it to open. Automatically, I grasp Cam’s hand in mine. Don’t let go of me, I tell him through my grip. Don’t let me face them alone.

  We enter.

  The house is crammed with people. Some I recognize from school—Taylor is talking to Piper in the corner of the living room, the other cheerleaders buzzing around them in a frenzy of nervous energy. Jovani is nowhere to be seen. He probably dropped Piper off before taking his mom’s car back home. Or he’s up hiding from the crowd in my room. He’s never been much for the crowds and crush of bodies. The rest of the living room is filled with faces I barely recognize—people from church, Dad’s coworkers, Storm’s old teachers. I recognize some doctors from the cancer ward. How did they react when they heard the news? Such a fight to beat cancer only to lose Storm to an old oak tree on Rock Hill Road.

  “I can’t,” I say through clenched jaws. “I don’t want to talk to all those people.”

  Cameron’s grip on my hand tightens. “Let’s make it to the kitchen,” he says. “Get something to drink, get away from the crowd. We’ll figure it out.” He leads me through the door and past the featureless faces, slowing for nobody until we pass through the dining room and make it to the kitchen.

  Thankfully, there are only a few people here, dropping off casseroles and filling plates with the generic funeral spread. We scoot around the island toward the fridge, and, with cans of Dr Pepper in hand, lean against the long buffet, waiting until the people leave and we are alone.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Anytime.”

  He cracks his can open, and I’m brought back to a million afternoons as a kid, the three of us drinking Dr Pepper out of chilled metallic cups while watching cartoons. I wish we could’ve stayed like that forever, just three kids splayed out on the living room floor, not a worry in the world.

  I wonder if Cameron is thinking the same thing, if the smell of Dr Pepper brings him back the way it does me.

  Aunt Morgan breezes into the kitchen. “Oh thank goodness,” she says. She smiles sadly—is there any other way to smile today?—and turns to Cameron. “Your mom just got called to the hospital. Apparently Sarah is at home puking—you know what, it doesn’t matter. She has to go in, but your truck…” She trails off and looks at the two of us, then down at our hands, still clasped between our bodies. I grip him tighter.

  “I’ll go move it,” he says as he sets his can on the counter. To me, he says, “Just hang out in here. I’ll be back as soon as I can find a place to park the truck, okay?”

  I nod and force myself to let go of his hand. Cameron rushes out the side door.

  “Hey,” Aunt Morgan says, “I’m supposed to be, you know, making sure everything is okay out there?” She has a bad habit of making nonquestions sound like questions, something Mom says she picked up from her sorority sisters. “But I can hang out in here if you want?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head for emphasis. “I’m fine. I kinda want to just chill alone anyway.”

  “Okay. I’ll be out there if you need me.”

  “Seriously, go.” I wave her out of the room. “I’ll be fine.”

  As the minutes tick by, though, I begin to realize how not fine I really am. I watch the clock above the range as it clicks by four, five, six minutes
since Cameron left. How long does it take to move a truck, really? Anxiety crawls under my skin, tingling, and I want to claw my way out of my own body. I feel another panic attack creeping its way to the surface, but I can’t let it break free this time. Not with all these people to hear me. I need to find another way to disperse this energy.

  The side door swings open, blowing a warm breeze through the kitchen, and relief washes over me. But it’s not Cameron, like I expect. Instead, Jovani enters and quietly latches the door behind him. He’s changed out of his suit into khakis and a fitted polo. His long, black hair is loose around his face instead of in the clean ponytail he wore to the funeral.

  Heat blooms low in my stomach, and suddenly I know how to release this pent-up anxiety. My can drops onto the kitchen counter, almost tipping over, and I make a beeline across the kitchen to Jo, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him behind me.

  “What—”

  “I gotta get out of here,” I say over my shoulder. “Come with me.”

  Pulling him behind me a bit too harshly, I make my way up the kitchen stairs—they are dark and narrow, built as servants’ stairs when the house was new. I push the door at the top open slowly, peeking out to make sure the hallway is empty, then dart across to my bedroom door.

  Once we’re inside and I’ve closed the door with a soft click, I drop Jovani’s hand, and he says, “What do you want—”

  I don’t let him finish. Instead, I push him up against the wall, hard, and press my lips to his. They are warm and soft, as familiar as anything. And when he opens his mouth—out of surprise or lust, I’m not sure—I open mine, too, letting our tongues mingle together.

  My body is flush against his, so I can feel as he begins to respond to my kiss. He presses back against me and groans softly into my mouth. He tastes like he always does, like he just ate a piece of bitter dark chocolate. His hands tangle in my hair, run over my shoulders and upper arms. I press myself tighter to him. I need to feel him. I need to feel anything other than this emptiness Storm’s death has left me with.