Page 18 of The Summer I Destroyed You

A new picture appears on screen—an architectural rendering of a massive apartment complex, with a little kid on a tricycle and a smiling couple in front.

It’s framed by mountains, on the sunniest day God ever created, and it takes me a second to realize it’s set in the same goddamn place where we currently sit.

She wants to tear Lucas Hall down and turn it into a fucking apartment complex.

“Two hundred and fifty luxury apartments in a building featuring a gym, rooftop terrace, twenty-four-hour concierge, and ample underground parking for both the residents and town visitors.”

A building like that would ruin the town. It would change everything. The roads would be clogged, the schools overcrowded. It would turn Elliott Springs into the same fucking big-city mess that drove people here in the first place.

She smiles at the crowd. “So what does that mean for all of us, the people who are already here?” she asks.

You live in New York City, Emerson. There’s no ‘us.’

“It means an average of five hundred new residents—residents who will support a bookstore, an upscale grocery store. Residents who’ll need haircuts and baked goods and insect control,” she says with a nod toward Dave Smith. “And when we prove to the world that Elliott Springs is thriving, it will bring other businesses here, which means access to the same stores, the same restaurants, the same upscale gyms that you see in San Jose and Santa Cruz.”

A hand shoots up. I wasn’t aware it was a question-and-answer, but she smiles and points to him like she’s the White House Press Secretary and he’s her favorite reporter.

“I’m just wondering what it’ll do to home values in the area,” says this guy I’ve never laid eyes on before.

She nods. “I’m so glad you asked. The nice thing about bringing in five hundred new residents is that it means we’re bringing in hundreds of potential homeowners. Young singles who’ll be getting married and starting families and looking for more space. Meaning home values will skyrocket.”

Beverly Grimm, who owns the grocery store across from the one Emerson’s putting in, raises her hand next. Emerson’s smile tightens, as if she’s fastening it in place by force.

“These businesses you’re talking about are going to take customers away from the rest of us,” Beverly says. “Your grocery store is competition for me. It’s also competition for Lori’s bakery and even the drug store.”

Emerson’s still smiling, but there’s a hard glint in her eye. “I know change is unsettling.” Her voice is saccharine-sweet. “But with an enlarged consumer base, there’s room enough for everyone. I assure you, thriving towns can support two grocery stores. They can support a bakery. But Elliott Springs does need to grow for that to happen.”

If I hadn’t already pissed off the mayor, I’d point out that no one’s going to go to Bev’s shitty little grocery store if there’s a better option and that yuppies want macarons and designer cupcakes, not the day-old gingerbread men sold at Lori’s bakery. That we are settling for what the town offers because there aren’t other options, but once they’re there, no one’s going back.

“I’ll set my business cards here on the table for anyone who wants to give me a call,” Emerson concludes, “and I’ve got a little office in the back of the grocery store if you want to chat in person. But I really hope we can work together. Let’s turn Elliott Springs into the town it was meant to be: a place you’re proud to call home.”

The applause is thunderous. She smiles her beauty pageant smile as she returns to her seat.

“Knock ’em dead, little hammer,” she whispers as I rise.

By the time I’ve reached the podium, the crowd’s rapt interest has vanished entirely. I guess I should have made a fucking presentation. It honestly never occurred to me that anyone would be as persuasive as Emerson just was. I also never thought the majority of the town would be dumb enough to believe her.

I’m the good guy here, but I’ve got nothing to sell these greedy idiots who simply want a payday.

“Lucas Hall has played a vital role in our town’s history,” I begin. “My grandfather received the Purple Heart in this very room when he returned from his first tour of Vietnam, and he met my grandmother at the ceremony.” If Emerson was presenting this, she’d have had a photo of this moment, no doubt. She’d have created holograms of my deceased grandparents, beaming down on us all as they listened in. “I attended Boy Scout meetings here. My prom and my graduation were held here, and I’m sure that’s true for many of the people in this room. So this place matters to me. I’ll bet it matters to you. What I’m hoping is that it matters enough to all of us to preserve it in a way that will leave its character unchanged.”

I can already tell I’ve lost them. People are tugging at their collars, glancing at their watches. The guy directly in front of me is playing Candy Crush.

“I’ve looked at the repairs that are necessary and the mayor is right—under normal circumstances, they’d be pretty expensive. But because I love this town and our history, I’m willing to do the work at cost. I still have to buy the materials and pay my crew, but I’d forgo making any profit above and beyond that.” I hold the stapled sheets of paper I’d laid on the podium aloft. “I, uh, have an estimate of the costs here, if anyone wants to take a look.”

The room is silent, and it’s not because they’re riveted.

The only person in the whole goddamn room who’s smiling is Emerson. And it’s a smile that says, “I won.”

As annoyed as I am—and I’m really fucking annoyed—I sort of like to see her smiling for once.

12

EMMY

My period starts in science class. A stabbing, unexpected pain that I won’t understand until later, when I see the brown stain on my underwear. I press a hand to my stomach and Paul whispers, loud enough for me to hear, that I probably ate too much.

That’s how it is now. There’s nothing that can happen to me, nothing I can say or do, that isn’t turned into ridicule, that isn’t made to be my fault. The weight began as a trickle, but now it’s an avalanche. Everything I do to stop it only makes it worse. I’ll go without food until I’m desperate for it, until I’m shoving anything I can find in my mouth whether I like it or not, terrified my mother will see me do it. I wake up the next day and the cycle repeats. Nothing helps.

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