Summer's End

by Sally Henson

  I nod, chewing my food. What I really want to do is jump up on the table and scream.

  Mom walks in. “All ready?” And that’s the end of that conversation, thankfully.

  I'm surprised I handled it so well. It must’ve been my prayer before I ate. Thank you, God. Usually, any backlash against my plans for my future gets my blood boilin'. Hot-headedness doesn't work with dad, though. I'm going to have to be more disciplined in our conversations about college. Maybe coming up with practical reasons against another career can help my case. I'll have to work on that.

  14

  I'm out of the Jeep and nearly running to the bathroom as soon as Dad parks. We've come to this church my whole life, but this is only the second time I've felt anxious, nervous, or whatever this odd squirrelly sensation in my chest is. The first time I felt this way coming to church was the day I decided to get baptized and become a Christian. Lane and I decided at the end of Sunday school the same day. They have a baptistery here, but we wanted our dads to do it in Fox Creek. At the end of services, we walked down the aisle to the preacher and made the Good Confession. I was so nervous to walk in front of everyone and speak, mostly because everyone was staring at me. It was better because I wasn't alone. Lane walked up beside me. We did it together. Everyone was invited to come out to Fox Creek and support our decision by being there when we went under the water.

  Today, these flutters inside me are a little different. Drying my hands, I look in the mirror. I almost don't recognize myself. The light in the bathroom isn't doing me any favors. Why did I put this makeup on? Instead of covering up my imperfections, it shines a spotlight on them. Especially the gold flecks in my eyes. They look like the eyes of a wild animal—hideous. I shake my head in disapproval. This is why I never wear makeup. And my hair. It doesn't know if it's mousey brown or dirty blonde. The only time my hair gets curled is when Tobi does it. Same goes for my painted toes. If this dress wasn't so comfortable, I'd be upset about it, too. Even though it's cotton, it's a little more sophisticated than I am.

  Just forget about it and move on.

  Out the door of the bathroom, I make a mad dash—well, as much as is possible without attracting attention to myself—to class. Lane's sitting in his usual seat, drinking something out of a Styrofoam cup. It’s probably apple cider from the one-cup hot drink machine. Paul, who is a year older than me and an upcoming senior at my school, is sitting in the chair next to him. Lane usually doesn't have much to say to Paul. Lane looks up at me when I walk in and trails off his conversation. Paul follows his line-of-sight and is looking at me now, too. I just looked in the mirror. There wasn't mascara running down my face, and my hair wasn't sticking up. Fear jolts through me. My shoes! I look down. Phew! No toilet paper hanging off my shoes.

  I smooth down my dress sides and back to make sure it's not caught in my underwear. Paul leans back in his chair with a cocky grin. Lane stands. His eyes look me up and down. I must look like a complete idiot. Instead of having to listen to him make fun of me, I bolt to the drink machine.

  What was I thinking getting dressed up this morning? I look like a complete fool.

  I want to run out, but I can't. It feels like everyone is staring at me, and I don't like it. I'll just get my hot chocolate and find Miss Braun.

  Almost in tears when my drink is done, I reach for an ice cube when I feel a presence behind me. I try to ignore it, assuming it's someone else staring at me.

  “Are you ignoring me?” The sound vibrations amplify whatever has been going on inside me today. I stir my drink and shake my head without turning around. Lane steps to the side and leans on the counter, craning his neck to see me. My self-consciousness melts away, and I sip my drink in relief—at least until Paul walks up behind Lane.

  “Hey, Regan.”

  Lane frowns and stands tall and rigid keeping his back to Paul.

  “Hi, Paul,” I smile politely even though he has interrupted us.

  “You're looking good. That's a great dress.” Now he's looking me up and down.

  This is uncomfortable. “Uh, thanks.”

  “I was thinking, maybe you and I should go to the movies sometime this week.” He’s so full of confidence. Maybe arrogance is a better word. He's the basketball star, so a lot of girls swoon after him. It seems like he's always going out with someone new.

