Boys of Summer

by Steve Berman

  “Let it be,” he says, “I’ve got ten minutes to kill before my shift starts.” He rolls down the window and yawns as he looks up at the moon. As he exhales, he blows the strands of hair away from his eyes. “Now that marching band is over, I’m going to sleep in for the rest of the summer,” Ben says. He starts picking the label off his Snapple lemonade bottle.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”

  “Man, I can’t wait to graduate. Get out of this town. My cousin’s got an auto shop in Boise. It’s not what I want, but it’s a start.”

  “What do you want?” I ask. What I want is to kiss him. My mind is running a movie reel of everything I know about kissing, which isn’t a lot. I only know I’ve kissed my grandmother on the cheek, and the dog once when I was five, and myself in my bedroom mirror. I watch Ben’s lips move as he yawns again, remembering their color, like raspberries.

  “Not this,” he says, staring at the moon. “I’d better get inside.”

  I take a deep breath. “Right,” I say.

  Ben reaches for the door handle again. Quickly, I lean over and yank it and kiss his lips, and then jerk away. His door swings open and rocks on its hinges and I’m backed up, pressed hard against mine.

  Ben grabs my hand and pulls me back toward the gearshift. His lips are on mine and I can taste that perfect raspberry color and when his hand slides down and grips my shoulder, I can feel the sun burning me up all over again.

  He pulls away. We both step out of the car. I walk around to the front, and Ben meets me there. He puts his arm around me and hugs me. “Whoa,” he says. He shakes his head. “Why didn’t you do that at the beginning of band season?”

  “You were going to move away anyways.”

  “Well yeah, but maybe not if I’d known you would trap me in a car and kiss me like that.”

  “I think it would take more to keep you here, even for just a summer.”

  “You’d be surprised. You certainly do surprise. I’ve been flirting with you since I first met you. You sure took your time.”

  “Flirting? All you’ve ever talked about is getting out of this place. What about the big-city talk, or the job with your cousin’s auto shop in Boise?”

  “I’ve wanted to move someplace bigger, to find someone. Not just someone to kiss. Someone I want to kiss.” Ben touches his lips to mine, and this time I completely throw myself into it.

  Ben quickly pulls back and chuckles, but not unkindly. He smiles and says, “Hey, I’m not a trumpet.” He wraps his hands around my hips. “Relax. Remember what Mr. Turner said about leaning into a song. Becoming it.” And then Ben shows me. He leans in, and his lips brush against mine, and the sweet taste of him fills me faster than the racing tempo of my heart, and he presses into me, making it music. I suddenly see what Mr. Turner means about embouchure through Ben’s strong, sure lips. As we kiss, we move together, our hands, our bodies, our mouths, as if we’re playing a song, playing off one another, yet completely in synch. And then Ben gently breaks away.

  “Really good,” he murmurs. He smiles at me. “But I think we should set up regular practice dates.”

  I nod, and lean closer to him. I don’t say anything. I just breathe him in, my forehead against his, focusing on the scent of his sweat and how light-headed I feel.

  Ben whispers, “Thanks. For that.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Do you want to pick me up when I get off at eleven?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  I get back into my car, sink into the seat, and smile. It’s true. We band geeks really do make the best kissers.

  Summer’s Last Stand

  Aimee Payne

  Corey hid from his sister Emily’s bad mood in the hayloft of the barn behind their grandmother’s house. His sister’s book of fairy tales—the old-style ones that had stories with toes cut off and eyes gouged out—lay open on a bristled hay bale, forgotten for the moment, while Corey stared up at a sliver of blazing sky he could see through a crack between sheets of the corrugated steel roof. Brittle hay jabbed through his shirt, making him itch. The book had belonged to their mother; she had read it to them for bedtime stories and never skipped over the grisly stuff. Emily would kill him if she knew he brought it out here to read. He didn’t care. He was allowed to miss Mom, too.

