I walk slowly down to the kitchen and find Mom setting a platter of grilled chicken on the table next to a bowl of creamed corn. The table is already set, and Mandy is in her seat.
“Could you grab the barbecue sauce from the fridge, hon?” Mom asks when she sees me enter the room.
“Sure.” I pull open the fridge door and grab the barbecue sauce, as well as the hot sauce for Dad.
“No Dad again?” I ask, realizing the table is set for three.
“He called and said something came up with the case he’s working on. He has to stay late.”
“Oh, okay.” I set the barbecue sauce on the table next to the chicken, then return the hot sauce to the fridge.
I take my seat at the table. Mom has my bag of pills out and is methodically checking the list, pulling out the necessary meds to go with dinner. About a week and a half ago I had to miss the first half of school one day for a checkup with my doctor, so my dosages have changed. Every time I think we’ve found the perfect cocktail of drugs, the doctors decide to change it, so consulting the list is a must.
Mom reaches over and sets the pills on my plate. Seeing the tiny, innocent looking capsules is a daily reminder of the future I have to look forward to. Pills, pills, and more pills.
“Tell me about the boy from today.” Mom cuts her chicken into bite size pieces, while Mandy fills her plate with corn. She’s still going through her vegetarian phase. I hope Mom serves salad tomorrow.
“Summer has a new boyfriend?” Mandy asks. Her eyes are sparkling with delight. “When can I meet him?”
I gather the pills from my plate and swallow them one by one, chasing each with a gulp of water.
“Summer does not have a new boyfriend.” I stare pointedly at my sister. “Summer hung out with her partner from class and a couple of his friends. That’s it.”
“Uh huh…” Mandy says, grinning with a mouth full of corn.
“Okay. No boyfriend,” Mom concedes. “So, how’s Rachel doing? I haven’t seen her around in quite a while.”
I cringe inwardly. It would be a lot easier if Mom knew Rachel and I weren’t friends anymore, but I really don’t want to get into it, so I lie.
“She’s fine.”
“You girls should have a sleepover next weekend,” Mom suggests.
I nearly drop the piece of chicken I’ve just skewered from the platter. “Um…I’ll see what she has going on.” This is a lie. There is no way I’m going to ask Rachel to sleep over. Never in a million years.
“You were so isolated this summer,” Mom continues. I take the corn bowl from the center of the table and drop a small scoop onto my plate. “I know you hate that you had to quit the volleyball team.”
Here she goes...
“Just because you have this disease doesn’t mean you have to give up everything you love though. Lots of people with lupus live very normal lives, you can too. We’ve got a pretty good handle on things already.” Mom beams at me.
Right. A good handle on things. It’s only been a month since my last visit to urgent care for a stupid fever. Any normal person would just take Tylenol and wait it out. Not me though. My stupid white blood cells are too busy fighting themselves to fight the actual intruder. Now every fever is potentially life threatening.
“I know, Mom,” I mutter. I stab a piece of chicken and bring it to my lips. She’s been telling me the same thing since my diagnosis. She can believe the words all she wants, but I’m the one who has to live with the disease. And I don’t believe it. The life I know and love has, in fact, ended.
When we finish eating dinner, Mandy and I help Mom clean up, then I retreat to the sanctity of my bedroom again.
I return to the sketch of Kane and stare at it. His eyes don’t seem quite right. I dig out last year’s yearbook and squint at his photo. Frustrated, I put on the prescription lenses I got this summer and look again. He had on that same stupid, big, contagious grin he always has, and appears to be injury free, at least in the headshot. I study his eyes, looking back and forth between my sketch and his photo. Finally, I pick up my pencil and adjust the tilt, angling them upward just a smidge.
Satisfied with the result, I stare at the yearbook photo again. Kane really is cute, in an adorkable kind of way. He’s nothing like Bradley, who has a perfectly straight nose, perfectly spaced eyes, and no scars marring his acne-free skin.
Studying the photo closer, I realize Kane’s nose is a little crooked—no doubt broken at least once. And of course there are the scars on his lip, chin, and forehead. Some might say these things take away from his looks, but I think they make him interesting. And that scares me. Because I do not want to get close to anyone right now…or ever.
I put the sketch away and push my glasses up on my nose. As if the rash and fevers weren’t bad enough, my lupus has also started to kill my vision. I try to focus on homework for the rest of the evening, but when I begin yawning, I give up and change into my pajamas. Once my teeth are brushed and my face is washed, I lie in bed with the lights out, staring at the ceiling. I'm suddenly wide awake. Yet another side effect. Insomnia.
Giving up on sleep, I grab my phone and alternate between stalking my former friends on social media and playing a dumb game.
I must have eventually drifted off, because the next thing I know the sun is shining through my window. Mandy’s footsteps thunder through the house. My bedroom door flies open, slamming into the door stop and bouncing back. I jerk upright with a start. Mandy is standing in my doorway dressed for school in shorts and a pink t-shirt. Her backpack is strapped to her back.
I blink at her, bleary eyed, trying to get my bearings.
