“Your mom is living with you? I thought you lived with your aunt.”
She tells me it’s just temporary, and from the annoyance in her voice, it doesn’t sound like it’s temporary enough.
“You want me to help? We can fix it in five minutes, I swear.”
“You don’t have to do that, Aiden.”
“I don’t mind, really.”
Olivia smiles. “Awesome, because home projects with my mom was not how I wanted to spend tonight.”
She smiles and so do I, and ten minutes later we’re pulling into the driveway of a blue house with light gray shutters and an overgrown yard. “They’re going to stick one of those shame signs in your yard, you know.”
Olivia looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “Shame signs?”
“The signs saying you have five days to cut your grass or the city will do it for you.”
“Good to know,” Olivia mutters. “I’m supposed to be mowing it, and Aunt Sarah would murder me if we had a shame sign in our yard.” She rolls her eyes and groans. “But one problem at a time.” She pushes her door open and looks back at me as she twists out. “Come meet my mom.”
Olivia’s mom is basically just an older-looking version of Olivia. Or she’s a younger version of her mom, I guess. It sort of makes me wonder about all of that nature versus nurture stuff we’ve talked about in psychology class, because even though Olivia makes it sound like she hasn’t seen much of her mom, they even walk the same. And they both tip their heads to the side and sigh when they get frustrated.
Now that we’ve made it past the awkward introductions (where Joanie assumed I was Zander and Olivia looked like she was going to throw herself out a window) we’re all standing around the kitchen island, squeezing toothpaste into little cups.
“You’re sure this is going to work?” Olivia asks.
“We did this in my sisters’ dorm rooms every year. Trust me.” I take a cup and walk up to one of the walls, smearing some toothpaste on it. “Just smear a little in the hole. It dries white.”
Joanie takes a paper cup from me. “I think I can handle this. Thanks, Aiden.” She exaggerates my name, like she’s trying to prove she knows it. “Olivia, do you think you can make dinner for us? I’ve been cleaning this place all day and I’m starving.”
“We actually had somewhere to go.” Olivia’s voice sounds disappointed but also unsure.
“We can do the thing another night,” I say. “I’ve probably hijacked you for long enough today.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice still disappointed. “Or—you could stay and have dinner with us, if you want.”
“I make really good tacos,” I say. Once we were old enough my mom always had my sisters and I make dinner once a week. Tacos have always been my specialty.
Olivia smiles. “That sounds awesome.”
“Zander who?” Joanie yells from the other room, and I laugh. Olivia may not be a big fan, but I’m still glad to have won her mom over. Who knew toothpaste and tacos could be so helpful?
Chapter
Thirteen
AIDEN
I don’t wake up in the morning and think, Man, my vision is shit. Maybe I would, if I had a pair of glasses I put on every morning that made my vision not shit. But as it is, this is just how I see. It wasn’t some dramatic, overnight change; I didn’t even realize I had a problem until I ran off the road two months ago, when I mistook a trashcan for a person, and swerved to miss it, plowing into the ditch. That accident got me a bill for body damage that wiped out my birthday money since I was ten, and an appointment with Dr. Shah. And then a follow-up appointment with two others, shots in my eye, and my car keys snatched.
I don’t realize how bad my right eye is until I close it. During the day, I notice it the most when I’m trying to read something, like the tiny menu on the back wall of The Grill. Because unlike my phone or our training scripts at work, I can’t move that stupid menu any closer to my face.
And since I’m not driving, I feel like I’ve figured out a workaround with most of my major issues. At restaurants I grab a to-go menu. If I can’t read something, I take a photo with my phone and zoom in, and if I think I might know someone but can’t quite tell, I just wave. People around town probably think quitting the baseball team has seriously upped my personability, because it’s a false alarm 90 percent of the time. Lately, I’m giving out waves like I’m giving out life jackets at the Depot: to everyone.
