Those Summer Nights, page 4
Do you think we brought her home too soon, David?
We won’t know until we know, Sarah.
Dad clears his throat and turns back to me. His smile is strained as well. “Were you able to do your good deed today?”
My stomach knots. In the chaos of my first day at Bonanza, I didn’t have time to think about my checklist. Technically, my return home is temporary. I have to complete a list of tasks this summer, or it’s straight back to Mountain Bliss. One of the top items is to perform a positive action every day, something to put a little good into the world.
I swirl enchilada sauce on my plate. “Um, I’m sorry. I forgot. But I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll do two tomorrow. I promise.”
“It’s important,” Mom says, her tone soft, hesitant. “Your dad and I are so happy to have you home. But we need to see you working on that list. We’re here to help, if you want.”
Guilt swirls through me. They shouldn’t have to tiptoe around me like this. They shouldn’t have to worry about me. I’ve added stress lines to their smooth skin.
“I’m on it.” I nod. “Promise.”
I glance at our fridge. The list is held up by a World of Coca-Cola magnet.
Mountain Bliss Home Rehabilitation:
Clean out all drug and alcohol paraphernalia
Perform one good deed per day
Repair mismanaged relationships
Find a passion that brings joy
Number three makes my eyes roll. “Mismanaged relationships” sure is an interesting way to describe absolutely annihilated friendships. It makes my falling-out with Brie sound like a tax form issue.
And number four, a passion that brings joy, is impossible. I had a passion, soccer, and that’s gone now. Nothing can hold a candle to that joy—to the feeling of my cleats breaking fresh grass, my eyes searching for an opening, being completely in sync with my team, the perfect pass, the perfect score. Wins so sweet they tasted like honey on my tongue.
But I have to show my parents I’m making an effort so I can stay home. Maybe if I do enough positive actions and help out around the house, they’ll overlook the rest.
“I’ll do the dishes,” I offer. “To make up for today.”
Mom smiles. “That’s wonderful.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dad says.
I let out a tiny exhale of relief, but then Mom’s expression grows anxious again. “And we just wanted to remind you…,” she says. “Bubbie’s unveiling is coming up in a few weeks, so you’ll need to request off work that day.”
I swallow back a sick feeling in my throat. It can’t be that soon. She was just here. I swear if I drove over to her house right now, she’d be there waiting for me with fresh-baked babka and a treat for Figgy.
But that’s not true. Her house was emptied, then sold, her most prized possessions sorted into her children’s homes and storage.
It’s a Jewish tradition to unveil the gravestone eleven months after the burial, which means my bubbie has been gone for almost a year.
She was just here.
“Okay.” I swallow hard. “I’ll, um, make sure I’m not working then.”
Silence passes between us. I can tell Mom wants to say something more, and I can tell Dad is uncomfortable, his hands furling and unfurling his napkin. He breaks first and asks, “How are the enchiladas? Cooked enough? Want to make sure those chickens aren’t still clucking!”
The joke isn’t funny, but Mom and I laugh anyway.
* * *
I clean the dishes and then take a long, hot shower. Afterward, I pad barefoot and towel-clad into my room. At Mountain Bliss, I wore flip-flops in the communal showers to avoid foot fungus and then yanked on the bare minimum of clothes (underwear, oversize T-shirt) in the humid stall before walking to the room I shared with three other girls. I missed flopping onto clean sheets in only my towel, a simple, perfect pleasure. Soccer has made me comfortable with a certain level of nudity around girls, but those are girls I know well, not a rotating cast of delinquent teens, some staying no longer than three days before calling their parents in tears over the “harsh” conditions of Mountain Bliss, like our generic conditioner instead of their favorite salon brand.
Mountain Bliss wasn’t cheap. Most of the girls came from wealthy families. My parents refused to tell me how much they spent, but I know the cost was way outside of their yearly budget. I need to complete that checklist so my parents have no need to send me back and waste more of their hard-earned money.
