Summer's Desire

by Olivia Lynde

  * * *

  I've been in the car for the last four hours; my new foster father came to pick me up and is now driving me to my next placement. At the beginning of the ride he tried for some light conversation, but as I didn't oblige him, he quickly gave up. Neither of us has spoken in approximately 3 hours and 55 minutes. I'm listening to my music player, so I don't care.

  To be honest, I can't say there's much I do care about. Like for example, I don't care where my new foster is taking me; one place is the same as any other and it's not like I'll stay for long. The foster doesn't realize this yet—he seems to be a do-gooder, and I'm almost positive he has some crazy idea of helping me. Yeah right! I'm beyond help, beyond salvation.

  The foster will figure this out soon enough too, though maybe it'll take him longer than it's taken others. He told me he's a doctor, and doctors seem to have this pesky obsession with saving people. Oh well, he'll eventually get over it in my case.

  I casually look out my window and what I see drains the blood from my face. For an awful moment I fear that, even sitting down, I'm going to faint for the first time in my life.

  We've entered town limits, and the sign I just read proclaimed, in bold letters:

  Rockford, Michigan

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! This can't be, oh God, this simply cannot be! Not Rockford. Any place in Michigan, but not Rockford. I'm frozen with horror.

  And then, though I would have thought it impossible a few moments ago, things get worse, for the foster's car turns into a familiar street and, half a minute later, stops in the driveway of a house I remember far too well.

  I somehow manage to stagger out of the car. Incredibly, I even find my voice. "Wh... What did you say... your name was?"

  The foster, who is at this moment taking my one battered suitcase out of the trunk, gives me a mildly annoyed look. Yeah, I realize I just made it glaringly obvious that I didn't pay attention earlier today when he introduced himself and told me about his family. But please, just answer the question already!

  "I am Greg Anderson, but you may call me Greg, and my wife is Louise. We live with our daughter Jessica—she is a wonderful girl, and I am certain that the two of you will become great friends. She is eighteen and a Senior, so she is a grade above you, but you will be attending the same high school."

  I know it's a stupid question—I mean, he's stopped in front of this house, and he's now walking with my suitcase toward this house's entrance, with me trailing in a daze behind him—but I have to ask.

  "So your family lives here? In this house?"

  He glances at me with a perplexed expression, maybe questioning my mental health. Yeah, buddy, you and me both.

  "Why, yes, of course. We live here."

  No. No! Oh God, I've never even considered that Seth could have moved out of his Grandma's home. Suddenly, I'm deathly afraid of another thing I've never considered.

  "How long have you lived here?" I whisper.

  He stops at the door, groaning morosely. "I am terrible at remembering dates. But let me see... It is the middle of April now, so I believe it must be approximately... four years? Yes, I seem to remember that we moved during spring. We purchased the house from a Janice... Lewton, I believe."

  Janice Lewis, Seth's Mom. Only four years ago. So Seth still lived in this house for a whole entire year after I left. I'm crushed.

  Greg opens the door, and I follow him inside.

  * * *

  I'm alone at last, curled in a fetal position on the bed in my room. It's not the same room in which I used to stay five years ago—that one belongs to Jessica now.

  The moment I stepped inside the house, I shook myself from my numbness and started to pay attention, particularly when I was given the grand tour.

  Seth's former bedroom, the largest in the house, is occupied by the fosters. Grandma's former bedroom on the first floor doesn't exist anymore—they've used the space to expand the kitchen and create a stylish dining room. But even beyond that, there's a great deal that's different now about this house where, except for the time with my parents, I spent the happiest years of my life.

  The ancient, comforting furniture I remember is all gone, replaced by modern, artsy new furniture. The walls have been repainted from their previous warm tones to neutral ones, the floors are polished hardwood, the kitchen appliances stainless steel. The fabulously redone bathrooms are sparkling.

  The house has never looked better. It has also, in my opinion, never looked more soulless. I feel as if it's not a home anymore, but a showplace.

