The Trick to Landing

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  “Oh. No.” Summer stood and straightened her apron. “I just stopped by after my shift. I’ll go.”

  “Don’t go,” Bastian said, oblivious to the tension. “And Mom, quit acting all suspicious and possessive.”

  Or not. Summer hid a smile behind her hand. “I really should go. My mom is probably waiting for me.”

  “See you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” She wanted so badly to reach across the bed and hug him, but his mother hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Vega.”

  “Likewise.” She gave a curt nod.

  Summer slipped behind the curtain.

  “Seriously, Mom.” Bastian’s voice drifted after her.

  “I’m your mother. I have to protect you.”

  “Not anymore. Not from Summer.”

  Summer paused in the hallway and bent over, hands gripping her thighs while she tried to breathe.. The lack of sleep and dizzying highs and lows of the last couple of days left her unhinged. The best moments of her time in Oceanside pushed up against fear and pain and anger.

  Because of her, Bas had pushed himself too hard. She’d destroyed any trust she’d built with her mom. She’d even managed to piss off Abby.

  None of that was part of the plan. Getting through. Surviving. Getting back to skating, back on the circuit, back to Dad. That was the plan.

  Not meeting a boy. Not falling for him.

  Not hurting him.

  She bolted for the exit of the hospital, smacking into Nurse Laura on the sidewalk.

  “Summer? Are you okay?” Nurse Laura steadied her. “Are you feeling all right?”

  She shook her head, unable to keep the panic at bay.

  “Do you need to go home?”

  Yes. Home. She needed home.

  But home was gone and Dad was gone and the one place she’d found comfort was now freaking her out more than anything had ever freaked her out.

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  Chapter 19

  Summer huddled into the old floral quilt on her bed. A faint lavender scent clung to the time-softened cotton, but even that didn’t soothe her shattered spirit.

  Of course Mom didn’t buy that she was sick. Hung over, yes. Stoned, possibly. Heartbroken, not even a possibility.

  The doorbell rang and she pulled the quilt over her head.

  “. . . you must be Summer’s mom . . .” Bastian’s voice, as deep as it was, rumbled up the stairs, stray words reaching her ears.

  If Mom let him up, she’d kill her. She crept to the door and opened it a crack.

  “She says she’s sick,” Mom said. “And that she’s been spending all her time with you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bastian said. “I didn’t think we’d be out so late the other night. I didn’t mean to get her in trouble.”

  Mom sighed. “Summer said you were a nice boy.”

  “Did she?” He sounded amused and she could almost see his lip curl.

  “I don’t know how much she told you, but Summer got in a lot of trouble before she moved here. Other parents might not care where their kids are after school, but I do. I have to.”

  “She told me enough.” Something in his voice hardened. “I can tell she’s trying, Ms. Caldwell.”

  “What happened Thursday night can never happen again.”

  Bastian was quiet for too long. “Understood. Can you tell her I stopped by?”

  “I will.”

  Summer waited a few minutes longer before shuffling down the stairs into Grandma’s pristine, overly white living room.

  “Feeling better?” Mom asked, looking up from the contract spread across the antique coffee table. It wasn’t a nice question.

  “No. Thanks for asking.” She almost choked on her own bitterness.

  The obstinate tilt of Mom’s chin and the tight line of her mouth were all too familiar. Summer’s stubbornness didn’t come from Dad. “Your friend stopped by.”

  “I know. I heard.”

  “Hmm.” Mom pushed her papers into a neat stack. “He seems like a sweet boy.”

  “You mean he seems too good for me?”

  Mom sighed again. “I’m calling your dad.”

  Summer smirked and shook her head. “You’re giving up on me already?”

  “I’m not giving up on anything, but maybe he can get through to you. Because you’re obviously not listening to me.”

  “You’re not listening to me either! Do you even care what’s wrong?”

  “Of course I care. I’m just done with your excuses.”

  Summer straightened and narrowed her eyes. “Call Dad. Ask him. I’ve always owned up to my mistakes. No matter how many I’ve made. This? This isn’t me making mistakes.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “This is me trying to figure out how to have friends and fit in someplace totally new. I suck at school. I suck at people. This is hard!”

  Mom pressed her lips together. “And you think that the way to fit in is by hooking up with a nice boy?”

  “It’s nothing like that!”

  “So you haven’t kissed him?”

  Summer pressed her lips closed. Mom had managed to cheapen every moment she’d ever had with Bastian with one very low, patronizing blow.

  “That’s what I thought.” Mom set down her pen and looked directly at her. “You shouldn’t be involved with a boy right now.”

  She shook her head. “Involved? Mom, I like him. He likes me. What is wrong with that? It’s not like I went looking for this. It just—”

  “It just happened, right? Like how you didn’t mean to ruin your reputation or drive drunk or get kicked out of school?”

  “I’ve taken responsibility for every one of those things.”

  “I don’t want you seeing this boy. If you want to prove you can make good decisions, stop seeing him.”

  Summer’s stomach dropped. “No.”

