“It’s just that the wrong kind of friend can be even worse.”
Summer pushed back from the table. “May I be excused?”
“You haven’t eaten,” her voice turned pleading. “You have to eat.”
“It’s been a long day,” Grandma said gently.
“I’ll find something if I get hungry,” Summer said, making for the relative safety of her room.
“Will you stop telling me how to raise my daughter?” Mom’s voice rose up the stairs after her.
“I want to help,” Grandma said.
“Since you did such a great job raising me?”
Summer shut her door, blocking out the echoes of generations-long misunderstanding reverberating through her family.
Chapter 5
“It’s come to my attention,” Bastian said, sitting down in front of Summer and startling her out of a very bad sketch of a vase. “That you’ve been skipping lunch.”
“What?” She wiped some charcoal off her hands.
“Lunch. It’s important to eat.”
“I eat.”
“Sure.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“I’ve been eating outside. The cafeteria is really loud.”
He smirked. “And here I thought you were avoiding me like the stalker I am. You’re quite good at dodging the paparazzi.”
“Oh, no!” She shot out her hand, almost touching his arm before pulling back. “Sorry. No. I just . . . I’m not big on crowds.”
One corner of his mouth pulled up. “I’ve been known to eat in the darkroom for that very reason.”
“And yet you’re ragging on me for it?” She slipped her box of art supplies into her bag.
He shifted away from her. “We all have our flaws.”
The bell rang and she jumped again.
“Come on.” Bastian stood. “I’ll introduce you to my friends. They’re good people to know.”
She picked up her backpack and slung it over one shoulder. “You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?”
“Nope.”
She followed him into the hall, dodging bodies to keep up with him. He slowed in the hall outside the cafeteria.
“Why are we doing this?” Summer said. “We could both ditch. Then we’re not being totally antisocial.”
“It’s less overwhelming if you pick something to focus on,” he said. “I memorized the pattern on the floor tiles.”
The white walls swallowed Summer in their brightness, and the noise bouncing around the high ceiling pushed against her skull. Half the school must have been crammed into the room, all talking and eating and laughing at once, sending her into full sensory overload.
“Pattern?” She glanced down at the abstract chunks of gray and brown scattered across a beige background.
“There are nine unique tiles.”
Sure enough, her eyes caught on, pulling order out of the chaos.
“In the interest of full disclosure,” he said, his deep voice pitching even lower. “I still eat in the darkroom more often than not. The developing chemicals make everything taste funny but people leave me alone.”
“So who are these friends you ditch every day?”
He nodded toward a group of students at a table near the center of the room. Abby sat on one side and waved frantically at them as they approached.
“Abby you already know,” he said.
“Don’t tell me you’re the ex,” Summer said, dread settling into her stomach.
Bastian laughed and pressed his hand to his heart. “I only wish. Abby is the love of my life.”
“But it will never work, mi amor,” Abby said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I just don’t find you attractive.”
“Must you be so cruel?” He grinned at Summer. “Can’t you see why I’m in love with her?”
Summer giggled in spite of herself.
“Sit,” Abby said, patting the seat beside her. “Now that you’ve finally graced us with your presence, I can properly introduce you.”
Bastian took her other side and the three of them leaned in together. “Don’t mind Ben and Bria,” he said, nodding at the couple across the table. “They’ve kind of forgotten the rest of us exist.”
“Abby warned me about that.”
“Disgusting, right?” Abby said.
Bria was tall, with soft features and the kind of curves Grandma called “pleasingly plump.” Her hair—a vivid mess of purple curls—crowned her head with the only color on her body. But more than her height or black clothes or anything, the tilt of her chin and straight shoulders gave her command. Presence.
The boy beside her—Abby’s brother—wore a football jersey and, with the obvious build to match, he looked like the consummate jock. But the way he looked at Bria hinted at a connection beyond friendship. Way, way beyond.