  I ache for the loss of this treasured piece of my history, but at the same time I'm relieved. There's nothing left here to remind me of my time with Seth and Grandma.

  I also paid attention to the house's current owners, driven by a mild curiosity about the people who bought and gutted my childhood home.

  Greg seems nice enough, I guess, in a rather bland way. He's laid-back and casual, not necessarily how I would have pictured a well-off surgeon. But then again, it's not like I've personally met a great many surgeons, so I'm trying to keep an open mind.

  Though after tonight I doubt that I can keep an open mind about his wife, Louise. She appears, at least in outward behavior, Greg's complete opposite. She's urbane and voluble (though not necessarily eloquent) and, I think, quite ruthless in her pursuits. She seems to take great pains with her appearance: her hair, makeup, nails, clothes, everything; all very fashionable. Usually, I admire elegant women and Louise actually reminds me a little of Ms. Walker in that regard. Only, unlike my long-suffering social worker, Louise gave me the impression that she's all about the surface of things. Which I don't admire at all.

  Also, I think she didn't really want me here—that was apparently Greg's idea—but she seems to have resigned herself to my presence nevertheless.

  The daughter, on the other hand... The moment I was introduced to her and she heard my name, her face twisted into a grimace of horror and she looked at me as if she wanted to gouge my eyes out. It's the first time in my life that someone's loathed me at first sight. I mean, it's true that pretty girls like Jessica never seem to like me much, but in the last five years I've tried to stay invisible, so I've never found myself on the receiving end of so much hatred as Jessica showed me tonight.

  I don't know what exactly is her problem. Maybe she would have reacted the same toward any foster kid her father brought home... but somehow I get the feeling that's not it. Or at least, not entirely. Either way, it doesn't really matter, I guess. Jessica and I will obviously not be BFFs. Which is perfectly fine with me.

  Still, given the way she treated me during dinner—lip curling in disgust every time I opened my mouth, inimical eyes staring at me as if I was a bug to be squashed under the heels of her thousand-dollar stilettos—I really hope she won't try to poison me.

  At this point, I wouldn't put it past her.

  My cell rings, breaking me out of my musings. I glance at the screen of my trusty old brick phone and groan inside. Then I take a deep breath and accept the call.

  "Good evening, ma'am."

  "Is it?" asks Ms. Walker.

  Umm... "I'm sorry, ma'am. Is it what...?"

  "Do pay attention, Summer. I asked if it was, indeed, a good evening."

  "I've arrived fine, ma'am." My voice trembles slightly; this won't do. Brightly, I add, "There've been no deer flinging themselves onto the car lights, no lightning crashing down from heaven to fry the car's electronics, no age-old trees suddenly—"

  "Let me assure you, Summer, I quite understood your meaning without requiring the hackneyed minutiae. So you've reached your destination without mishap."

  "Yes, ma'am." Then, very quietly: "I didn't know that destination was Rockford."

  A charged pause. "You didn't ask, Summer." No. No, I didn't. I didn't care enough to ask. But I do now.

  "Ma'am... Ms. Walker, you do know, don't you?... You know that it's not my first time staying in Rockford."

  "Do I?" Oh, how I
hate it when she does that! And really, nobody does stiff upper lip and insufferable opaqueness better than Ms. Walker.

  "You have my case file, Ms. Walker, so—"

  "Incidentally, Summer, have you already had a chance to get acquainted with everyone in your new foster family?"

  I grit my teeth in frustration. Through them, I say, "Yes, ma'am. They seem all right." Since that's only a two-thirds–lie, it could have been worse.

  "I'm glad to hear that, Summer. I'm in contact with a foster care agency in Grand Rapids, and your local caseworker will come and visit you sometime in the next few days. You should write down her information..."

  I obediently take dictation from Ms. Walker while inside I churn with frustration because of all my unanswered questions. Even after I finish the call, my thoughts keep twisting and roiling, my emotions bouncing between crazy extremes.

