The Summer of Impossibilities

by Rachael Allen

  Skyler sets two trays on the coffee table. “And I made mini pizzas and Mary Berry’s Viennese Whirls.”

  “Also amazing. Um. But why are we doing this?”

  “Apparently, my sister has some big giant secret to tell us.”

  Scarlett clutches her chest like she’s been wounded. “It is so much more than that.”

  She sits on the mattress with the red and orange spiderweb-patterned quilt, back straight like a queen. We rush to find our own spots. Whatever this is, it’s going to be good.

  “The original Southern Belle Drinking Club?” She leans forward. “It’s our moms.”

  “What?!” squeals Skyler.

  “It’s true,” says Amelia Grace.

  Scarlett cocks her head at me. I am clearly not reacting as expected. They’re gonna figure out I knew. Are they gonna be mad at me?

  I duck my head. “I know.”

  “Wait, seriously?” says Scarlett.

  “I was worried you guys wouldn’t want to do it if you knew it was our moms.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “How did you find out?” asks Skyler.

  “My mom had a bunch of pictures and stuff in our attic.”

  “Pictures like these?!” Scarlett plunks a photo album down on the coffee table and ceremoniously flips open the cover.

  “Wow, that is an intense amount of flannel,” I say.

  “I would actually wear those overalls though,” says Sky.

  I point at a photo of our moms dressed up for going out. “Yeah, and Aunt Adeline is rocking that choker.”

  Scarlett snorts. “And that scrunchie.”

  “Okay, okay, okay, but why would you ever want your jeans to be down around your hip bones?” says Skyler.

  “Pretty sure you can’t bend over in those.” Scarlett sighs as she turns the pages. “So much blackmail material in such a thin book. Okay, but this is important, y’all. I thought we could do a dramatic reading.”

  “Um, yes. That is definitely a thing we should do,” says Amelia Grace.

  A fact about Scarlett: She can sound exactly like my aunt Adeline.

  Another fact: It is hilarious.

  “The party was pretty boring, so we started playing Hey, That’s My Name,” reads Scarlett. “So, Seema goes up to this guy, and he’s all, ‘Hey, I’m Jack.’ And she’s all, ‘Oh, wow, that’s my name! It’s short for Jacqueline.’ And Neely had to be Kyle, which could easily be her real name except that she can’t lie worth a damn and she couldn’t stop giggling. But then I met this guy I actually kind of liked, only his name turned out to be Trevor. TREVOR. So, I had to be Trevor for the rest of the night and possibly the rest of my natural life because Val will not stop calling me that.”

  “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, we are going to hell in a handbasket,” giggles Skyler.

  Scarlett makes a big show of stretching her arms across the backs of several pillows. “Hey, at least this handbasket has comfy throw pillows.”

  She reads some more, and I laugh so hard I have to run back to the carriage house to go to the bathroom for fear I might literally pee my pants. While I’m there, I grab my pillow. Momma’s friendship bracelet is underneath, and I grab that too.

  “Can you help me put this on?” I ask Skyler when I get back to the dock.

  “It’s really pretty,” she says as she fastens the blue threads around my wrist.

  This is it. The moment I know I’ve accomplished my goal for the summer.

  We stay up past midnight digging through their journals and reading the good parts out loud. Our moms come out to the deck to drink wine and talk, but I don’t think they can hear us. Skyler pulls a photo out of the album and looks at it—the one with all four of our moms, chins resting on their hands, lying on the floor of what I now know is the loft.

  “That one’s my favorite too,” I say. “Momma has a copy of it.”

  Sky holds up the photo of the four smiling teenage girls, and behind it, our moms are sitting at a picnic table, fortysomething years old, still laughing, still best friends. I feel like I can see our whole lives spreading out before us. We come visit each other in college, crashing in each other’s dorm rooms. We go to concerts and on road trips and we mend each other’s broken hearts and we’re bridesmaids in each other’s weddings. And we’re there for each other when one of us gets a phone call that makes her legs go weak. We’re there for all of it.

