The Summer We Fell

by Amber Garza

  “Well, I guess I should be happy that you can’t hear the fighting all the way over here. At least they are keeping it to a dull roar this time.”

  Cruz’s gaze slides over my shoulder. “Your parents?”

  I nod.

  “C’mon.” He motions me inside.

  I follow him, the scent of freshly baked bread lingering in the air. Cruz’s mom is always making something mouth-watering. “What’s she baking today?”

  “Corn bread, I think.” He closes the door softly behind me.

  “Yum.” My stomach growls. I catch my reflection in the large, silver edged mirror hanging on the wall. Yep, drowned rat. Just like I thought.

  “It’s cooling right now, but I’m sure I can cut you a piece soon.” A warm hand lands on my arm, fingers brushing my flesh. “You okay?”

  Nodding, I shove down the emotion that rises in my throat. We enter the family room. Pictures of the Vargas boys cover the walls. Cruz plops down on the leather sofa, and I sit next to him. I spot the picture of Mateo and his fiancée that sits on the fireplace mantel. The look they give each other is one of complete love and devotion. It makes my stomach hurt. “Do you remember the Johnsons?”

  “That was the family on the left side of your house, right? The ones that moved out a couple of years ago?”

  “Yeah.” I press my lips together, breathing out my nose. “They moved because they got divorced.”

  “Sloane.” Cruz’s hand covers mine. “Your parents are just going through a rough patch. They’re not getting divorced.”

  “How do you know?” Heat pricks my eyes.

  “I don’t.” His lips curl a little at the edges. “But I know you, and you tend to jump to conclusions. So maybe this time don’t worry about the what-ifs. Just live in today.”

  I know he’s right, but it’s hard for me to do that. My mind tends to always go to the worst-case scenario. Almost like it can’t help itself. Cool air spills out of the air conditioning vents, causing me to shiver.

  “So tell me all about what I missed between you and Adam.”

  “Oh, now you want to know about it?” I grin.

  Cruz touches my chin. “If it gets you to smile like that, then yes, I do.”

  “Nothing happened. We talked, and then I fell.”

  “For once your klutziness is working in your favor.” He jabs me in the stomach.

  I giggle.

  “Hey, Sloane.” Annette, Cruz’s mom, enters the room. “I thought I heard your voice. You’re just in time to have some cornbread.”

  I smile. Annette is always trying to feed me. Cruz explained to me early on that food was his mom’s way of loving on people. If that’s true, then Annette loves me very much. And my body grows every year because of it.

  “Come on,” she says. “I’ll cut you both a piece.”

  I drop my beach bag on the ground and stand up. Following Cruz into the kitchen, I think about how lucky I am to have him in my life. I don’t know how I’d survive without him.

  6

  cruz

  “You got a crumb right here.” Reaching out, I brush away a flake of cornbread stuck to the outer edge of Sloane’s lips.

  She giggles. Sloane’s laugh is quite possibly my favorite sound in the world. “I know. I’m the messiest eater ever,” she says, staring at the ground, her cheeks flushing pink.

  I wipe some cornbread on my face. “Yeah, you totally are. I never get food on my face.”

  Sloane glances up, and when her gaze connects with my messy face she bursts into laughter. “Yeah. Never. Your face is super clean.”

  I chuckle, and a few crumbs fall from my face onto my feet. Sloane reaches for a napkin, clutching it in her slender fingers. Then she brings it up to my face, swiping it over my skin.

  “We better clean this up before your mom sees,” she says with a smile.

  My mom is sort of a neat freak. Weird, I know, since she’s the mother of four boys. You would think she would become immune to messes. Then again, she had us all trained at a very young age to pick up after ourselves. Apparently she even has Sloane trained.

  Sloane presses the napkin down over my lips, and I feel the pads of her fingers through the paper thin napkin. She stands so close I catch a whiff of her apple shampoo and the berry lotion she wears. Her eyes are pinned to my face, and my pulse quickens. A funny feeling descends in my stomach. When she steps back, a large gust of air pushes past my throat.