  Though summer was nearly over, the days remained hot. Too hot for lazing around the hayloft, but nights had cooled enough for jeans and sweatshirts. Corey closed the book. He had hoped reading it would make him feel bad about leaving town for university. He should be guilty about living far away from the only family he had left, but inside all he felt was the need to escape.

  “Cor-ey!” Gran yelled from the house, her voice lifting on the last syllable.

  He brushed hay off the book cover and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. No reason to piss Emily off any more than she already was. The whole summer, everything he did caused one of her tantrums. Fine if she didn’t want him around…she’d get what she wanted. He hadn’t told Gran yet, but he planned on getting a job as soon as he got to Columbus. By the time summer rolled around again he’d have enough money saved up for an apartment. Or at least to share one. Gran and Emily could come down to visit, but he’d be out of this dead-end town for good.

  “Corey!”

  He climbed down the ladder. Out in the farmyard, Gran stood with her hand shielding her eyes against the sun. When she saw him coming out of the barn, she shook her head.

  “You’re going to fall to your death messing around in that hayloft.”

  He shrugged, heading toward the house. She poked him as he went by. “Lisa called.” Her gray eyebrows gave a wiggle.

  Corey kept walking. While Gran knew he was gay—and was one of the few folk around here who didn’t care a lick about it—she did still enjoy teasing him about girls. Especially when it came to his best friend, Lees (no one had called her Lisa in ages).

  “That girl has nice birthing hips,” Gran called after him. She laughed.

  Corey pulled the back door open a little harder than he meant, and it smacked against the siding. The cool air from the window unit in the living room blasted his sweat to ice. He pulled off his soaked shirt and wiped himself down. Then he went to the fridge for the two-liter of Barq’s Gran bought special for him. He did feel a little bad about leaving Gran. She had held the family together through every disaster: Dad leaving for parts unknown right after Emily was born; after Mom got real sick.

  He took his pop and sat at the table. The kitchen hadn’t been part of the original farmhouse. Gramps tacked it on sometime in the ’50s. It held him at arm’s length while the other rooms seemed to hug him close. These days he hung out there as much as possible. It made leaving easier.

  Emily walked in. She wore a pair of sport shorts and a baggy T-shirt that might have been Corey’s about a million years ago. She smirked when she saw him. “Well, aren’t you the most disgusting thing in the room.”

  He shrugged, but her tone stung. Two could play that game. “Nice to see you, too. Going to church?”

  She stopped, her hand reaching for his root beer, and shot him a questioning look.

  “You aren’t dressed like a baby prostitute, so I thought…church.” His hand tightened on the bottle. Let her get her own damned drink.

  Her lip trembled. For a second, Corey thought he might have gone too far, but then she rolled her eyes and said, “Jerk.” She took a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and poured herself a drink.

  They used to be close. After Mom died, they’d even slept in the same room. He came home from school one day and found his mattress on the floor of Emily’s bedroom. But Emily’s nightmares grew so bad, Gran had to take her to a shrink, who put her on anxiety meds. Corey could then move back into his room. For the past two years, Emily had been better…until this past June.

  Emily hoisted herself up onto the counter, her bare heels thumping against the wood. Corey ignored her. Brat. “So, when are you checking into
the dorm?”

  “Monday.” He didn’t look up.

  Her heels stopped. “I thought it was Friday.”

  “Look on it as an early birthday present.”

  Emily’s frown deepened. She fixed him with a hard glare. Or maybe she just was trying not to cry.

  Corey softened. “Em—”

  She slammed her empty glass down on the counter. Corey winced at the crack that raced up one side near her fingers. She jumped down. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice colder than the air. “I don’t need any special good-byes.”

  As Gran came in, carrying a bag full of green beans fresh from the garden, Emily stomped down the hall and up the stairs. A few seconds later, Corey heard her door slam and music start.

  Gran whistled. “That girl’s temper is shorter than Christmas night.”

  “All I did was tell her when I was leaving.”

  Gran nodded as she poured beans into a large plastic bowl, then ran water over them. “She’s taking it hard.”

