Summer's Desire (6 page)

I don't know what exactly is her
problem. Maybe she would have reacted the same toward any foster kid her father
brought home... but somehow I get the feeling that's not it. Or at least, not
entirely. Either way, it doesn't really matter, I guess. Jessica and I will
obviously not be BFFs. Which is perfectly fine with me.

Still, given the way she treated me during
dinner—lip curling in disgust every time I opened my mouth, inimical eyes
staring at me as if I was a bug to be squashed under the heels of her thousand-dollar
stilettos—I really hope she won't try to poison me.

At this point, I wouldn't put it past her.

My cell rings, breaking me out of my
musings. I glance at the screen of my trusty old brick phone and groan inside.
Then I take a deep breath and accept the call.

"Good evening, ma'am."

"
Is
it?" asks Ms.
Walker.

Umm... "I'm sorry, ma'am. Is it
what...?"

"Do pay attention, Summer. I asked
if it was, indeed, a good evening."

"I've arrived fine, ma'am." My
voice trembles slightly; this won't do. Brightly, I add, "There've been no
deer flinging themselves onto the car lights, no lightning crashing down from
heaven to fry the car's electronics, no age-old trees suddenly—"

"Let me assure you, Summer, I quite
understood your meaning without requiring the hackneyed minutiae. So you've
reached your destination without mishap."

"Yes, ma'am." Then, very
quietly: "I didn't know that destination was Rockford."

A charged pause. "You didn't ask,
Summer." No. No, I didn't. I didn't care enough to ask. But I do now.

"Ma'am... Ms. Walker, you do know,
don't you?... You know that it's not my first time staying in Rockford."

"
Do
I?" Oh, how I hate
it when she does that! And really, nobody does stiff upper lip and insufferable
opaqueness better than Ms. Walker.

"You have my case file, Ms. Walker,
so—"

"Incidentally, Summer, have you
already had a chance to get acquainted with everyone in your new foster
family?"

I grit my teeth in frustration. Through
them, I say, "Yes, ma'am. They seem all right." Since that's only a two-thirds–lie,
it could have been worse.

"I'm glad to hear that, Summer. I'm
in contact with a foster care agency in Grand Rapids, and your local caseworker
will come and visit you sometime in the next few days. You should write down
her information..."

I obediently take dictation from Ms.
Walker while inside I churn with frustration because of all my unanswered
questions. Even after I finish the call, my thoughts keep twisting and roiling,
my emotions bouncing between crazy extremes.

Mostly, I keep wondering what Seth is
doing right now. God, I can't believe that I'm back in our town, that he's just
a few miles away from me! Tomorrow I'll see him in school. The thought
terrifies me. It also elates me.

I fall asleep.

In the darkness, a sibilant, oily voice purrs
in my ear, "Hello, buttercup!"

I'm awake instantly and recognize him
instantly even though I can barely see his face in the weak moonlight, and I try
to scream, but the heavy hand covering my mouth stops any sound from escaping.

"Now, now, buttercup—be a good little
girl and keep quiet. We wouldn't want you to get hurt," he croons, and I
see that his eyes are bright with excitement. He
wants
to hurt
me.

I struggle ferociously and he chuckles,
subduing me easily with only one hand. At last I fall still, my breathing
labored, my heart a terrified whirligig trying to spin out of my chest. I glare
at him impotently, and he smiles.

"Then, buttercup, are you ready to
have some fun?"

I surge awake. My chest feels caught in
a steel vice, I'm struggling for breath, and I'm biting my pillow to keep the
screams inside.

Chapter 5

I'm on the school bus, heading for Rockford
High. This morning at breakfast, Jessica made it clear that she wouldn't drive
me to school in her car, which was very much all right with me. I wouldn't have
wanted her to, anyway.

I swear, when I share the same space
with this girl, it's like she's aiming these poisonous little darts at me all
the freaking time! This entire morning she made sly, nasty hints: basically
shredding my taste in clothes, my hair, my skin, everything about me, even my
adding a bit of sugar to my chocolate milk at breakfast. If I were to believe
her insinuations, I'd see myself as an acne-plagued, overweight hunchback with
straw hair and wearing her granny's clothes, and I'd have to put a bag on my
face before going out in public. Or even out of my room.

I've tried to ignore her hostility but
it's already wearing me out. Before meeting Jessica I'd been proud of my thick
skin, always letting insults and mockery go over my head—yet it seems that my previous
airtight armor is no match for this girl's toxicity.

I'm looking out the window, my earphones
on, but I don't hear the music. I've tried to occupy my mind with Jessica, but
the closer the bus gets to Rockford High, the less is that distraction working.
So I give in and let myself think of Seth.

Today I'll see him, and I'll finally be
able to move on.

For more than five years, I haven't been
able to reconcile the image of the Seth with whom I grew up—the sweet boy who
cared for me and protected me and held me in my sleep—with the image of the
Seth after I left—the boy who broke his promise to me, who cut me out of his
life without mercy, who was callous enough to ignore 365 letters I wrote him
and the phone numbers I sent him, begging him to call.

This last part is what hurts the most, I
think. Maybe I could have understood that he stopped wanting to be my friend.
Or at least, I wouldn't have judged him for it. But I don't think I'll ever
understand, or forgive, his heartlessness in not contacting me even once. After
our years together, the least he owed me was a measly letter or phone call to
tell me straight up that he didn't want me as a friend anymore.

This immense contrast, between the Seth who
loved me and the Seth who abandoned me, has tormented me all this time. I may
have alternated between missing him and hating him, but I've never forgotten
him. I'm still tied to him with the heavy chains of all our shared memories,
all his smiles, all his tender words to me.

And I need to be set free.

