The Season of You & Me

by Robin Constantine

  “I can’t go to Ship Bottom,” I said.

  “Can’t or won’t?” he whispered.

  I let my hands snake around his waist. He was so warm. He sighed, drawing me closer. My cheek pressed against his chest. His heart hammered like crazy. He was nervous. He did care, didn’t he? There was always one thing I’d carried away from that first night at Meadowbrooke—the silly thing he’d said about horror movies, about us being the couple who made it out alive. I knew he was goofing at the time, but I liked to think there was weight behind those words. Maybe, even after all of this, we would.

  “I want to go,” I whispered. But I can’t.

  “Cassidy, I need you.”

  Before I knew it, Gavin’s lips were on mine. I opened to him as if the summer had been a spell his kiss woke me up from.

  Just fucking go.

  Gavin wasn’t going to Penn.

  “So you’ll come with me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  BRYAN

  THE MULTIPURPOSE ROOM WAS AN OVEN. PARENTS used their programs to fan themselves, the kids wanted water every two minutes, and all I wanted to do was go home and throw myself into Realm Wars. Screw it all.

  Just. Fucking. Go.

  That’s what I’d told her. And her eyes, damn. It had been a precision hit just as I’d intended, but seeing her deflate felt almost as shitty as seeing that able-bodied asshat put his hand on her waist. And I’d meant it. It had felt great to say it. At least in that moment. I couldn’t hold on to the mirage that was Cassidy Emmerich any longer. It didn’t matter what we whispered to each other in the night. How I felt when her hair brushed across my face, or my hands ran along her body, or my lips touched her warm skin.

  She was a summer girl and the end was inevitable.

  Sure, we’d stay in touch, maybe even a lot in the beginning, but somewhere around Halloween, we’d both suddenly get too busy, we’d get caught up in school, in life—or maybe only one of us would, leaving the other hanging. And I knew which person I’d be in that scenario.

  “Bry, you okay?” Wade whispered.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said, putting a finger to my lips and motioning to the stage, where a group of tween girls was doing a routine to “California Girls,” only they’d changed it to “Crest Haven Girls” and were in a very uncoordinated but comical kick line at the moment. Wade almost looked annoyed at being shut down, but what did he want me to say? I wasn’t fucking okay, but I had to man up, or at least keep it together until the night was over.

  The door to the multipurpose room opened. Tori crept in, alone, holding the door until it finally shut behind her. She moved over to the wall, arms folded. Our eyes met.

  “Cass?” I mouthed.

  She shook her head and shrugged. What if she’d listened to me? Was she somewhere talking to that guy? Were they making up? If Tori knew, she wasn’t letting on. I was about to go over to her when I felt a hand on my arm. Colby.

  He cupped his hand around my ear and whispered, “I don’t want to sing.”

  “Dude, you have to,” I said, not in my most sympathetic inside voice. Even Wade noticed. Colby blinked hard, sucked in his bottom lip. Nice, Bry.

  I motioned for him to follow me, pulled him over to the side. As the guy who’d become the one to talk him off the ledge, I had to be cool in his hour of need. These were big stakes to the little man.

  “Sorry, that was harsh. Why don’t you want to sing?”

  “There’s too many people, my heart feels like it might explode.”

  “First off—your heart won’t explode. That would be really gross. Second—your mom and dad are here, right?”

  “Mom and Grams are here. My dad doesn’t live with us anymore.”

  Oh, fuck. How did I not know that? He said it so matter-of-factly. He wasn’t embarrassed, or even sad; maybe it bothered him sometimes, but in that moment it didn’t. He stared at me, wide-eyed, waiting for words of wisdom, or for me to tell him it was okay to bail. He trusted me.

  “I bet Grams and Mom really want to see you sing. They’re sitting in this boiling room, all for the two minutes you’ll be up there.”

  “What if I forget the words?”