“This is what I get for introducing them,” Abby said. “I figured if anyone would fail to succumb to my brother’s charm, it would be Bria. I mean, look at him. Bria routinely hangs out with rock gods and went for a living, breathing Under Armour ad. Gross.”
“I’ll never get it,” Bastian said.
“Ew.” A pretty Latina girl with a long, thick braid and beat up TOMS pushed through the crowd to reach their table and flicked something off her shoulder. “The freshmen are making spitballs over by the lunch line.”
“That’s what you get for eating cafeteria food,” Abby said, stealing a fry from the other girl’s tray.
“Not all of us have Molly Weasley to pack us adorable lunches.”
“My mother isn’t perfect,” Abby said. “Just freakishly close.”
The other girl smiled at Summer. “Hi. I’m Dolores. Are you a friend of Bastian’s?”
“Kind of.” Summer glanced at him. “I think. I’m Summer.”
Abby leaned into her. “Ever heard of Criminal Casino?”
“Sure, their song is everywhere.”
“Lor is dating their lead singer.”
Dolores swatted at Abby. “Shush. You sound like you’re name dropping.”
“It’s not name dropping if it’s true.” Abby turned to Summer again. “So as you can see, I am completely miserable and alone in a sea of happy twosomes.”
“Happiness is overrated,” Bastian said, with a slight hitch that almost told Summer what she wanted to know. “All good art comes from misery.”
“Whoa,” Bria said, emerging from her own little world with Ben. They still had their hands curled together and their shoulders pressed tight. Not like they were hanging all over each other, but more like their bodies couldn’t stand the distance. “Vega emerged from the darkroom.”
“I know, right?” Abby said. “He must have run out of Cheetos and Funyuns.”
“I’ve moved on to Fritos and Junior Mints,” Bastian said. “Guys, this is my friend Summer.”
“Your friend?” Abby gasped, clutching her hands to her heart. “I found her first!”
Abby and Bastian commenced bickering while Bria’s eyes systematically moved over Summer in what felt like the slowest examination ever. The rest of the table seemed to wait for her ruling.
“Welcome.” Bria held out her hand—the one that wasn’t attached to her boyfriend—and smiled. “Are you a senior too?”
“Junior.”
Abby winked. “Vega is a cradle robber.”
“I’m not . . .” Bastian almost looked flustered, but he covered it with an eye roll. “It’s still better than Dumpster diving for boys like you do.”
“You wound me, Bas.”
“Let them be, Abs,” Dolores said. “Sorry, Summer. She’s such a drama queen. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Speaking of drama,” Abby said. “I just found out my college has this script competition for freshmen. The winner gets their play performed at the freaking Globe. I mean, can you imagine?”
“I thought you hated Shakespeare,” Bria said with her head resting against Ben’s shoulder.
“I said Shakespeare is
overrated. This is totally different.”
“Abby is going to some fancy theater program in London,” Bastian whispered. The warm, mint-sweetened breath on her cheek calmed her nerves.
“Stop,” Bria said, turning her face away from Ben’s. “Don’t kiss me with meat breath.”
“Come on,” he said. “It’s from the cafeteria. No ways it’s real meat.”
“Carnivore.”
“Masochist.”
She kissed his cheek and he grinned.
“I have to go to a pep rally meeting and that’s all I get?” he said, rising.
“You can feed off the adulation of your legion of fans,” Bria said, swatting his backside as he walked past.
“You do know he’s my brother, right?” Abby said. “It’s bad enough that I have to watch you making googley eyes at each other. Please keep your hands off his ass in front of me.”
“Sorry,” Bria said with a satisfied smile. “I make no such promises.”
Summer sank back, more than willing to let the conversation—and spotlight—shift away from her.
“Anyway.” Abby glared at Bria. “Tell us about yourself, Summer. Unless you want to molest my brother too, in which case I might just strangle you.”
“No, I—” Her cheeks went hot and she fumbled with the apple she’d pulled from her backpack.
