The Summer of Impossibilities

by Rachael Allen

  “Have fun,” says Amelia Grace, her brown eyes focused on the cantaloupe she’s cubing.

  I meet Reese back outside. His eyes travel up my legs and then he realizes all the moms are watching so he tries really hard to look everywhere in the world that is not my legs. I snicker at his misfortune.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “Yep.” He follows me down to the dock but stops me just before we get in the canoe. We’re in a mom-free zone, so he can look all he wants. “You look hot. And beautiful. And hot.” He kisses my nose. My mouth.

  “Thanks,” I say, blushing. Compliments turn me into Sky, I swear. I tug at the ends of my cutoffs. “I don’t usually wear shorts this short.”

  “Well, you should, because you look amazing. And hot. Have I told you how hot you look yet?”

  I giggle. “You might have mentioned that.”

  His fingers trace the seams of my shorts and stray to the exposed skin of my legs. And then to the skin just under my shorts. He moans. “You’re killing me. Are you sure you don’t want to go for a drive or something after lunch? Or now? We could go now.”

  “Reese!” I pretend-whack him with the picnic basket.

  We get in the boat and paddle out to the tiny island that isn’t too far away from the house. I love how small it is, smaller than the house even, with a big rock just perfect for laying out. Sky and I used to pretend to be explorers here when we were little. Reese and I tie up the canoe and clamber up the rock. He helps me lay out the blanket and unpack the snacks. My hands shake a little as I pull a sandwich out of a plastic bag. If it was just me and Sky, I would have taken off my clothes already. We always have our picnics in our bathing suits. That’s kind of the point of going all the way to the rock. We’d stuff ourselves with chicken salad and then, when the heat became unbearable, we’d jump into the water to cool off.

  It all feels different today. I think about eating my lunch in my clothes. And then I decide that A) that is a bunch of BS, and B) tan lines are my nemesis—it doesn’t matter that I slathered myself in sunscreen. And I pull my shirt off. Reese nearly chokes on his ginger ale. Oops.

  “Sky and I usually lay out,” I hurry to say. “I don’t want to get tan lines.”

  “Yeah, I mean, that’s a great idea,” he says.

  He takes off his shirt too, and I’ve seen him like that before, but it still throws me off. We eat our lunch, awkward-quiet, Reese racing to finish his sandwich. I see the way he’s watching me, and oh, I suddenly get why he’s in such a hurry. I pop the other half of my sandwich back in the bag and zip it shut.

  “I’m not very hungry,” I say. (Truth: I am nervous as all hell, and I don’t think I’ll be able to eat a bite until after he’s gone.)

  We put everything back in the basket, and it’s like this unspoken thing that we both know exactly what is going to happen next. He lies me down on the blanket and kisses me.

  “Winston-Salem’s not really the same without you,” he says.

  “Thanks.” I smile. And then, “Seems like you guys are getting by though. Seems like you’re hanging out with Carter a lot.”

  Dude, why do I do this to myself? It’s like my mouth has its own separate nervous system and its hobby is to give my brain the double middle finger. Often.

  “Scarlett.” He’s annoyed. I did that.

  “You’re just on her Instagram a lot is all.”

  “Because we’re friends. I’m allowed to have friends. I’m a good guy. You know you don’t have to worry about me around other girls.”

  “Yeah. I know.” I wish I could convince my stomach that he’s a good guy. Every photo I see of him with Carter feels like a gut punch. Isn’t there some saying about trusting your gut? That’s probably for regular people with regular guts though. Not damaged people like me. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  I really am. He’s so easy to be with. It’s more than I deserve. He has to be the one, right? When you find someone who’s better than you, you’re supposed to keep them forever.

  “It’s okay. I love you.” He takes my hand in his. “You’re amazing, Scarlett. Don’t worry about Carter. Or anything else.” His eyes flick to my scars. “I know everything’s really hard for you right now with your parents and stuff.”

