Beach Blondes: June Dreams, July's Promise, August Magic (Summer) (4 page)

Live, from fabulous Crab Claw Key, it’s…Summer Smith!

Okay, okay. Hello, Jennifer. I said I would keep this video blog for you, and here’s the first one. I barely know how to run this stupid video camera, so if the picture’s all jerky don’t blame me.

What you are looking at right now is my incredibly luxurious bedroom. You will notice the way the bed sort of sags and droops in the middle—very fashionable. And now you can see the kitchen. You say it looks like it’s practically in the bedroom? Funny you should mention that; it sort of
is.
That’s my stove. I think someone
may
have cleaned it once, about ten years ago. Refrigerator. Hang on, let me open it. See? Someone stocked it with exactly three cans of Pepsi and a half-eaten bag of Nacho Doritos.

Here’s the bathroom. Cool tub, huh? I mean, it’s got some rust stains, but it’s huge, and see, it’s one of those old-timey claw-foot tubs.

But the tub isn’t the most excellent part of this place. No, the really neat thing is where the house is. See this square door in the floor? Hang on, let me pull it open. Urrgh. That’s heavy, but can you see? Water. Right downstairs, that’s actual seawater because this place is right over the water.

Is that great or what?

Okay, outside. Follow me. Like you have any choice. The front door…and look! This little deck goes all the way around the house. And see? There’s the walkway. See? It’s like fifty feet or whatever to the shore.

Okay, now, there’s the main house. You have to kind of look
through
those trees to see all of it. I know what you’re thinking, Jen. You’re thinking, whoa, that looks like a mansion and Summer’s living in a shack. Okay, that may be true. However, this shack is all mine. Besides, there are Jet Skis and I’m going to learn how to—oh, jeez, oh, oh, yuck. Gross. I brushed against some pelican stuff on the railing. Great. This pelican kind of lives here. There. There he is, diving for food. Isn’t that excellent the way he does that?

Okay, back inside. Here, I’m going to put this down on the table and then I’ll sit right in front of it.

Okay. Now can you see me? Hi. As you can see, it’s not like I have a tan yet. I just got here like an hour ago.

So far everything’s fine. Except that my cousin—Diana, the one who lives here?—I think she hates me. I think it was her big idea to stick me out here in the stilt house because her mom, who is my aunt, is out of town for a week. So I’m stuck with cousin Diana, who doesn’t want to be stuck with me, I guess.

Okay, I’m not getting bummed. Just because Diana thinks I’m like some hopeless case, that’s just what
she
thinks.

Although she
is
totally cool; I mean, she’s one of those girls you and I can’t stand, you know? She looks like that model they always have in
Teen Vogue,
you know the one I mean?

Anyway. I guess it will be better when my aunt Mallory gets back. I hope so, since Mom and Dad are off on vacation themselves and my plane ticket is for three months from now. So I’m stuck, no matter how much Diana doesn’t like it. I’m stuck here in mildew world.

I’m not crying.

Okay, I am crying, but just a little. It’s been a stressful day. There was this one guy I met. Okay, more than met, but it’s a whole long story, so let me just give you the short version: he’s a using little creep.

You see, there was this…this thing that happened with him. In the airport. I’ll tell you later when I’m done feeling weirded out by it.

Oh, and there are supposed to be two other guys too, if you believe in that kind of stuff. But okay, later on all that. Anyway, I’m going to turn this thing off. I have to unpack and try to clean this dump up a little, and it’s starting to get dark out. Let’s hope this summer gets better fast.

Summer lay in her bed. It definitely sagged in the middle.

Earlier she’d gone up to the main house, called her mother to let her know she’d made it to Florida alive, and gotten some sheets and a blanket from Diana, feeling like Oliver Twist begging for more gruel. Diana had seemed friendly in about the same way that a cat seems friendly to a mouse.

Maybe I should just give up and go home,
Summer thought miserably. “Too bad that’s impossible,” she muttered into the darkness.

It was a little creepy inside the stilt house with the lights out. A silvery shaft of moonlight had appeared in her window, illuminating her desk and the video camera resting there. It made her think of her best friend, Jennifer, and that made her think of home. Home, with her familiar bedroom, and all her posters and photos on the wall, with her CDs neatly in their rack.

Summer kicked off the single blanket and pulled the sheet over her. It was hot in the house, even with all the windows open. Even the boxers and baby-tee she wore to bed felt like too much.

“Hot and depressed and lonely,” she told the stifling air. “So far it’s a great vacation.” If she were home, she’d go get some ice cream from the freezer.

From the windows she heard the sound of the water lapping gently at the pilings that supported the house. When the Jet Skis rocked there was a hollow sound, like coconuts being knocked together softly. And the house itself creaked and groaned, but in an almost musical way.

It was sometime later that the video camera seemed to turn on and begin projecting a flickering image on the wall, like an old-fashioned home movie. Summer saw a backyard scene, the yard of her house in Bloomington. The swing set her parents had bought for her third birthday. The little play pool, filled with plastic toys. Her Oscar the Grouch! She hadn’t seen Oscar in years. Whatever had happened to good old Oscar?

Summer rose from her bed and moved toward the images. Her mother was in the picture now, gazing at her with that familiar look of concern. The look that said
Sometimes, Summer, I swear you worry me.

“Come on out of there,” her mother said, holding out her hand. Summer looked down and realized she was covered in mud. What a mess. The pelican, who was now swimming in her pool, was trying to look innocent, but obviously he was responsible.