  Him asking me out at church feels even weirder and awkward for some reason. Especially right here in front of Lane. A grimaced smile breaks out on my face. “I don't … really … date, Paul. But thanks for asking.”

  “Oh. Well, it doesn't have to be a date. We can just hang out or whatever.” His smile turns into a wolfish grin.

  Lane looks totally bored with the whole idea. Without moving he says, “This isn't the church social mixer, Paul.”

  Paul ignores Lane and drapes his arm on Lane's shoulder. He can't see Lane crinkle his nose up with contempt at the gesture. “I mean, it's not like you two are dating, right?”

  Lane’s narrowed, piercing eyes could cut a block of ice in half.

  Oh, this is going to be tricky. “Well, Lane is my best friend, and I don't really hang out with any other guys.”

  “Who's going to take Lane's place when he goes off to college? He won't be around to keep you company anymore.”

  Lane doesn't say anything, but his telltale sign of irritation shows when he starts chewing on the inside of his cheek.

  I don’t know who to look at: Lane or Paul. My gaze floats back and forth between them. “Tobi's not going anywhere, and neither is Haylee or Cameron.” His question embeds in my brain like a treble hook.

  Paul raises his eyebrows. “Is it Cameron?”

  My teeth clench, and heat flows up my neck.

  “I've seen pictures of you two together. I didn't believe the rumors, but it did look like you were having a good time.” Paul’s smile stretches across his lips as if he's just exposed my secret.

  I almost reach up and smack his smug look off his face. It seems as though Stacey’s gossipy antics are never-ending. My chest tightens, knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.

  I start to tell Paul I’m not interested, again, when Lane knocks Paul’s arm off and moves directly in front of him. “She's not interested, Paul, so back off. Go ask one of your groupies to hang out or whatever.”

  In three steps, Tristan is near enough to intercede. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Lane’s voice is steely. He reluctantly pulls his eyes away from Paul to acknowledge Tristan, only to find their way back, etching a warning to Paul.

  “Paul?” Tristan waits for a response.

  Paul crosses his arms. “Fine as frogs' hair.” His eyes stay focused on Lane with a provoking smirk drawn on his face.

  Tristan nods to Miss Braun, and she starts class while he makes sure the three of us amicably find a seat.

  Through Sunday school and Church service, I think about Paul's question and wonder to myself, who will take Lane's place? Not too long ago, Paul's comments about the picture with Cameron would've upset me to the point it would stay with me all day, but I've moved past that.

  After service, Lane moves to talk with his parents, and Mr. Cary calls my dad over. I quickly wave bye to Lane and walk out with my mom. Just out the door, in the blistering heat of the noon sun, Mom stops to talk with the preacher's wife. Standing beside her, I look past my immediate surroundings to the shade tree behind our Jeep and feel the urge to run to it. A longing to be rid of the crowd and take cover from the sun grows as sweat begins to bead on my back beneath my hair and trickle down my spine one drop at a time.

  A sultry and devious voice startles me. “You look real nice today.” I jump. Paul presses his body against the back of me. My breath catches in my throat. He slides to the side with a big smile on his face and winks, as if he's accomplished something incredibly smart. “See you later?” I try, but I can’t ignore what he just did. In public. At church of all places.

  Mom talks and talks and ta
lks to the ladies outside. Lane hasn't come out, and Dad is still inside, too. I decide to make my escape. Today I'm glad Dad always parks in the back of the lot. At least no one will see me back here. I sigh, leaning against the tree behind the Jeep, waiting for Mom and Dad. I look up the line of the tree trunk as my mind wanders between the past and the present.

  “I really like that dress on you.” Mom ambles by the Jeep. “It brings out the color of your eyes.”

  “Thanks.” I keep my focus upward at the sky through the leaves of the maple tree.

  “You curled your hair and put on some makeup today. And painted your toenails.” She’s trying to coax me to explain why, but I'm not going there.

  “What? Do I look funny? Did I do it wrong?”

  Mom shakes her head, her eyebrows drawing in. “No, no sweetie. You did a good job. You look very nice. I'm just surprised, that's all.”