So sometimes I forget. In the light of the day, when I decided I’d bring Olivia out here, I forgot that my depth perception is crap at night. That’s what happens when you have one eye that’s better than the other, and neither are good. I forgot that I’d be leading her through the woods in the dark, and stumbling as I try to walk at a normal pace without biting it on some gigantic limb hiding at our feet. I forgot that I wouldn’t want to carefully traverse the woods, like I would if I was on my own, because I don’t want to look like a freak with her. I haven’t told Olivia about my eyes for the same reason I haven’t told anyone else: I’m not ready for this to be who I am. I’m not ready for this possibly-temporary problem to define me.
I feel like we’ve been walking through the woods for a short eternity, but at least she’s here. On the Fourth of July, she’s with me. Even though I told her that this would be better than the overrated fireworks display in town, and her face said that she didn’t believe me. I’m not sure if I believe me. Hopefully this nighttime obstacle course isn’t for nothing.
OLIVIA
The woods are dark and Aiden’s holding my hand, but it’s not much help when he’s tripping more than I am. The only thing you can hear, other than twigs snapping and bugs and birds and other creepy nighttime forest sounds, is the constant cadence of shit, shit, shit.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
That’s been his answer for the last thirty minutes, and I’m not entirely convinced we’re not lost. Because I can’t figure out what we could possibly be walking toward out here in the middle of the woods. As far as I can tell, we’re not walking toward the lake. The river is behind us, and up ahead is … just trees. And falling darkness. And sure, I like the outdoors more than I used to—especially when it’s with Aiden—but I’m still not looking to just wander around in the forest, admiring the trees. Maybe he had a really awesome date planned, but changed it after I made him fix walls at my house and suffer through a dinner with my mom peppering him with questions. Bring a boy home, and suddenly my mom wants to be a mom.
“Almost there,” he says.
I’d love to know how he can tell, because the patch of trees we’re in now looks just like the patch of trees five minutes ago. And like the first patch, when we stepped out of his car and into the woods. I keep looking for some hidden trail—ribbons tied to trees, or breadcrumbs, or something, but for all I can tell we’re just wandering in the dark. I’m half expecting us to emerge from the woods in the exact same spot where we entered. But also, Aiden is holding my hand, and for as long as we’re walking, that won’t stop. Out here in the dark, surrounded by silence, I’m not thinking about anything but the way this feels. And the little flower of hope blooming in my chest—the one filled with images of the two of us kissing in the woods, under the stars—it reminds me of the old Olivia. The way I hoped—every minute of the day—that a moment with Zander would go differently. Until it finally did. Did I wish that into existence? Make it happen just on sheer hope? What are the chances of doing it twice?
I shake the thought away as I look up at the stars, set against the dark sky like a spray of paint.
“Finally,” Aiden mutters, and I want to agree.
There’s a break in the trees, and the path begins to thin out. The crunching of our feet quiets as we move from the cover of the trees to an open clearing of rutted dirt and grass. A wall of old brick rises up in front of us. It’s the shell of a building, one long wall that turns into another, and a gaping hole where
a door used to be. There’s no roof, no windows, just the partial remains of four walls.
“Uh … why are we here?”
“I want to show you something,” Aiden says.
“I really hope that’s not a euphemism.”
He laughs. “Close your eyes.”
“Oh god, seriously?”
“Please?” He squeezes my hand as he says it, and my insides turn into a warm puddle. I close my eyes. The ground is clear here, a big patch of weedy ground and hard dirt, and I step carefully as Aiden leads me forward. Forward to what, I don’t know. He directs me to step over something, and the ground gets harder under my feet. He tugs me to my left, and lets go of my hand. I miss it, until his hands are on my shoulders, guiding me to where he wants me, rough against my bare skin.
“Okay, give me two minutes?”
I laugh, because I’m nervous. Nervous about what’s in front of me, both literally and figuratively. Nervous about who I’ll be when I get out of this forest. Who I’ll be when Aiden is done with me. Or when I’m done with him.
