She shakes her head and frowns. I hate seeing that frown on her face. “Why do you want to know me?”
I laugh. “Why wouldn’t I want to know you?”
She still looks confused.
I pull a notebook out of my bag and dramatically clear my throat. In an exaggerated game show host voice, I read from the list I’ve prepared. “First question. What is your favorite color?”
She smiles for real this time, and it lights up the room. For a moment, I don’t think she’ll answer, but finally she says, “Blue.”
“Ahh,” I say. “I pegged you for a pink kind of girl.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Don’t all girls like pink?”
Her smile turns into a grin. “Do all boys like video games?”
I pretend to look shocked. “Of course they do. What kind of question is that?”
She shakes her head, but the smile remains. “Well, not all girls like pink.”
“For the record, blue is also my favorite color. Moving on. Pizza or tacos?”
“Tacos. Then pizza. Or maybe taco pizza?”
“Seriously? It’s like we’re the same person. I think we might be soulmates.”
Before I can move on to the third question on my list, Ms. Knope calls the class to order. I wink at Summer and try to focus on the lesson.
Over the next week and a half, I bombard Summer with questions before class starts. She keeps relatively quiet while I talk at her, usually giving one word answers—probably just to shut me up. But every once in a while she catches me by surprise and engages me in conversation.
I’ve noticed she keeps to herself and doesn’t smile much these days, not like she used to. But when I talk to her, the corners of her lips twitch upward. Though she rarely says much, those tiny almost smiles give me hope. And the infrequent real ones make my heart race and my palms get sweaty. I live for those real smiles.
She’s so reserved this year, and I have no clue why, but I think she’s starting to warm up to me. As much as I want to spend time with her for my own selfish reasons, I think I might be good for her too.
I finally decide I need to step up my game. I’m no longer satisfied with these few minutes before class and while Ms. Knope isn’t looking. I need to take a leap, especially since homecoming is coming up. I’ve seen posters appearing in the halls. White and turquoise poster board covered in paint and glitter, reminding us of the big game and dance. I want Summer to be my date.
“What are you doing after school?” I ask by way of greeting, taking my seat beside her. Summer is busy doodling something in her notebook.
She shrugs, her eyes not leaving the paper. “Nothing, I guess.”
“Great. Why don’t we hang out and get to know each other better?”
She hesitates, then says, “What did you have in mind?”
“Meet me by the bike rack after school.”
Her pencil pauses, then her eyes meet mine. She chews her lower lip and I hold my breath, fingers crossed under the table, willing her to say yes. It feels like an eternity before she finally says, “Sure.”
I’m semi-shocked, but mostly excited that she’s just agreed to spend time with me outside of class. The grin on my face is so big it actually hurts. She’s wearing a small smile of her own, though she’s trying to hide it from me.
The rest of the school day drags, as I count down the minutes until I’ll see her again. When the final bell rings, I charge toward the exit, not caring who I bump into in my mad dash for the bike rack. I’m afraid that if Summer arrives first and I’m not there, she’ll leave. I can’t miss this opportunity. I need to know her.
Panting, I skid to a stop at the rack. I put my hands on the top bar and lean forward, catching my breath. I’ve nearly recovered when I hear, “Do you always race through the halls like that?”
I stand up straight and turn around to find Summer walking toward me. She’s smiling, and I grin back.
“You made it,” I say.
“I said I’d be here, didn’t I?”
“People say a lot of things.”
“So, where to?” she asks, looking around.
I move to the other side of the bike rack and begin twisting in the code to unlock the chain. “You ready to go for a ride?”
“Wait, what?” Summer’s eyes grow wide, and she takes a step back, her grip on her backpack tightening.
“It’s not far. I promise it’s safe.”
“Was whatever you did to break your wrist safe?”
I wave my non-casted hand away. “That was different. Come on.” I pull the bike from the rack, and once the tires are flat on the pavement, I mount up and pat the handlebars.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mutters. But she slips her arms through her backpack straps so that it’s on her front and climbs on the handlebars. This is another point for her in my book.
“If you crash and injure me, I will kill you.”
I smile at her threat. She doesn’t have to worry; I’ll be a lot more careful with her on the bike than if I was on my own. No fancy tricks or speedy trips down hills. Just point A to point B, safe and sound. Contrary to what my mom and friends believe, I am capable of not taking risks. Sometimes.
Safe and—relatively—slow, I pedal the bike the few blocks to the skatepark. The breeze sends her coconut scent toward me, and it’s stronger now than it ever is in class. When we arrive, I stop in front of the bike rack and steady the bike with my feet.
“This is it,” I say.
Summer slides off the handlebars and looks around. She slips the backpack from her arms and slings it over one shoulder. “Um…what is this?”
“This is my skatepark.”
“The scene of the crime?” she asks, eyeing my wrist.
I laugh and hold up my plaster cast like a trophy. “One and the same.”
“So, why are we here?”
“I told you I wanted to get to know you, and I figure you’ll be more willing to open up if you get to know me. So, I’m letting you in on all my secrets. And not-so-secrets. This is my favorite place.”