  “Yeah, my dad’s been calling my mom, and I’m freaking out because—”

  “Shhh, you don’t have to worry. I’m going to take care of you.”

  I bristle. I was trying to tell him something. But then I think of the pact I made. I don’t need to bring all my damage into this relationship. So instead I say, “Thanks.” And I scoot closer to him on the blanket and snuggle my head against him.

  He snakes his hand around my back and tugs at the strap of my bathing suit where it’s tied around my neck. Pulls the top down around my waist. It makes him catch his breath, which feels like a victory. I don’t have a coltish, fitness model body like Ellie or muscles on top of muscles like my sister, but my boobs are pretty gigantic. And Reese has a way of making me feel beautiful. Like I can’t contain myself.

  “I brought a condom,” he whispers.

  “Oh.”

  “We don’t have to use it. I just want you to know that we’re ready. For whenever you decide you’re ready.”

  “I’m not. Yet,” I hurry to add.

  “That’s okay. I’m pretty excited about these Other Things we were talking about.”

  He grins and pulls my bathing suit the rest of the way off. We’re hidden well enough by the trees that I don’t think anyone will see us, but I’m still feeling jumpy. After a few minutes, I forget that I’m nervous, and everything is Yes, do that and Ohmygosh, more of that. We do not have sex. Still, what we do is enough to make me blush for the. Entire. Time. I guess I’m also blushing because my body wants more, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to want that. Yet. Maybe. I sigh. Why does being close to him scare me so much? Isn’t it normal to want to do everything once you’ve found your person?

  And even if I decide I do want to . . . have sex (See? I can’t even think it without feeling funny. That can’t be a good sign), I have no idea what I’m doing. I thought about talking to Sky. It would be good to get advice or something, or at least to tell her I’m thinking about it. To have someone else in this with me. But I can’t. She’s too innocent for that kind of stuff, and I don’t want her judging me.

  Afterward, I put my bathing suit back on, and we jump in the lake because it is HOT AS BALLS this summer. Sometimes his leg will brush against mine, and I feel flushed all over again thinking about what we just did.

  When he kisses me goodbye, he whispers, “Today was amazing. I don’t want you to feel like I’m rushing things, so just let me know when you’re ready. I know a lot of guys would take advantage, but I’m not like them. I’m one of the nice ones. But, like, I still have needs and wants and stuff, so let me know.”

  I feel like I’m supposed to know.

  I wish I knew.

  But I just . . . don’t.

  Amelia Grace

  I watch Scarlett and her boyfriend walk down to the dock talking/laughing/touching.

  Something clicks inside my brain, a bright, painful falling into place.

  Scarlett Kaplan-Gable does not like girls. She likes boys—this boy—with the floppy blond hair and the broad shoulders. Seeing them makes it real.

  I hate his face.

  I hate the way he touched her wrist just now.

  I am embarrassed it took me so long to figure it out.

  I ask Skyler to pass the chicken salad sandwiches.

  I ask her, “So what’s the name of that friend you were talking about?”

  She nearly drops the entire tray of sandwiches in her lap, she’s so excited. We make plans for her to casually-not-casually bump us into each other at the sandbar party on Friday.

  I eat my last sandwich triangle in one big bite.

  Sometimes you have to stop waiting.

  It takes me a second to realize Val’s wife, Heidi, is tal
king to me.

  “Hey, Amelia Grace, would you be interested in a part-time gig while you’re here? Painting and building bookshelves and stuff? This third trimester is kicking my butt, and I could really use some help getting the house ready for the baby while Val’s at work.”

  “Sure. I’d love that.”

  “Fantastic. Scarlett mentioned you had a ton of experience doing Habitat for Humanity builds.”

  I grin. “Power tools are my friend.” My gaze is drawn to the lake where Scarlett disappeared with her boyfriend. Then I realize Heidi is still looking at me. “I’m also really into interior design–type stuff too, so if you need any help there, I’ve watched pretty much every Netflix show about it.”

