Summer People, page 1
SUMMER PEOPLE
SARA HOSEY
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
More from CamCat Books
Prologue
Chapter One
More Great Young Adult Reads from CamCat Books
CamCat Books
CamCat Publishing, LLC
Brentwood, Tennessee 37027
camcatpublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
© 2023 by Sara Hosey
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address CamCat Publishing, 101 Creekside Crossing, Suite 280, Brentwood, TN 37027.
Hardcover ISBN 9780744302509
Paperback ISBN 9780744302516
Large-Print Paperback ISBN 9780744302530
eBook ISBN 9780744302547
Audiobook ISBN 9780744302561
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022952382
Cover and book design by Maryann Appel
5 3 1 2 4
For Jess, John, and Jules
1
The day Christmas Miller and Lexi Reyes found a body floating facedown in the lake hadn’t started off weird and terrifying. In fact, it had been a happy enough day.
Christmas had been anxious, but she’d also been hopeful and excited. Her best friend, Lexi, a “summer person” from Pennsylvania, was finally arriving in Sweet Lake, New York, that afternoon. Graduation, just ten days earlier, already felt like the distant past.
To kill time as she waited, Christmas raked algae from the lake. Only June and it was worse than she’d ever seen it, the algae a scum on the top of the water in the shallow areas and growing in puffy, slimy clouds in the deeper water. The absolute center of the lake was the only place you could escape it.
She frowned, imagining Lexi’s reaction, and worked harder, pulling out the blue-green substance in clumps, the algae clinging to the tines of the rake like mermaid’s hair or long wisps of alien matter—or like a toxic mucous, the green snot indicating the Earth’s fever. She dragged the algae toward the shore and then heaved it up and dumped it on land, where it would bake dry in the sun, turning into hard, matte-colored mounds that dotted the Millers’ shoreline for the rest of the summer.
At this rate, the lake might be unswimmable by August. Or, if you did go in, you’d come out with burning eyes or a rash, as Christmas’s father did one year.
When they were kids, Lexi and Christmas had spent all day in the lake, reading aloud to each other from waterlogged paperbacks as they floated in tubes, diving in to cool down (“here, hold the book for a minute”). Hours swimming and playing, treading water while they talked about everything, as though being in the water together dissolved the barrier between their minds, making them permeable to each other.
But last summer, Lexi had refused to swim in the lake at all. She was disgusted by the algae and would only go in from her grandfather’s boat, in the middle of the lake, and then only to water ski. If she could have skied without getting wet at all, she would have. She told Christmas that she wanted to have children some day and that she didn’t want them to have fins. “I hear they’re expensive to remove,” she’d deadpanned.
Christmas raked harder. It was almost as if she took its presence personally, or as if Lexi’s disgust somehow extended to the entire community and even to Christmas herself. Lexi had teased her in the past about being too attached to the town, but back then it had been okay because Lexi had seemed to share Christmas’s love of Sweet Lake. In the past few years, Lexi’s stays had started getting shorter—and one year she spent only two weeks total at Sweet Lake. But this year she was staying for two whole months. Christmas had set up jobs for them at a community day camp, working Mondays through Thursdays in the basement of the new town hall complex—the same complex at which a meeting was to take place that evening, a meeting to discuss the algae blooms.
Christmas channeled her fear and frustration into the physical labor. The movement-with-a-purpose allowed her brain to disengage a bit, to quiet, to be in the moment and not skittering over today, yesterday, tomorrow. And it helped to keep her from checking her phone every two minutes to see if Lexi had arrived yet.
She was so involved in her raking and thinking that the roaring vehicle was almost upon her by the time she saw it. Of course, it was Cash Ford on his fluorescent yellow Jet Ski whose zipping around she’d pretended to ignore earlier. But now she looked up to see him careening into the shallow water, coming to a dramatic, splashy stop about twenty feet away. He called out, “What the hell are you doing?”
Christmas stood in the churning water, the waves from Cash’s Jet Ski lapping her ankles. “Hi, Cash,” she said. Cash, naturally, was not wearing a life jacket; his tan chest and arms bulged with muscles. She suspected he was flexing, showing off, and she involuntarily rolled her eyes. “Trying to get rid of some of this algae,” she said, her voice a bit squeaky, she thought.
Cash hooted. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. You think that’s gonna make a difference?”
“Well,” Christmas spluttered, finding herself, as she often did, at a loss when faced with her former classmate’s combination of swagger, rudeness, and, sometimes, surprising insight. “Maybe if everyone did this at their lakefront . . . maybe it would help a little.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true.
Cash smirked. “Stop wasting your time and come for a ride with me.”
