My Bittersweet Summer

by Starla Huchton

  “Hey,” he said, his perpetual smug grin audible in his tone. “Where you going, beautiful?”

  I stopped, accepting that the whole stupid day wasn’t going to go my way. “Depends.”

  Matt leaned up against a streetlamp, flashing a lecherous smile at me. “On what?”

  Gracing him with nothing but cool regard, I shrugged. “On how far I need to go to get away from you.”

  He straightened, stunned, and looked at me through the space between his floppy brown hair and the top of his sunglasses. God, how I hated that haircut. It was the same one he’d had since fourth grade. “Excuse me?”

  I turned, ready to ignore him again. “Pretty sure I didn’t stutter. Get lost.”

  I managed to get a whole three feet away before I felt the hand close over my forearm. Matt spun me around, and I had to step back to keep from falling.

  “What did you say to me?” he said, anger lacing his words.

  His grip on my arm tightened, sending a spike of violent emotions straight through me. Fear was the first of these, but then…

  It rose up in me— hot, demanding, absolute. Staring at his face, being that close to him, hearing the threat in his tone… Rage exploded in my head, every nerve in my body sizzling with it. The world disappeared, reduced to only him and the ghosts screaming in my brain.

  Unaware I’d moved, nothing else registered until I heard the loud smack of my palm connecting with his cheek. His fingers released me as he spun slightly, stunned by the blow.

  “You’d do better to lead with your fancy car,” I hissed at him. “Then your gross personality can’t get in the way of your daddy’s money.”

  Beyond furious, I stomped away, not stopping to even glance at the other guys watching on. How dare he touch me? What the hell right did he have to that, or so much as a word from me? I hoped he bit himself when I hit him. Let that stick around for a few days as a reminder to his ego.

  The rush of adrenaline scurried away as I set my hand on the handle of the linen shop door. When my mom looked up, taking in what I could only imagine I looked like, she hurried away from the fabric samples spread on the counter beside the register and took me by the shoulders.

  “Dana, do you have a restroom?” she asked.

  Some woman led us to the back room and my mom ushered me into a private bathroom. She took my face in her hands once the door was locked and smoothed the loose hair back from my forehead. “What happened, Margie?”

  Hot tears dripped down my cheeks, but I couldn’t find words. The second I opened my mouth to speak, I instantly closed it again, rushing over to the toilet to heave my entire lunch into the bowl. While it had been exciting and relieving to lash out at someone who’d been so utterly horrific to me for years, all I was left with was nauseous dread for whatever it was going to bring in retaliation. My mom held my hair and rubbed my back gently, whispering for me to let it all out and take my time.

  How was I going to make it through three more months?

  Chapter 3

  OMG lady! So excited ur back in town! :) :) :)

  My phone buzzed, and I rolled over to check it. Mixed emotions swirled inside me. How should I respond? Fake excitement I was back in hell? Derisive sarcasm about the situation? I rolled my eyes. It was Destiny. It didn’t require overthinking.

  Hey Des! Glad U stuck around.

  Don’t get me started. Run into any of THEM yet? Think you can avoid them? I keep trying, but you know how it is.

  Yeah. I know. Small island.

  I purposely avoided answering her question. The last thing I wanted to do was revisit the horror show of that afternoon.

  So whatchu doin? We need to catch up!

  Totally. Not sure what my schedule will be yet.

  U busy now?

  I swallowed. Remembering how Destiny was, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she’d try to drag me out to a party or something. That was about the last thing in the world I wanted. An idea struck me, and my fingers flew across the keyboard with a reply.

  Was thinking about making some cookies, but I’m strapped for kitchen stuff right now.

  Her response came immediately.

  COOKIES?!?! Woman I will be there in ten. Pick you up? Same house, right?

  I grinned to myself. If there were some things that never changed, Destiny Plummer’s addiction to my chocolate chip cookies was one of them.