“Don’t listen to her,” Bria said, reaching across the table to still her hands. “She’s a spaz.”
“Only a little.” Abby winked, obviously enjoying her own image. “At least tell us how you know Vega, the least social person in the history of the universe.”
“She wiped out at the skate park,” he said. “My first aid kit saved the day again.”
“You skate?” Dolores perked up.
“Umm.” Summer’s eyes darted around the table. “Yeah. Sometimes.” Like, every day. For as long as she possibly could.
“Wait.” Something clicked behind the other girl’s eyes. “You’re Summer O’Neill. I saw you at the X Games qualifier last winter.”
Summer tugged on the stem of her apple. “That was a good day.”
“You were amazing. You pulled off that 720 gazelle flip.”
“That was luck,” she said, blocking the rush of memories and the pain still etched into her muscles. “I haven’t landed it since.”
The bell rang and she jumped up, freed from further explanations of why she hadn’t landed a spot in the Games.
She barely knew these kids; they didn’t need to know she was a colossal failure just yet.
Chapter 6
It took the rest of the week for the guidance office to finally place Summer in the right classes. Something about a delay with her transcripts and some “unexpected” test scores. Apparently she wasn’t as far behind as everyone had assumed. By the time she made it to her new social studies class on Friday afternoon, she wasn’t even a little surprised when the teacher failed to acknowledge her new student status. Kids seemed to come and go from Oceanside without much notice, and life went on as usual.
She hovered in the doorway, watching for some indication of what she should do with herself. The teacher finally waved her toward the desks with nothing but an annoyed grunt and went back to drawing lines on the board.
Summer shuffled into the rows of desks, clinging to the shoulder straps of her backpack for moral support.
“Hey you!” Abby waved at her from the middle of the room and relief crashed over her.
“Hey.”
“No assigned seats. Grab a desk.”
Summer settled next to her, convinced she was in the wrong spot. “I thought this was a junior class.”
Abby lifted one shoulder in a characteristic shrug. “I didn’t do so hot in social studies last year. Something about not turning in homework. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, I failed and get to take two this year.”
“Ouch.”
“At least it wasn’t math. I couldn’t bear another year of math.”
“Western expansion,” the teacher announced in a booming voice. Summer hadn’t even caught his name. “What year was the Louisiana Purchase? You.”
He pointed at Summer and her eyes popped nearly out of her head.
“What? I . . .,” she tripped over her own tongue in a panic to not fail.
“She’s new,” Abby interjected. “I’ll catch her up.”
“Good.” The teacher stared Summer down like she’d deliberately not notified him, and she shrank into her seat. “Pull your desks together until you can participate.”
A pretty, dark-skinned girl at the front of the classroom raised her hand.
“Yes. You.”
“1803.”
“Very good.”
Abby grinned at Summer and waggled her eyebrows.
Summer slid her desk sideways and it made an awful grating noise against the floor. She winced, but no one else seemed to notice. She gave it another shove and it came to rest beside Abby’s in the center of the aisle.
Abby shoved her textbook into the middle of their desks and gestured vaguely at a page decorated with doodles.
Summer wrote as fast as she could, scribbling down the notes on the board and anything that seemed important from the text.
“This won’t be on the test,” Abby whispered, leaning across the small amount of space between them and bumping against her shoulder.
“What?”
“The lecture. He’s ranting now. He’ll forget what he said by tomorrow. Remember 1803 and we bought it from the French and you’ll be fine.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the illegible scrawl in her notebook and underlined the two facts Abby had pointed out.
“There’s a reason I took this class.” Abby winked at her and slid her notebook closer. “Easy peasy.”
Summer glanced down at a hangman sketch and stifled a giggle. She shifted to look at Abby, but the other girl kept her eyes ahead and her hands folded on her desk, the picture of perfect studiousness.
