Not Our Summer

by Casie Bazay

  My insides retract into a tight ball. How could she say that to me? “You’ve never let me work, remember? You told me to focus on school and soccer instead.”

  She doesn’t respond because she knows it’s true. I wouldn’t be sitting on top of a full scholarship if it weren’t, but she’s also acting like I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone I love. I lost Ricky, too. He was my brother. It hurt more than anything. At least Grandpa had a chance to live his life. Ricky was only nine.

  Thick gray clouds hover over the skyline in the distance. It looks like another spring thunderstorm will be here soon. Mom shifts the Jeep into reverse and then exits the parking lot. We drive in silence for a long while, and I let the sadness I feel simmer back into anger. When my mom made me go to counseling after Ricky’s death, I pretended to move past the anger phase of the grief process, but the truth is, I never did. I just learned to get better at hiding it. My counselor always told me, “The only way out is through,” but I didn’t want out. Leaving my anger behind meant being okay with Ricky’s death. And I most certainly was not.

  I clench my hands in my lap. I wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for my mom and her sister and their problems. Now, my entire summer is flushed down the toilet—filled with doing these ridiculous tasks with K. J. “The spawn of the devil,” Mom used to call her, though she hasn’t used that phrase in a while. She’s been different since she married Tim. Calmer, for sure. Now, she pretends like she doesn’t even have a sister.

  “I’m sorry,” Mom says after a few minutes. “I’m sorry you’re having to pay for Jackie’s mistakes. But you might as well make the best of it. There’s not much else we can do, right?”

  I don’t answer.

  We pass by my old middle school and the appliance store where Ricky’s dad—my former stepdad—used to work. He still might, for all I know. I haven’t seen him in years.

  “And it will be nice for you to have all that extra money,” Mom continues. “You could use it to get a nice apartment after your freshman year. Or you could buy a new car? How about that?”

  “The lawyer said it had to go for college stuff,” I mumble.

  “I bet we could work a car into that somehow. I mean you’ll need transportation to drive back home from Fayetteville.”

  “I already have a car, Mom.” I don’t add that I wasn’t planning on coming home all that often anyway.

  “Then that money will be yours to decide what to do with.”

  We hit a pothole and the Jeep bounces, reminding me of our median-jumping adventure on the way here. I glance down at the stain on my shirt. I can’t believe I had to sit through the entire meeting looking like this. How humiliating. Just thinking of what K. J. said makes my face burn all over again.

  “I still can’t figure out how Dad managed to save up all that money,” Mom says, distracting me.

  “He invested apparently.” In what, I have no idea. “Plus, he never had to buy gas. And he never went out to eat.” Someone could save a lot of money if they never went anywhere, I guess.

  Mom seems to consider something. “He must have been a good money manager. Too bad he never passed any of those skills on to his daughters.” She smiles, but within seconds, tears have pooled in her eyes once again. This is about the hundredth time this has happened since he died. “I just can’t believe I’ll never see him again.”

  I can’t believe it, either. But I’m even more surprised by this whole plan Grandpa had been hiding up his sleeve. Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars and a list of crazy tasks. Who would have ever guessed?

  We’ve only been home a few minutes when an email from Mr. Sisco with details for my first trip pops up on my phone. My cousin’s email address, KJtheDJ16@yahoo.com, is next to mine in the recipient box. What’s that supposed to mean? Wow, K. J., you’re so cool because you’re into music. Who isn’t? Then again, beckaball19@gmail.com isn’t all that original, either. I scroll down to read the rest of the message and decide I should probably get a new email address before college. Something a little more sophisticated.

  The email explains that our airline tickets will arrive by mail in a few days and the details of the trip are outlined in an attached itinerary. We’re told what to pack: clothes for both warm and cold weather, a hat, sturdy shoes for hiking and riding. There’s also an online brochure about the Grand Canyon, which I don’t bother to read. With this first task booked so soon, Grandpa really must not have expected to live as long as he did. I wonder what his last days were like. The guy who delivers his groceries every week was the one to find him, and, according to the coroner, he’d been dead for a couple of days. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. How awful, to die all alone like that.