  Heidi laughs. “Sounds perfect. Could you come over tomorrow?”

  “Definitely.”

  Heidi smiles at Val, and Val reaches over a bowl of chips to squeeze her hand. For a second, they’re in their own world, just the two of them. It makes my heart catch.

  My eyes dart to Mama. She’s not frowning, didn’t even flinch. In fact, she’s looking at them the way anyone does when they’re happy for their friends. Maybe a summer at this lake house really is what we need.

  My phone buzzes. An email from Pastor Chris! I can’t open it fast enough. I can’t wait to—

  Dear Amelia Grace,

  I am so disappointed that you won’t be one of our junior youth ministers this summer. You know I think you would do a fantastic job. I’ve prayed on it a lot, and I really feel like God is calling me to defer to the wisdom of the church elders here. I hope you will search your heart because it would be wonderful to have you back in the fall. Please let me know if you ever need someone to talk to.

  Love in Christ,

  Pastor Chris

  So, that’s it then.

  The church doesn’t want me.

  God doesn’t want me.

  Skyler nudges me, but I have no idea what she just said. I shrug, confused, but she grins. “I was just asking if you want to come to Wednesday night church with me tonight.”

  “Oh. Um, I think I’ll stick around here, but thank you.”

  She frowns. “Are you sure?”

  My mom frowns too and tries to pretend like she’s not listening, even though CLEARLY SHE IS.

  “Yeah. Thanks though.”

  The thought of going to church right now, any church, is enough to break me. I picture the people there, judging me and turning me away because I don’t fit in the way I am. I get up from the table because I feel like she might keep asking and I don’t want to talk about it.

  “Okay. That’s cool.” Skyler glances in Mom’s direction.

  Wait. Have they talked about this? I go inside and put my plate in the sink. Is Skyler, like, in league with my mom or something? I don’t know why the thought of it bothers me so much.

  “Hey.”

  Speak of the devil. Mom stacks her plate on top of mine. And hovers. Conspicuously. Between the crowd of people and the Kaplan-Gable family crisis, I’ve been pretty good at avoiding her up until now.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to church with Skyler? She seems like a really sweet girl.”

  Here we go.

  “She is. It’s just—”

  I’m feeling an extreme disconnect from church and God right now.

  I didn’t even pray before falling asleep last night—haven’t prayed in days—which is super weird for me, because I’m normally the poster girl for praying without ceasing. When I’m worried about a friend. Every time an ambulance goes by. Whenever I see a really beautiful sunrise.

  I feel like I have to figure some things out, and I feel like a strange church is maybe not the best place to do that. I don’t want to be in a place that doesn’t want me.

  “I don’t know,” I finally say.

  “Well—”

  “Hey, have you talked to anyone from church since we’ve been here?”

  Mom looks puzzled. “I’ve talked with your stepdad.”

  “I mean, have you tried talking to any of the pastors or anything. About me. I tried emailing Pastor Chris, and he said I can come back in the fall, but it sounded like there could be . . . conditions.”

  Mom puts her arm around me. “Everyone is really excited to have you back in the fall. But the church elders have made their decision on qualities they’re looking for in a junior youth minister.” She holds me tighter. Waits for the information to click.

  “Oh.” But. “Is that what you really think?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. That’s what the church thinks. Everybody’s allowed to have their own opinion, baby girl.”

  It’s time for me to walk away. You have to protect your heart.

  “Amelia Grace, wait,” she says.

  And then her phone rings. My stepdad. I can tell by the pained look that crosses her face.

  “You should probably get that,” I say.

  She does.

  She answers in a voice that is softer and more hesitant. “Hello?”

  I turn the corner. Stop to listen.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up before. Amelia Grace and I were eating lunch, and I just wasn’t paying attention.”

  He says something back, but I can’t hear what.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to worry.”