  “Okay. All clean.” She throws me a wink. “But you might want to stay away from the cornbread from now on. Obviously you’re not old enough to eat it.”

  “Hey, I’m six months older than you,” I joke back.

  “Oh, really? Well, no one can tell. You act way younger.”

  I hop up off the barstool, reaching for her. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

  Squealing, she whirls away from me. She hides behind the kitchen table as if that will protect her. I circle it, eyeing her like a vulture does his prey. She bites her lip anxiously, the overhead light shining on her smooth skin. When I get closer, she pushes one of the chairs out to block me and then sprints toward the family room, leaving a stream of shrieks in her wake. Sloane’s a screamer. I remember the first time we rode a roller coaster together. She screamed so loud during the ride I thought she burst my eardrum. I couldn’t hear for a week afterward. Okay, I may be over-exaggerating, but trust me, it was bad.

  “Nice move,” I say as I tear into the family room.

  Sloane is standing behind the couch wearing a triumphant grin.

  “But it wasn’t good enough.” I leap over the couch tackling her around the waist, and together we fall to the ground. She flails in my arms as I pin her down. My hands reach for her middle, fully intending to tickle her. But she’s wearing nothing but that damn bathing suit cover up and a tiny bikini underneath. I’m not really sure where to put my hands. I know where I want to put my hands, but I can’t do that.

  Panting, she stares up at me, still trying to fight me off. She knows what’s coming. I can see it in her eyes. She’s anticipating the tickling. Her eyes sparkle and her cheeks are red. Damn, it turns me on like nothing else ever has. What the hell is happening to me?

  This is Sloane. My best friend. I can’t go there with her.

  Groaning inwardly, I slide off of her body, making it seem like she won. Leaping up, she holds up her arms and does a victory dance.

  “Who’s the strongest girl in all the land?” She teases.

  “You.” I grin, remembering how the sight of her in a bathing suit rendered me completely useless. “Definitely you. No question.”

  After Sloane leaves, I head into the living room to the piano. I slide onto the bench, lifting the lid. This piano belonged to my grandma. It just sat in our house for years untouched. Mom can play a little, but not that well. And my parents never thought of teaching Mateo, Julian or Gabriel how to play. I think my dad has always thought of piano playing as something reserved for girls.

  I used to hate my mom for pushing it on me, especially knowing that Dad and my brothers all thought it was girly. But then I realized I was really good at it. I had always struggled with the other things my parents tried to teach me, like how to speak Spanish or play soccer. But music was something I excelled at. Sure, over time I discovered other things too, like baseball and swimming. But piano was the first, and for that reason I’ve always loved it.

  It’s my escape.

  Lying my hands on the keys, I start to play. Closing my eyes, I let the song carry me. It’s one I’ve played often. Some love song my mom wanted me to learn years ago. I don’t need to read the music, I’ve got it all up in my head. For a while I play from memory, my fingers gliding over the keys effortlessly.

  “Sounds great, son.” Dad appears next to me, still dressed in slacks and a collared shirt from work.

  “Thanks.” I smile, my hands falling from the keys and into my lap. Over the years my dad and brothers have learned to like my piano playing. They only te
ase me about it occasionally now. Truth is, I’m pretty lucky. My dad has always been supportive of all of his boys. When I was taking lessons I met plenty of boys whose dads harassed them endlessly about it.

  “Hey, honey.” Mom sweeps into the room.

  While Dad moves toward Mom, I return to my playing. I vaguely hear their feet shuffling on the carpet as they exit the room. The smell of spices float from the kitchen where Mom cooks dinner. I run my fingers over the ivory keys in a new pattern that takes me by surprise. Pausing, I try it again. It’s been awhile since I tried writing a song, but maybe it’s time. Reaching on top of the piano, I find a pen and paper. I write down the chords that I just played and then tap the pen on my chin, trying to come up with some lyrics. Opening my mouth, I sing a line and then scribble it down.