  Skyler

  Turns out, if you shove a form in front of my mom while she’s talking to my aunt Seema, she will sign practically anything. I feel a guilty sinking in my stomach at how easily she trusts me, but mostly I try not to think about it. A quick fax later, and Dr. Levy has called my prescription into the pharmacy near our lake house and I am picking it up.

  I have them, my new meds.

  I did this, myself.

  I feel powerful.

  Well, at least until I pull out the syringe. I take my sweet time cleaning a patch of skin on the top of my leg with an alcohol wipe like Dr. Levy taught me. And then I remove the cap. Why did it have to be needles? The way the light glints off them all menacing, and the thought of them fishtailing around under your skin, and the way the bore always looks So. Freaking. Huge. I’m like 90 percent certain there’s no medical need for it to be that large.

  I try not to look at it as I get rid of the bubbles.

  And fail.

  Ohmygosh, why didn’t I get Ellie or Scarlett to do the injecting part? They both offered. But Past Skyler was all, Noooo, I have to do this all by myself. It’s more meaningful that way. Plus, I have to prove I can take care of myself. Just me. Alone. Present Skyler is holding the syringe with shaking hands and feeling less than thrilled about Past Skyler’s decisions. “C’mon,” I say. “Do it for Future Skyler, the one who gets to play softball again.”

  I take a deep breath and pinch a fold of skin around the injection site. I avert my eyes.

  Wait a minute, how am I supposed to see where to inject if I’m not looking?

  I de-avert my eyes. Focus on the spot on my leg.

  And BOOM.

  I push in the needle, quick like a dart. Let go of the fold of skin. It stings, but I push the plunger, slowly, because that’s what the doctor said, but slowly is no good because slowly means I have time to think about the needle and the fluid and how it’s flowing into my skin like a worm—

  I remove the needle. Place it in the sharps bin the pharmacist gave me. Try to ignore the hot, creeping, light-headed feeling spiraling through me.

  I did it.

  I pass out on my floor.

  “HEY YOU GUYS, I DID IT.”

  Scarlett and Amelia Grace look stunned. Well, I guess I did just bust onto the dock, screaming at them.

  Scarlett raises one eyebrow like she’s trying to pretend I didn’t just scare the bejesus out of her. “Did . . . what?”

  “My injection.” Ugh, really people, get with the program. “I just did it. Like, by myself.”

  I’m eight feet tall right now, not even kidding.

  “That’s amazing!” says Amelia Grace.

  Finally.

  “Wow, and you were cool with the needle and everything?” asks Scarlett.

  “Um, well, I may have kind of fainted after.”

  “Skyler!”

  “BUT I DID IT.”

  “I told you you could ask me.” Her eyes look almost hurt that I didn’t.

  “I’m sorry. I know. I just.” How to say this so that it makes sense? “It was really important that I do it myself, you know?”

  Scarlett nods, but there’s something underneath it that I can’t quite place. “You don’t have to do everything yourself,” she says quietly.

  I squeeze her hand. “I know.” There. We good? Can this please be about me right now, seeing as how I just injected myself with a REAL. LIVE. NEEDLE. I need someone to be unequivocally happy for me.

  “Oh! Where’s Ellie? I totally have to tell Ellie!”

  Amelia Grace shrugs. “C
arriage house?”

  Mmm, probably not, seeing as how I was literally just passed out there, but I’m taking no chances!

  “Let’s go check!”

  First, we all go to the carriage house, and Ellie is not there. Then I run over to the main house and check every room and even the closets, and Ellie is not there. And then I run back to the carriage house, and Ellie is still not there.

  “Where is she?!” I am exasperated. I am desperate.

  Scarlett and Amelia Grace just shrug. Ugh. So much shrugging from them, on this, the biggest day of my life.

  “Oh! She always writes down her schedule in that planner-journal thing!”