Suddenly Summer was in her room back home, looking down at her bed, only the bed kept shrinking till it was the size of a doll bed. It made Summer angry, though she wasn’t sure why. Something caught her eye. Three cards lay in a row on the covers. Two were facedown. One was turned up, and when Summer looked closer she saw it was a photograph—a photograph of a red sun and a pale, white moon. The moon made her feel very uncomfortable.

Then, all at once, Summer was back in the stilt house, hearing some new noise to add to the creaks and groans and lapping water. The flickering images of home faded out and disappeared.

Her eyes opened. A creaking sound, very clear,
very
clear and real and not a part of the dream. A creaking sound and now a tuneless, almost random humming.

Summer lay perfectly still. The sound had come from very close. But she was turned away from it and not willing to roll over to see what it might be.

It was the hatch in the floor! That’s what it had to be. The hatch that led down to the water, down to where the Jet Skis were. Down to where some monster, some ax murderer, some creature had been lying, waiting for her to fall asleep so he could creep up the stairs and come in through the hatchway and kill her, hacking her up with a machete.

Summer rolled ever so slightly. Now the room didn’t seem so hot. No, it had definitely gotten chillier. She wished she had her blanket back. She could pull it over her head and hope the monster/ax murderer went away.

A light!

Summer slitted her eyes and stared, barely able to breathe. A blue-white light emanated from the kitchen.

The humming stopped and was replaced by a mixture of whistling and humming.

The light in the kitchen disappeared. From the darkness came the distinctive sound of a pop-top. The whistling stopped. A satisfied sigh.

A lighter flickered, and then a candle, a brilliant yellow pinpoint of light in the dark, illuminating a startling sight.

“Aaargh!” the figure yelled.

“Aaargh!” Summer jumped back as if she’d been electrocuted, snatching her sheet around her like a shield.

“Wh-what are you—”

“Who—what are you—get out of here!”

“Chill out, don’t shoot or anything!”

“Don’t kill me, I’m from Minnesota!”

A silence, during which Summer listened to the panic-driven jackhammer beat of her heart. Her teeth rattled.

“Did you just say ‘Don’t kill me, I’m from Minnesota’?”

“Uh-uh-uh-uh, yes,” Summer chattered.

“What’s Minnesota got to do with anything?”

“Uh, nothing, I guess.”

“Who
are
you?” he asked, coming warily closer.

Now Summer could see that he wasn’t a monster. He could still be an ax murderer, but not a monster. He had long, wet, shoulder-length blond hair and wore only a madras bathing suit that clung to him damply.

“I’m Summer. Sum-sumsum-sum Summer Smith.”

“Oh.”

“Who are you?” Summer managed to ask. Her voice sounded strained with the tightness in her throat and the still-chattering teeth.

“I’m Diver.”

“Diver?”

“Yeah.” He sounded defiant. “Like
Summer
is some kind of normal name?”

“What are you doing here?” Summer demanded.

“What am
I
doing here?” Diver asked, mildly outraged. He took a sip of his Pepsi and sat the candle down on her desk, balancing it carefully. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Living here,” Summer said. “And people know I’m here, so don’t try anything.”

“
I
live here,” Diver said. “At least, I mean, I use the bathroom and the kitchen here. I don’t sleep here.” He pulled out the desk chair. “I usually sleep up on the roof.”

“You can’t live here; my aunt owns this place.”

“Oh. She’s that rich lady with really big hair?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t care who owns it,” Diver said. “I live here. I’ve been coming here for…for like months.”

“Fine, I’m not going to call the cops or anything,” Summer said. “Just go away and don’t come back. Okay?” She was gaining courage from the fact that Diver hadn’t done anything sudden. Yet. And, not that you could tell just by looking, but he didn’t
look
dangerous. In fact, by the candle’s light he looked…beautiful. There was no other word for it. Beautiful.

“Where am I supposed to take a shower and cook breakfast and sleep when it rains?”

Summer shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d have an answer for that,” Diver said triumphantly.

“You sure can’t live with me, and I live here, so that’s it,” Summer said flatly.

“Go stay in your aunt’s house,” Diver said. “She must have plenty of room.”

“I can’t,” Summer said. “I can’t stay there, I can’t go home to Bloomington, I have to stay here. I’m stuck.”

“Me too,” Diver said. “We’re both stuck.”

“Excuse me, but whatever you’re thinking, forget it,” Summer said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t, like, go out with guys I meet creeping into my room in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t go out with girls at all.”

“Oh. Are you…not that it’s any of my business. I mean, I don’t have a problem if you’re gay or anything like that…”

Diver tilted back his head and looked at her with a certain distant intensity. “I no longer involve myself with women. They disturb my
wa.
”

“Wa?”

“My
wa.
My inner harmony. Haven’t you ever read any eastern philosophy?” Diver smiled placidly, looking quite smug and superior. Then the smugness dropped away. “But I’m not gay,” he said. “Not that I would care. I’m just saying I’m not. If I were, then women wouldn’t disturb my
wa
the way they do.”

“Whatever. Just get out, okay?”

Diver stood up. “It’s a beautiful night. I’ll sleep outside with Frank.”

“Fine. Whatever you say. Just leave.”

He turned away and headed for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Frank isn’t a dude, by the way, so forget it if that’s what you’re thinking.” He nodded as if he’d reached some profound decision. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to Frank. Then
he
can decide which of us stays and which goes.”

Summer rushed over as soon as he was gone and locked the door behind him. Then she ran back and, huffing and grunting, slid the desk over the hatchway.

“There,” she muttered. “Now you and your
wa
will have a real hard time getting back in.”