  Once I’ve filled half the page, I read back over it, stunned by what I wrote. Frozen, I sit at the piano staring down at the words. I’ve always been surprised by the emotions that pour from me when I write songs, but this is crazy. Standing up from the piano, I snatch up the paper in my hands and hurry to my room. Once inside, I tuck the song in my top nightstand drawer. Hidden where no one can see it. Where no one will know how I really feel.

  7

  sloane

  Mom stares out the kitchen window, her back to me. Her golden hair glistens in the sunlight that streams in through the slats in the blinds. She’s still in her work clothes – a fitted black business suit. Her red lacquered nails tap on the kitchen counter. Past her I see Adam’s truck pull up and park along the curb in front of Cruz’s house. My palms clam up, my heart beginning to race. But something about the stillness of Mom’s pose stops me from racing outside.

  I lean against the doorway, my shoulder supporting my weight. “Mom?”

  Slowly she cranes her neck. Her dark eyes are sad. “Yes?”

  I inhale. “I’m going over to Cruz’s.”

  “Okay.” She looks lost.

  My heart squeezes. “Are you all right?” I step into the room, my sandals tapping on the hardwood floor. I’d taken Becca’s advice and worn the dress. The skirt swims around my pale legs.

  “Fine.” She forces a smile. “Just tired. Long day.”

  “I can stay home if you want.” As much as I’m dying to spend time with Adam, the idea of leaving Mom like this pierces my heart.

  “No.” She waves away my suggestion with a flick of her wrist. Pushing off the counter, she walks in my direction. “You go have fun. I’ll be fine. Your dad’s working late tonight¸ so I have a date with chocolate ice cream and reality TV.”

  “I could stay and watch TV with you,” I offer.

  Mom reaches out and fingers a lock of my hair. “That’s sweet, but I actually want to be alone tonight.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Her red lips curve into a smile. My mom is the only woman I know who looks good in red lipstick. It gives her a classic, old fashioned look I find so beautiful.

  “Okay. I’ll be home in a little bit.” As I head out of the house, I glance over my shoulder. Mom is no longer in the window, but I can’t quell the uneasiness settling in my stomach. No matter how hard she tried to convince me she was fine, I could tell she wasn’t. Pausing, I start to turn around when Adam’s voice stops me.

  “Sloane.”

  I swivel to face Cruz’s house where Adam stands in front of his truck. Hadn’t he driven up several minutes ago?

  “Forgot something in my truck,” he says as if reading my mind. As he opens the door he smiles. “I’m glad you’re here. I was starting to think you were gonna bail on me.”

  I reel back from his statement, stunned that he cares at all. “Nope. No bailing.” Abandoning thoughts of my mom, I cross the street.

  Adam grabs a couple of drumsticks out of his truck and then closes the door. Leaning against the side, he crosses his arms and grins at me. “Glad to hear it. I didn’t know what I’d do without my tambourine girl.”

  There it was again. The use of the words “my” and “girl” in reference to me. I mean, I know he isn’t exactly calling me “his girl,” but to me it’s close enough. “So, how long you been playing?”

  “Drums?”

  I nod. The screech of a guitar sounds from inside the garage. I guess that means that Trey and Carlos are already inside.

  “About a year. I was trying to figure out something to do during football’s offseason, and I’ve always been interested in music so I thought I’d try it out.”

  He’s only been playing a year? Is there anything this guy can’t do? I swear it seems so unfair how some people are blessed with incredible genes, while the rest of us get the leftovers. “That’s cool. You play really well,” I keep my voice neutral, not wanting to gush all over him and scare him off. I’m sure girls are like that with him all the time.

  “Hey, are you busy after practice?” he asks suddenly.

  I shake my head.

  “Want to grab a bite to eat or something?”

  Is he serious? I stop my mouth from gaping open and force myself to speak. “Um…yeah, that might be good. To eat, I mean. Because, you know, I’m hungry. Haven’t had dinner yet. Well, obviously not. You must not have had dinner either, you know, since you’re asking me to go get food.” Stop talking, you idiot. I take a deep breath. “Yes, that would be nice.”