Christmas shook her head. “No thanks.”
“Aw, come on, Chrissy,” he said. “You know you want to.”
Christmas’s phone, which she’d left on the dock, vibrated. She waded over quickly to retrieve it. Her eyes on her phone, she said to Cash, “I have plans.”
Just got in, Lexi had texted Christmas.
Christmas texted back: Yay! I am waiting on the dock!
When Christmas looked up again, Cash had unceremoniously zoomed off. She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to be inconsiderate; she’d simply been distracted by Lexi’s text. Although even if Lexi wasn’t heading over, there was no way Christmas would have gone Jet Skiing with Cash Ford.
She’d known Cash since they were kids and had a clear memory of first encountering him at a summer library program, when he’d refused to read aloud, refused the ice-cream sandwich he was offered as a treat, and told the librarian that she had a fat ass and shouldn’t have one either. The librarian had scowled and told Cash to put his head down, that she’d have his mother come pick him up if he was going to be so miserable, but Cash didn’t even do that; he stalked out across the parking lot and sat defiantly on top of a big rock.
Christmas remembered her relief when he left. She’d felt bad for the librarian, who Christmas could see was fighting back tears. And, more generally, having Cash around made Christmas nervous, made any situation suddenly unpredictable. Later, when Christmas’s family relocated to Sweet Lake full time (at ten, she became summer people no more), she and Cash were put in the Resource Room together, and Christmas learned that he, too, had a learning disability. As a result, and to Christmas’s chagrin, she and Cash were placed in the same class every year, and often had “extra help” together. That they had this difference in common might have inclined Christmas to be a bit more generous toward Cash, but it didn’t. Instead, it only made her want to further distance herself from him.
Cash probably felt the same way, Christmas reasoned. She assumed that Cash thought she was a kiss-ass, a nerd, a prude. She had to admit, though, that he was usually pretty nice to her, always inviting her to his bonfires (there were many alcohol-fueled parties in a nearby field his dad owned), and once giving her a lift home when he saw her out jogging in a dangerous thunderstorm. And there’d been kind of a thing between them, recently, after the prom. But still. They were like oil and water, Christmas thought, at that moment noticing a rainbow-colored slick on the surface of the lake. Probably left behind by Cash’s stupid Jet Ski.
Christmas looked out at the reflection of the cloudless sky in the water. With the exception of Cash at the far end, the lake was s
Climbing up onto the shore, Christmas grabbed the plump pink duffel—packed earlier with a change of clothes and her ADHD meds—that waited for her on the sloping, clover-filled lawn. She’d been wearing her swimsuit all day and she was ready to go.
Christmas’s earliness, her inability to concentrate on anything else when she knew she had something coming up, this, she had learned, was one of her “ADHD things,” and discovering that it was—if not a symptom, a related condition—was somewhat comforting. Because she had ADHD, she had trouble gauging time and how long things would take. And because she was a people pleaser, because she had anxiety and hated disappointing anyone, she had developed a compulsion for earliness as an overcompensation for what would probably have otherwise been chronic lateness.
Medication helped. A bit.
Christmas stowed her phone in the bag and waited.
And then she’d heard the sputtering of a speedboat come to life, the sound distorted by the flat water as the vehicle backed up from the dock, a buzz as Lexi’s grandfather put the boat in gear and pointed it west, toward Christmas’s house. She skipped down to the end of the dock and waved, her arms wide and joyful, as though they didn’t know exactly where she was, as though the boat was an airplane landing in the fog, as though Lexi was a long-lost traveler at last returned home.
2
Christmas boarded the boat and the girls embraced and squealed and embraced again. Christmas said, “Hi, Mr. Hansen,” and Lexi’s grandfather nodded solemnly in return.
The girls complimented each other—“You look amazing” and “You’re the one who looks amazing!”—and it was true: they’d both grown out of their earlier teenage awkwardness. For Lexi, this meant she’d come to appreciate her curly hair, which she used to try to straighten and tame. Now, a longish, wild, yet stylish bob framed her angular face. And Christmas, who was once too skinny, all knees and elbows, had put on a little weight and become more muscular, and she seemed to have finally won her battle with acne, though faint scars remained on her cheeks.
The friends beamed at each other, the purring of the motor an echo of their vibrating contentment. They’d been texting all morning in anticipation of their first ski of the summer, and they continued talking as Lexi put on her ski belt and the boat moved into the deeper water.
“Mom’s already on the road back to Philly,” Lexi said. “It’s like she’s allergic to this place.” She cast an apologetic glance at her grandfather.