  “Just move your mouth. No one is going to know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, chill, you got this,” I said, making a shaka sign. He grinned and did the same thing. The audience applauded for the Crest Haven Girls. Wade stood up, herding the kids together. Colby gave me one more freaked-out look but I nodded at him. He took his place behind H-bomb, and Wade led them up to the side of the stage to be announced.

  “You’re good at this, you know,” Tori said, crouching next to me.

  “Ah, it’s easy.”

  “No, actually, it’s not, Bry. I don’t know how you spend so much time with the little ones. I’d lose it twenty times a day. You’re a rock star to these kids, anyone can see that,” she said.

  I’d never thought being a counselor was rough. Maybe that’s how the best jobs were supposed to feel. We watched as Wade ushered the boys up the stairs to the stage and into position, along with the other groups of six-year-olds. My neck tensed—I was nervous for these little guys. Hunter put his hand over his eyes, looking over the audience. Was he searching for Cassidy? He would be bummed out if she missed it.

  “Is Cassidy coming to this?” I asked.

  “I left her in the classroom, she was putting out the cookies, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Tori’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  “I know about the dude who was with her, if that’s what you’re worried about telling me.”

  “She seemed sort of upset after talking to you. What the heck happened?”

  “I told her to leave,” I said. Tori’s eyes widened. “Actually, I said just fucking go. I meant it at the time, I didn’t think—”

  “Shit, you said that to her?”

  “I was pissed off.”

  I reached into my backpack for my phone, hoping I’d find a message from her, but there was nothing. My heart sank. I pressed the video button on the phone and set it up to record.

  “If she was here, she wouldn’t miss this,” I said, positioning the camera for a good view.

  The music started. Wade hurried off the stage and leaned against the wall by the front. None of the kids could stand still. A few fidgeted. Some tried to do the hand motions that were supposed to go along with the song. Colby looked out at the audience and waved, I guessed at his mom and grams. The kids sang softly at first, with bursts of loudness. They were slightly off-key and had to strain at the high notes, which made a murmur of laughter roll across the audience, but our little dudes were killing it. Colby, who had been petrified moments earlier, was now up there, singing, laughing. Brave. Somewhere between the swims, and kickball, and whining, these kids had managed to get under my skin. Maybe I’d be a blip to them when all was said and done, but this was a summer I’d never forget. They were a part of that.

  The audience went crazy after they were finished. I held up my hand to slap a row of high fives as they returned to their seats. Wade stopped and saw Tori.

  “You clean up nice, Tori,” he said.

  Tori played with a piece of her hair, twirling it around her finger. “Really, so what? Every other day I look like crap? Thanks, Wade,” she said, smiling and then walking off.

  He groaned and slumped down in the seat at the end of the aisle next to me. “Did I not just tell her she looked pretty?”

  “Um, no—you said she cleaned up nice. There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t have any problem hitting on girls; why am I having a tough time with her?”

  “So you’re hitting on her now?”

  “No, you know what I mean. I like her, Bryan. Are you sure she really likes me, you know, that way?”

  I laughed; it was nice to see Wade off his game. “Don’t try so hard, but, you know, try.”

  After the last number Monty
appeared and attempted to get the parents involved with a group dance. Some were game. Others looked uncomfortable. Lots were suddenly interested in their phones. One incredible #wheelchairperk—begging off awkward dance fun if I wanted. I wheeled over toward the side of the multipurpose room. Even though there were still two weeks to go in camp, showcase night was traditionally the night parents came to meet and tip the counselors. It wasn’t a given, or expected, but after the dance we corralled the kids and waited for their parents to pick them up so they could go check out the special electives together.

  There were lots of “great job,” “he loved it,” “already talking about next summer.” It felt good, especially knowing that some parents had had reservations about me in the beginning of camp. Colby ran out to meet his mom and pulled her over to us.

  “Bryan?” she asked, looking between Wade and me. I waved.

  “That’s me,” I said. An older woman came up behind them.

  “This is Bryan, Gram,” Colby said, grinning.

  “So this is Bryan. It’s always, Bryan said this, or Bryan did that,” she said.