She looks around again. She doesn’t look impressed.
“I know it’s not much. There are nicer places around to skate at, but this one is close to school and my house. Plus they sell the best carne asada fries at the Snack Shack.”
“Okay, so, show me around then.”
I pause to lock up my bike, then lead her through the entrance.
“Sup Dennis.” He’s sitting on the wall near the entrance arch, probably stoned, as usual.
Dennis reaches out and fist bumps me. “How long until your mom gives your board back?”
I groan. “Not soon enough.” I hold up my left arm. “Hopefully when this thing comes off in a week or two.”
“That sucks man. Why do you torture yourself coming here when you can’t skate?”
“Because you’d miss me too much if I stayed away.”
Dennis rolls his eyes. “Who’s this?” His eyes travel up and down Summer’s body, and I put my arm around her protectively. She doesn’t shrug me off or punch me, so I take that as a good sign.
“This is Summer.”
“Sup, Summer.” Dennis winks at her. Actually winks at her!
I shoot him a glare.
Dennis is what my mom calls “classically handsome”—whatever that means. He has blond hair and blue eyes to go with his permanently tanned skin. Abigail says he should be a model, instead of sitting around the skatepark all day smoking weed.
“Um, hey…” Summer shifts her weight from foot to foot. She's clearly uncomfortable with the attention.
“See you later, Dennis.” I steer Summer away from him and into the park.
“He seems…nice,” she says.
“He is. Harmless too.” I release my hold on her and spread my arms out to the sides. “Anyway, this is where the magic happens.”
“You did not just say that.” She gives me an incredulous look, but t
he corners of her mouth twitch up in a smile.
“Oh, but I did.” I grin. Pointing across the park at one of the small ramps, I say, “That’s where I split my lip in the fourth grade.”
“Ouch.” She cringes, her hand flying to her mouth. She's probably imagining a smaller version of me falling off a board, my face covered in blood.
“It wasn’t so bad. I kept skating until my mom came to pick me up.” I laugh. “She was pissed I didn’t call her right away.”
“So you kept skating with blood dripping down your face?”
I nod, still grinning.
“You’re crazy.”
“I only needed a couple of stitches.”
Summer steps in front of me, studying my face, or rather, my mouth. I look at her own glossy pink lips, parted slightly as she examines my face, and I swallow.
“Ahh,” she says. Then she reaches out, and with her pointer finger, touches my lower lip.
I freeze, while my heart begins to race.
“Right here?”
I nod. I’ve forgotten how to form words, let alone breathe.
Summer steps back, turning her attention to the park again. This girl is killing me. Does she even realize what she’s doing to me?
I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and point to another ramp. “Over there is where I broke my wrist the first time.”
She shakes her head. “You really are an Evel Knievel. Where did you break your wrist this time?”
I point to the skate rail, which is three and a half feet off the ground and slopes downward beside a set of concrete steps.
“Holy crap. You tried to skate on that thing?”
I nod and laugh. “I did for a while, but I celebrated too soon and lost my balance.”
“How are you not constantly covered in bandages?”
“Believe it or not, sometimes he doesn’t fall down,” comes a female voice from behind us. I turn around to face the owner of the voice.
“Hey guys,” I say. “This is Summer.” I turn back to Summer. “Summer, these are my best friends, Mark and Abigail.”
“Oh, hey, we have chemistry together, don’t we?” Summer says to Mark.
“We do. I didn’t know you were the girl Kane’s been going on and on about.”
I reach out and slap his arm. Mark laughs. I look back to Summer and see that she’s smiling. Hopefully Mark hasn’t scared her off.
“I was just giving Summer the grand tour,” I explain.
“What does the grand tour consist of?” Abigail quirks an eyebrow and narrows her eyes.
“I think he’s telling me about every injury he’s sustained here,” Summer says before I can answer.
Mark groans.
“This is going to be a long tour then,” Abigail says dryly.
“Shut up. You guys are the worst best friends ever.” I barrage them with a series of playful smacks on the arms.
My friends leave us to go skate, and I take Summer to the Snack Shack. I buy us a jumbo serving of carne asada fries, and we take a seat on the sidelines to eat while we watch Abigail and Mark.
“This is actually kind of cool,” she says after a few minutes of watching my friends fly by on their boards, performing stunts on the low ramps and rails. “I’ve never really watched skateboarding before.”
“You ready to get out there?” I tease, helping myself to a couple of fries piled high with meat, cheese, sour cream, and guacamole.
“Um, I think not.” She gives me a look that makes me think she’s questioning my sanity, and laughs.
“You’re right. You’d better wait until I get my board back. I’ll teach you.”
“Learn from the guy who has more injuries than candles on his cake?”
“You can learn from my mistakes.”
“Pass.” She swipes a clean fry from the basket and dips it in the sour cream before taking a bite.
“We’ll table this for now. But I’m not giving up. Someday I will get you out there on a board.” She shakes her head, and I sigh. “All right, so you know about me, what do you like to do?”
“You’ll laugh.” Her cheeks flush pink, and she looks down, her hair falling forward and concealing her face.
“I promise I won’t. Try me.”