  Mostly, I keep wondering what Seth is doing right now. God, I can't believe that I'm back in our town, that he's just a few miles away from me! Tomorrow I'll see him in school. The thought terrifies me. It also elates me.

  I fall asleep.

  In the darkness, a sibilant, oily voice purrs in my ear, "Hello, buttercup!"

  I'm awake instantly and recognize him instantly even though I can barely see his face in the weak moonlight, and I try to scream, but the heavy hand covering my mouth stops any sound from escaping.

  "Now, now, buttercup—be a good little girl and keep quiet. We wouldn't want you to get hurt," he croons, and I see that his eyes are bright with excitement. He wants to hurt me.

  I struggle ferociously and he chuckles, subduing me easily with only one hand. At last I fall still, my breathing labored, my heart a terrified whirligig trying to spin out of my chest. I glare at him impotently, and he smiles.

  "Then, buttercup, are you ready to have some fun?"

  I surge awake. My chest feels caught in a steel vice, I'm struggling for breath, and I'm biting my pillow to keep the screams inside.

  Chapter 5

  I'm on the school bus, heading for Rockford High. This morning at breakfast, Jessica made it clear that she wouldn't drive me to school in her car, which was very much all right with me. I wouldn't have wanted her to, anyway.

  I swear, when I share the same space with this girl, it's like she's aiming these poisonous little darts at me all the freaking time! This entire morning she made sly, nasty hints: basically shredding my taste in clothes, my hair, my skin, everything about me, even my adding a bit of sugar to my chocolate milk at breakfast. If I were to believe her insinuations, I'd see myself as an acne-plagued, overweight hunchback with straw hair and wearing her granny's clothes, and I'd have to put a bag on my face before going out in public. Or even out of my room.

  I've tried to ignore her hostility but it's already wearing me out. Before meeting Jessica I'd been proud of my thick skin, always letting insults and mockery go over my head—yet it seems that my previous airtight armor is no match for this girl's toxicity.

  I'm looking out the window, my earphones on, but I don't hear the music. I've tried to occupy my mind with Jessica, but the closer the bus gets to Rockford High, the less is that distraction working. So I give in and let myself think of Seth.

  Today I'll see him, and I'll finally be able to move on.

  For more than five years, I haven't been able to reconcile the image of the Seth with whom I grew up—the sweet boy who cared for me and protected me and held me in my sleep—with the image of the Seth after I left—the boy who broke his promise to me, who cut me out of his life without mercy, who was callous enough to ignore 365 letters I wrote him and the phone numbers I sent him, begging him to call.

  This last part is what hurts the most, I think. Maybe I could have understood that he stopped wanting to be my friend. Or at least, I wouldn't have judged him for it. But I don't think I'll ever understand, or forgive, his heartlessness in not contacting me even once. After our years together, the least he owed me was a measly letter or phone call to tell me straight up that he didn't want me as a friend anymore.

  This immense contrast, between the Seth who loved me and the Seth who abandoned me, has tormented me all this time. I may have alternated between missing him and hating him, but I've never forgotten him. I'm still tied to him with the heavy chains of all our shared memories, all his smiles, all his tender words to me.

  And I need to be set free.

  Today I'll look at him and I won't see my childhood friend anymore. I'll see a grown boy, a stranger after five years of no contact, and I'll finally be free of him.

  I'll finally see that the Seth I knew and loved is gone forever.

  The bus has stopped, I've alighted, and now I'm standing in front of Rockford High, with students all around me. Just like that, I'm confronted with the actual reality of where I am and what's about to happen today, and all of a sudden I can't breathe properly anymore. My feet are frozen to the ground, my heart is beating too fast, and I fear I'm about to have a panic attack.

  Stop it! I give myself a mental slap. So yeah, possibly I'll glimpse Seth today. That's not the equivalent of the apocalypse coming, right?