I glance at my phone. I still have a habit of checking for texts even though my social status has gone into remission. I’m surprised to find one message. It’s from my teammate Elizabeth. The sight of her name makes my pulse race. It reads: Is it true you’re back home?
I haven’t talked to her since I left the hospital. My last message to her read: I don’t know. Thanks for the flowers.
She sent more than a dozen messages after that. Other girls from the team have sent messages as well. In the beginning it was “I’m so sorry” and “How are you?” and then it was “Where are you?” and “I’m worried,” and then it was a lot of nothing. Elizabeth tried the most before giving up in the face of my silence.
I couldn’t reply. It was too painful thinking of them playing without me. My entire world was on that field. Those summer nights with my team were the best times of my life. I’ll never have that again.
My heart squeezes as I stare at the text from Elizabeth.
Then my phone buzzes again. It’s a new number: Hey newbie, how’s your night going?
I narrow my eyes. Who could this be?
Another text comes in: Got your number from the employee list, it’s Patrick Cho
My cheeks warm. Patrick, with his lean arms and easy smirk, was thinking about me enough to look up my number and text me.
Okay. So. My standards for effort might be pretty low. But it’s nice to know that someone, anyone, is thinking of me in not a negative way, and it’s nice that such a nice-looking boy is doing so, and it’s especially nice that Patrick knows nothing about the last year of my life.
I ignore Elizabeth’s message and text back instead.
Hey! Night is going well. How about yours?
Patrick: Would be better with you here
Okay, then, Patrick. Straight to the point.
Patrick: Want to hang out?
Me: Tonight?
Patrick: Yeah, people are chilling at Sophie’s house. You meet her today?
Sophie must be another Bonanza employee. Before I can respond, Patrick texts again: Come on, join us, it’ll be fun
I chew on my lip. He really had to go and throw an emoji in there.
It could be fun. A group of people who know nothing about me. A cute boy who likes me enough to think about me when he’s with that group of people. I could drink a beer and kiss him and forget for a few hours that my life isn’t a complete mess.
But it’s late. I can hear my parents’ muffled voices in the hallway. No way would I be allowed to go out right now, and I’m not going to pull an old Hannah and slip out the window. I have to stay on the straight-and-narrow, and that means no sneaking out of the house to hang out with a boy I met mere hours ago.
I text back: Maybe another time. Have fun. See you at work!
Patrick sends a sad-face emoji, and we leave the conversation at that.
I finally get dressed, pulling on a pair of shorts and a plain T-shirt. My drawers are bare, all my soccer gear thrown out last year in a rage, shoved into garbage bags and left outside of Goodwill. I half-heartedly run a brush through my hair. I had a girl at Mountain Bliss hack the bulk of it off with a pair of kitchen scissors. She actually did a nice job. Wavy pieces fall just above my shoulders.
I turn to face my room, ready to cross item one off my checklist. I’m not expecting to find much paraphernalia, but as I go through my things, I discover a flask of honey whiskey and a loose joint in my old purse. And a few lighters in jeans pockets and one in my nightstand. And then an airplane bottle of vodka inside a jacket pocket, which reminds me I hid two joints under the soles of my sneakers in case we got pulled over. Plus a couple of loose pills someone passed me at a party that I never even considered taking—yet also never threw away.
At the end of it all, there’s quite a collection spread out on my bed, much more than I thought. Especially considering all the easier-to-find items my parents already threw away. I chew the inside of my cheek.
I don’t want to be that girl.
Am I that girl?
A knock on my door startles me. It opens before I have a chance to react, but I sag in relief when I see it’s just my brother, Joey. His nest of golden-brown curls pops into my room.
He grins at me, still wearing his blue Bonanza T-shirt. “Hey, big sis.”
“Hey, li’l bro.”