  Scarlett grabs it from the top bunk. “Let me see.” She flips some pages. Her face goes funny and she snaps the book shut. “Nope. I don’t think it’s in there.”

  “What? Of course it’s in there. It’s always in there. Like, down to the last minute and everything.” I grab for the journal, but she holds it out of my reach.

  “Sky, I really don’t think you should—”

  “What? Does it say something embarrassing like she’s getting a bikini wax? Just let me see it!”

  I have to jump for it, but I grab the journal out of her hands.

  “Skyler. Please don’t.” She says it all monotone like she knows it’s useless. I’m already flipping the pages.

  Schedules for homework and fitness plans and detailed itineraries for each day and—Oh. That’s why Scarlett didn’t want me to see it.

  And underneath that, a list of things. About me.

  “What are you doing?” asks Ellie.

  She’s standing in the doorway.

  Ellie

  Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no. Sky is holding my notebook, why is she holding my notebook? There’s a sinking feeling in my gut.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. At least, I think I ask it. There’s a ringing in my ears right now, and it’s hard to know.

  There’s this one page, and it would be so very bad if she saw it. She winces as she hands me the notebook. She’s already seen it. I feel like I’m going to throw up. How am I supposed to get her to understand?

  “It’s not what you think,” I rush to say.

  She shakes her head and her eyes are so damn sad. “I thought you actually liked me.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and walks out of the room with her head down.

  I think about running after her, but it’s like I’m frozen. “Sky,” I call, even though I know it’s too late.

  She doesn’t turn around.

  My feet finally start working, and I chase her down the stairs. Touch her shoulder. “Sky, wait.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” she says softly.

  I watch her walk across the grass to the main house. The other girls have come downstairs now. I look to Scarlett like she’ll know what to do.

  “You really fucked up,” she says. “Also, I’m sorry. I was the one who opened your journal. I was trying to figure out when you’d be home, because Skyler was so excited to tell you about her arthritis stuff. I didn’t know . . . what was in there.”

  She’s less angry than I thought she’d be. More disappointed? The weird thing is, I don’t really care. I mean, I care, but I care so much more about Sky and her ducked head and sad eyes right now. How do I get her to believe that I really like her? That I always wanted to be friends with her and that she wasn’t just a means to getting the other girls to be friends with me? That she means everything.

  “I didn’t mean it the way it sounds,” I say.

  I just meant it like, Scarlett is the hardest. Not like Scarlett is the best. But are they somehow connected in my brain? Isn’t that why I always try to be friends with girls like Emily Rae? No. I shake off that thought. That entire tennis academy is a trash fire.

  “Good luck convincing her of that,” Scarlett says. “She’s sweet, but she’s stubborn as all hell.”

  She leaves too, and Amelia Grace starts to go after her, but then pauses.

  “You have to try,” she says. “Maybe we have a meeting and you explain everything?”

  “There’s no way they’re coming to a meeting now.”

  “Maybe if I ask them,” she says. She squeezes my elbow before she leaves.

  It’s the only thing that’s keeping me going.

  Scarlett

  When Reese comes to visit, we take out the pontoon boat, which is good because I could use a break from the girls after Notebookgate. We putter around on the lake until he finds an inlet with no houses, just trees. He keeps trying to take off my clothes, and I keep trying to talk to him. They say this is what you’re supposed to want. A boy. Solid boy. Nice boy. Handsome boy. A boy who doesn’t have any cracks in him yet but will date you in spite of yours.

  “How was the new Zendaya movie?” I ask.

  “It was all right.” He goes back to kissing my neck, pulling down the strap of my tank top.

  “Did Carter like it?”

  He jerks back, surprised, but recovers quickly. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about that.” Kisses me on the lips. Unties the top of my bathing suit. “There were other people there, and I’m only interested in—”

  “But she’s always there. And she’s always right next to you.” I scoot away from him and pull my bathing suit back up so it covers me. There’s only so naked I’m willing to be right now.

