Page 18 of Faking Summer
Each letter tugged at me, toward a complicated and fucked up situation I wasn't sure I wanted to think about or deal with—ever. She had sent this text almost every week this summer, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond.
The bus came to a halt, and we rushed out. My feet hit the pavement with relief. We were back in Bayside. Bailey was grinning like an idiot beside me.
"I'm just saying, I thought that bartender was into me last night," he claimed, oblivious to the skeptical looks we all shot him.
"The one who sprayed you in the face with water?" My voice was flat, but I couldn’t hold back asmile.
"Hey," Bailey protested, flicking his hair out of his eyes, "Some might say she was putting out a fire, you know—because she thought I was so hot." Bailey's knack for spinning every situation into self-flattery was as impressive as it was exasperating.
I snatched my duffel from the luggage hold as I turned to Bailey. "Bails," I began, hoisting the bag over one shoulder, "has anyone ever told you something is wrong with you?"
"Only every person I've ever met," he retorted, oddly proud of that fact.
Crew walked over and plucked his duffle from the bus after me."Oh he’s always known something is wrong with him," he said, shouldering his bag. “Just doesn’t care."
The moment I saw Caroline headed in our direction, I snatched her luggage for her, setting it down so she could grab it.
"I could've done that," she said, her icy blue eyes meeting mine.
"I know," I said with a wink, watching as she extended the collapsible handle of her suitcase and pulled it upright. “But I got it.” She turned on her heel and walked away without a backward glance.
Crew's voice broke the stillness. "She still hates you, huh?"
"Like always," I nodded, but I sensed something different about her after this weekend. I was seeing her in a different light. The way her hair fell around her face, the way her eyes softened when no one was looking—I swore I almost saw something warm behind that cold exterior of hers.
Bailey leaned against the side of the bus. "That's because Caroline is evil."
"People say that about me too," I confessed.
Bailey scoffed, folding his arms. "Yeah, but deep down you're soft and squishy. And her, she’s sugar, spice, and emotional damage in a cheer skirt. Those pom-poms of hers sparkle, alright... but they also destroy lives. Probably come with a restraining order, too.”
I watched her slip into her car. I wasn't sure I believed that anymore—that Caroline was pure evil. Caroline and I had never gotten along. We didn’t mix—like fire and ice. But thisweekend, I saw a glimpse of something else—maybe a tiny sliver of vulnerability. It was there in some way, even if she shut it down almost immediately. There had to be more to her than people thought, and I was determined to find out what she was hiding.
"Reese," Bailey's voice pulled me back from my thoughts. "You're staring."
"Am I?" The admission was half-hearted, my focus fracturing as she pulled away.
Bailey shook his head in disapproval as we made our way to our cars. “Don’t do it, man.”
“I’ll see you both at Gin & Jerry’s later,” I said, giving them each a handshake and pat on the back.
I climbed into my truck then twisted the key. I drove back home, back to reality. But as I rounded the corner and into my driveway, I saw her. My sister, her petite form curled on the front steps. Her long blonde hair covered her face, but even from a distance, I could see the tremors of her sobs. My heart clenched—anger seizing me—as I pulled up.
The door shuddered on its hinges as I tore it open then slammed it shut. Each step toward her crackled with the electricity of my mounting fury.
"Explain. Now." The words were a growl, torn from a place deep within me. Lo was sixteen now, but she’d forever be my baby sister and the little girl I'd once taught to throw a baseball.
She turned, and then I saw her tears, trailing down her cheeks. “It’s nothing,” she whimpered.
"Tell me his name," I demanded, muscles tensing as I sat down next to her.
"His name?" Confusion laced her quivering voice, as she looked up at me.
"Whoever made you cry," I answered. "I'll go handle it." And I meant every fucking syllable.
A smile cracked on her face as she brushed away a stubborn tear. "It's not a he," she murmured, her voice still shaking from the sobs. "Her name is Wendy Clark."
"Clark?" I echoed, my tone sharpening. "As in Wells Clark's little sister?" She gave a small, defeated nod. A smirk tugged at my lips. "Even better. I'll go beat his ass right now for whatever she did."
