My Bittersweet Summer (4 page)

A gray sedan pulled up to the house exactly ten minutes after her text. Momentarily blinded by the headlights, I squinted at a tall, thin girl with a spongy blonde Afro as she bounded out of the driver’s side door the second it was in park.

“Oh my God, Margie!” she squealed as she nearly tackled me in a hug. “Woman, I have missed the crap out of you!”

For the first time in days, I laughed. She was the same Destiny I remembered from junior high. “Good to see you too, Des.”

Not giving me a second to catch my breath, she grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the car. “C’mon, we can talk on the way.”

Inside the car, I was still giggling when I put on my seatbelt. “Gee, Des. I’m not the second coming or anything.”

“Might as well be.” She grinned at me. “This is maybe the best news I’ve had all year.”

I sighed. “Well, at least it’s good for someone. Not that I didn’t miss you or anything, it’s just… Y’know. The rest of it I could do without.”

Her smile faded a little as she turned around and pulled out of the driveway. “Yeah, I get that. Maybe it won’t be so bad for you now. We’re not kids anymore.”

Grimacing, I remembered the confrontation that afternoon. “Everyone keeps saying that, but I’m not so sure things have changed that much. Some people never grow up.”

“So I’m guessing I wouldn’t be completely off base if I asked if you were the mystery girl that clocked a certain Matthew Rosenberg on Main Street today?”

“Oh God.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “How did you hear about that already?”

She giggled. “Lance Preston made a point of telling anyone who’d listen. Jenna Mack heard him telling Avery Daniels about it at the Grinder. She called me immediately, and I made her repeat the part about how pissed off Matt got about Lance’s big mouth three times before I let her hang up. She said you could see one corner of his bottom lip was a little swollen.” She burst out laughing. “What did you hit him with, a baseball bat?”

I groaned and leaned my head against the window. “I just slapped him a little. So much for staying under the radar while I’m here. Stupid Lance Preston and his big mouth. Why the hell couldn’t Matt just leave me alone? Is he always a complete sleaze?”

“Pretty much,” Des said. “Wish I’d been there. After all the crap he put you through, I’m surprised you didn’t take his head off.”

My gaze shifted out the window, following the steady procession of street lamps and mansions as the car wound down the hill. “I’d rather just avoid them all if I could. It took me a long time to get a grip on myself when I finally left. All I want to do is hide for the next three months until I get to take a one-way flight to Charles DeGaulle.”

“Oh yeah! My mom told me about that! Paris, right? For college?”

I nodded. “Yep. The American University in Paris.”

“Holy crap. I barely got into community college. On a scale of one to ten, how absolutely excited are you?”

“
Dix-sept
,” I said, a little smug.

“What?”

Laughing, I shook my head. “Seventeen,
en français
.”

She rolled her eyes. “Show off. Now, if you can teach me all the
fun
words, then I’ll be impressed.”

“You got it, Des.” I grinned, happy to be discussing anything besides Matthew Rosenberg.

*
 
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She moaned, beside herself with pure bliss. How she was still reacting that way after four cookies was beyond me.

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” I said, chuckling as she reached for a fifth one.

“So worth it.” She shook the cookie at me before taking a bite. “How is it possible they’re even better than I remember?”

“Well, I’ve had six years to perfect them. I would hope they’re better than when I was twelve.”

“Any chance you’ll share your secret?”

I gave her an are-you-serious look. “So your mom can start selling them in her bakery and make a million bucks? No way.”

“You think I’d play you like that? Harsh, man.” She took another bite. “You need a roomie in Paris? I’ll totally be your housekeeper for cookies.”

It wasn’t like I had some super secret ingredient or anything, but my trick was my own idea. Inspired by Mexican hot chocolate, I added a touch of spice to my chocolate chip cookies. It took a while before I got it exactly right, but I’d found the perfect balance of flavor without overwhelming the palette. It was an ongoing experiment my dad never once complained about, though I can’t say as much about my meringue phase.

“So how stunned was he this afternoon?” Destiny interrupted my food ruminations.

“Huh? Who?”

“Matt Rosenberg, dummy. Tell me you got a good look at his utter embarrassment.”

