Page 4 of Faking Summer
"Go get him," Stacey said with an infectious grin. They smoothed the fabric of my dress one last time before leaving me standing alone, my heart hammering with nervous anticipation.
My palms were clammy, fingertips grazing the cool surface of the punch bowl as if it would help me somehow. I took a shallow breath, willing my lungs to expand fully, to steady the tremors that threatened to betray my composure.
Then, he entered.
The overhead starlights seemed to conspire in his favor, spotlighting him. His hair fell just right—as if each strand had been set into place by angels. In that moment, he was the embodiment of every daydream I had indulged in since third period. My reality was colliding with fantasy, and the butterflies ambushed me again. Not just in my stomach but in my heart and in every inch of my body.
But then, she appeared.
Emma King, with her expensive dress and smile that outshined the strobe lights. She glided in after him, and my pulse hitched. Reese paused and turned to her, offering his arm. She happily accepted, looping her own arm around his.
He was exactly how I dreamed he'd be, he looked as cute as I thought he’d look—only I wasn’t the one on his arm. The air around me turned icy, as if the warmth of the dance had left when they entered. My friends' gazes found me, their pity-filled eyes glassy, mirroring the sheen of the gymnasium floor. I felt exposed standing there at the punch table, clutching the edge like it was the last shred of dignity I had left.
Evan sauntered in then, surrounded by Reese's loyal followers, their easy laughter filling the room. Each chuckle, each pointed finger, jabbed at me—a relentless, rhythmic, excruciating pain.
Evan pulled Emma away from Reese, then whispered something in her ear. Her laughter was soul crushing as she approached me. But then she turned, her fingers picking up a full cup.
"Whoops," she cooed as she turned back to me, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. She let go of the cup, and I just watched—helpless or simply unwilling to step away.
The punch cascaded down my front, a waterfall of intentionalmalice, drenching the fabric of my dress. A gasp rippled through the crowd, yet all I could hear was her venomous chuckle.
"Heard you were trying to steal my date," she laughed bitterly. "He'd never go for someone like you."
In those moments, you make a choice between fight or flight, and my flight was instinctual, a desperate scramble away from the ridicule. The cool night air outside slapped my tear-streaked face, sobering but not cleansing the humiliation that stained my cheeks. I collapsed onto a bench, its wooden slats unforgiving against my crumpled form.
Sam's shoulder became my sanctuary, her embrace a shield against the pain and embarrassment. The sobs that wracked my body were like violent waves, and with each tear, I drowned a little more in disillusionment. The taste of my tears on my lips was a bitter testament to the cruelty that had unfolded. I begged my mom to let me crash at Sam’s that night—I couldn’t go home, couldn’t face her, couldn’t bring myself to say what had happened.
I would never forget—the sting of betrayal, the weight of eyes filled with scorn, the sharp night air as I gasped for breaths between sobs. A cruel joke had been played on me and I was shoved under a spotlight for everyone to see. Reese had become my nemesis, the embodiment of everything wrong in this world. Crushes were no longer filled with excitement and hope, they were traps, waiting to capture the innocent, and steal their joy.
That night, beneath a sky that offered neither comfort nor stars, I learned the hardest lesson of all: the world could be cold, and hearts colder still.
two
Reese,age 16
“Reese,” Dad barked through the bluetooth in my truck, shattering the peace of my morning drive, his tone as sharp as the control he had over my life, “you need to go straight to the batting cages after practice. That first hit you had in the game last night? Weak.” I didn’t need to see him to know the look of disappointment on his face, like always.
"Your coaches focus too much on your arm and not enough on batting," he continued. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my nails biting into the leather.
"Great advice, Dad," I muttered, unable to resist a sarcastic remark when I got the chance.
"See you later tonight, smart ass," he replied, ending the call.
As I pulled up to school, I narrowed my eyes, realizing my spot was taken. It was Caroline. She’d had the audacity to park in my space, of all places. She drove an old red sports car that looked like it was held together by hope, duct tape, and a couple of well-placed zip ties.
She leaned against it casually, surrounded by a few of the other cheerleaders who seemed to have become her shadows this year.
"What the fuck," I hissed under my breath as I rolled down my window. My fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the dashboard, and I tilted my head slightly and called out, "That's my spot, can you move?"
She glanced over with those ocean-deep eyes that never seemed to settle on one color. Today’s shade was more grayish than normal. She barely made the effort to look my way, even in my oversized truck. "For you? No."
A chuckle escaped me—not out of amusement but disbelief. "Are you serious?"
Caroline's laugh was soft but full of sarcasm. "Do I look like I'm joking?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Why are you the only one with an assigned parking spot, anyway?"
"Maybe because my dad donated the new fieldhouse," I retorted, the words leaving a sour taste on my tongue. I hated talking about his money or donations because he only ever did it when there was something in it for him. It was all just another thing he’d never let me forget. But it had its perks. Like getting my own spot close to the school entrance.
"That's convenient," she said with a lift of her brow, tone dripping with insinuation. "Why don't you check back tomorrow? Looks like it’s taken today." And just like that, she turned her back to me, long blonde hair swaying with the motion, dismissing me entirely. Caroline knew how to provoke me, to press buttons I didn’t know existed. I just didn’t know why she did it.