  When I finally shut up, Adam stares at me with an amused expression on his face. He probably regrets asking me already. “All right. Then it’s a date.”

  A date? With Adam freaking Stewart. I think I’m going to die.

  His hand brushes my elbow as we head inside Cruz’s house, causing goose bumps to rise on my flesh. When we get to the garage the guys are all set up. Trey and Carlos are standing up holding their guitars, and Cruz is hunched over the keyboard. I swallow hard at the collective raise of eyebrows around the room. Lowering my head, I move away from Adam and head toward the folding chair. But he doesn’t let me get away that easy.

  “Come on over here, tambourine girl.” He picks up the tambourine, motioning me toward him.

  My face flaming, I move slowly in his direction. As I fold my hand around the tambourine and sink into a chair next to Adam, I keep my gaze trained on my feet. But even without looking I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, and it’s unnerving. I’ve never been one who likes attention. I’m happy to blend in.

  Music starts up, and Adam nudges me with his arm. When I glance over, he’s holding out his palm. Nestled inside are two orange ear plugs. Grateful, I snatch them up and put them in my ears. The sound is now muffled, and I relax a bit. Just like last time, I hit the tambourine against my open palm on Adam’s cues.

  The longer the boys play the more nervous I get about my date with Adam. I wish I could text Becca and tell her about it. Better yet, I’d like to talk to her and get some tips. I’ve never been on a date before. I have absolutely no idea how to act or what to expect. My mind spins, my stomach rolls, and my palms sweat profusely.

  When practice is over I feel dangerously close to puking, which would be really unfortunate, and I’m sure would ruin any chance I have with Adam. So I do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen. I inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth, attempting to settle my nerves.

  “It looks like you took Becca’s advice.” Cruz approaches me after practice, eyeing my outfit. He reaches up and touches one of my curls. “I like the hair.”

  “Thanks.” I bite my lip, unable to tell if he’s mocking me or not.

  “So, you wanna stay for dinner? Mom made your favorite enchiladas.”

  “Ready to go, Sloane?” Adam comes up behind me.

  Cruz raises a brow. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  I turn to Adam. “Yeah. I’ll be there in just a sec.”

  He nods. “Cool. I’ll just round up my stuff.”

  “Looks like your klutziness worked even better than we thought,” Cruz jokes when Adam is out of earshot.

  “Yeah.” I chuckle lightly under my br
eath. “Can I get a rain check on the enchiladas?”

  “You don’t need a rain check. You know you’re welcome here any time.” He smiles a little sadly. “You always have been.”

  “So, we’re cool then?” It feels weird to have to even ask that. Then again, I’ve never turned Cruz down before, unless I had some type of familial obligation.

  “Of course.” He winks. “Have fun with Adam.”

  I smile, my insides dancing. “I will. Thanks.”

  Adam takes me to a local burger place. I know for a fact that the football players eat here all the time, so I’m a little surprised when we end up here. My insides do a little flip as we walk inside together. Obviously he’s not embarrassed about being seen in public with me. As he ushers me toward an open booth, I smooth down my curls with my palms. I hardly spoke at all on the drive here. I’m a total ball of nerves. Glancing around the room, I recognize a few students from our school in a corner booth as I sit down across from Adam.

  A server hands us each a glossy menu filled with pictures of burgers and fries.

  “Is this okay?” He spreads out his palms. “I mean, I guess I should’ve made sure you weren’t a vegetarian or something.”

  I smile. “No. I like burgers.”

  “Good.” His shoulders visibly relax. “I like when girls eat real food.”

  I never thought my bad eating habits would actually help me get a guy. It’s pretty obvious that I’m not the thinnest girl in the world. But what can I say? I like food. I can’t eat like a bird the way some girls do. Grateful that Adam gave me the go ahead to eat what I want tonight, I end up ordering a bacon cheeseburger with fries. Then I settle back into the booth, feeling a little less nervous than when we first arrived. Fifties music plays in the background as bright fluorescent lighting shines down on us.

  “Do you like being in the band?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s cool.” There is something noncommittal about his response that peeks my curiosity.