Today I'll look at him and I won't see
my childhood friend anymore. I'll see a grown boy, a stranger after five years
of no contact, and I'll finally be free of him.

I'll finally see that the Seth I knew
and loved is gone forever.

T
he bus has stopped, I've alighted,
and now I'm standing in front of Rockford High, with students all around me.
Just like that, I'm confronted with the actual reality of where I am and what's
about to happen today, and all of a sudden I can't breathe properly anymore. My
feet are frozen to the ground, my heart is beating too fast, and I fear I'm
about to have a panic attack.

Stop it!
I give myself a
mental slap. So yeah, possibly I'll glimpse Seth today. That's not the
equivalent of the apocalypse coming, right?

Oh merciful heaven, but it sure feels
that way, as if I'm about to confront my own personal Armageddon! And did I
just say that I'll
possibly
glimpse Seth?
Yeah, right! Way to play it
cool, Summer!
In truth, if he's anywhere on school premises, I'll make sure
I see him, even if I have to sneak into the guys' locker room to do so. And
jeez, did I just think that? Eww, am I really that far gone?! I don't think so.
Or I hope not, though I can't be sure.

Okay, so I probably won't go as far as
stalking him into the guys' locker room, but other than that, I don't really
think I have any boundaries. I truly need to see Seth so I'll have my closure.
All I need is to sneak a look from a safe distance. I'll be careful that he
doesn't spot me when I do.

Though I don't really know why I'm
worrying about
him
seeing
me
. Frankly, it'd be a miracle if he
noticed me. First of all, he clearly stopped thinking about me five years ago,
so he's sure to have forgotten all about me by now. He probably doesn't even
remember how I look. Second, I'm wearing my tried-and-true "school uniform",
whose sole purpose is to make me invisible/unattractive. So there really is no
chance that he'll recognize me.

I introduced the "uniform" after
I turned fourteen, when I suddenly grew boobs and boys started to take too much
notice of them, as well as of other parts of my anatomy. I don't want to draw
attention to myself—having boys hitting on me and asking me things is a hassle
I would rather do without. I'm not in the market for any relationship nor do I
want a meaningless sexual hookup, so that pretty much means I have no use for guys.

Not to mention, boys paying too much
attention to me often equals, in my unfortunate experience, having the popular
girls giving me too much attention as well, mostly in the form of nasty looks
aimed at me and attempts to trip me in the hallways. Which I would also rather
do without.

Besides, as an orphan girl living in
foster homes, I quickly decided that the smart thing to do (besides locking my
door at night) was to make myself as unappealing as possible. I've had a couple
of shady foster fathers and brothers who looked at me in a way that made me
uneasy, so better to be safe than sorry, right?

Which is why I wear my "uniform",
consisting of baggy, worn jeans, and sweaters and hoodies that are several
sizes too large. My long hair I put up in an unsightly bun. Plus, I have
perpetual dark shadows under my eyes because of how little I sleep, and I never
wear makeup.

Even so, every once in a while my face
brings me some unwanted male interest—maybe because my hazel eyes are too odd or
striking contrasted against my pale skin and blond hair?—but it's nothing I
can't handle.

Well then, if I plan to remain invisible
at Rockford High, I should probably get moving. I've been standing in front of
the school like a statue for almost five minutes and some of the students are beginning
to stare at me. So I duck my head and walk toward the entrance.

* * *

After picking up my schedule in the main
office, I reach my first class, Honors English, seconds before the bell rings.
I go up to the teacher, Mrs. Roberts, a kindly looking forty-something woman,
and introduce myself. She gives me a book and points out a free seat near the
window, next to a brown-haired girl with glasses. I'm thankful that Mrs.
Roberts doesn't ask me to introduce myself in front of the entire classroom;
I'm already drawing far too many curious glances as it is.

I go to my seat and the brown-haired
girl offers me a broad, friendly smile, which I return with a much smaller one.
I look at the book and groan mentally. Not this again; it'll be my third time
studying
The Importance of Being Earnest
!

That's just another unfortunate
consequence of my having gone through seventeen foster homes in five years. Ms.
Walker, in particular, tried very hard to place me with families living in the
same school district so I wouldn't have to change schools too often; but
sometimes there really was no other option or I'd exhausted all the local
foster families, and I had to move further away.

In total I've changed eight schools, and
even though I suppose it could have been worse considering my history of
seventeen
foster homes, still it's made things difficult for me, especially with having
to adapt to different school curricula so often. The only reason why I'm still in
any Honors classes is because I sleep so little, so I have lots of time for
studying.

That, and I have no social life.

At any rate, everything that the teacher
is currently saying I've already heard twice before, so I let my mind wander. Sooner
than expected, the bell signals the end of class.

The brown-haired girl turns instantly and
sticks out her hand to me. "Hello there! I'm Marcie Lauren, and you're new
here." She's smiling widely.

God, I don't want a friend! But she's so
nice and earnest-looking that I can't bring myself to reject her as I know I should.
I shake her hand once, then release it quickly.

"Hello, Marcie. I'm Summer, and
yes, I'm new. How did you guess?" I joke, smiling slightly.

She snickers as we rise from our seats
and head for the door. "Please, like there was any chance for you to get
lost in the crowd! Pretty much ninety percent of the kids at R.-High have
always lived in this area. We all know each other. So trust me, new faces
really stick out." Drat! That's
not
good.

"Plus, you're gorgeous," she
adds casually. Then, giving me a swift, all-encompassing look and biting her
lip: "Though your taste in clothes could kinda use some improvement."

We've reached the hallway by now, and on
hearing her blunt candor, I can't help myself: I start to laugh. Which is
unfortunate, as several passing boys turn their heads to stare at me.