Page 24 of Sawyer

We pile my luggage into the back of my uncle’s trunk, then drive to the Station Bar and Grill where I drown the last of my sorrows in cold beer and greasy fries while getting an update on my cousins. When we get to my apartment over the Kozy Kone an hour later, my tears are pretty much gone.

As I fill my bureau drawers with summer clothes, Aunt Priscilla peeks into my bedroom.

“All good in here? We got the groceries loaded into the fridge.”

“Thanks, Aunt P. You guys are the best.”

“You know you can stay with us if you want.”

“You have three bedrooms and two daughters,” I point out. “I don’t want to kick Jenny or Vicky out of their own rooms.”

“The girls worship you,” she says with a chuckle. “They’d happily sleep outside on the deck if it meant you stayed with us.”

“Nah. It’s okay,” I say. “I’m good here. And it means I can stay out ’til all hours.”

Aunt P. and Uncle Alan always gave me a very strict curfew when I stayed with them. It wasn’t a point of contention—I obeyed their rules when I stayed under their roof—but I love hanging out at night with other seasonal workers and not worrying about the time. It’s part of the fun of being here.

“Fair enough,” she says, taking a fitted sheet and billowing it over the bare mattress of my bed. She pulls the corners under completely so there’s no risk of it short sheeting in the middle of the night, then spreads the flat sheet over it, smoothing it with her hands. “Can I talk to you about something, Ivy?”

“That sounds ominous,” I say, opening a smaller suitcase that holds neatly packed accessories and toiletries. “But of course! Anything.”

“Do you plan to see Sawyer Stewart this summer?”

I shrug, though my heart beats faster at the sound of his name. I’ve been thinking about him a lot since Clark humiliated me with Mandee. My friendship with Sawyer was always so easy, and he’s the best kisser I ever met. Yes, I’m eager to see him this summer.

“I guess. We hang out every summer. I’m sure we’ll run into each other.”

I sit down on the floor and unpack my toiletries, transferring my shampoo, conditioner and other bathroom supplies to a plastic carry-all.

She tucks the corners of the flat sheet under the mattress. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

She raises her eyebrows at me. “Are you going to…you know…”

“What?”

She winces. “Hook up?”

My face says what my mouth doesn’t:None of your business, Aunt P.!

“I know. I know. It’s none of my business…but, hear me out, okay?” She spreads a comforter over the sheets, then sits down on it. “Last summer, I really noticed you two for the first time. I noticedhim. The way he looked at you. The way he spoke to you. You spent a lot of time together, and well…I think he really liked you. Asmorethan a friend.”

“No, no, no. Aunt P., you’re on the wrong track here. It’s not like that between us,” I say, shaking my head. “Sawyer and I are just summer friends. And yes, we also kiss sometimes, but it’s just for fun.” She’s still staring at me with a skeptical look. “We don’t have sex. It’s just a fun summer friendship that includes some occasional kissing when we’ve been drinking. That’s all. It’s super light and casual. I promise.”

She looks a little relieved, but not entirely convinced. “It’s light and casual for him, too?”

“Yeah. I mean, yeah, I think so. Definitely.”

She takes a deep breath, then lets it go slowly before speaking again. “When you got serious with Clark, I was sort of relieved for Sawyer, you know? I was relieved that you wouldn’t—I don’t know—lead him on again this summer.”

“Whoa! I’ve never ‘led him on,’” I tell her, feeling slightly offended. “Sawyer knows I come to town in May and leave in September. Neither of us have any expectations beyond the summer. No one’s leading anyone anywhere. Come on, Aunt P! Sawyer and I have been summer friends since we were eight or nine years old. And he’s tons of fun over a night of pool and beer, and yes, we kiss sometimes. But that’s it. When the summer ends, so do we. Every time.”

“And that’s what he wants, too?”

I shrug. “I’ve never asked him, but we don’t talk after September. Never have. He doesn’t text me at Christmas or send me love letters at school or anything. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

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