  “Oh.” I continue gazing, my head back, resting on the tree. It's amazing how the same leaf can look so different, depending on how the sunlight hits it. I think about the leaves, the various shades of light, the difference in light and absence of light, and the weight of Paul's words.

  Then it hits me. I don't want anyone to take Lane's place. No warnings go off in my head, telling me no boyfriends—think about your career. I stop breathing. Lane’s right. I bolt straight up as if there’s a rod going up through the middle of my spine. My chest swells with excitement and fear. I wouldn’t want to go out with Paul or anyone else if I didn’t have a “no dating” rule. The incident with Paul proved that to me today.

  “Here comes your father.”

  I turn toward the Jeep to see Lane beside him. I must have a crazy expression, judging the way Lane’s looking at me.

  “Hey, you wanna go swimming?” Lane stops no more than a foot in front of me. I wish my parents weren’t around. I need to tell him about my newfound conclusion.

  “Sarah, do you feel like a swim today?” Dad asks Mom with a grin. My smile disappears, and my brows pull low and tight. Mom goes to Dad's side, and they discuss the option.

  Lane steps a little closer and speaks low so my parents can't hear him. “Say yes. I'll explain later.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “When I get home, I'll get my stuff and come over.”

  “Don't you want to eat first?” Our families were getting together for supper today.

  “Eh.” He shrugs his shoulders.

  “I'll fix some sandwiches, and we can eat when you come over.” I look over Lane's shoulder. “Are you guys going?” My parents, to the best of my knowledge, have never, ever been swimming at the cliffs.

  “I don't know, we might.” Dad puts his arm around Mom.

  “It might be fun.” Mom looks up at him with her eyes twinkling. She's acting like a gooey-eyed school girl.

  I raise my eyebrow. Truthfully, I’m not thrilled with the idea. “Okay ...” Mom laughs at me as they both get in the car.

  Lane leans in quickly. “Don't change till I get there, promise?”

  “Why?”

  “Just ... just don't change anything, okay?”

  “Okay. I'll—”

  He turns and jogs to the car before I can finish.

  “See you after a while.”

  On the ride home, I'm quiet, contemplating what's going on, while Mom tells Dad about something from her women-only class this morning. I'm not anxious anymore—which is a good thing—and hungry, too. I don’t think I’ll tell Lane what Paul did.

  My parents heat up some leftovers to eat and go outside to the patio with iced tea. I don't even get all the sandwiches made before Lane knocks and walks in the door.

  “That was fast.”

  He must’ve driven like a madman to get here this fast. He looks around the kitchen and peeks in the living room.

  “They're outside on the patio.”

  “I know, they said hello before I came in.”

  I continue making sandwiches, spreading peanut butter and jelly on bread. I look up at Lane and lick the peanut butter off my fingertips. “What?” Lane's watching me.

  “You look so ...”

  I hold my hand up. “I know. I know. I shouldn't have put this makeup on and stuff.” I sigh. “Just drop it, okay.”

  He shakes his head, walking toward me. “No, no. I mean … you’re so pretty without it. But you ... your hair ... your dress ... your cute little-painted toes.” He props himself up on his forearms across the counter from me, fervently watching me. “I couldn't keep my eyes off you.”

  I roll my eyes. Sandwiches made, I go to the sink to wash my hands. He follows me.

  He chuckles. “Really.”

  I scowl, washing my hands. “Don't make fun.”

  He hands me the towel. “Seriously, sometimes you are so oblivious. I'm not the only one who noticed how amazing you look today. Paul was this close—” He measures half an inch between his finger and thumb. “—to getting a bloody nose.”

  “If you start bloodying people's noses, they're going to think something’s going on between us. Besides …” I motion from my head to my toes. “I felt foolish the entire time, anyway.”

  He takes my hand in his, and it makes me turn to goo inside. I feel like spilling my guts. “All this,” I say—uncomfortable expressing it, but it keeps coming out of my mouth anyway. “I did all this, to get your attention, I guess.” That's a stupid thing to say, Regan. He moves forward and laces our fingers together. I look down at them and see the craziness of him and me, together, as boyfriend/girlfriend and think about what Paul said again.