  Guilt consumes me as I recall our last visit with him at Christmas. He was thinner, like Mom said, but I hadn’t thought much about it at the time. I just assumed it was part of getting old. He’d given me the same gift he gave me every year—a box of chocolate-covered cherries and two twenty-dollar bills. “Don’t spend it all at once!” he’d said with a wink. I never had the heart to tell him that even a pair of jeans or shoes cost more than forty dollars. I figured that was a lot of money for him. Boy, was I wrong.

  I send the itinerary to the printer and change into my pajamas. Mom and I still haven’t eaten dinner, but for once, I’m not hungry. I’m not even in the mood to listen to music like I usually do. Instead, I crawl into bed and close my eyes, praying for sleep to come.

  The next day at school, I’m not sure if I should tell my friends about my weekend plans or not. Part of me is still in denial, hoping it was all just a really bad dream. Another part of me knows better. Lunch trays in hand, Lexi and I make our way toward our usual table near the back of the cafeteria. It’s loud in here, but then again, it’s May. Everyone’s ready for summer. I was too… until now.

  In her black Adidas shorts and matching sliders, my best friend looks like she could be on the soccer team, too, but the closest Lexi’s ever gotten to a team sport was two years of Color Guard, which she gave up because it was interfering with her AP homework load.

  She steps around an apple core someone’s thrown on the cafeteria floor. “So there’s a new Chris Hemsworth movie coming out this weekend. He’s like this hot, ancient Greek warrior. It looks really good.”

  Oops. I’d forgotten about the movie plans we made earlier last week. The ones that already got postponed once because of Grandpa’s funeral. Guess I have no choice but to tell her now. Setting my tray on the table, I take a seat. “Actually, I can’t go this weekend. I’ll be out of town.” My shoulders slouch as I’m forced to come to grips with my new reality all over again. I uncap my bottled water and take a sip, hoping to wash down the bad taste last weekend left in my mouth. No such luck.

  “What do you mean you’ll be out of town?” Maddie asks as she takes her place across from us. “What about playoffs?” She unpacks a homemade lunch in matching turquoise Tupperware. I wouldn’t be surprised if her mom still makes her lunch every morning. Not that Maddie isn’t perfectly capable of doing it—that’s just how her mom is. Mrs. Tate also regularly makes Saran-wrapped, after-game snacks for the soccer team—things like Rice Krispie treats, brownies, or those extra-large chocolate chip cookies.

  “Yeah, I have this thing…” I say, my voice giving away my listless mood. “I’ll have to miss this game, but hopefully we’ll make it to the next round.”

  “What thing?” Lexi and Maddie both ask at the same time.

  I take another sip of water and let out a sigh. “My mom and I had to meet with my grandpa’s lawyer yesterday. He left us an inheritance, but I have to complete these, uh… tasks.” I say for lack of a better word. “The first one is this weekend. I have to go to the Grand Canyon.”

  “The Grand Canyon?” Maddie’s brow furrows in confusion. “Why would your grandpa want you to go there?”

  “We have to do these things that he always wanted to do but never did.”

  Le
xi’s face lights up. “Oh, wow. I think that’s nice.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s all that nice.”

  “So will you and your mom be gone all weekend?” Lexi asks, ignoring my overt lack of enthusiasm.

  “My mom’s not going with me, actually.” And here comes the fun part. “My cousin, K. J., is.”

  “Wait, what?” Lexi says, mid-bite into her sub sandwich. She sets it back on her lunch tray. “The one you don’t like?”

  Neither Lexi nor Maddie know the whole story about K. J.; I’ve only told them we’ve never gotten along, which is already proving to be true.

  “That’s the one,” I say. “I’m ecstatic, if you can’t tell.”

  Lexi laughs. “Oh, wow. That should be interesting.”

  Understatement of the year. “Please just pray that neither of us pushes the other into the canyon.”