Something hits the ground, a zipper echoes through the night, much louder than usual, and I can hear Aiden rustling around. Something flutters behind my bare legs, sending a chill up my spine.
“Okay, sit down,” he says.
“Right here?”
Aiden laughs. “Right here.” He grabs my hand and puts the other on the small of my back, helping me to sit down. I’m not sure why everything feels so much more difficult with your eyes closed, but it does. I feel like I might topple over just trying to lower myself three feet.
I expect to land on the rough ground, but meet soft fabric instead. Aiden sits next to me. I hear another zipper, and then music is filling the air. It’s nothing I’ve ever heard before—a strange mix of strings and brass and electronica. It reminds me of the music at the ArtPrize exhibit, and I half expect to see aerial dancers and strobe lights and theatrics emerge from the trees.
Aiden’s voice is soft and he sounds nervous. “Open your eyes.”
I hesitate, because I don’t know what to expect. I wish I knew what I wanted to see. When I finally do open them, I feel sort of disoriented, like in the two minutes my eyes were closed the last remains of the sunset disappeared and everything was plunged into total darkness. And in the darkness, all I see is a gigantic wall of glowing waves.
“Holy crap.” It’s like looking out at the lake at night, except that every little peak is glowing a soft blue. And the big brick wall in front of us is filled with wave upon rolling wave. Along the top, little flecks of light fill the sky—glowing stars looking down over the rough waters below.
“You like it?” Aiden says.
I’m so wrapped up in it that I’d forgotten Aiden was right beside me—forgotten that there was anything to look at but this amazing wall of light.
“What is it?”
“Glow in the dark paint, basically.”
“And you painted this? All of this?” I ask.
“I started it right after ArtPrize.”
“Luckily you were avoiding some girl, and had lots of extra time on your hands,” I tease.
He laughs, but he sounds nervous. “Luckily.”
“I wish it wasn’t out in the woods. I wish everyone could see this.” I turn to look at Aiden, and he’s already looking at me. “This is amazing. You are … incredibly talented.”
Aiden leans toward me, and brushes a piece of hair away from my face. His hand feels cool against my warm cheek. He licks his lips, and the anticipation is killing me … it’s coiling around in my stomach and twisting its way down my legs. It’s rooting me in this spot like the old trees looming all around us. Like a wall of this beautiful, disheveled building that’s crumbling before us. Just thinking about kissing Aiden makes my lips part. His fingers drift to my cheek, and then to my chin, and trail down my neck. I’m fighting the urge to lean into him like a needy cat who never gets enough attention.
Then his hands are gone. He reaches over to his bag, unzips it, and digs around inside until he pulls out whatever he was looking for. “Just to keep it official,” he says, as he pulls out a coin.
“You’re carrying around a quarter now, huh?”
“It’s become a thing,” he says. His lips twitch up into a lopsided smile, and as if they’re attached, my own lips follow suit. “Consider me the official keeper of the coin.”
“Heads,” I say, eager.
“Heads for—?”
I laugh. “My choice.” Fate has been good to us, but I don’t quite trust her yet. Not with this moment.
Aiden smiles and then tosses the coin high into the air. It settles between us on the red blanket. He’s staring at it, but doesn’t say anything, so I do. “Heads.”
“Your choice.”
“My choice,” I say, leaning in toward him. I mimic what he did to me, and run my hand over his jaw and down his neck. My fingers trail down his arm and to his fingers. He turns his hand over and captures mine in his, puts our palms together. He’s pressing his hand against mine, guiding it toward him.
My hand is on his chest and I can feel his heart there, like a heavy drum, pounding against me. I leave my hand, feeling his chest rise and fall under it. His eyes are fixed on me, and my breath catches in my throat at our closeness. I don’t remember moving closer, but we’re barely separated now, just our hands pressed between us. Waiting.
“Olivia?”
I make a tiny sound, like a squeak, not a yes.