I tried to repress my frown at the reminder of my total loss of control. “I’m not sure I can answer that. It was weird. Everything happened so fast, and then I kind of went into freak out mode the second I got to my mom. It was really ugly, Des. Full on panic attack with a side of puking. I know you think it’s hilarious and all, but I just want to forget the whole thing.”

“Puking?” She stared at me. “Like back then?”

I shook my head, remembering my episodes of hysterical vomiting in the nurse’s office at school. Destiny had rushed me there more times than any friend would’ve been expected to. “No, not that bad. I haven’t lost it that much in four years. This afternoon I got it under control in about twenty minutes, but it kinda messes you up the whole rest of the day.”

Destiny came around to my side of the island counter and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Sorry. I forgot what it does to you. I’ll drop it, k? Don’t even worry about it. It’s not like we don’t have six years of catching up to do, anyway. Why waste our short three months talking about the douchebag brigade? Let’s talk about something else.”

With a deep breath, I nodded, smiling gratefully. “Thanks.”

She nudged me before grabbing another cookie. “No problem. For what it’s worth though, I don’t think any of them had a clue it was you today. Jenna said Lance couldn’t shut up about how hot the mystery girl was.”

“Ew,” I said, my nose wrinkling in disgust. “That’s about the last thing I want.”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Might be a good way to torture them this summer. Let ‘em see how royally they messed up their chances with you. You got a bikini?”

“Yes, not that they’ll ever see it. Seriously, Des, why would I ask for more attention from them? And to what end? I’ll be nothing more than the hired help as soon as they figure out who I am.” I picked up a cookie, pointing it at her to punctuate my resolve. “And in case you forgot, news travels fast around here. They probably already know.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the jangly ringtone of her phone interrupted her. As she picked it up and thumbed on the screen, her face soured. “Well, you’re right about that.”

She turned the phone so I could see. It was a text from Jenna Mack.

OMFG I JUST HEARD. Margie Mouse is the girl from today!!! She’s my damned hero!

Sinking down on a kitchen stool, I groaned into the palm of my hand.

“Sorry about the nickname,” Destiny said, embarrassed. “Jenna hasn’t changed much, either.”

Margie Mouse. Pantry Mouse. Mouse. That stupid name still haunted me after six years removed from Carrinaw Island. After that day’s fiasco on the street, I was dead certain they’d never let me have a second’s peace that summer.

Her phone went off again.

“Holy balls, Margie,” Destiny whispered.

Another ring.

“You’re really not gonna like this.”

“I already hate it, so may as well tell me,” I grumbled.

Her phone rang three, four more times.

“Everyone wants to know if I’ve talked to you. What do I tell them?”

“Tell them I died.”

She sighed and started texting something, but stopped suddenly when it rang again.

“Hey, Margie?”

“What, Des?” I chomped down on my cookie, fully prepared to stuff the remaining twenty of them into my stomach by the end of the night.

“Zach Robinson just asked me if I have your number.”

At her words, I choked on crumbs and staggered to the kitchen sink, desperate for a drink to wash the mouthful down. After a full glass, I looked back at Destiny, trying to process what she said.

“Who did you say?”

She chuckled. “You heard me.”

I couldn’t believe it. “What the hell for? I don’t want to talk to him.”

Biting her lip, she considered me. “I dunno what for. He broke up with that debutante cow, so maybe he’s rebounding? Maybe he wants to apologize? No clue. Should I ask?”

“No, you shouldn’t ask!” I said, flailing a little, so I tried to dial it back. “The answer isn’t just no, Des. It’s not a chance ever. Tell him to go—”

“Des?” a man’s voice called as the front door closed. “You home?”

“In the kitchen, Dad,” she called out to him. “With company.”

I turned back to the sink, desperately trying to calm down before Mr. Plummer got a look at my full-blown crazy. I filled my glass, focusing on the water level in the cup to distract myself from the insanity of Destiny’s phone.

“Do I smell cookies?” he asked as he entered, setting a leather satchel on the table that clunked when it hit, his tools banging together in a small, metallic cacophony.

“Sure do,” Destiny said, crossing over to him and planting a kiss on his ebony skin. “You remember Margie, right?”