  Reese sighs. “So, I can’t help but notice you don’t seem very interested in having sex with me.” Something about the way he says it sounds like an accusation.

  “What does that have to do with you hanging out with Carter?” Is he trying to say—

  “Nothing,” he says, like I’m the most exhausting person on the planet. “It’s just an observation.”

  I am all hard edges and exposed nerves. “An observation you felt the need to mention right in the middle of talking about Carter.”

  “You have to stop being so sensitive. I’m allowed to have thoughts about things. I’m a really nice guy. I would never cheat on you with Carter.”

  Am I really making something out of nothing right now? I don’t think I am.

  Before I can say anything, he’s talking again. “Most guys would be pretty annoyed right now. They’d feel like having sex and then not wanting to have sex is a lot like a tease.”

  Something inside me snaps. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re saying right now?” My voice isn’t the sweet one I find myself slipping into whenever he’s around. It’s sharp. And he flinches.

  “What? No. I’m just saying that’s how most guys would feel. You’re really lucky you’re with a nice guy like me.”

  This is not magic. This is, in fact, the opposite of magic.

  “I think we should break up.”

  “What? Scarlett, calm down. You don’t have to threaten to break up with me.”

  “Who says I’m threatening?”

  “Scarlett, chill, I’m sorry, okay?” His face is sweet. Sincere. The face of someone who always gets their way when they ask for things.

  “I really think this is the best thing.” I say it gently.

  “Please don’t do this.”

  He tries to take my hand, but I don’t let him. And the sweet, sincere mask falls away.

  “Wow. Okay, sure. I can’t believe you’d break up with me right after we have sex for the first time, but of course that’s something you’d do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Even though I’m not sure I’m ready for the answer.

  “You have all this baggage and shit, and I’ve been trying to keep things normal, but it’s like you don’t even know what that is. And I’ve always been cool with that, and I’ve never tried to make you feel bad about it because I’m a good person. But you’re never going to find someone else as good as me who’s willing to put up with someone who has as many problems as you.”

  He’s angry, I tell myself. He’s angry, so he’s lashing out to try and hurt me like he’s hurt
ing.

  But I don’t know if I believe it.

  We don’t share one last heartfelt hug. Or say something wise and kind about the future. We get ourselves back to the house, and he peels out of my driveway without looking back. When something’s toxic, you have to get away as fast as you can.

  I’ve never told him about how I worry I’m broken. I mostly just tried to hide the broken pieces whenever he was around. That’s the scariest part of all this. That he named my secret, dark fear without me ever having to tell him.

  It’s how I know everything he said is the truth.

  I’ve known it for a long time now.

  It started and ended with McCloud Harris.

  The start: her walking up to me in eighth-grade English and telling me she loved my teal underliner. She had the longest, blondest corn silk hair—the kind of girl people’s eyes followed down the hallway. I couldn’t believe she was talking to me. Before I knew it, we were hanging out every spare second, listening to the angriest music we could find while we complained about all the people ruining our lives. Our parents. Our teachers. The other girls at school. And her boyfriend, Billy. Oh, man, did we ever tear that kid up one side and down the other. Except sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes she would tell me about how they would kiss in Billy’s basement. And I would watch her lips as she told me what it felt like to press them against his. It made me feel like there were fireworks inside me with no place to go. I had never kissed a boy before, that’s probably why.

  Then one day she broke up with him. I remember feeling weirdly happy and also disappointed at the same time.

  “You can do so much better,” I told her. “Billy Sanders is the actual worst.”

  I did my very best to eviscerate him whenever we hung out. She was my only girlfriend unless you counted Sky or Ames or something. I wanted her to know I was on her side.

  The end: her fourteenth-birthday party. We were going to go to the county fair with all our friends, and then we were going to have a sleepover in McCloud’s family room and watch all the stuff on Netflix our parents wouldn’t let us see and maybe even sneak out.

  Then four days before the party, she came up to me after school. It was weird because she wouldn’t look me in the eye.