“You’re going to be late for school,” Mandy says.
I blink again, then push my hair from my face. My phone is next to me on my bed, and when I grab it the screen is black. Clicking the power button, I realize the battery is dead. My alarm never had a chance to go off. Groaning, I throw my legs over the side of the bed. My joints are stiff, and I ache all over.
“How late am I?” I ask.
“Very.” She races from my room, and I follow, still in my pajama shorts and t-shirt.
Mom is standing by the front door, frowning.
“I’m sorry, Summer. I thought you were already up.”
I hold up my phone. “I guess my battery died.”
Mom shakes her head. “You need to be better about charging that thing.” She glances at the wall clock in the foyer and says, “I can’t wait for you to get ready. You’ll have to walk.”
I nod. It’s not that far of a walk. “Will you write me a note?”
“No time, I’ve got to get Mandy to school and get to the office. I’ll call the school from the car and tell them you’ll be late.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Don’t forget sunscreen!” she calls after me as I retreat back up the stairs.
Each step a painful reminder of my disease. Mornings are the worst. After plugging my phone into my charger, I grab clothes for the day. I twist my hair into a bun on top of my head to keep dry and take a hot shower. It’s no magical cure, but the hot water helps to ease some of the stiffness in my joints. By the time I’m dried off and dressed, I almost feel human again.
7
Kane
Spending yesterday afternoon with Summer at the skatepark was amazing. I think she had fun too, but I always have a hard time reading her. She’s so guarded; it’s like she’s put up a wall between herself and everyone else. I wonder what’s changed since last year, or maybe she’s always been like this. Maybe I was just—as my dad would say—viewing her through rose colored glasses?
I walk into foods class, ready to interrogate her again. She’s sitting with her head resting on the table, as I’ve seen her doing more days than not since the school year began.
“Don’t you sleep at home, Sleeping Beauty?” I ask, pitching my voice soft and low so I don't startle her.
Summer doesn’t answer. I look around to see if anyone else is wat
ching, but they’re all lost in their own lives.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask a little louder. I sit down beside her and gently nudge her elbow with my own.
Summer starts, sitting bolt upright. She looks exhausted. I can see that she’s tried to work her girly magic and hide the circles under her eyes, but it hasn’t entirely worked. This is a girl who is severely sleep deprived.
Summer’s eyes lock on mine for a moment, then she quickly stares at the table.
“Rough night?” I ask.
She gives me a sidelong look, then nods.
“Want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay.” I reach in my bag and pull out my notebook and a pen, arranging them on the tabletop. I glance beside me and catch her staring at me.
“What?” I wipe at my mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”
The corners of her mouth quirk up, and she says, “No. You just always surprise me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Good surprise?”
“Yes.”
“How so?” I’m curious. It seems like something I’m doing has impressed this beautiful girl, and I want to know what it is, so I can keep it up.
She shakes her head. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it, and you let it go. Not many people do that. Not even my own parents.”
I shrug. “I figure if you want to talk about it you will.”
“Thank you.”
“So, since I’m impressing you so much, how about that date?” I waggle my eyebrows at her and hope I’m not pressing my luck.
Her smile grows, and she turns her attention to the front of the room.
“That wasn’t a no,” I whisper as class begins.
She shakes her head, but her smile never fades.
Ms. Knope assigns us a worksheet to fill out with our partner, and I turn to Summer. She’s digging through her bag for a pencil, rifling through textbooks, notebooks, and— “Is that a sketchbook?” I ask.
Her gaze darts to her bag, then back to me. “Maybe…”
“I didn’t know you draw. Can I see?”
She shakes her head, her cheeks turning pink. I wonder what she’s embarrassed about.
“Please?” I beg. I pout my lower lip and lean in close. “Pretty please with a cherry and whipped cream and sprinkles on top?”
“Wow, you look like the world’s saddest puppy.” She laughs.
“Better show me then to cheer me up.” I bat my eyelashes for good measure.
“Fine.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her sketch pad. She flips it open and slides it across the table in front of me.
My gaze settles on the pencil sketch of the ocean on the page, and my jaw drops. I look between Summer and the sketch. All humor leaves my voice, and I say, “You seriously drew this?”
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
“This is really good, Summer. Like, really good.”
Her cheeks grow pinker and she tilts her head forward, her hair shielding her blush from my view.
I reach forward to flip the page, just as she reaches out and says, “No!”
But she’s too slow. I’ve already seen what’s on the next two pages. I ignore the rose on the second page, and leave the book open to the third. “Is that me?”
She shrugs and slumps low in her seat, giving up on trying to hide the sketch.
“Wow, you even got the break in my nose right.”
She peeks at me from behind her hair. “How did you manage that anyway?”
I laugh. “Snowboarding. My dad took me to Colorado one year for winter break. Mom was pissed when I came back in bandages; Dad and I both got reamed out by her.” I smile at the memory. “It was a lot of fun though.”
“You do know that you’re crazy, right? You just said that breaking your nose was fun.”
I wave her off. “Well, the nose breaking part wasn’t fun, but the rest of the trip was.”