His eyes lit up in recognition when she said my name. “Margaret? Little Margaret Walsh?”

I ducked my head, nodding. It was always mortifying to meet adults that knew you as a kid once you were grown, like it’s some huge surprise I’m not ten anymore. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Plummer.”

A grin spread across his face, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. In two steps, he got his arms around me in a massive bear hug, and I giggled. After he released me, he was still grinning. “So I take it these are Margie’s famous cookies, then?”

“Famous?” I laughed. “I don’t know about that, but if you want any, you’d better get them now before Des inhales them.”

He snagged two before turning to go. “Think I might do that. Glad to see you’re looking good, Margaret,” he said flashing me another smile. “You girls keep it down to a dull roar, okay? I’ve got an early wiring repair at the Jameson place tomorrow.”

“On Sunday?” Destiny protested. “Can’t they do without their custom bathroom doorbell for a day?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m sure they could, but their dishwasher is another story. Night, girls. Good seeing you again, Margaret.” With a last wave, Mr. Plummer was gone.

Destiny glowered at the doorway, but her phone reminded her of another arriving text message.

“So what do I tell him, Margie?”

My temporary good mood evaporated, and I took a long drink of water, considering my reply.

“Tell him…” I paused, smiling a little. “Tell him I said mice don’t have cell phones.”

She barely got the messaged typed for how hard she was laughing.

I yawned and stretched, enjoying the feel of sunlight warming my legs. The relaxation lasted for all of ten seconds before the reality of where I was and who knew I was there crept back in, eliciting a tired sigh from me. Regardless of my feelings on anything, I had things to do to prepare for the movers bringing our stuff the next day. I reached up to grab the cord to the blinds, wanting to see what the day’s weather might hold, but I stopped when I noticed something on the glass. The blinds shot up as I gaped at what awaited me.

A piece of paper was taped to the outside. On it, a little cartoon mouse was holding a cell phone out to me, someone’s number scrawled below it in blue ink. It wasn’t a stretch for me to figure out whose number it was.

With a growl of hostility, I threw off the covers and got up. I stewed in the shower for thirty minutes, quietly ranting at my own imaginary version of Zachary Robinson as I scrubbed myself clean. After dressing and throwing my hair into a braid, my first order of business was removing the offending paper from my bedroom window.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” my mom said as I passed through the kitchen.

“Morning,” I grumbled and opened the back door.

I squinted in the bright sunlight of eight a.m. for a moment before tromping around the side of the house. My first swipe to remove the paper resulted in it ripping clear down the center, leaving two strips on either side. More carefully, but with no less aggravation, I removed the leftovers, making sure to get the tape with it.

“Yikes. Glad I didn’t give you that in person now,” a voice said behind me.

I whirled, coming face-to-face with Zach Robinson, a few strands of his dark blond hair flopping in front of his light brown eyes as he smirked. From his blue plaid shirt, to his khaki shorts, he was one hundred percent brand name rich boy. His sandals probably cost more than half of my entire wardrobe.

Unable to form a complete sentence through my instant irritation, I made a big show of glaring at him as I crumpled the paper up into a ball and tossing it over my shoulder as I walked away. It was too damn early to deal with his crap.

“Hey, hang on,” he said, following me. “I just want to talk to you for a second.”

“Second’s up. Leave me alone.” I didn’t even give him the courtesy of facing him.

Rounding the side of the house, he refused to give up. “Come on, Mighty Mouse, just for a min—”

I spun on him at the word mouse, my hair-trigger of rage instantly flipped. “Don’t you dare. What the hell right do you think you have that you’re entitled to any of my time, Zach? Hmm? Get lost. And tell your friends to do the same.”

“Margie, I just want to—”

“You still don’t get it, huh?” I said, stepping up to him. “Nearly killing me as a kid wasn’t enough for you, so you’re back to, what, finish it? Apologize? I don’t care. I’m only here because I wasn’t given a choice. I am not,
not
, going to let you make this summer hell for me, get it? Now go away.”

Without further comment, I stomped back inside, slamming the door behind me and pulling the curtains across the window. Shaking, I leaned back against the door, forcing myself to take deep, even breaths.