  Oh merciful heaven, but it sure feels that way, as if I'm about to confront my own personal Armageddon! And did I just say that I'll possibly glimpse Seth? Yeah, right! Way to play it cool, Summer! In truth, if he's anywhere on school premises, I'll make sure I see him, even if I have to sneak into the guys' locker room to do so. And jeez, did I just think that? Eww, am I really that far gone?! I don't think so. Or I hope not, though I can't be sure.

  Okay, so I probably won't go as far as stalking him into the guys' locker room, but other than that, I don't really think I have any boundaries. I truly need to see Seth so I'll have my closure. All I need is to sneak a look from a safe distance. I'll be careful that he doesn't spot me when I do.

  Though I don't really know why I'm worrying about him seeing me. Frankly, it'd be a miracle if he noticed me. First of all, he clearly stopped thinking about me five years ago, so he's sure to have forgotten all about me by now. He probably doesn't even remember how I look. Second, I'm wearing my tried-and-true "school uniform", whose sole purpose is to make me invisible/unattractive. So there really is no chance that he'll recognize me.

  I introduced the "uniform" after I turned fourteen, when I suddenly grew boobs and boys started to take too much notice of them, as well as of other parts of my anatomy. I don't want to draw attention to myself—having boys hitting on me and asking me things is a hassle I would rather do without. I'm not in the market for any relationship nor do I want a meaningless sexual hookup, so that pretty much means I have no use for guys.

  Not to mention, boys paying too much attention to me often equals, in my unfortunate experience, having the popular girls giving me too much attention as well, mostly in the form of nasty looks aimed at me and attempts to trip me in the hallways. Which I would also rather do without.

  Besides, as an orphan girl living in foster homes, I quickly decided that the smart thing to do (besides locking my door at night) was to make myself as unappealing as possible. I've had a couple of shady foster fathers and brothers who looked at me in a way that made me uneasy, so better to be safe than sorry, right?

  Which is why I wear my "uniform", consisting of baggy, worn jeans, and sweaters and hoodies that are several sizes too large. My long hair I put up in an unsightly bun. Plus, I have perpetual dark shadows under my eyes because of how little I sleep, and I never wear makeup.

  Even so, every once in a while my face brings me some unwanted male interest—maybe because my hazel eyes are too odd or striking contrasted against my pale skin and blond hair?—but it's nothing I can't handle.

  Well then, if I plan to remain invisible at Rockford High, I should probably get moving. I've been standing in front of the school like a statue for almost five minutes and some of the students are beginning to stare at me. So I duck my head and walk toward the entrance.

  * * *

  After picking
up my schedule in the main office, I reach my first class, Honors English, seconds before the bell rings. I go up to the teacher, Mrs. Roberts, a kindly looking forty-something woman, and introduce myself. She gives me a book and points out a free seat near the window, next to a brown-haired girl with glasses. I'm thankful that Mrs. Roberts doesn't ask me to introduce myself in front of the entire classroom; I'm already drawing far too many curious glances as it is.

  I go to my seat and the brown-haired girl offers me a broad, friendly smile, which I return with a much smaller one. I look at the book and groan mentally. Not this again; it'll be my third time studying The Importance of Being Earnest!

  That's just another unfortunate consequence of my having gone through seventeen foster homes in five years. Ms. Walker, in particular, tried very hard to place me with families living in the same school district so I wouldn't have to change schools too often; but sometimes there really was no other option or I'd exhausted all the local foster families, and I had to move further away.

  In total I've changed eight schools, and even though I suppose it could have been worse considering my history of seventeen foster homes, still it's made things difficult for me, especially with having to adapt to different school curricula so often. The only reason why I'm still in any Honors classes is because I sleep so little, so I have lots of time for studying.

  That, and I have no social life.

  At any rate, everything that the teacher is currently saying I've already heard twice before, so I let my mind wander. Sooner than expected, the bell signals the end of class.

  The brown-haired girl turns instantly and sticks out her hand to me. "Hello there! I'm Marcie Lauren, and you're new here." She's smiling widely.

  God, I don't want a friend! But she's so nice and earnest-looking that I can't bring myself to reject her as I know I should. I shake her hand once, then release it quickly.