  Yep. Sounds good. Can’t wait 2 C U!

  I left my parents a note taped to the front door and grabbed my purse after a quick run through my hair with a brush. Admittedly, I was a little nervous seeing her again after six years. She seemed really excited, and I didn’t want to be a huge letdown. Granted, what passed for super exciting in Carrinaw was generally some sort of gossip about a scandal, so that probably got old after a while. Bad news for some people, me in particular, was probably good for her. I was a “new” face that wasn’t one of the high society snobs. Friends weren’t easy to come by for the working class kids.

  A gray sedan pulled up to the house exactly ten minutes after her text. Momentarily blinded by the headlights, I squinted at a tall, thin girl with a spongy blonde Afro as she bounded out of the driver’s side door the second it was in park.

  “Oh my God, Margie!” she squealed as she nearly tackled me in a hug. “Woman, I have missed the crap out of you!”

  For the first time in days, I laughed. She was the same Destiny I remembered from junior high. “Good to see you too, Des.”

  Not giving me a second to catch my breath, she grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the car. “C’mon, we can talk on the way.”

  Inside the car, I was still giggling when I put on my seatbelt. “Gee, Des. I’m not the second coming or anything.”

  “Might as well be.” She grinned at me. “This is maybe the best news I’ve had all year.”

  I sighed. “Well, at least it’s good for someone. Not that I didn’t miss you or anything, it’s just… Y’know. The rest of it I could do without.”

  Her smile faded a little as she turned around and pulled out of the driveway. “Yeah, I get that. Maybe it won’t be so bad for you now. We’re not kids anymore.”

  Grimacing, I remembered the confrontation that afternoon. “Everyone keeps saying that, but I’m not so sure things have changed that much. Some people never grow up.”

  “So I’m guessing I wouldn’t be completely off base if I asked if you were the mystery girl that clocked a certain Matthew Rosenberg on Main Street today?”

  “Oh God.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “How did you hear about that already?”

  She giggled. “Lance Preston made a point of telling anyone who’d listen. Jenna Mack heard him telling Avery Daniels about it at the Grinder. She called me immediately, and I made her repeat the part about how pissed off Matt got about Lance’s big mouth three times before I let her hang up. She said you could see one corner of his bottom lip was a little swollen.” She burst out laughing. “What did you hit him with, a baseball bat?”

  I groaned and leaned my head against the window. “I just slapped him a little. So much for staying under the radar while I’m here. Stupid Lance Preston and his big mouth. Why the hell couldn’t Matt just leave me alone? Is he always a complete sleaze?”

  “Pretty much,” Des said. “Wish I’d been there. After all the crap he put you through, I’m surprised you didn’t take his head off.”

  My gaze shifted out the window, following the steady procession of street lamps and mansions as the car wound down the hill. “I’d rather just avoid them all if I could. It took me a long time to get a grip on myself when I finally left. All I want to do is hide for the next three months until I get to take a one-way flight to Charles DeGaulle.”

  “Oh yeah! My mom told me about that! Paris, right? For college?”

  I nodded. “Yep. The American University in Paris.”

  “Holy crap. I barely got into community college. On a scale of one to ten, how absolutely excited are you?”
r />   “Dix-sept,” I said, a little smug.

  “What?”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “Seventeen, en français.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Show off. Now, if you can teach me all the fun words, then I’ll be impressed.”

  “You got it, Des.” I grinned, happy to be discussing anything besides Matthew Rosenberg.

  * * * * *

  She moaned, beside herself with pure bliss. How she was still reacting that way after four cookies was beyond me.

  “You’re going to make yourself sick,” I said, chuckling as she reached for a fifth one.

  “So worth it.” She shook the cookie at me before taking a bite. “How is it possible they’re even better than I remember?”

  “Well, I’ve had six years to perfect them. I would hope they’re better than when I was twelve.”

  “Any chance you’ll share your secret?”

