Every Summer After(10)

So when the three girls who formed my closest circle of friends turned their backs on me, I was unaccustomed to dealing with any sort of adversity and I had no idea how to cope except to try my hardest to win them back.

Delilah was our group’s uncontested ruler, a position we bestowed upon her because she possessed the two most important requirements for teenage leadership: an exceptionally pretty face and total awareness of the power it gave her. Since it was Delilah whom I angered, and Delilah whom I needed to win back, my attempts to gain readmittance to the group were targeted at her. I thought cutting my bangs like hers would demonstrate my loyalty. Instead, when she saw me at school, she raised her voice in an exaggerated whisper, and said, “God, does everyone have bangs these days? I think it’s time to grow mine out.”

Every morning I dreaded the school day—sitting alone at recess, watching my old friends laugh together, wondering if it was me they were laughing about. A summer away from everything, where I could read my books without worrying about being called a freak and swim whenever I wanted to, felt like heaven.

I looked over at Sam.

“Where’s your brother today?” I asked, thinking of how they’d goofed around in the water the day before. Sam turned onto his stomach and propped himself up on his forearms.

“Why do you want to know about my brother?” he asked, his brows knitted together.

“No reason. I just wondered. Is he having friends over tonight?” Sam looked at me from the corner of his eye. What I really wanted to know was if Sam wanted to hang out again.

“His friends were over really late,” he said finally. “He was still asleep when I came down to the lake. I don’t know what’s going on tonight.”

“Oh,” I said limply, then decided to take a risk. “Well, if you want to come over again, that’d be cool. Our TV’s kind of small, but we have a big DVD collection.”

“I might just do that,” said Sam, his forehead relaxing. “Or you could come over to our place. Our TV is pretty decent. Mom’s never home, but she wouldn’t mind you being there.”

“You guys are allowed to have friends over when she’s not there?” My parents were by no means strict, but they were always home when I had people over.

“One or two is okay, but Charlie likes to have parties. Just small ones, but Mom gets mad if she comes home and there’s, like, ten kids in the house.”

“Does that happen a lot?” I’d never been to a real teenager party. I crawled to the edge of the raft and dangled my feet in the water to cool off.

“Yeah, but mostly they’re pretty boring, and Mom doesn’t find out.” Sam came and sat beside me, plunging his shoestring legs into the lake, kicking them back and forth. “I usually stay in my room, reading or whatever. If he has a girl over, then he tries to get rid of me like last night.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?” I asked. Sam pushed back the hair that had fallen over his eye, and gave me a suspicious sideways glance. I’d never had a boyfriend, and unlike a lot of girls in my class, getting one wasn’t high on my priority list. But I’d also never been kissed and would have given my right arm for someone to think I was pretty enough to kiss.

“Charlie always has a girlfriend,” he said. “He just doesn’t have them for very long.”

“So,” I said, changing the subject. “How come your mom’s not around a lot?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” He didn’t say it harshly, but his comment sent a prickle of fear down my neck. I hesitated.

“I don’t mind,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. I felt my body relax. “Mom runs a restaurant. You probably don’t know it yet. The Tavern? It’s our family’s place.”

“I do know it, actually!” I said, remembering the packed patio. “Mom and I drove past. What kind of restaurant is it?”

“Polish . . . like pierogies and stuff? My family’s Polish.”

I had no idea what a pierogi was, but I didn’t let on. “It looked really busy when we went by.”

“There aren’t many places to eat here. But the food’s good. Mom makes the best pierogies ever. But it’s a lot of work, so she’s gone most days from the afternoon on.”

“Doesn’t your dad help?”

Sam paused before responding. “Uh, no.”

“Okaaaay,” I said. “So . . . why not?”

“My dad’s dead, Percy,” he said, watching a Jet Ski roar by.

I didn’t know what to say. What I should have said was nothing. But instead: “I’ve never met anyone with a dead dad before.” I immediately wanted to scoop the words up and shove them back down my throat. My eyes went wide with panic.

Would it make things more or less awkward if I jumped in the lake?

Sam turned to me slowly, blinked once, stared straight into my eyes, and said, “I’ve never met anyone with such a big mouth before.”

I felt like I was caught in a net. I sat there, mouth hanging open, my throat and eyes burning. And then the straight line of his lips curled up at one corner, and he laughed.

“Just kidding,” he said. “Not about my dad being dead, and actually you do have a big mouth, but I don’t mind.” My relief was instant, but then Sam put his hands on my shoulders and gave them a little shake. I stiffened—it was like all the nerve endings in my body had moved to beneath his fingers. Sam gave me a funny look, squeezing my shoulders gently. “You okay there?” He shifted his head down to meet my eyes. I took an unsteady breath.