  His mom smiled. “You should know you’ve made quite the impression on him this summer. It’s been nice seeing him come out of his shell. He keeps mentioning something about you owing him a slush.”

  I laughed. “Oh yeah, I do—it was sort of a swimming bet. I’ll make good on it, buddy.”

  “We have you to thank for that too. He’s always been a little skittish in the water and now he’s doing great. Thank you,” she said, handing each of us an envelope. “Take care; say good night, Cobes.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “See you Monday.”

  Colby made a shaka sign. Wade laughed. “Little dude.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Emmerich came up to us next, thanking us for a job well done.

  “He wants me to call him by his nickname, H-bomb; have to say it suits him,” Mrs. Emmerich said, tousling Hunter’s hair.

  “Have you seen Cassidy?” Mr. E. asked.

  “She’s probably with Tori in the test kitchen,” Wade said. Mr. Emmerich looked at me. For all I knew Cass was with Tori, helping out like she should have been. Hopefully she was there. What if she had made up with that guy after all?

  “Great, we’ll head over there now. Keep up the good work, guys, only a few more weeks until school starts,” Mr. E. said.

  “Thanks for the buzzkill, Mr. E.,” Wade said. The multi-purpose room emptied out. Wade and I hung back, fooling around with the other counselors while we stacked the folding chairs. Nick took his Monty head off. His hair was matted down with sweat. One of the group leaders poured a bottle of water over his head, and Nick tried to chase after him, tripping and ending up on the floor, a hysterical headless manatee.

  “C’mon, let’s go see if Tori’s got any cookies left,” Wade said.

  There were still a few straggler parents and kids in the test kitchen, so Wade and I sat at a table near the back. He went up, sheepishly grabbed a few cookies off a platter, then sat across from me and opened his envelopes. He handed me a sugar cookie. Cass. I put it to the side.

  “Don’t you want to count your tips?” he asked.

  No—I wanted to see Cass. The fact that she wasn’t there made me edgy.

  “There’s still parents here,” I said.

  “C’mon, they’re not even paying attention to us,” he said.

  The envelope from Colby felt thick. I carefully opened it, trying not to rip it. Along with a twenty-dollar bill, there was a clumsily folded piece of paper, which I undid slowly. I smiled. Colby had drawn a picture of the two of us: me in my chair, well, me as a stick figure in a wheelchair, and him as a stick figure next to me. We were holding hands and raising what looked like slushes high in the air. I showed Wade.

  “Wow, he drew you like a terminator—look at the picture he made for me. My shades are the biggest part.”

  “Kid knows what he’s doing,” I said.

  Tori pulled a chair over and sat down, put her face in her hands, and sighed.

  “Tough night?” I asked.

  “Nope, it went pretty well. I wish Cassidy hadn’t bailed on me. Does that mean I can keep her tips?” she said.

  “What do you mean, Cass bailed?” Wade asked.

  Tori and I looked at each other.

  “You explain it to him,” I said.

  “Cass’s ex showed up. I think they went somewhere to talk. I texted her before but I haven’t heard from her. I can’t believe she’d ditch you like that, even if you did tell her to just fucking go.”

  “You said that to her?” Wade said.

  There was a knock on the doorframe. We turned. Mr. E. came into the classroom. He had his hands in his pockets, a grim look on his face.

  “Hey, Mr. E.,” Tori said.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Hunter, Tori, but can you tell me when the last time you saw Cass was?”

  We didn’t need to ask any more questions.

  We could all see the truth in his eyes.

  Cass was gone.

  TWENTY-THREE

  CASSIDY

  THERE WAS MAGIC IN THE WORD YES. I FELT IT AS I took Gavin’s hand. A surge that made everything sharper. Like the first time we ran through the woods. It was so thrilling I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a glittery trail on the air behind us, our own private Milky Way, as we raced out of the rec center. Our smiles contained it. I felt it when I slid into the passenger seat of the Jeep and Gavin said, Let’s go.