  Corey pushed back from the table. “I don’t think so. She hasn’t even spoken to me in two weeks, and that was to yell at me for hogging the bathroom.”

  Gran brought the bowl to the table and started snapping the beans for supper. “You spend a lot of time shaving.”

  “Gran!”

  She waved her hand at him. “All right. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” She paused. “You and me are all the family that girl has. Don’t you think maybe she’s a little scared you aren’t ever coming back?”

  Corey didn’t have a ready answer. Gran wasn’t stupid. Emily wasn’t either. They knew it wasn’t easy for him here, being who he was. Most people pretended they didn’t know. Sort of a community Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. But they did know, and some weren’t so good at pretending…and some were downright mean.

  Gran raised her eyebrows.

  Emily had been extra bratty lately, but she was his sister. He didn’t want her to be scared. He could try to make things okay before he left. He stood. “All right, I’m going.”

  Gran wrinkled her nose. “It wouldn’t hurt you to take a shower while you’re up there.”

  “Ha ha.”

  The second floor hummed with the sound of window fans trying to drown out Emily’s whiny indie-girl music. Gran’s theory of thermodynamics required the fans upstairs to blow hot air out of the house during the day and the cool air in at night. It was kind of telling that Gran slept downstairs on the couch with the AC going full blast.

  He stopped in front of Emily’s door. “Em? Can I come in?”

  The music cut out. The door clicked open. Emily walked back to the bed and flopped down. “What do you want?” she said, picking up a beat-up copy of Cosmo.

  Corey shook his head. That’s how they were playing it, then. Fine. She wanted to be mad. Usually when she was like that, the best thing to do was leave her be. He didn’t have time for that, though. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought you knew when I was leaving.”

  He was just about to apologize—for nothing—when the phone rang.

  “Oh, hell, that’s probably Lees. You mind?” He pointed at her phone, an antique with a working rotary dial.

  “I’m not home.” She disappeared behind the magazine again.

  Corey sighed. He answered the phone.

  Sure enough, it was Lees’s voice on the other end. “Do you want to go to the bonfire tonight?”

  “Bonfire?” Corey said. Emily pretended to turn a page in her magazine.

  “At some abandoned house in the woods off 33. Which means no supervision, which means the perfect end-of-summer-get-on-with-your-life-already party.”

  Corey put his hand over the receiver. “Em, you want to go to a bonfire tonight?”

  Emily shook her head, still pretending fascination with “5 Ways to Set Your Man On Fire.”

  Whatever. “Yeah, Lees. I’ll go. Em’s not interested.”

  They said good-bye. When he hung up the phone, Emily rattled the magazine, pretending to turn another page.

  “So you’re going,” she said, a little too cool.

  Corey shrugged. “There’s going to be fireworks.”

  “It’s just—I mean, it could be dangerous out in the woods.”

  Corey smiled. Dangerous? When was their corner of Ohio ever dangerous? “No more so than any other time beer and fireworks are involved.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think you should go messing around that abandoned house.”

  “How did you know where the party was?”

  Emily’s face flushed. He thought she might say something, but she shook her head again. “I heard. Have fun.”

  “If there’s something you want to tell me…”

  Her fierce look stopped him. “Shut the door behind you.”

  “Fine.” He did as she asked. That’s all he ever did.

  *

  Corey spent the rest of the afternoon napping. He came downstairs for supper: Gran’s green beans, potatoes, and ham. Emily didn’t show. Dealing with her snit would have to wait until tomorrow.

  But when Lees pulled into the driveway and honked her horn, Emily was at the bottom of the stairs, her head poking through the dark gray hoodie she was pulling over a plain white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. She stuck out her chin. “I’m coming along.”

  That was all he needed, a spoiled brat pouting at him while he was trying to have fun. He grabbed a jacket and said good-bye to Gran. Emily followed.

  Lees waved. She had recently given up her uniform of cat Tshirts and jumper dresses and was now in the clutches of a new phase: black skinny jeans, long gray shirt, black vest, and a gray fedora sporting a red feather.

