Beach Blondes: June Dreams, July's Promise, August Magic (Summer)

“I hate my life. I hate my life. And I hate Sean Valletti.”

The school bus had dropped Summer Smith six blocks from her home, and now she had frozen slush in the tops of her boots. Her toes were numb. Her ears were painful. Her lips were chapped. Her face was stiff from the cold and stung by the wind whipping her blond hair. Her gloved fingers, wrapped around her eleventh-grade biology text and a three-ring binder, were weak claws. Her blue eyes streamed tears as she faced into the bitter wind that tore at her, teased her, sneaked through every opening in her clothes to slither along her goose-pimpled flesh.

As for Sean Valletti, she hated him because he was incredibly gorgeous, very mature, and did not know that she existed. Despite the fact that Summer had often stared longingly at the back of his head in the school lunchroom, despite the fact that she’d sat next to him in biology five days in a row and had even had an actual dream about him, Sean did not know she existed.

And today, as Summer was leaving school after the last bell, he had stopped in the doorway, looked out at the cold, miserable world outside, and said, “Hey, you live near me. Why don’t I drive you home in my car? That way you won’t have to walk from the bus stop and get cold.”

Yes, he had said those very words. He had said them to Liz Block. He had not said them to Summer Smith. If he had, Summer would now be loving her life instead of hating it.

Just another two blocks to her home, Summer told herself. Two blocks she would not have had to walk if Sean Valletti had asked her to drive with him. Another five minutes of spitting out snowflakes under clouds so low you had to duck to get under them.

There was no sun. There never had been a sun. It was made up by science teachers. And there was no true love, not in the real world. True love existed only on TV. In the real world it didn’t matter how young or even how perfect you were: no true love. Maybe she should have told Sean about the dream she’d had. Then he’d know she existed. He’d think she was bizarre and possibly dangerous, but he’d know she existed.

Summer had told most of it to Jennifer Crosby, her best friend, who was not known for her subtlety. Jennifer had told her she should march right up to Sean and say something like, “You’re the man of my dreams. Literally.” Right. Jennifer had also suggested that Summer get Sean’s attention by “accidentally” bumping into him. Summer had actually tried that. The bruise had healed after a few days.

Summer smiled ruefully at the memory. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a genuine tragedy that Sean Valletti didn’t know she existed. A genuine tragedy would be if he
did
know and was deliberately avoiding her.

She was carefully duckwalking up the icy driveway of her house when the wind caught her. She wobbled. She fought for balance. She lost. And Summer’s already bad day suddenly got worse.

Ten minutes later she finally opened her front door. And now she really hated her life.

“Is that you, sweetheart?” Her mother’s voice.

Summer closed the door behind her, shuddering with relief. She dropped the wet wad of notebook paper on the carpet. Her biology notes, all in loopy blue handwriting, were blotching and running together.

Her mother stepped out of the living room, carrying her reading glasses in one hand and a book in the other. “It
is
you,” she said. “How was your day?”

“Oh…fine,” Summer said. “Except for the part where I fell on my face, scraped my knee, banged my head against the bumper of the car, and had to chase my biology notes across the yard.” Summer dug a handful of slush out of her collar.

“Your aunt Mallory called,” her mother said.

“Uh-huh.”

“She wants to know if you’d like to spend the summer down in Florida on Crab Claw Key. You know, she has that big house there now, practically a mansion, so there’s plenty of room. And it’s right on the water.”

Summer stood very still. The wad of slush was melting in her hand. “You mean…You mean, she’s asking if I want to spend the summer on the beach, in the sun, swimming and…and being warm and lying out in the sun and getting tan…and going to beach parties and getting windsurfing lessons from sensitive guys with excellent bodies? She wants to know if I’d like that?”

“Well, would you?” her mother asked.

There it was! Summer literally bounced in her seat as she looked out the window of the plane. The clouds had broken up, and the plane had emerged into clear sunlight so bright that Summer scrunched up her eyes as she looked down below at a scene so perfect, so intensely beautiful it made her want to cry.

She noticed the guy in the seat across the aisle looking at her and grinning—the guy who looked exactly like Jake Gyllenhaal. She’d heard him tell someone his name was Seth.

Summer blushed and quickly turned sideways in her seat to press her nose against the plastic window, avoiding making eye contact with Jake/Seth.

No more bouncing, she ordered herself. Cool, sophisticated people do not bounce. And from the very first moment in Florida she was going to be the new, improved, much cooler Summer Smith. The sweet, nice, average, boring Summer Smith whose big whoop in life was hanging out at the mall with the same guys who’d known her all her life was going to be left behind.

Below her was a line of islands, green irregular shapes like mismatched jewels strung together by the wavy line of a single highway. Tiny green islands fringed by white surf. Larger islands with houses in neat rows and the white cigar shapes of boats clustered around the shore.

And in every direction the ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, blue where it was deep; green, even turquoise where it was less deep. Here and there the sun reflected off the surface, making a mirror of the ocean.