  I gave her an are-you-serious look. “So your mom can start selling them in her bakery and make a million bucks? No way.”

  “You think I’d play you like that? Harsh, man.” She took another bite. “You need a roomie in Paris? I’ll totally be your housekeeper for cookies.”

  It wasn’t like I had some super secret ingredient or anything, but my trick was my own idea. Inspired by Mexican hot chocolate, I added a touch of spice to my chocolate chip cookies. It took a while before I got it exactly right, but I’d found the perfect balance of flavor without overwhelming the palette. It was an ongoing experiment my dad never once complained about, though I can’t say as much about my meringue phase.

  “So how stunned was he this afternoon?” Destiny interrupted my food ruminations.

  “Huh? Who?”

  “Matt Rosenberg, dummy. Tell me you got a good look at his utter embarrassment.”

  I tried to repress my frown at the reminder of my total loss of control. “I’m not sure I can answer that. It was weird. Everything happened so fast, and then I kind of went into freak out mode the second I got to my mom. It was really ugly, Des. Full on panic attack with a side of puking. I know you think it’s hilarious and all, but I just want to forget the whole thing.”

  “Puking?” She stared at me. “Like back then?”

  I shook my head, remembering my episodes of hysterical vomiting in the nurse’s office at school. Destiny had rushed me there more times than any friend would’ve been expected to. “No, not that bad. I haven’t lost it that much in four years. This afternoon I got it under control in about twenty minutes, but it kinda messes you up the whole rest of the day.”

  Destiny came around to my side of the island counter and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Sorry. I forgot what it does to you. I’ll drop it, k? Don’t even worry about it. It’s not like we don’t have six years of catching up to do, anyway. Why waste our short three months talking about the douchebag brigade? Let’s talk about something else.”

  With a deep breath, I nodded, smiling gratefully. “Thanks.”

  She nudged me before grabbing another cookie. “No problem. For what it’s worth though, I don’t think any of them had a clue it was you today. Jenna said Lance couldn’t shut up about how hot the mystery girl was.”

  “Ew,” I said, my nose wrinkling in disgust. “That’s about the last thing I want.”

  She shrugged. “I dunno. Might be a good way to torture them this summer. Let ‘em see how royally they messed up their chances with you. You got a bikini?”

  “Yes, not that they’ll ever see it. Seriously, Des, why would I ask for more attention from them? And to what end? I’ll be nothing more than the hired help as soon as they figure out who I am.” I picked up a cookie, pointing it at her to punctuate my resolve. “And in case you forgot, news travels fast around here. They probably already know.”

  She opened her mouth to retort, but the jangly ringtone of her phone interrupted her. As she picked it up and thumbed on the screen, her face soured. “Well, you’re right about that.”

  She turned the phone so I could see. It was a text from Jenna Mack.

  OMFG I JUST HEARD. Margie Mouse is the girl from today!!! She’s my damned hero!

  Sinking down on a kitchen stool, I groaned into the palm of my hand.

  “Sorry about the nickname,” Destiny said, embarrassed. “Jenna hasn’t changed much, either.”

  Margie Mouse. Pantry Mouse. Mouse. That stupid name still haunted me after six years removed from Carrinaw Island. After that day’s fiasco on the street, I was dead certain they’d never let me have a second’s peace that summer.

  Her phone went off again.

  “Holy balls, Margie,” Destiny whispered.

  Another ring.

  “You’re really not gonna like this.”

  “I already hate it, so may as well tell me,” I grumbled.

  Her phone rang three, four more times.

  “Everyone wants to know if I’ve talked to you. What do I tell them?”

  “Tell them I died.”

  She sighed and started texting something, but stopped suddenly when it rang again.

  “Hey, Margie?”

  “What, Des?” I chomped down on my cookie, fully prepared to stuff the remaining twenty of them into my stomach by the end of the night.

  “Zach Robinson just asked me if I have your number.”