  As she drove, Lees launched into a rapid chatter about her new job as a library page. From the way she spoke, it mostly involved gossiping over who spent a little too much time in the erotica section and the stupid things patrons asked her to find.

  Corey would miss Lees. He doubted he’d ever find at Columbus anyone who liked Baz Luhrmann movies and ’80s hair bands as much as she did. And who else wanted to stay up all night eating cherry licorice and learning the dance routines in old Britney Spears videos? They’d been doing that since seventh grade. Just last week they got all the way through “Oops…I Did It Again” without any mistakes. It took so long because Lees’s Britney impersonation made him laugh until his head ached.

  Lees turned off the paved road onto a rough gravel one marked TR 33. Someone had spray-painted 1/3 next to the number. In the back, Emily groaned when they turned onto an even rougher road. Hardly a road, even. It was two tracks with grass tall enough to brush the underside of the car. The headlights picked out the glint of broken glass up ahead. They passed a few cars parked in the grass. Firelight silhouetted the house so that it looked not only deserted but derelict. It didn’t get any better when they turned and their headlights revealed the front. If the house had ever been painted, the color was gone now, the boards weathered to a dull gray, the windows gaping an empty black. The thump-thump of a stereo out back sounded like a heartbeat.

  Lees parked the car and hopped out. “Come on,” she said, taking off toward the house. She was keyed up about something.

  Emily got out and plodded after.

  Corey followed. As he did, he realized he was already over this party. He’d graduated. He was past the whole high school thing. Next week he’d be in college with college parties and college guys. He didn’t need this, and the idea of spending any more time with his former schoolmates left him cold.

  Corey and Emily walked around the house. The bonfire was more of a campfire. A few kids from his school—make that his ex-school—gathered around a keg. A few stray firecrackers popped in the dark.

  Lees headed straight for the house’s rickety back porch. A boy pushed away from where he had been leaning against the side of the house. That’s what she’s so excited about, Corey thought. Go Lees.

  The boy was cute. Not just any old cute, either. This boy was exact
ly the kind of cute that Corey liked. Floppy hair, slight scruff, but not too “done.” Corey had to admit he was actually sort of jealous.

  “Ritchie!” Lees ran the last few feet and launched herself at the boy. He caught her and swung her around.

  “I get it.” Emily stood next to Corey. “She’s setting you up.”

  “What? You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. He’s her cousin from Cleveland.”

  “He’s just a kid.”

  “Not anymore,” Emily said, then walked over to Lees and Ritchie.

  Corey groaned. Just what he needed: a set-up.

  Lees broke away from the boy and gestured for Corey to come over. “Guys, this is Ritchie Crilow. He’s my cousin.”

  Emily shot Corey an I-told-you-so look. All right. She’d earned that. She was still a brat.

  The boy took Corey’s offered hand. “It’s Rich. Only Lisa and my mom call me Ritchie.” Rich’s grip was strong.

  Corey thought of Gran’s comment about Lees’s birthing hips and wondered what she’d say about Rich’s handshake. He blushed. “I’m Corey, and this is my brat Emily.”

  Lees went to the keg and returned with bright red cups of beer for all of them. Like usual, Lees did most of the talking. Corey half listened, letting the beer seep into his brain. Every so often he found himself staring at Rich. So cute. Maybe they didn’t have to leave so soon.

  Emily sat on the porch floor with her back against the house. Her beer cup sat next to her, untouched. She laughed at Rich’s jokes, but every so often she’d stop and scan the growing crowd. Probably looking for one of her juvie friends so she could run off. Whatever. Corey didn’t need her shit. He edged closer to Rich. He had better things to think about.

  “Hey, faggots! The party can start!”

  Corey froze, his cup halfway to his mouth. Three guys rounded the corner of the house. Ray, Mike, and Jason. He didn’t bother with last names. Assholes don’t usually formally introduce themselves when they are slamming your head into a locker. Corey hadn’t had any serious run-ins with them, just the stupid stuff in the hall. He had made it his business to steer clear of them.