“This is a very serious game. Do you see the blood, sweat, and tears staining this board? Do you know the epic battles waged on its colorful path? You are about to become part of a hallowed Vega family tradition.”
“Then red it is.” She reached for the piece in his hand, fingers brushing his.
He held on for a second, eyes locked on hers. “Do you remember anything about yesterday?”
She shook her head. “I remember bits of the beach, but that wasn’t yesterday, was it?”
A weird, sad smile caught the corner of his mouth. “That’s a good place to stop.”
“So what are we, right now?”
His eyes went soft. “We’re friends, Summer. And that’s okay.”
She wanted to push and ask for more, figure out why she felt so guilty just looking at him, but she couldn’t make herself say the words.
Lightning might not strike twice, but it seemed second chances did.
Chapter 23
From the back patio of Grandma’s house, the Santa Monica Mountains stretched into the sky. Summer shifted on the sun chair she’d occupied since Bastian had left, following a passing gull with her eyes. Against the steel gray sky, the browning foliage of a Southern California autumn brought an ache to her heart to match the one in her head.
Farther north, the trees would be in full color, and the air would be clear and crisp. Instead, Oceanside offered up bare branches and dying plants nestled under a blanket of ever-present smog and noise.
She almost didn’t notice the car pulling into the driveway until Dad stepped out.
“Cody,” Grandma said, catching him before Summer could force her head up.
“Hi, Martha.” He hugged her tight, overwhelming the little woman.
“How are you?” Grandma took his face between her hands.
“All right.” He nodded slowly. “How is she?”
“You can ask her,” Grandma said with a grin.
Summer sat up a little, drawing Dad’s attention.
“Hey, Keiki.” Dad stepped toward her.
Her nickname, spoken in his warm, familiar voice, was enough to bring back every bit of heartache she’d tried to bury. She shot up entirely too fast, collapsing again under the dizzying pain reverberating through her skull.
But then he was there with his arms around her and the smell of salt and surf wax and the soft tenor hum of his voice. She buried her head in his chest and squeezed as tight as she could.
“I miss you,” he said against the top of her head. Soothing, comforting. Healing.
She sniffed back the lump in her throat and pulled away, remembering she was sixteen and not a baby anymore. “Sorry.”
“Hey. No.” He brushed away a tear from her cheek. “You’re fine.”
“I didn’t mean to mess everything up.”
“Oh, Summer.” He hugged her again. “We’re all a mess.”
Dad’s face, perpetually tan and prematurely creased, fell into unused frown lines and he brushed her hair back from her face. “Are you okay, my Summer Girl?”
She sniffed. “I think so. I’m getting there. I think.”
“What were you doing on the ramp without a helmet?”
Breaking his gaze, she picked at a piece of fuzz on her hoodie. “I don’t really know. It was a mistake.”
His frown deepened. “This one might be worse than your last mistake.”
She cracked a smile. “At least this one didn’t end at lockup.”
Dad sighed. “Drunk driving isn’t really something to joke about.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. There’s just all these things going on in my head and I needed to let go. You get that, right?”
“Of course I do. But I taught you better.”
“I know. Lesson learned.”
“That’s a brutal way to learn a lesson.” He sat on the lounge chair. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She studied her hands. “I’m still piecing that back together.”
“Cody!” Mom burst through the back door, and a bright smile broke through Dad’s gloom. Within seconds they were hugging and laughing and looking each other over like long-lost friends.
Summer rolled her eyes and curled in on herself. How two people who so clearly loved each other couldn’t make a relationship work made her want to punch them both.
They chattered a mile a minute, catching up on stupid details of their common friends and separate lives.
“. . . you picked a place for the wedding?”
Summer tuned in about the time they sat down, side by side, on the chair beside hers.
“Right on the beach,” Mom said, grinning like an idiot. “Only a couple of weeks left.”
“Rach, that’s fantastic. Pete’s good for you.”
“Thanks, C.” She reached across the very narrow space between them and squeezed his hand.
Summer let out a grunt and Mom ripped her hand away, clearing her throat. “So. Um. Here’s my mom’s place. You want the grand tour?”
“Fan-cy,” Dad said, eyebrows raised.
“A little different than my parents’ place in Eureka, right?” Mom said, her eyes roving over the neat, quiet house and neat, quiet yard in its neat, quiet neighborhood.
“This is good for Summer.”
“I’m still right here,” she said. “I can hear every word.”
“Let’s get inside,” Mom said. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“I’d rather talk now.” Summer crossed her arms tight.
They hurriedly whispered, stopping when they realized she was still glaring.
Dad cleared his throat. “Okay. So. How are things going here?”
“I’m doing good.”
“Other than sneaking out and not checking in and nearly killing yourself,” Mom said.
“I snuck out once. And it wasn’t really even sneaking out. It was just two a. m. and you were sleeping. Nothing happened that night. You never would have known I was gone if I hadn’t told you.”
“I remember sneaking out at night . . .” Dad said, exchanging an awkward glance with Mom.