  Nothing mattered. The last six weeks a speed bump as we tore out of sleepy little Crest Haven, with its horse-drawn carriages and quaint houses and fudge shops, windows down, wind in my hair. The feeling consumed me, made me giddy.

  And it lasted all of about twenty minutes.

  It was at that point I started to think about Hunter. What would he think of me leaving? They probably wouldn’t tell him right away. Would he notice me missing after the show? Would he overhear something, perceptive little kid that he was? He just took everything in, even when you didn’t think he was listening. I’d never taken him to the arcade to play Whack-a-Shark.

  I turned to Gavin. He chewed his upper lip in thought, nodding along with the song that was on the radio. Driving for him was a way to get from point A to point B. So different from Bryan and the way his face lit up when we drove fast, the way his eyes had darted to me, then back to the road. His howl. I felt like I’d caught a glimpse of a secret part of him. Gavin didn’t have the same joy on his face as we drove into the night. We hadn’t spoken since we left.

  We left.

  I’d missed Hunter’s song.

  Tori was probably pissed I wasn’t there to help her.

  Leslie.

  Dad.

  Bryan.

  His words stung. Just fucking go. He’d been hurt, and rightfully so. Running away from him wouldn’t change that. It wouldn’t change anything. Why was I doing this? How was I going to make it right?

  Gavin had done it again. One look in those eyes and I’d caved. It was my own fault, my desire to dive headfirst into adventure, as if he was the person who could lead me there. What had felt good in the moment—that after everything he still chose me—had worn off. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t going to Penn. I didn’t want this anymore. I didn’t want him.

  I was about to speak up, when Gavin placed his hand on my knee. “Have to make a pit stop,” he said, giving it a squeeze.

  I nodded. “Sounds good.”

  Twenty minutes later we pulled up to a rest stop for gas. Gavin asked the attendant for twenty dollars’ worth. I had to make my move.

  “Hey, um, I’m going to head inside.” I reached for the door handle.

  “Sure,” he said, leaning over for a quick kiss, “everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine, I just have to go to the bathroom.”

  I slipped out of the car and made my way toward the rest stop.

  A man carrying a cardboard tray of drinks held the door open for me. I wal
ked into a wall of frigid air. The sudden drop in temperature made me shiver. The line for Starbucks stretched across to the small gift shop. I cut across and went into the ladies’ room.

  A stall opened up. I went in, locked the door, and leaned against the wall. I still didn’t know how to tell Gavin; maybe I could just hide away and forget about it. We were only forty minutes away from Crest Haven. Could I even depend on him to drive me back?

  No.

  He’d start the sweet talk, the one that would make me think about all I’d be missing. He’d somehow justify going to Ship Bottom, like he did for skipping out of school, or blowing off dinner with Mom and Nan, or any of the other times I chose him over something else in my life. Maybe he would surprise me, but I doubted it.

  A good ten minutes passed before I finally left the bathroom. Gavin was across the hallway, leaning against the wall next to a crane arcade machine that contained small stuffed bears with “I ♥ NJ” shirts and fluorescent rubber balls. His eyes were on me, and he stood up straight as I walked toward him. My stomach clenched. He had a Frappuccino in his hand and held it out as I got closer. The whipped-cream peak sagged.

  “Java Chip. Your favorite. It looked better ten minutes ago.”

  I took the drink from him. He slipped his arm around me, kissed the top of my head. We took a few steps toward the exit.

  I stopped, turned back, shrugged off his arm.

  “Cass, c’mon,” he said.

  I shook my head, looking at the drink instead of into his eyes. “Gavin, I can’t go.”

  He put his arm around me again, gently ushering me away from the flow of people heading out.

  “What’s this about now?” he asked.

  I forced myself to look at him, which was a mistake. Memories, the best ones, flooded me. I loved our story. That run through the woods that started it all. Gavin was my junior year, and it had been incredible—until it wasn’t. It would never be the same. Why couldn’t I let go? I picked his hand off my shoulder, stepped back.

  “I’m sorry all this shitty stuff is going on with your father,” I said, “but it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and looked past me, shaking his head.