The plane sank lower. The water was so clear, Summer could see the shadows of boats on the sea bottom. So clear that in places it was as if boats were floating in air, suspended over ripply sand. Scattered on the water were bright splashes of color—crimson, purple, and buttery gold in the sails of windsurfers. And there were long white trails drawn by Jet Skis and motorboats across the blue.

They were over Crab Claw Key, and Summer laughed.

“See something funny?” the woman in the seat beside her asked.

“It’s shaped just like a crab’s claw,” Summer said.

“What is?”

“Um, you know, Crab Claw Key. It’s shaped like a…like a crab’s claw.” She formed her hand into a crab shape and opened and closed the pincers a few times.

“I think maybe that’s how it got the name,” the woman said.

Very good, Summer told herself. Already you’re on your way to impressing the local people with your brilliance. She slid her crab hand down to her side. She was regretting the decision to wear jeans and a purple University of Minnesota sweatshirt. First of all, she was going to be too hot, judging from the blazing sun. Second, it was like wearing a sign that said “Hi, I’m a tourist from the Midwest. Feel free to mock me.”

“You here for the summer, huh?” the woman asked. “Maybe you have a job here, or family?”

“An aunt,” Summer said. “And a cousin. But I don’t have a job, at least not yet, although I definitely have to get one. Mostly I’m just here to lie on the beach and swim and stuff.”

The woman nodded seriously. She was an old woman with a face that had the stretched face-lift look, as though each eye was a little too far around the side of her head. “Here to meet boys, too, right? Find romance?”

Summer glanced at Jake/Seth, hoping he had not overheard that particular part of the conversation. “Maybe,” Summer admitted in a low voice. “I mean, it would be okay if I did, but that’s not why I’m here.”

The woman reached inside a voluminous shoulder bag and pulled out an oblong box. “Would you like me to read your cards? No charge, so don’t worry.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tarot, honey. Tarot cards. That’s what I do; I have a little studio just off the main wharf. Normally I’d have to charge you twenty-five dollars.” She began laying brightly illustrated cards on the tray. “We’ll have to make this quick; we’re getting ready to land.”

“I guess you know that because you’re a fortuneteller, right? About landing soon, I mean.”

The woman did not acknowledge the joke. She was laying out the cards.

“Ahh,” the woman said.

“Ahh?”

“Hmmm.”

“What?” Summer didn’t believe in things like tarot cards, but this was hard to ignore.

“You will definitely meet some young men this summer,” the woman said.

“Well, I always
meet
guys; I mean, there are guys at school. Half the people there are guys, so—”

“You will meet three young men, each very different, each very important in your life.”

Summer glanced at Jake/Seth. Please, let him not be able to hear this. “Well, thanks, ma’am,” Summer said brightly.

“Three young men,” the woman repeated. “Maybe some more, too, but at least these three.”

The pilot announced that they were beginning their approach. The woman sighed and began gathering up her cards.

Summer fidgeted for several seconds. She really didn’t believe in superstitious things like tarot cards. But what would it hurt to find out what the woman knew? Or thought she knew. Or, at least, pretended to know.

“Three guys, huh?”

“Three.” A knowing, almost smug nod. “Each very different. One will
seem
to be a mystery. One will
seem
to represent danger. One will
seem
to be the right one.”

Crab Claw Key rushed up toward them suddenly, each house visible, cars and boats, and then, people lying out on the beach, tiny brown stick figures seeming to stare up at the plane. The shadow of the plane raced across them.

“Seem?” Summer said.

“The future is always shifting,” the woman said. “Is your seat belt fastened?”

The wheels touched down. The plane taxied toward the little terminal, and Summer began to feel nervous. “Just act cool,” Summer told herself. “Just don’t act like some dork from Bloomington.”

“What?” the lady asked.

“Nothing,” Summer said, not convincingly.

“You watch out for the bad one.”

“The bad—”

“One will represent mystery. One will be the right one. But that third boy—you’d better watch out for him.”

As soon as the plane had come to a stop, Summer pried her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment and shuffled toward the door with the rest of the passengers. The flight attendants were smiling and chattering, “g’bye, havaniceday, bubbye, g’bye” like happy robots, but Summer barely heard them. She was still turning the woman’s words over in her head.

She reached the door to the plane, and blazing heat jumped on her like a wild animal. It glued her University of Minnesota sweatshirt to her skin.

Hot. Very, very hot. Hot like crawling inside an oven.

A breeze like a blowtorch caught Summer’s long blond hair and lifted it from the back of her neck. She pried open one eye and saw a world of blazing light. Somehow the plane had flown from the earth straight into the sun.

Jake/Seth squeezed past her on the stairs, jostling her with his bag. “Sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s my fault. I was just looking around,” Summer said. “I should have kept moving.”

“First time here?” he asked. His eyes were behind very dark shades. His smile was very nice. His smile was very,
very
nice.

“Uh-huh. Yes.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Jesse/Seth moved away, walking quickly across the tarmac. Then he turned, walking backward. “Hey, Minnesota, my name is Seth. I’m from Wisconsin. How long you staying and what’s your name?”

“Summer!” she yelled.

“Great,” he said. “I’m here for the summer too.” He waved and turned away.