“A normal person would say, ‘I broke my nose and it ruined my entire trip.’”
“I like to think I’m exceptional, not normal.”
“Ms. Knope is coming,” Summer says, just loud enough for me to hear. She quickly returns the sketchpad to her bag and pulls out a pencil. Together we fill out the worksheet. She’s way better at finding the answers than me; another reason to be glad she’s my partner.
“I still can’t believe you drew those. If you want, I’ll pose for you,” I say once Ms. Knope has passed our table and returned to the front of the room.
Summer’s cheeks blaze for a moment, before she shields herself behind a curtain of hair.
“I’m pretty sure if I tried to draw you, you’d probably just end up as a stick figure with spaghetti hair,” I continue, as though I haven’t just embarrassed her.
She pushes her hair behind one ear and smiles as she fills out the next answer on our worksheet. She designated herself as our scribe when she saw how terrible my handwriting is.
“We’re all good at something different,” she finally says.
“Oh, not me,” I say with a laugh. “Ask anyone. I’m not good at anything.”
Summer looks up and frowns. “That’s not true.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Name something I’m good at.”
She blinks once, slowly, then in a voice that screams ‘how do you not know this you moron,’ she says, “Making me smile.”
I’m speechless. The bell rings, and Summer picks up her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. She gives me one last parting smile, and then leaves the classroom.
The waves crash against the sandy beach and I can just make out Mark in the water. A tiny black dot on a blue and green board, waiting for the right moment. A large wave rolls in, and the tiny figure pops up on his board. Gradually, he grows larger as he rides the wave toward shore.
“You should have invited her with us today.” Abigail sits beside me in the sand, a large floppy hat shielding her face from the sun. Leaning back on her forearms, she stares out at the Pacific.
“I would have. But she left me speechless.”
“Right, that line about how you can make her smile.”
Abigail and I sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. We watch the waves roll in and out, taking Mark with them.
“She’s not wrong, you know,” Abigail says, breaking the silence.
“Hmm?” I’ve already forgotten what we’d been talking about. I’m mesmerized by the calming rhythm of the ocean. Mark tried to teach me to surf, but I was a lost cause. I could ride the smallest of waves, sometimes, but the big ones were impossible for me. It was probably for the best though. I figured with my track record, I’d probably just be asking for a shark to swim up and take a bite out of me. No thank you.
“You may be a bit of a screw up with everything you do, but you never fail to make people laugh and smile,” Abigail explains.
“So, what you’re saying is, I have a future as a comedian?” I turn my attention from the waves and grin at her.
“Oh boy…” She eyes me critically and then rolls her eyes. “You’re not that funny, Kane.”
“You did just say I never fail to make people laugh.”
“You’re more like the guys from MTV’s Jackass. Nobody wants another one of those guys around.”
“Hmmph.” I don’t tell her that I want to follow in my dad's footsteps and be a stuntman. I’ve never told anyone that. Not even my dad. I know my friends and family love and support me, but I’m also painfully aware that I’m prone to injury. Pun intended. I don’t want to give them the opportunity to crush my dreams before I can even give it a shot.
“So, what’s your next move?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s your next move?” She looks at me like I’m an idiot. Which I probably am. “You’ve asked her out twice, and she’s turned you down twice. Now what?”
“I’d like to point out that she didn’t actually say no the second time. She didn’t really say anything at all
.”
“In girl speak, that means no.”
I shoot her a glare. “I don’t know if your opinion counts in this matter.”
Abigail scoffs. “Why? Because I like girls?”
I don’t say anything, instead I focus on scooping a handful of sand and let it trickle through my fingers.
“If anything, that should make me even more of an expert in this matter. I am a girl, and I’ve been rejected by girls.”
I turn my attention back to her. “Since when have you ever been rejected?” This is the first I’ve heard of it. Abigail is gorgeous. She has shoulder-length natural red hair—the kind she claims could never come from a bottle. Her skin is ivory, and she has a badass fashion sense—all her words, not mine. The idea of anyone, gay or straight, saying no to Abigail blows my mind.
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone gets turned down at some point, Kane.”
“How did I not know this?”
“Because not everyone obsesses over a person like you do.”
“Hey,” I object. “I’m not obsessed.”
She raises her eyebrows, daring me to fight her on this.
“Okay, maybe a little. But this is the real deal.” She shoots me another look, and I add, “I’m not just obsessed with how she looks. I like talking to her.”
“Well, that’s something.”
I grin. This is probably as close to Abigail’s approval as I’ll get.
“How much longer do you think he’ll be out there?” She shields her eyes from the afternoon glare reflecting off the water and scans the surf for Mark. “He knows I’ll get scorched by the sun if I’m out here too long.”
“Hey, you’re the one who insists on coming out here with us.”
“If I didn’t, who would help you warm the bench.”
“A cheesy sports metaphor? Really?” I playfully shove her, and she laughs.
“You never did answer me,” she says.
“Huh?”
“What’s your next move with Summer.”
Something I'm Good At: A Sol del Mar High Novel Page 5