“I’m not you. I’m not either of you.”
“We know that,” Mom said.
“Then maybe you can punish me for my mistakes instead of yours?”
“This isn’t about us. This is about you. About your drinking and your friends and blowing off school.”
“I am not blowing off school! I’m already doing better than I have since you guys split up! I am trying damn hard! Forgive me if I want to hang out with my friends and do normal things and kiss a boy I really, really like!”
“Have you even told your friends about your past?” Mom said, softly. Too softly. Like she felt sorry for the inevitable heartbreak that would come with the truth. “Do they know you? Does Sebastian know?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” Summer shook her head and turned away, cursing the nausea and vertigo that kept her from actually getting up and leaving. Not that she really had any place to go. She buried her head in her hands and tried to tune everything else out.
Behind her, the patio door slid shut and she uncoiled a little.
“Hey, Keiki.” Dad sat down beside her, rubbing his hands together like he could conjure up something to fix the hurt swirling between them.
“I hate being here,” she blurted out. “I miss you. I miss my friends. I’m sorry I screwed up. I’ll be better. I haven’t had a drink since I got arrested. I’ll be good. Just let me come back with you.”
Dad kept turning his hands. “I can’t. This is better for you. I can’t help you like I used to. I’m not really good at the whole relationship thing.”
“You haven’t called me or e-mailed me and it takes forever for you to even text me back.”
“I’ve been on tour. You know how hard it is to stay in touch when I’m competing.”
Summer clenched her jaw. “So this is it? You’re leaving me, just like you left Mom?”
“Your mom
left me. But you know that.”
“Why couldn’t you make it work? Why am I not enough?”
“Summer.” He grabbed her hand. “You’ve always been enough. But I’m not, and I’m sorry for that. Sometimes love just isn’t enough.”
Hurt ripped through her, tears pricking at her eyes, but she shoved it down into a ball of hate. “I’m glad loving me isn’t enough.” “That’s not it.”
She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I need to get out of here. Can I just be alone? I need to clear my head.”
Dad pushed up. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be here until tomorrow if you want to talk.”
He closed the patio door and Summer collapsed in on herself. Even a nearly fatal wipeout wasn’t enough to get more than a day from her own dad.
No matter how hard she broke, some new pain taught her there was always further to fall.
Chapter 24
“Dude!” A kid in cutoff shorts and a Nirvana T-shirt pointed straight at Summer and she froze in the middle of the hallway. “I saw your wipeout!”
“That was wicked!” the boy next to him said.
Neither one of them looked the least bit familiar.
She pulled her hat lower over her ears, wishing she could vanish entirely under the stretchy knit fabric. “Thanks?”
“Seriously.” Nirvana Boy slung an arm around her shoulder. “You are a legend.”
“I have to get to class.” She peeled herself away from his side.
“Whoa.” A girl from her English class stopped in front of her. “Did they really shave your head?”
“Yes.” She pushed past, pulling up her hood to hide her face. Just a few more feet to her locker.
“No hoods,” one of the guidance counselors said, grabbing the fabric and pulling it back. He’d been less than forgiving when he scheduled her classes too. Like he’d already pegged her as not worth his time. “Summer O’Neill. No hats either.”
“I just . . .”
“Nope.” He plucked the hat off her head, exposing the Frankenstein stitches even Abby’s styling skills couldn’t hide.
“I think we can make an exception,” another voice said.
She spun, eyes wide, to face the principal. “I . . . it’s fine. I can fix my hair better to cover it. Maybe. I think.”
The older man smiled softly, an expression that looked odd on his creased, worn face. “I think it might be more of a distraction. Considering.”
“Exceptions are a dangerous slope,” the counselor said, still holding her hat hostage, while a crowd gathered around them.
“Then I’m glad I spent all those years taking ski lessons,” the principal said.
The counselor shoved the hat back against Summer’s chest and stalked down the hall.
“Thank you,” she said, hoping she could hold her tears back until she could find a bathroom. She pulled the hat back on and smoothed her remaining hair over her shoulders.
“I’m Principal Erickson. I don’t think we’ve met.”
There wasn’t a good way to blow off a principal, so she forced a smile. “Hi.”
“I’ve read your records. I’m glad I finally have a chance to meet you.”
That terrible nausea that came from being exposed rose up. “Oh.”
“I hope Oceanside can be a new beginning for you. Everyone makes mistakes, but it seems you haven’t let this one determine your future.”
“I’m trying.”
“I can tell that.” His eyes softened, studying her. “And from what I can see, you’re doing well. Keep at it.”
“Thanks.” She pulled the hat down low again. “I should . . .”
“Of course. If you ever need anything, my door is open.”
She nodded and backed down the empty hall for homeroom.
A couple of days out of school and she’d become a celebrity. She’d managed to hold on to some degree of anonymity since arriving in Oceanside, but thanks to the Internet and some kids with cell phones pointed at her, her accident had crossed 60,000 views, which Abby swore meant it was about to go viral.