  I walk back to the carriage house because I don’t want to hear any more.

  Skyler

  As I open the door to the carriage house, I hear my sister asking someone, “Are you okay?”

  “I just tried to talk with my mom about the youth minister stuff,” says Amelia Grace.

  I think about turning around and leaving, but my medicine is in the fridge.

  “How did it go?” Scarlett asks.

  I listen as I walk up the stairs from the garage, but I don’t hear Amelia Grace say anything back. When I get to the top, I see them beside the coffee table, hugging.

  It isn’t about the way they’re hugging. It’s about the way they jump apart when they see me see them hugging. Amelia Grace’s cheeks are pink. So are my sister’s.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just came up to get my medicine.”

  “You’re fine. We were just talking,” says Amelia Grace. “Actually, I need to go check on something.”

  She’s down the stairs and out the door before I can think of a reply.

  “Hey,” I say to my sister.

  “Hey.”

  We stand there in the room pretty awkwardly for two people who used to share a uterus.

  “I need to talk to you about something.” I wasn’t going to do this, but between what Ellie said and what I just saw . . .

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, what do you want to talk to me about?”

  “Oh, that.” I pretend to be very interested in the countertops.

  “Sky?”

  “Do you like Amelia Grace?” I blurt.

  “What?”

  I shrug.

  Scarlett takes a couple seconds to recover the power of speech. “That’s ridiculous. I mean, I’m dating Reese.”

  “Yeah, I know. I guess I just thought—”

  She narrows her eyes in that way that makes it impossible to tell anything but the truth. “What?”

  “Nothing. I guess I just wanted to make sure is all.” I nod. “So, you don’t like her.” I nod again. “Good.”

  She raises her eyebrows like I am a weird sort of train wreck she can’t puzzle out.

  “Well, because that means it’s okay if I set her up with my friend Zoe.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Yeah. Of course. Totally.”

  She is saying it is fine, but her hands can’t seem to stop moving. Adjusting her ponytail. Scratching her elbow. Finding her pockets, and only then finally being still.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Okay,” she says back.

  “Well, I guess I’ll do it at the party this Friday then.”

  “Yeah, that sounds b
rilliant. I mean, go for it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  Scarlett takes a book and a cup of coffee out onto the little deck, and I pull up my messages with Daddy on my phone.

  Daddy: I hope you’re doing okay. I love you.

  I’ve been doing this for days now. This time, I finally reply.

  Skyler: Thanks. Love you too.

  My finger hovers over the call button. I lock my phone and put it back in my pocket.

  I should try talking to my mom again. Today. Now. Or after I do some research on juvenile arthritis treatments, because it’s always good to be prepared before making your case. I get out my tablet. Biologics definitely seem to be the thing right now. I find so many stories about people saying they switched from pills to injectables. I guess what hits me when I’m reading all the posts and watching the videos is that most people had to try more than one thing before finding something that worked for them. The fact that my meds aren’t working doesn’t mean my joints are irreparably broken.

  I feel hopeful. More hopeful than I have in a long time.

  And then I read a story about a girl who plays softball just like me. With arthritis. And she makes it work.

  And I feel like maybe I could make it work too. I’ll just be so chill, and I’ll ask about the meds and I won’t even tell either of my parents about the softball part, especially not my dad. Not until I can figure out if it’s doable.

  “What are you doing?” asks a voice from behind me, Scarlett’s.

  I snap my laptop shut. “Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh. Looked like you were researching arthritis meds.” She crosses her arms. Waits. She’s really good at the intense waiting.

  Ugh. “So what if I was?”

  She frowns at me, more concerned than grumpy. “Your meds aren’t working, are they?”

  “They’re working fine,” I say quietly.

  I can’t look her in the face, and she sighs.

  “Skyler, I can tell they’re not. I’ve seen how much trouble you’re having lately. Why don’t you just tell Mama?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “I can tell her if you need—”

  “No!”