“You won.”
I forgot about the coin toss, forgot that it’s all up to me. It’s empowering to have him like this, stilled in front of me, waiting for me. I run my hand up his chest and behind his neck. I have to raise up on my knees to meet his face with mine. My lips brush his, and he takes a sharp breath in. Yes, I like this. Knowing how much he wants me to kiss him, making him wait for me. But I don’t have any control either. On contact, our lips move together, and his hands are at my waist, pulling me closer, until our legs are intertwined and I’m almost on his lap.
“You’re mean,” he says, as his lips move to my ear, then my neck. It tickles, and I roll my head away, directing him back to my lips. Behind him the waves glow, casting us in a soft blue shadow. We kiss for what feels like forever, but also not long enough at all, until our lips are swollen and we’re lying on the blanket, pressed up against each other. My tank top is riding up around my ribcage, and my hands are under Aiden’s shirt, and I’m starting to think we’ve been kissing too long; that if we don’t stop now, we won’t ever.
As if it has a direct line to my brain, Aiden’s pocket starts ringing—a bouncy sound I recognize as an alarm—and he pulls away. He takes his phone out, swipes the screen, and returns it to his pocket. He sits up and pulls me along with him, pulling my shirt down and sweeping away a chunk of hair that’s come loose from my ponytail. “Sorry, but we don’t want to miss this.” He stands up and puts his hand out. “One last thing.” He hoists me up and we walk through the trees, away from his beautiful wall. The ground gets sandier as we go, and soon the forest empties out into tall swaths of grass. I hear the first explosion just as the edge of the dune comes into sight. “Hurry!” Aiden pulls me, and we’re running, clearing the last few trees and bushes, our hands still intertwined. I hear another explosion and turn toward the sound on my right, just as a sparkling gold firework bursts in the sky. Then another goes off on my left. We come to a stop at the edge of the bluff, the sand and dune-grass sloping down in front of us until it disappears into the blackness of the lake.
Wow.
“Best spot,” Aiden says, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me back into his chest. He points to the left—“The Riverton fireworks”—and to the right—“and those are South Hills.”
“I thought fireworks were overrated,” I say.
“I thought you didn’t like ‘outdoorsy stuff.’”
“I like it with you.”
Aiden is rubbing a little circle into my arm as explosions
go off all around us, reflecting in the waters of the lake and leaving white trails of smoke like chandeliers in the dark sky above. “Ditto.”
A shiver runs through me, and a realization explodes inside me—I’m falling for Aiden Emerson.
* * *
It’s dark out here, perfect for looking at the stars. Especially on a night like this, when the only clouds are in tiny, thin little strips that stretch across the sky like white gauze. We’re lying on the blanket, my bare feet hanging over the edge into the hard dirt. There’s a soft glow from the wall I’ve lovingly dubbed “the ruins,” but otherwise it’s black and still all around us. We both took about a million pictures of his mural, trying to capture the magic of it, but probably failing.
“Why’d you quit?” I hope I’m not going to ruin our perfect night with my curiosity, but it’s like this is the one piece of Aiden that is missing from his story. “Was it your dad?”
He shifts a little and looks at me, obviously surprised.
Crap. “He’s just really … intense.”
“Yeah, but he’s not like that all the time.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s fine.”
I can feel a tenseness radiating off of Aiden as we lie in the silence, close but not touching.
“I can’t play because my vision is screwed up,” he says, his voice hesitant.
“Because you got hit.”
“No.” He rolls onto his side and props himself on one elbow, facing me. “I got hit because my vision is screwed up. I have an eye thing.”
“An eye thing?”
“Saying I have an eye disease sounds gross. Like pus is going to start oozing out or something.” His face scrunches up like even he’s grossed out by the idea. “But yeah, I have an eye disease that’s making my vision shit.”
“Wow.” I should probably say something more profound, but I don’t know what.
When Summer Ends Page 16
