Summer Unscripted

by Jen Klein

  Again—as has happened much too often recently—Milo springs to mind. I picture him kissing another girl, and a hot flush of jealousy surges through me. I fight it back, taking a third bite of the ice cream to cool myself down. Milo has kissed other girls. He does kiss other girls. In fact, he’s kissed the girl sitting right in front of me. More importantly, he’s not my boyfriend.

  Nor should he be.

  I have other dreams.

  But because I’m sick of talking about Tuck, I change the subject. If nothing else, Milo makes for an excellent topic shift.

  “What was going on with you and Milo before rehearsal?”

  Ella’s expression darkens. “Nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing.” My face suddenly feels the way Ella’s looks. “You were all huggy with him.”

  “I was not.” Ella snatches the pint away and shoves her spoon into it. “He was huggy with me.”

  There’s that hot flush again. What is wrong with me?

  Ella shovels in a couple bites before plunking the pint onto the coffee table. “He wanted to apologize, okay?” She licks her spoon and drops it with a clatter. “He said he was sorry about how things happened last summer, and then he wanted to hug it out like some sort of big, stupid Band-Aid. Like that would make everything okay.”

  “Did it?” I realize I’m leaning toward her, and I belatedly jolt back on the sofa. “Are you guys…”

  Getting back together?

  “Are we okay?” Ella shrugs, her dark eyebrows winging down toward each other. “Sure. He’s forgiven, whatever.” She looks at me. “Let’s all forgive each other, okay?”

  “Okay,” I mumble, snatching up the ice cream and taking a big bite. If Milo felt some crazy need to apologize, why’d he wait until now to do it? Why not do it last summer, when he actually made the mistake?

  Maybe he just wants more of Ella’s dessert at McKay’s.

  Maybe he wants more of Ella.

  Maybe I should figure out why it bothers me so much…

  Or maybe I should just get over it.

  We were told that we should rest. That we should go over our lines. That we should reflect on what the show means, on its deeper place within us, so that tonight we’ll be prepared to perform Zeus! before hundreds of pairs of eyes. Thus, the obvious thing to do is get up at the butt-crack of dawn and drive a dozen foggy miles on the two-lane highway heading out of town, then turn onto a winding dirt road so we can follow a caravan of cars to an unmarked clearing. From there, the best choice is to hike into the woods in search of something called Blue Ridge Rock Colony.

  In good news, this morning Ella left the house extra early and came back with coffee, so at least I was caffeinated for the drive. Of course, it also means that before we’ve arrived at our hiking destination, I already have to pee. I look around from where Ella and I are in the midst of our crowd. Roughly half the cast and crew came—because apparently it’s one of the Olympus traditions—and we’re all moving along in little clumps: groups of people overtaking each other, then merging, then re-forming. The whole time, although I’m trudging along beside Ella, I’m horribly aware of only two people: Milo and Tuck. Mostly because they’re practically stapled together. They spend the entire hike in a weird twosome huddle as we all walk beneath the yellow birches and mountain maples. I try very hard to squelch the part of me that’s trying to stare at them. The part of me that’s wondering if they’re talking about the show, or if they’re talking about Ella, or—and this is the absolute worst if of all—if Tuck is telling Milo about what happened last night.

  Because that would really, really suck.

  We’re thirty minutes into the hike when I register that not only have I been hearing a sound, but I’ve been hearing it for a while, and now it’s louder and closer. Right as I make that realization, someone far ahead—Paul, maybe—yells that “we’re here.” The trees break to either side, and Ella and I are suddenly in a beachy area (if you can say “beachy” when not near the ocean) by a mountain stream filled with boulders. Some of the big rocks are rounded and some are flat, making a giant path from one side of the narrow water to the other.

  As we step closer, someone lets out a loud “Woo-hoo!” and it’s a second before I realize the someone was Ella. More surprising, she’s yanking her T-shirt up over her head. She turns to grin at me—in her bikini top and cutoff jean shorts. “Come on!”