  At her words, I choked on crumbs and staggered to the kitchen sink, desperate for a drink to wash the mouthful down. After a full glass, I looked back at Destiny, trying to process what she said.

  “Who did you say?”

  She chuckled. “You heard me.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “What the hell for? I don’t want to talk to him.”

  Biting her lip, she considered me. “I dunno what for. He broke up with that debutante cow, so maybe he’s rebounding? Maybe he wants to apologize? No clue. Should I ask?”

  “No, you shouldn’t ask!” I said, flailing a little, so I tried to dial it back. “The answer isn’t just no, Des. It’s not a chance ever. Tell him to go—”

  “Des?” a man’s voice called as the front door closed. “You home?”

  “In the kitchen, Dad,” she called out to him. “With company.”

  I turned back to the sink, desperately trying to calm down before Mr. Plummer got a look at my full-blown crazy. I filled my glass, focusing on the water level in the cup to distract myself from the insanity of Destiny’s phone.

  “Do I smell cookies?” he asked as he entered, setting a leather satchel on the table that clunked when it hit, his tools banging together in a small, metallic cacophony.

  “Sure do,” Destiny said, crossing over to him and planting a kiss on his ebony skin. “You remember Margie, right?”

  His eyes lit up in recognition when she said my name. “Margaret? Little Margaret Walsh?”

  I ducked my head, nodding. It was always mortifying to meet adults that knew you as a kid once you were grown, like it’s some huge surprise I’m not ten anymore. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Plummer.”

  A grin spread across his face, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. In two steps, he got his arms around me in a massive bear hug, and I giggled. After he released me, he was still grinning. “So I take it these are Margie’s famous cookies, then?”

  “Famous?” I laughed. “I don’t know about that, but if you want any, you’d better get them now before Des inhales them.”

  He snagged two before turning to go. “Think I might do that. Glad to see you’re looking good, Margaret,” he said flashing me another smile. “You girls keep it down to a dull roar, okay? I’ve got an early wiring repair at the Jameson place tomorrow.”

  “On Sunday?” Destiny protested. “Can’t they do without their custom bathroom doorbell for a day?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I’m sure they could, but their dishwasher is another story. Night, girls. Good seeing you again, Margaret.” With a last wave, Mr. Plummer was gone.

  Destiny glowered at the doorway, but her phone reminded her of another arriving
text message.

  “So what do I tell him, Margie?”

  My temporary good mood evaporated, and I took a long drink of water, considering my reply.

  “Tell him…” I paused, smiling a little. “Tell him I said mice don’t have cell phones.”

  She barely got the messaged typed for how hard she was laughing.

  Chapter 4

  I yawned and stretched, enjoying the feel of sunlight warming my legs. The relaxation lasted for all of ten seconds before the reality of where I was and who knew I was there crept back in, eliciting a tired sigh from me. Regardless of my feelings on anything, I had things to do to prepare for the movers bringing our stuff the next day. I reached up to grab the cord to the blinds, wanting to see what the day’s weather might hold, but I stopped when I noticed something on the glass. The blinds shot up as I gaped at what awaited me.

  A piece of paper was taped to the outside. On it, a little cartoon mouse was holding a cell phone out to me, someone’s number scrawled below it in blue ink. It wasn’t a stretch for me to figure out whose number it was.

  With a growl of hostility, I threw off the covers and got up. I stewed in the shower for thirty minutes, quietly ranting at my own imaginary version of Zachary Robinson as I scrubbed myself clean. After dressing and throwing my hair into a braid, my first order of business was removing the offending paper from my bedroom window.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” my mom said as I passed through the kitchen.

  “Morning,” I grumbled and opened the back door.

  I squinted in the bright sunlight of eight a.m. for a moment before tromping around the side of the house. My first swipe to remove the paper resulted in it ripping clear down the center, leaving two strips on either side. More carefully, but with no less aggravation, I removed the leftovers, making sure to get the tape with it.