  “Yesterday at the pool, at home last night—even this morning when I woke up, I keep thinking about you, your words, what you said we've become.” His eyes are smiling. “Even when I tried to work on my college plans yesterday, my mind goes back to the shed, to surfing, the night of the blue moon.” I look away. The honesty's so scary, but it’s coming out regardless. “I've never been like this before. And it still feels strange it’s with you, my best friend.”

  “I like taking space in your thoughts.” He has that wistful look I recognize.

  “Something Paul said today—”

  He growls. “Don't listen to anything Paul says.” His body shifts, moving his weight from one leg to the other. He doesn't want to discuss Paul.

  “It resonated with me. He asked who would take your place when you leave.”

  “Oh.” His face and tone drops.

  I shake my head. “Lane, I don't want anyone to take your place.”

  We look at each other in silence for what seems like minutes, but I'm sure it's much less than that. He asks me, with soft vulnerability, “What does that mean?”

  “I'm not completely sure yet, but this honesty, this possibility feels—dangerous to me.”

  He pulls me closer and brings our hands together in between us, “I know. It's like putting your heart and your ego on the chopping block.” He rubs his thumbs on the back of my hands. “I don't want to be laughed at either, or made fun of. I'm afraid you won't accept the way I’ve come to feel about you. Afraid that … that you won't feel the same way I do.”

  We stand there for a minute. The stillness feels odd. “Let's not wait for my parents to walk in and see us like this.” With a sigh, he lets go and walks back around the counter. “Thank you.” I continue to speak telepathically, hoping he can hear my words in his mind—for being honest, for telling me I'm pretty, for letting me go. My heart wells up a little. How can he be so uninhibited? I hand him a plate with two sandwiches.

  He flashes his dimples as he takes the plate from me. “You can't dress like this on Sundays.” He takes a bite of his sandwich.

  I laugh. “What?”

  “All I want to do is look at you. I can't concentrate when you look like this.” I continue to laugh. It sounds so absurd.

  Lane’s eyes grow wide as he stares at me. “Please, I'm serious.”

  His comments bring to mind Friday night when I scooted over and mimicked his luring purr.
I can’t help but smile at the power I felt doing that. “That’s dumb.” I take another bite of my PB and J. “I felt like everyone was staring and laughing at me today anyway, so it's not likely I'll curl my hair and put on makeup for a while.” He just shakes his head. “So, what's the deal? You wanted me to say yes to go swimming but you don't want me to change to go swimming? I don’t get it.”

  He muses at his own silent thoughts for a moment. “I just ...” He takes another bite of sandwich. “I had to find a way to get over here right after church. Since it's a scorcher today, I came up with the idea of a family swim at the cliffs. I didn't want you to change so I could enjoy seeing you like this a little longer.”

  I ignore his embarrassing words. I think they’re a compliment, but they sound foreign. “Your family’s coming over to swim? Mom, Dad, sisters?” I'd be surprised to have either set of parents swim out there.

  “I asked them to do it for me since I'm leaving and all.” He walks to the fridge and gets out the milk.

  “Huh, I just realized what a manipulator you are.” I move to the cabinet for a couple glasses.

  “If that were true, I’d have your lips on mine every chance I get.” He sneaks up behind me, wedging me in the corner with just his presence. I pull two glasses out as he sets the milk on the counter. He shuts the cabinet door above me and hooks his fingers through my hair gently moving it over my shoulder. He does this sometimes. But this time he leans his cheek against me. “You smell ...” He draws in a slow breath. My body turns toward his voice.

  The side door opens, I freeze, and Lane jumps back on the other side of the kitchen.

  “Hello?” It's Mom.

  I take a deep breath and pour milk into the glasses. “Right here.” I try to keep my voice even. The kitchen is off to the right when you walk in the side door. We’re tucked away out of sight, at least for a few steps.

  She steps in. “Oh. We've been waiting for you two to come out.” She stands by the kitchen table looking at us.