Christmas fed the towline into the water. The boat idling, Lexi gave her friend another hug and said, “This is going to be a great summer.” She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue and leaned over the side of the boat so that she fell sideways, plunging into the water. Her head appeared and she gasped.
“Oh my God, it’s cold!”
Christmas handed a ski over the side of the boat.
Lexi paddled herself into position and then gave the thumbs-up. Christmas turned to Mr. Hansen. “She’s ready!”
The engine roared and the boat pitched forward. There was a moment of Lexi teetering before she was up, smiling, tossing her head with delight and then careening back and forth, weaving over the wake, showboating, waving and mugging, making Christmas laugh. In the hum of the motor, in the cool June afternoon, time stopped, and Christmas felt a sensation akin to, but more pleasant than, boredom. Lexi was happy. The lake was gorgeous. Life felt stunning and eternal, and Christmas was overwhelmed with gratitude as she watched her friend water ski, and she tried to tell herself to mark it and appreciate it, this, the first of many more summer days on Sweet Lake.
After two big laps, Lexi released the tow bar dramatically and put one hand on the back of her head and one hand on her hip, like an old-fashioned pinup. Her body continued forward on the ski until finally, as though on a delay, she began to sink, still holding the pose. Christmas rapped Mr. Hansen on the shoulder. “She’s down!” The old man slowed the engine and turned the big steering wheel.
“That was amazing,” Lexi declared as the boat bobbed near enough for Christmas to lower the ladder.
Lexi climbed up, shimmering and dripping, panting and smiling.
Christmas dove in.
Like Lexi, Christmas burst up from the sharply cold water gasping for breath. Her light brown hair, black from the water, covered her face, and she slicked it back and looked up at Lexi. “I want two skis,” she said.
Lexi rolled her eyes at Christmas’s cautiousness. Two skis were the stuff of novices; they’d moved away from that years ago. “You’re gonna drop one, I hope,” Lexi said, retrieving the second ski from where it was stowed along the side of the boat.
“I’ll see how I feel,” Christmas answered.
“Live dangerously,” Lexi said, laughing, pushing the ski so it would glide to where Christmas was treading water.
Christmas paddled herself to the rope, which slid like a snake just slightly submerged. When she got to the bar, she held on and was dragged a bit by the idling boat and, with her legs bent and her skis pointed up, she enjoyed the familiar tension forecasting the push that would soon send her upright to stand on the water.
“I’m ready,” Christmas called, excited, but also trembling a bit, her stomach fluttering. She’d been skiing since she was eleven, but still, she was fearful in the moment before the boat took off, the moment before she was lifted.
And lifted she was: pulled to standing, blue-black water, so smooth, passing between her skis. Immediately, her body remembered what to do, and she slid across the wake, catching air, racing up alongside the boat only to lose speed, start to sink and be again yanked forward, pitching back across the wake. Lexi waved, gave her a thumbs-up. She held up her phone, taking photos and videos they’d never watch.
Who invented waterskiing? What kind of person thought it would be a good idea to pull a person at high speeds across the water? Christmas marveled at human inventiveness, lunacy.
She dropped a ski in front of the Hansens’ house, wavered, found her balance again. And again across the wake. And again and again. In these moments, flying across the water, Christmas was her most competent, her most confident. She was good at this. So good at this.
But then Lexi was frowning. She was talking to her grandfather, who craned his neck to look behind him as he scowled. He waved an arm as though to say, get lost, and Christmas turned to see that she was being trailed by Cash on his obnoxious Jet Ski. This was not the first time he had annoyed Mr. Hansen by driving too close to a skier. Like dolphins, some Jet Skiers liked to play in the speedboats’ wakes; unlike dolphins, the Jet Skiers were reckless teenage boys operating hundreds of pounds of equipment. Mr. Hansen was endlessly outraged by what he called “those morons,” who wouldn’t stop until someone had gotten really hurt. Lexi and Christmas always assured Mr. Hansen that they never fell anyway—at least not accidentally. But with Cash behind her now, Christmas was self-conscious.
It wasn’t her own ability she worried about. Instead, it was Cash’s overconfidence that scared her. He was way too close; she could sense him right behind her, believed she could feel the breeze as the Jet Ski cut across her wake.
And, unused to the specific exertion of waterskiing, she’d gotten incredibly, alarmingly tired. Her arms and back ached, and her legs shook. She wanted to simply drop the rope and stop skiing, but she was afraid that if she did, Cash, incautious or distracted, would run her over. She imagined the accident, imagined the dull thump of her head against the front of the machine, her ski flying straight up like a straw thrown into a fan, her body sinking to the bottom of the lake.