  Both of my friends seem to get a kick out of this.

  They have no idea I’m being completely serious.

  CHAPTER 6

  K. J.

  CARTER AND I GET OFF THE SCHOOL BUS AT THE mobile home park entrance, him muttering obscenities about some sophomore who still owes him ten bucks, and me hugging my books awkwardly to my chest. For the first time in recent memory, I’m putting the home in homework. Wish I had a backpack.

  “Just drop it, why don’t you,” I say to Carter. “He probably doesn’t have the money.”

  “Should’ve thought about that before he made a bet that I couldn’t get five solo wins in Fortnite. Dumbass. I need gas money.” Carter scoops up a rock from the gravel road and throws it hard. It bounces off a broken-down lawn mower near the end of the row with a loud clank.

  “Feel better now?” I ask with a smirk.

  “Yep. I do, actually.” As we continue toward home, he eyes my books. “So what’s with the sudden interest in school?”

  The question was inevitable, I guess. “Dunno.” I stare at the ground. “Just figured I’d see if I could bring my grades up before graduation. You know, show my teachers I can actually do it.”

  “Since when do you care what they think?” Carter says with a laugh. “You never care what anyone thinks.”

  If only that were true.

  “You really think two and a half weeks is enough time to bring your grades up?” he continues.

  “Guess we’ll find out. I’ll be doing every extra credit assignment I can get.”

  The kids from across the street run out of their trailer and hop on their bikes again. They must be home-schooled or something. I’ve never seen them waiting at the bus stop. I wave as they ride past, but they don’t seem to notice us.

  “You gonna have a smoke first?” Carter asks.

  “No, I’m out.” I’d go get some, but Mom’s working the late shift at Dollar General today, and I don’t feel like walking all the way to the gas station right now.

  “No worries, I’ve got some.” Carter hurries inside his trailer and reappears a few moments later. We sit on my front porch stairs as we light them.

  “So have you started looking for a job yet?” I ask between drags. He’s leaning back on the step below me, trying to blow a smoke ring. Unsuccessfully, I might add. It’s a talent neither one of us has been able to master.

  “Not yet.”

  “When do you plan to start?”

  “This weekend, I guess,” he says. “I have no idea where, though.”

  “What about an auto parts store or maybe a hardware store? You like cars and fixing stuff.”

  “Yeah—” his shoulders rise and fall in an overly dramatic shrug “—that might work.”

  “Then maybe you and Dax could rent a trailer or an apartment or something.”

  Carter sits up and slowly twists from side to side, his spine releasing a series of cringe-worthy crackles. “We’ve been talking about doing that, actually.” He turns around to look at me. “Hey, you could move in with us, too, if you want. We could split the rent three ways.”

  A flash of excitement zips through me at the thought, but it lasts all of two seconds. “I don’t know about that.” I’m pretty sure Carter’s always thought of me as one of the guys, but honestly, I think it would be weird living with them.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He takes one last drag before stubbing out his cigarette on the step. “You should stay with your mom for a while. She’d probably be lonely if you left.”

  While this is true, it’s not really the reason why I’m planning on staying put for now. For one, I’ll be too busy doing Grandpa’s stuff this summer to get a job, and two, I’m hoping that if I do—by some miracle—get into college, I can save money by living at home. I’d hate to spend all my inheritance in the next four years.

  It’s strange, suddenly having a little direction in my life. Up until now, I’ve felt like I’ve been wandering around in one of those gigantic corn mazes, never sure which way to go. The bad part is, until now, I didn’t really care which way I went.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” Carter asks.

  “Nothing.” I stub out my own cigarette and toss it onto the lawn before grabbing my books from beside me. “Better go get started on this shit. Might take me all night to do the essay.”

  Carter laughs and stands. “Yeah… good luck with that.”

  By Friday morning, my stomach is one big boiling pot of nerves. I can’t pay attention in my classes even though I’ve been giving it my best effort this week. It’s not the Grand Canyon I’m afraid of or even my sure-to-be-sucky weekend with my cousin. It’s the fact that in a few hours, I’m going to be flying on a plane for the first time. Mom’s supposed to pick me up at lunchtime and take me to the airport.