Unlike with Ethan, I didn’t go a whole year without seeing my brother. He drove up with my parents on family visitation weekends. It was weird at first, showing them around campus and introducing them to roommates I’d never talk to again. But Joey being Joey lightened the mood in an instant, playing tour guide like he was the one living at Mountain Bliss, showing us all around with made-up commentary about the accommodations and programming. It was comforting to know something had stayed the same, that he was at least the same brother I’ve always known.
“What time’s your shift tomorrow?” he asks me now. I realize he’s had a growth spurt, just an inch or so, but his face also looks older, his cheeks less red and round.
“Four,” I answer.
“Nice, same.” He nods. “Bet Pete did that on purpose. He’s good with stuff like that. We can drive together.”
“Cool.” Silence beats between us for a few seconds, and that’s when Joey’s eyes slide to my bed. Unease washes over me as his expression wavers. He looks worried, maybe hurt, as well.
“I’m throwing it all away,” I quickly say. “Just some dumb stuff from last summer.”
“Right.” Joey nods. “Cool.”
He hesitates, as if he might leave. The loneliness hovering over me grows like a heavy weight. “How was work today?” I blurt out.
The beautiful thing about my brother is that he can talk for twenty minutes straight without a single contribution from anyone else. Some might also call that an annoying thing about my brother, but he’s such a good storyteller, most people don’t mind.
I relax as Joey enters my room. I sweep all the paraphernalia into my trash can and tie up the bag, and Joey hops onto my bed. I sit by my window, and we toss a hacky sack back and forth as he tells me about his day at Bonanza, which apparently involved three whirly-ball birthday parties.
But the climactic moment of the day happened in the arcade when someone finally scored the step-counter watch out of the claw machine. Apparently, it’s worth all of twenty bucks, but people were trying to get it for weeks. “Pete might be a simple man,” Joey says, “but he’s got claw-machine skills. Positioned that step counter in the sweet spot. Looked getable but efforts were foiled for so many.”
I laugh, but it’s a bit weak. I’m exhausted from today, my mind weighed down with heavy thoughts.
“You know I hate a fake laugh,” Joey says.
“It wasn’t fake,” I argue. He gives me a look. “Oh, whatever.”
His smile slips, concern in his eyes. “Mom told me the unveiling is coming up.” He pauses. “I miss Bubbie.”
“Yeah.” My muscles tighten. “Me too.”
“Remember when she used to check us out of school early?” he asks. “When we were little? She’d take us for ice cream and—”
Something catches in my throat, and I look out my window into the night sky. Dark branches sway in the wind. Of course I remember. She’d always get caramel sauce on her ice cream and order extra cherries for us. We’d hold competitions to see who could finish eating first. Joey always got brain freeze.
Tears threaten, but I tense my jaw and force them away. I steady my voice and say, “I’m sorry, Joey. It’s been a long day. I think I’m ready for bed.”
I can feel him staring at me, but I keep my eyes on the window. He throws the hacky sack in the air once more and lets it land on the bed. “Okay,” he says.
When he leaves my room, I feel more alone than ever. Before I can do something stupid, I grab the trash bag and toss it in the container outside.
Last Summer
I’m sweating like a pig when I walk into the house after practice. Joey and Ethan are sprawled out on the living room floor, playing video games. I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of them as eight-year-olds in the exact same position.
They hit pause and both turn to look at me.
“Jeez, Hannah,” Joey says. “Is it raining outside?”
“Ha-ha,” I reply.
Ethan gives me a little Oh, Joey eye-roll. He’s already in his pj’s, blue-and-green flannel pants and a school shirt. “Good practice?” he asks.
I shrug. “Fine.”
Truthfully, my muscles are tight with nerves. The Kensington game is fast approaching, and my team isn’t pushing hard enough. I managed to wrangle half of them into staying late tonight. We ran sprints and went over plays for an extra hour until Nina told me, “Girl, it’s enough,” and even Brie said, “When you feel like your legs are going to fall off, that’s a sign you should stop.”
I just want to be prepared. I want to win. But they’re probably right. My muscles are completely fatigued, and my left ankle is throbbing, pushing too hard on an old injury. I need to ice it.