Being nobody at a new school was bad. Being somebody at a new school was worse.
How much longer until other videos surfaced? Until her spectacular failure at the final round of the X Games qualifier became the buzz in the halls. Or the dashboard cam footage of her arrest? When she’d been so nervous she’d have wobbled completely sober.
How long until her friends stumbled across her past and realized how much she’d covered up with half truths and omissions?
For a brief moment, she considered hunting down Abby and spilling her guts before she found out some other way. It would be better if she told them first.
Except she knew exactly how they’d react. Her own parents couldn’t see beyond the DUI and she hadn’t lied to them about it. Not telling the truth wasn’t exactly a lie, but she still felt like a fraud at every turn.
She shuffled into class and shrank into a corner, sinking down into her desk, but it wasn’t enough to hide her shame.
“Summer O’Neill.” Mrs. Graham stared at her over the top of her wire-framed glasses. “A near death experience is no excuse to be tardy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She sank deeper into her hoodie, violently missing the thick veil of hair that used to shelter her.
“Did you see a light?” the girl next to her whispered.
“I bet it wasn’t heaven,” the boy in front of her said. “From what I heard, you’re not headed for no pearly gates.”
“It was just a concussion,” Summer said, keeping her eyes averted.
“Summer.” Mrs. Graham’s voice cracked against her like a whip.
“Sorry.” She sank even lower, nearly missing out on the rest of the lecture thanks to the buzzing in her ears and her racing thoughts.
The bell finally rang, but she waited until the classroom emptied before slipping into the hall. She kept to the edge, sliding between bodies with the kind of ease her lack of curves made possible.
“These people,” Ben Harris said, falling into step beside her. Which couldn’t be an easy feat considering how much taller he was. “They’re vultures.”
“It’s fine.” She forced a smile, but kept her head down.
“Not really,” Bria said, flanking her other side and drawing her into the protective cocoon of her own reputation. The effortless bubble of cool surrounding her kept everyone else at bay.
“It does get easier,” Ben said. “After a while. People stare less and you realize you don’t really care.”
“Why can’t they leave me alone?” Summer said, desperation drawing out a confession. “It’s not like I did anything worth talking about.”
Bria smiled at her, her eyes softening behind the dark kohl of her makeup. “I’ve been there. We’ve both been there.”
Summer swallowed back the questions on her tongue. “Thanks, guys.”
“No worries,” Ben said, veering off toward his own class. “See you guys at lunch?”
“Yep.” Bria squeezed his hand before turning back to Summer. “Where to?”
“Algebra.”
“Oh! Mr. Long?” Bria brightened.
Summer nodded. “Although I’m not sure my head can take it.”
“I’ll walk with you. I haven’t seen Mr. Long in forever.”
“You know you don’t have to do this.” And she never would if she knew who Summer actually was.
Bria smiled. “Of course not.”
At the start of fourth period, Summer found Bastian already hunched over the counter in the darkroom, going through a series of black-and-white prints. The images of the shore captivated her. Closeups of lichen and barnacles on rocks. Streamers of seaweed strewn across sand. Contours carved into rock over eons. The stark black and white made simple shapes into abstract works of art.
“You know,” she said, leaning against the counter and picking up a print. “I can take care of myself.”
His eyes came into focus on her face, the pinched t
ension around his eyes melting into a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. Because you didn’t ask your friends to look out for me today. Or send Abby over Monday.”
“I would never do such a thing. That was all Abby’s idea.”
She slid her hand over his and curled her fingers around it. “Then tell Abby I said thank you.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I have the hangover from hell.”
“Ouch.”
She shrugged. “I get to leave after art. My doctor is worried about my brain getting overstimulated. Ms. Fury said I’ve been working in here with you?”
“You seriously don’t remember?” He smiled, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he meant it. “Leaving early is probably a good plan.”
“We took pictures on the beach, right? What happened after that?”
He grinned. “Do you want to look at all of them?”
“They don’t suck?”
“Suck?” He laughed. “Not even a little.” He nodded at the print in her hand. “I developed the film and made a few prints.”
“Wait. These are mine?” She shuffled through the prints. “I took these?”
“They’re really good.” He motioned for her to take the chair and settled behind her. “You have a natural eye.”
She leaned back and rubbed at her aching eyes. “I had a good teacher.”
He was quiet—too quiet—and she forced her eyes open to see the picture of the two of them, cozied up together in the glow of the sunset. So alive. So free. So open.
Her brain almost grasped whatever had come between them, but it evaporated again before she could identify the hurt on Bastian’s face.
“This effing concussion.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Everything keeps slipping away.”
“It’ll get better.” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Right?”
“Everyone keeps saying that. I’m already so behind in homework from the last two days and I can’t even work on it because I’m not supposed to read or use a computer.”
His eyes drifted toward the door. “Think your mom would be cool with you hanging out at my house after this? I could maybe help with homework or something?”
The Trick to Landing Page 13