  By the time the school secretary calls my name over the loudspeaker in English class, I feel like I’m on the verge of puking. Probably not a good sign. Mom waits in the office for me, her fingers tapping on the blue Formica counter, eyes taking in the plaques and other boring decor on the walls. She looks completely out of place here. I think it’s the first time she’s ever been inside my high school, as a matter of fact.

  She frowns as soon as she sees me. “What’s wrong? You look sick.” She reaches to feel my forehead with the back of her hand, and it stirs up distant memories of her doing the same when I was little. She used to say her hand was just as good as those expensive thermometers. “You better not be coming down with something. Not right now.”

  I pull away from her and walk toward the exit door and she hurries to follow behind me. “You don’t have a fever. What’s going on?”

  “God, Mom, nothing. I’m just nervous. I’ve never flown before.”

  “Oh!” She gives a little laugh. “I’ll give you one of my Xanax. You’ll be fine.” The concern in her voice is gone now.

  “Can you give it to me now?” I ask a little more aggressively than I mean to. “Please,” I tack on, holding out my hand.

  She digs through her purse as we cross the parking lot and finds the bottle by the time we make it to the car. I heave open the door and sink into the passenger seat, my stomach still bubbling like a cauldron full of something vile.

  Mom climbs in on her side and presses the pills into my hand. “Here, you better take two, just in case.” I tilt my head back and pop them into my mouth, grabbing a half-empty bottle of water from the cup holder to chase them down. “I got your bag in the back.”

  “Thanks.” I lean my head against the seat, closing my eyes. And hoping the Xanax kicks in soon.

  Thankfully, by the time we get to the airport a little less than an hour later, I’m feeling much better about things. Sleepy, but better.

  “Just don’t drink any alcohol,” Mom says when we pull up in front of the airport. “It doesn’t mix well with Xanax.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Wasn’t planning on it, but thanks for the tip.” I grab my bag and climb out of the car, stifling a yawn. “See ya.”

  “Have fun!” she says, like I’m in the second grade and she’s dropping me off at summer cam
p.

  “I’ll try,” I mumble under my breath before closing the door. Here goes nothing.

  The airport is intimidating—lots of people, signs, and hallways—but I manage to get checked in and find my gate with thirty minutes to spare. No surprise that Little Miss Perfect is already here. Wearing orange athletic shorts that show off her toned legs and a gray T-shirt that says PLAY LIKE A GIRL, she looks like she could be on the cover of that sporty women’s magazine she’s flipping through. Her head nods to the beat of whatever music is streaming through her earbuds. Bubblegum pop, if I had to guess. I plop down in the seat beside her, which makes her jump. She pulls out her earbuds and shoots me a nasty look.

  “What’s up, cuz?” I say. For some reason, this makes me laugh. I seem to find it way funnier than she does, at least.

  She looks me over. “What’s wrong with you? Are you high?”

  I laugh again. “I sure hope not.” Maybe I should have just stuck with the one Xanax, though.

  She inspects my face for several seconds before shaking her head. If I wasn’t feeling so mellow right now, I might actually be offended. I blow out a long breath and pull out my ticket to look at the flight time again.

  “Twenty-five minutes to go,” I say to no one in particular. “Glad I got here early. Not really sure how this works, with boarding and all.”

  Becka doesn’t respond and it quickly becomes apparent she has no intention of making small talk with me. She stuffs her earbuds back in and resumes flipping through the magazine. I slump down in my seat, turning my attention to the people hurrying around the airport. It’s an interesting mix: an old lady with obvious dyed-brown hair hobbling along surprisingly fast with her cane. Two forty-something ladies wearing fur coats, high heels, and sunglasses like they’ve mistaken northwestern Arkansas for L.A. Then there’s a balding, middle-aged guy wearing a gray suit and red high-tops.