  I’m wearing my swimsuit under my clothes too, but I didn’t really think I’d be seen in it. I thought it was one of those things you do as an extra layer of protection. Like, just in case you’re suddenly forced into a swimming situation, you won’t have to skinny-dip.

  I shake my head at Ella. “No way.”

  “Why? You have an awesome body.”

  Number one, that’s a lie. Number two, it’s only one of my issues with the situation. “It’s freaking freezing out here!”

  Okay, I’m exaggerating a little, but it’s definitely not swimming temperature. At least, not yet.

  Tuck and Milo clearly disagree with me, because they’re stripping down, both of them. Whipping off their shirts, dropping them on the ground. Being all tan and muscled and uncaring. As I watch, Tuck turns to Milo and says something. They might as well be on another planet for all the chance I have of hearing what they say, but their body language is obvious. Milo holds up a fist for Tuck to bump, but Tuck pulls him into that one-armed-dude-hug thing he likes to do. He says something else that makes Milo duck his head and shrug. Milo glances back into the crowd—toward where Ella and I are standing—and then he gives Tuck a small shove before taking off in a sprint toward the boulders. A second later, both of them are jumping from rock to rock, their two heads light and dark flashes over the stream. They bolster the courage of the rest of our group, because now everyone is stripping off clothes, running toward the water. Ella grins at me. “Come on, it’ll warm up soon.”

  I have a hard time believing her when there are still dewdrops clinging to the maples, but I don’t feel like I have a choice. And although I don’t love the idea of flaunting my body in front of everyone’s face, I reason with myself that all the girls here have already seen me full-ass naked in that little communal shower, so it’s not a huge jump to the boys seeing me half-naked in my swimsuit. This really shouldn’t be a big deal.

  Except that it’s not all the boys I’m worried about.

  It’s only one of them.

  Okay, two of them.

  As my scoop-neck yellow shirt drops to the dirt and I wriggle out of my shorts, I keep my eyes trained on what’s happening on the rocks. Milo and Tuck stop leaping around like mountain goats and part as Gretchen makes her way out there. As I watch, she points out a tall boulder to Tuck. He bounds up and then reaches back to help her scramble aboard. Gretchen shakes out a big towel and drapes it over the rock, stretching like a cat…or a professional swimsuit model…before she lies down on it. Tuck hunkers beside her and, as he does, his head swivels in my direction. His eyes find mine before I can look away.

  All I can think is, I’m so embarrassed. I whirl in the other direction, which of course means that now I’m staring straight at Milo. God, more eye contact. This time it’s a different kind of embarrassed. One I don’t know how to identify.

  One that makes no sense whatsoever.

  •••

  People fell asleep on their rocks. I was one of them—and so was Ella—but that was a while ago. It was after we ran and splashed and played (and also after we returned from a trek into the woods so I could pee; no way was I doing that alone). Now we’re both awake and I’m peeling a tangerine, letting the orange scraps dance away in the gurgling water. Normally I wouldn’t litter, but Ella reminds me that tangerines are from nature. They’re organic and pure.

  The only thing I know that is pure is my embarrassment about Tuck.

  I finish a final juicy slice and look over at him. He’s still at the top of that boulder, but now he’s face-suctioned to Gretchen.

  Worst
.

  “I’m going back to sleep,” I tell Ella.

  •••

  This time when I wake up, I’m baked into our big, flat rock, which is now warm. Very warm. Usually, I wouldn’t begin to know how to tell time by the sun, but it’s directly overhead and I’m pretty sure that means it’s noon. Ella is still asleep beside me with one arm slung over her heart-shaped face when I sit up and push sticky bangs away from my forehead. I’m thankful I slathered myself in sunscreen before we took off this morning. I’m also thankful there’s no mirror around. I can just pretend I look like a pretty mermaid instead of a dirty forest person.

  I shade my eyes with my hand and scan around for a clump of yellow. I’m fairly certain I left my shorts and shirt by the path, but I don’t see them right away, so maybe I’m wrong. Ella is still sleeping and I think about doing the same (again), but I’m getting bored. And cramped. And stiff. So instead I shimmy down from our rock and splash across the shin-deep water.