_ _ _ _ _
Five letters. Summer hesitated before penciling in an S in the first spot. Getting caught playing games instead of listening when she was already in trouble was a terrible idea.
But when Abby drew a head on the hangman and erased her letter, Summer’s competitive streak rose up.
Her next few guesses gained the hangman a neck, shoulders, and the first arm. A B and an O stayed at last, and Abby tapped her pencil against the desk, a smile toying with her mouth.
BO_ _ _. Boobs? Bombs? Books? She’d only known Abby a few days but anything seemed possible with her.
The hangman gained another arm, a tiara, and a torso before Summer got BORED and had to hide her giggle behind a cough.
She grabbed the notebook and drew out her own setup. Abby only got a head and an arm—both poorly drawn—before guessing THANKS.
The teacher shifted his lecture to how the Purchase impacted slavery, requiring a few more notes before the girls could return to the game.
Abby’s hangman had a head, arms, a torso, legs, shoes, a hat, and a bowtie before Summer figured out _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ .
VIOLENCE.
Abby leaned over. “See,” she whispered. “Sometimes it is the answer.”
Summer nearly choked trying to control her giggles until the final bell rang.
“You are a lifesaver, O’Neill!” Abby said, jumping to life and giving her a tight squeeze. “I thought I was going to die from loneliness this year.”
“Somehow I doubt you have trouble making friends.”
Abby shook her head, scattering pink and turquoise everywhere. “Friends are easy. Friendship is rare.” She caught Summer’s arm. “We are now officially friends and we need to hang out. What are you doing this weekend?”
“Oh. Um.” She stopped just outside the door, away from the steady stream of students rushing past. “I’m supposed to unpack. Mom says I’m not allowed to live out of boxes anymore. Which is just stupid because we’re only staying at my grandma’s until my mom and her boyfriend
get married. Sorry that’s too much info.”
“No way. Family drama happens. Besides, we’re besties. We’re supposed to tell each other everything.”
Summer made a nervous sound she hoped would pass for a laugh. Everything included a whole lot of mistakes she wasn’t ready to share. With anyone.
“Abs!” Bastian waved at them from across the hall, then darted between the crush of bodies to reach the doorway. He stopped short and smiled when his eyes met Summer’s. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Do you need something?” Abby said with a wicked grin. “Or are you just going to awkwardly flirt with my friend?”
“I’m not—” He stopped and glared at Abby. “Can I get a ride home? Ben said you drove today.”
Abby rolled her big blue eyes. “I suppose. One of these days you have to stop being a slacker and get your license.”
“Why would I do that when I can mooch off you?” He turned to Summer. “So what are you guys doing tonight?”
“I . . .” She cast a glance at Abby. “I don’t know. We haven’t really . . .”
“Wow you guys are awkward. Totally adorkable. Anyway, Bria is dragging me to the football game. Bleech. But if you want to see Oceanside in all its glory, you should come. That, and Lor and I need moral support.”
“Yeah. I guess. Sure.”
“Awesome.” Abby backed into the hallway. “Be at my car in five, Vega, or you’re walking. See you tonight, Summer.”
Bastian’s eyebrows arched over the top of his glasses. “You know you just agreed to go to a football game, right?”
“I know.” Panic gripped her. “Why did I do that?”
“It won’t be that bad. Abs can make anything entertaining.” He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “Or I could come. If you want.”
“Oh, no. I won’t make you do that.”
He flicked his eyes up, making a study of her face as they moved over her. “Maybe next time.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She turned away, pulling her backpack straps together over her chest. She snuck a glance back at Bastian, but he was already striding down the hall in the opposite direction. With a rapid exhale, she leaned back against a row of lockers.
People weren’t exactly her area of expertise. “Hey, babe” and a beer she knew how to handle. Bas, with his vacillating confidence and self-deprecation? Not so much. Every time she thought she knew where she stood with him, something shifted. He didn’t really act any different with her than he did with Abby. Until he did.
The Trick to Landing Page 3