She tips her head back and stares at the clear blue sky. Groaning she says, “I was a beauty blogger.”
I stare at her, trying to figure out what the hell a beauty blogger is.
“Okay, that look you’re giving me might be worse than laughing.”
I shake my head. “It’s like you’re speaking another language. What is a beauty blogger, and why would I laugh?” I scrunch my brow and stare at her, willing her to answer. I know what a blogger is, and I know beauty when I see it, but combined? I’m lost.
“I had a blog where I talked about makeup and hair and stuff.”
“Oh.” That’s it? I don’t get why she’s making a big deal of it. “Why would I laugh at that?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Because it’s silly? And not cool like skateboarding.” She gestures at Mark as he grinds down the same rail I broke my wrist on almost a month ago.
I laugh. “So what? Just because it’s nothing like skateboarding doesn’t mean it’s not cool. I mean, if you like it, that makes it cool enough for me.”
She smiles, and then I realize she’s used the past tense.
“But wait, you said was. You don’t do this beauty blogging thing anymore?”
She shook her head. “No…it’s a long story. I don’t want to get into it.”
She bites her lip and looks everywhere but at me. I don’t respond right away. Of course I want to know this long story. I want to know everything there is to know about her. “Can I read your blog sometime?”
“You want me to help you choose a mascara?”
I grin. “Sure. If it makes you happy.”
She smiles but tries to hide it.
I decide to change the subject. “Tell me something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything. Tell me something else you love.”
“Volleyball,” she says automatically.
“Okay, cool, I know what volleyball is.” I beam at her. “You’re on the school team, right?”
Her smile falters. “No, not anymore…”
She avoids eye contact, chewing her lip again. This girl is full of secrets, and I’m dying to uncover them.
“Let me guess, another really long story?”
She nods.
“Someday I’m going to get you to spill.”
6
Summer
Kane is charming.
But I’m not a princess, and my disease isn’t a dragon some prince can slay. I’m a ticking time bomb and getting close to people will only hurt them. So, as charming as Kane is, I should keep pushing him away.
Why does he have to make it so hard? I never should’ve agreed to meet him after school. I only did it because I know my parents want me to hang out with friends. This way at least I don’t have to lie and say I am when I’m not.
Kane is kind of my friend. I think. He’s talked to me in class every single day since school started. Even when I don’t say much in return, he still keeps talking and cracking jokes. It’s easy to be around him. For once, I don’t feel like I have to answer questions. Kane knows how to take a hint and change the subject.
Sharing his tray of fries and letting him tell me about all his past injuries is just going to give him false hope, though. I’m not sure if sitting next to Kane the first day of class was the best choice.
I spend the whole afternoon with Kane, watching his friends skate. I’ve never been to a skatepark before, or any place like it, and I wasn’t lying when I told him it was really cool. You’ll never catch me on those ramps or trying to slide down a rail, but watching the others is fun.
It’s baffling to me that as often as he’s injured himself, Kane continues to keep at it. Who in their right mind would inflict all that p
ain upon himself?
Kane offers to give me a lift home on his handlebars again, but the brief ride from school to the skatepark is enough excitement for one day. I call my mom instead, and she comes and picks me up at the front gate. Kane waves goodbye, then turns back to his friends.
“Who’s your friend?” Mom asks. She’s come straight from work and is wearing her dress slacks and a blouse. Her blazer is carefully hung on a hanger on the hook in the back of her SUV.
“Just a guy from school,” I answer.
“Isn’t he the same one from urgent care?”
“Yeah.” I can’t believe she remembers him from that long ago.
Mom grins and continues to pepper me with questions on the drive home. I give her brief one-word answers. I don’t want to talk about Kane. I don't want to talk at all.
We finally pull into the garage. I grab my bag, dart into the house, and shut myself in my room. Before the door fully closes, Mom yells for me to be down for dinner in thirty minutes or else.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I throw myself on my bed. Out of habit, I pull up my Instagram account and cringe when the screen loads. An image of my ex-boyfriend pops up. His arm wrapped around some nameless blonde. My heart sinks because not even a year ago that had been me.
Seeing how quickly he’s replaced me is salt rubbed in the wound. I may not have been in love with Bradley, but it still hurts the way things ended.
I should stop following him on social media. Rachel, too. Block them even. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I close the app and toss my phone face down on the bed beside me. Pulling my sketch pad from my backpack, I flip past the ocean waves I’d been working on and begin sketching a rose. Soon, my fingers are itching for a more interesting subject, so I flip to a new page and begin sketching Kane from memory.
“Summer! Dinner,” Mom calls from downstairs.
Startled, I drop the pencil and look at what I’ve drawn so far. The outline of Kane’s face, his lips pulled up in a smile, with the faint scar visible down the center. His eyes, crinkled with humor. I set it aside. It’s a good start, but it needs a lot of refining. I’d noticed a few other scars on Kane’s face when I’d been studying the one on his lip but didn’t have the stories behind them yet. I have no doubt he’ll be more than willing to share. He takes pride in what others see as failure.
Something I'm Good At: A Sol del Mar High Novel Page 4