  Holy God, mountain streams are cold.

  I pull my clothes on over my swimsuit and then find my backpack, which is beside a rhododendron bush. I root through it for a snack and realize—too late—that Tuck is several yards away, doing the same thing. We see each other at the same time, and he stands, waving a granola bar in my direction. “Want one?”

  I hold up my bag of chips. “I’m good, thanks.”

  I think that’s going to be it because his girlfriend is here and life is awkward, but then he drops his backpack and walks over. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” What else would I say?

  Tuck glances around. Most people are prostrate on the rocks, with a handful of outliers playing Frisbee a little ways off. I have no idea where Milo is. “You look great,” Tuck says.

  Pretty mermaid, pretty mermaid, pretty mermaid.

  “Thanks.” I try to smooth my hair in a way that doesn’t make me look crazy or paranoid. “You too?”

  It accidentally comes out as a question, and Tuck smiles. He takes a step closer, and I automatically glance at Gretchen. She’s still asleep on her boulder…thank goodness.

  “You surprised me last night,” he says. “And I think maybe I surprised you too.”

  With the kiss? Uh…yeah.

  “You’re nice,” he continues. “And cute and smart.”

  He’s forgetting some of the other applicable adjectives, like “weird” and “confused” and “unfocused.”

  Tuck squints down at me. “I like smart girls.”

  Really? Is that what Gretchen is?

  I make an attempt to wrangle back my less charitable thoughts. After all, he did just call me “nice.” I should probably make an attempt to actually be nice.

  “Let’s be friends.” Tuck takes a step closer and gives me a smile that is way flirtier than the smiles friends are supposed to give each other. “We can wait and see what happens.”

  “Okay.” Because—yet again—what else am I supposed to say?

  “Gretchen, Paris, my monologue, you…” His smile goes crooked as he looks down at me. “It all seems like fate.”

  Even though I’m super over this conversation with Tuck, his last sentence strikes a nerve. I think I believe in fate. At least, I want to, because otherwise I’m just a dumbass in the mountains. But if fate is real, if every choice I’ve made is part of some bigger, cosmic plan, then I have to hold on to the part where I came here for a reason. And that Tuck was that reason. And that everything will work out okay in the end.

  And that this part—the part where he’s saying inscrutable things and isn’t even really doing it for me right now—is just a bump in the road.

  So I nod.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” His gaze wanders to my lips. “I’m sorry. So can we just…”

  Tuck pauses so long that I have to say something. “Be friends.”

  “Yeah.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Even though it will kill me.”

  “Sure.” I say it all casual-like—because I’m out of other options—but the moment the syllable comes out of my mouth, it hits me. Something about this does feel like fate. I mean, if fate has a feeling.

  Which is when Milo shows up.

  He addresses Tuck. “Ready for tonight?”

  Tuck nods with great confidence, even though just last night he admitted to needing Gretchen out of fear. “You?”

  “I’m a punch line who gets killed by a lightning bolt.” Milo shrugs. “I’m fine.”

  There’s a pause, during which I flash back to Ella and the strawberry ice cream. Let’s all forgive each other, okay? I look up at Milo. “Is that a real thing? Achilles being killed by Paris?”

  Milo’s face broadcasts surprise at my question and—maybe—tentative relief that I’m talking to him. “Are you referring to history?” His own question is careful, deliberate. “The answer is no, but it’s beside the point anyway. Pollux isn’t supposed to be on the same side as Paris, and he’s also not Helen’s twin. But none of that matters. Zeus! is mythology. What actually happened and the dramatic stories made up to interpret what happened…those are two different things.”

  He gives me a pointed look and I nod. No, the double meaning is not lost on me.

  “I get that.” God, he’s cute. “And I also get that two different people could come up with two different interpretations of the same event.”

  “Exactly.” A faint smile grazes Milo’s lips, and I answer it with my own.