“I saw Bubbie today,” Joey tells me. “We were supposed to go shopping, but she was too tired, so we watched a movie.”
“Cool.” I nod. “I’m gonna shower.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m in clean pj’s and scavenging through the kitchen for sustenance. I gather an impressive amount in my arms—two cold slices of Dad’s homemade veggie pizza, a bag of carrot sticks, a container of hummus, a Snickers bar Mom tried to hide in the back of the pantry, and a family-size bag of Doritos—and then head into the living room, where Ethan and Joey are still playing their game and cursing at various volumes (Joey, loud, earth-shattering; Ethan, quiet, tense). The second I open the chip bag, they pause the game and turn to me, staring like they didn’t eat half a pizza each earlier.
I laugh. “Fine, I’ll share. Y’all are worse than the dog.”
Figgy whines at that.
They both climb onto the couch, Joey close, holding out his hands and begging with Pixar-character eyes. Ethan sits farther away, scootched to the edge of the three-seater. “Thank you for the personal space,” I tell him. “I’m assuming you would also like some chips.”
He smiles, cheeks pink as he holds out his hands. “Yes, please.”
“Look at his manners,” I tell Joey. “You could learn a thing or two.”
“Could you sound more like a Jewish mother?” Joey replies.
I swat him with a pillow. He steals the chip bag. Figgy jumps onto the couch.
With her help, it only takes us ten minutes to get through the entire bag, which might be a record. Then Joey and Ethan pressure me into playing their game, even though I’m exhausted, and even though I don’t understand the appeal of shooting aliens with paintballs. But I agree to one round and suddenly it’s two hours later, and the rest of the snacks have been eaten, and we’re all laughing, slap-happy, and overtired as a purple alien corners Ethan and tickles his character health down.
“This game is so disturbing,” I say, gasping for breath.
Joey is in hysterics. “Can you believe it’s kid-friendly for lack of violence?”
“There is nothing nonviolent about tickling,” Ethan says solemnly.
We all laugh even harder.
Chapter Five
“ALWAYS PARK NEAR the back,” Joey tells me as we pull into the Bonanza parking lot. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still bright in the sky. “Pete likes to save the good spots for the customers.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
Things feel tense between us after last night, but I’m sure they’ll go back to normal soon. I’ve always had a good relationship with Joey. He’s so easygoing, surely even I can’t mess things up too badly.
As we get out of the car, I go to pull my hair into a ponytail, but then I remember it’s too short now. I fluff it instead.
Joey notices and lowers his voice to a baritone. “Hey, lady, trying to look good for someone?”
I smile at him. “Just keeping up the high family standard. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
Joey holds a hand to his chest. “Thank you, that’s appreciated.” He clears his throat, voice now tinged with nerves. “Did you, uh, meet Tony yesterday?”
I shake my head. “No, who’s Tony?” The name conjures an image of a burly man in his forties who likes protein powder and muscle shirts.
When Joey doesn’t respond immediately, as is his typical response time, I look over at him and—
Oy vey. He looks like a stars-in-his-eyes cartoon character. My brother has got it bad.
He sighs dreamily and says, “Tony is the love of my life.”
“Joey… and Tony,” I clarify. “Are we sure this isn’t a self-obsessing crush?”
“Our rhyming names are fate, not self-obsession,” Joey answers. “Other than both being gay, Tony and I are very different. He is tall, I am not. He is muscular, I am not.” Sounds like I was right about the protein powder. “Also—and this is very important.” Joey turns to me and puts his hands on my shoulders so we’re standing still in the middle of the parking lot and his eyes are locked in determination on mine. “He is, unspeakably, hot.”
I laugh. “Great. Well, I’m very happy for you and your crush.”
“Hannah, it’s more than a crush. It’s a way of life.”
I let him go on about Tony for the rest of the walk, grateful Joey is being Joey, ever enthusiastic whether it’s about a crush or about the best brand of breakfast cereal (Honey Bunches of Oats).