  Grandma drifted in from the kitchen. “Your mom might be right this time,” she said, toying with an oversize turquoise pendant. “You’ve completely upended your life.”

  “Yes, and I’m trying to make my new life work.”

  “So figure that out first. Before you end up in a relationship with someone else.”

  “Why can’t I do that with Bastian? Why can’t we figure this out together?”

  “Is that really fair to him?” Grandma’s eyes and voice were soft, but her words hit like a ton of bricks.

  “You’re already grounded for not calling me Thursday night,” Mom said. “But I don’t want him coming over. I don’t want you calling or texting or whatever you do now.”

  “Mom!”

  “Your dad is coming down this week. We can talk about it more then.”

  “Wait. Dad is coming here and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Your parents and I talked about this,” Grandma said. “We were worried you’d run to him at the first sign of trouble if you knew. We want you to stay and stick this out and make it work.”

  “And the best way to do that is to go behind my back and make plans for my life without me?”

  “Your judgment is so skewed that I don’t trust you to be part of those conversations,” Mom said.

  “Rachael.” Grandma caught her arm.

  Summer sank into the couch. “I’m trying to do better. I don’t know how else to tell you that. I’m trying so freaking hard.”

  Mom pushed Grandma away and walked toward the kitchen, already tapping at her phone.

  Grandma smoothed her hair. “I’m sorry this is so hard. For both of you.”

  Summer closed her eyes, wishing the whole world would disappear. “I’m never going to be good enough for her.”

  Grandma squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll find your way. I promise.”

  “She doesn’t believe that.”

  “If anyone knows about starting over, it’s your mother.”

  Summer shook her head and pushed up from the couch, stumbling back toward her room.


  Chapter 20

  Ignoring her phone, and the dozens of messages from Abby and Bastian that had popped up since Friday night, Summer picked up her board and headed for the park. The twisting, aching pain in her gut hadn’t let up since Mom’s lecture the day before and only one thing could clear her mind.

  Grandma waved at her from the back porch and yelled something about her helmet.

  Summer grabbed it from the garage, but she rolled her eyes and kept going without putting it on.

  She needed the wind in her hair. She needed the weightlessness of risk and the unfettered liberty of flying.

  She needed to prove Mom and Grandma wrong.

  With the rising sun, the first kiss she’d shared with Bastian flashed back in perfect emotional clarity, each feeling sharp, separate, and complete.

  She hadn’t faced the other skaters since, slipping in and out with only half the time she usually spent on the pipe. Not today. Today she needed every moment she could wring from the morning, every second of freedom.

  The whir of her bearings took the edge off, adrenaline rising with each square of pavement she covered. Adrenaline that made everything oversaturated and crisp at the edges.

  Skating made sense. Her body knew what to do. Her mind knew to shut off. Her heart gave up to the rush of air and movement and speed.

  The skate park came into view and her pulse sped up. Anticipation tingled from her toes to her fingertips.

  She jolted to a stop, heart racing for a whole other reason.

  “Hi,” she said, staring at Bastian.

  He leaned against the fence surrounding the park and examining his camera.

  “Hey.” His face softened into a smile she knew he reserved for her. A smile for when his guard came down and he opened up.

  A smile that killed her every time she saw it.

  “What are you doing here?” She hated the accusation behind her words.

  “Magic hour, remember?” His brows drew together into a mask of worry.

  Gut, meet fist.

  “I have to skate,” she said.

  “Okay.” The little creases between his brows deepened.

  “No, it’s not.” She dropped her board. “Because you’re in my head and I can’t have you there, making me doubt and question everything.”

  His face shifted, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

  “The qualifier is coming up. I have to focus. I can’t be worrying about you.”

  She picked up her board and turned her back, ready to slip through the gate.

  “Stop.” Bastian threw his arm in front of her, hard enough to make her jump.

  But she didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t bear to see if it was hurt or anger burning in his eyes.

  But this was the time. Better to break him now, before she hurt him even worse. If Mom and Grandma were right and she was nothing but a hurricane of self-destruction, she couldn’t bring Bastian down with her. She wouldn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “No.” He caught her arm, tugging her back. “I need more than that.”

  “I can’t give you more.” She glared at him. “I can’t keep holding your hand and watching stars and sunsets and pretending there’s actually a future for us.”

  “I’ve never cared about your past and I’ve never pushed you for anything.”

  “I won’t stand by while you hurt yourself.”

  He let go of her, stepping back and tightening his jaw. “You think I’d let you? I’m not some invalid that you need to protect.”

  “Your knee is a mess. You can barely walk and I know you’re in pain. I see it in your eyes. Would you have gone out to the golf course without me? Jumping around on rocks?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She threw down her helmet. “That’s my answer.”

  “If you walk away, you’re a coward.”

  “Because you’re Captain Bravery himself?” she sneered.

  “What is that even supposed to mean?”

  She pointed at his camera. “You’re here every day, trying to prove you’re normal. You have this whole carpe diem thing going on, but you’re afraid to face the truth. You’re breakable, just like everyone else. And even worse? You prove your parents right every single time you let them limit you. Life isn’t all or nothing. You can take risks without being an idiot.”