  Tuck looks back and forth between us, bemused. “But Zeus and all the Greek gods were only stories to begin with.”

  “To be fair,” Milo says, “the stories were made up by people who were desperate for something to believe in.”

  I know how they felt.

  “They wanted an explanation for how the world worked,” Milo continues. “So I guess in that way, the stories are kind of true.”

  “I don’t know if I buy your definition of truth,” I tell him. “Just because someone wants a thing to be true doesn’t mean it is true.”

  “Agreed.” Milo crosses his arms, considering. “But sometimes the actual truth is different from what looks like the truth.”

  I’m lost again.

  “I mean, sometimes there’s meaning behind the meaning,” Milo clarifies. “Like the wooden horse. It was sent into the city as a fake gift filled with warriors.”

  “Which didn’t really happen,” I say.

  “Right.” Milo looks down at me. “But there’s a kernel of truth deep inside it. What’s true about the story is that sometimes a gift can be harmful to the receiver. That you shouldn’t hold grudges that last a decade because they never end well.” Milo pauses, turning his dark eyes up toward the treetops. “And…I’m struggling for additional meanings here….”

  “And sometimes characters are misread, so people are confused about who’s the actual villain?”

  “Yes.” Milo gazes into the distance, stroking his chin in a dramatically thoughtful way. “Also, sometimes when people fight, they look like a big horse’s ass.”

  My eyes narrow until his gaze drops back to me and I realize he’s joking. “Nice,” I tell him.

  He leans closer. “And that sometimes men have trouble thinking straight when a certain chick’s around.” He throws me a grin that in one of Nikki’s romance books would probably be described as “rakish.”

  Wait.

  Am I the “certain chick” in this scenario? Surely not. I can’t be, because…

  Because of Ella.

  Because of Tuck.

  Because of fate.

  But all I say is “There you go. Lessons from Zeus!”

  Milo rocks back on his heels, grinning. “So the next time we’re at McKay’s, we can have a croissant sundae without it being weird, right? Like actual friends?”

  My heart takes a nose dive at the word “friends.” Seriously, nothing about this boy makes an ounce of sense. Or rather, about my feelings for him.

  “Sure.” I fold my arms over my chest, mimicking him.
“McKay’s dessert, no problem.”

  Suddenly I make another realization: Tuck isn’t here anymore. He hasn’t been here for…I have no idea how long. I turn to scan the water and…yep, there he is. Laid out across a boulder, tongue to tongue with Gretchen.

  Gross.

  As I drag my gaze back to shore, my eyes land on Ella. She’s perched on our rock, awake and staring straight at me. And at Milo, because he’s standing right next to me. I can’t read the expression on her face, but I still feel guilty.

  Ella and I make it back to the apartment with a full two hours to spare before our call. It gives us both time to take showers at home, even though we’ll be showering again midshow with our standard dressing-room audience.

  We’re in my car, heading up the narrow road toward the theater, when Ella asks the question. “What were you talking to Milo about?” Her voice is overly casual, which I know means the subject is not at all casual.

  I answer her truthfully. “The show.”

  “Really?” Ella doesn’t look convinced. “What is there to talk about?”

  “You know, the message behind it.” I swing into the Zeus! parking lot, hazarding a fast glance at Ella. “Like, what it really means.”

  “The show is produced by a tourist foundation.” She makes a snorting sound. “What it really means is ‘please buy tickets.’ ”

  I don’t realize I’m nervous until after I’ve slammed my car door. The air suddenly seems quivering and expectant. A minefield stretches from where I stand to the end of the night, peppered with explosions of every way I could screw this up.

  I’m terrified.

  But because I’m me and Ella is Ella, I don’t mention my terror. Instead, the minute we hit the wooden deck filled with cast members and anticipation, I ditch her with an excuse about needing to make a phone call. She goes toward the locker room, and I go to the kitchen counter for comfort in the form of a grilled cheese sandwich. When, two bites in, it still hasn’t helped, I throw it away and take the wooden steps down from the deck, heading behind the rhododendrons that screen the backstage from the forest.