  “I thought you were mad at me for getting hurt.”

  “I mad at you for being you.”

  He threw his hands up. “Sorry. I can’t fix that.”

  “Whatever.” She turned her back and stalked away, clutching her board.

  “Good one,” he yelled after her, but she still didn’t turn.

  Summer scaled the ramp and froze at the top with her board in her hand. The wind raked its fingers through the long, tangled strands of her hair, the soft ocean breeze feeling more like an assault than a caress. Her helmet lay on the ground, but she'd have to face Bas again to grab it. She'd have to look him in the eyes and see the pain she’d caused and that would make her doubt all over again.

  It was better this way. It was better to make him go.

  Better to focus on the one thing she didn’t totally suck at.

  Dad's voice rang in her head. Never skate without the right gear. Your body is your instrument. Treat it with care and respect. Protect your head.

  Easy for him to say. He didn't have to wear a cage on his head when he was surfing. He could feel the air and the waves.

  She risked a glance toward the gate. Bastian looked up at her. She turned her back and set the board the ramp.

  She didn’t care.

  The world fell out from under her as she swooped down into the pipe, picking up speed with each drop. Nothing slowed her down or messed with her movement. She soared above the ramp, lighter than air. Free. Soaring away from Mom and Dad and Abby and Bastian and homework and beer and Tobey and the DUI. Nothing mattered except higher, faster, harder.

  Down, up. Down, up. Twist. Turn. Push.

  She grabbed the edge of the board, rotating high above the ramp. Down again.

  Except it wasn’t working. Tears blurred her vision and made it hard to breathe, hard to focus. Even with the wind rushing past her, it all came back. She twisted midair. Once, twice. Part way through another rotation, a sob caught in her throat and she bailed.

  A moment of free fall cast everything in raw light.

  This was her life, no one else’s.

  Her mistakes and her victories.

  Her heart was hers to give or to take.

  Her future belonged to her alone.

  Just before her stomach dropped out, before the pain waiting on the other side, a single moment of clarity opened. She’d let guilt and shame define her for too long, taking up space in her heart and her head she should have left for better things. For love, for life. She’d believed everyone’s version of her story but her own.

  That had to change.

  With that thought she flailed, kicking at the air, trying to find the sky again and right herself.

  Her head hit first, exploding in blinding pain, the texture of the ramp shredding her cheek. Her arm buckled under her and her knee slammed onto her board. A dazzling, dizzying explosion of color and noise disappeared into a sea of black.

  She smelled blood or tasted blood or felt the heat against her skin. Blood and pain surrounded her while the world spun harder and harder. She fought for the surface but in the darkness, no direction seemed like up.

  “Summer!”

  Cool, gentle fingers on her neck, her face.

  She tried to pry her lids open

  “Shit,” Bastian said. His hands were all over her and she had no idea why. “Hold on, Summer. Someone is coming. I called for help.”

  She tried to sit up, to make the spinning stop.

  “Don’t move,” Bastian’s voice echoed down a hallway.

  What hallway? Maybe it was the r
amp.

  Why was she on the ramp?

  He was so far away, touching her face, holding her hand.

  So far.

  “No, no, no. Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me.”

  “Where . . . ?” She forced her eyes open enough to see the blinding light, but that made the spinning worse again.

  “You’re at the skate park. You wiped out.”

  “But I was at home.”

  “Good, good.” He squeezed her fingers. “Keep talking.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He hesitated. “You don’t remember?”

  “Where is all this blood from? Are you hurt?” Panic seized her chest and she tried to sit up, only to collide with Bastian’s arm again.

  “Stay down. It’s not mine. Your mom is on her way. Just breathe.”

  “I’m sorry, Bas,” she said, letting her aching body sink into the ground.

  “For what?”

  She tried to shake her head. “I don’t know. I just know I’m sorry.”

  His lips brushed her forehead. “It’s okay. Hey, your mom just pulled up. You’re going to be fine.”

  “But there’s something important I have to tell you. I just can’t remember.”

  “Summer.” He squeezed her hand. “It has to wait.”

  Chapter 21

  The skull-piercing lights in the ER weren’t helping. Neither was the smell of bile that probably belonged to her, even though she couldn’t remember throwing up. The burn in the back of her throat and the stench in her nostrils filled in that missing info.

  But she couldn’t figure out why she was in the hospital or how she’d gotten there or why she had to stay lying down on the table.

  She tried to sit up, but the combo of Bastian’s arm across her chest and the splitting headache that erupted forced her down again.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, trying to focus her bleary vision on his face. “Did something happen to you?”

  “You have a concussion. You fell on the ramp.”

  “But why are you here?”

  “To make sure you don’t get up while your mom talks to your doctors.”

  Summer sank into the hospital bed again. Her eyelids slipped closed, too heavy to keep open.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Miss Rosie crossed her arms and glared down at her. “You are not getting out of community service that easy.”