for sadness. He reaches for me,
pulls me against the comforting
beat of his heart. Oh, baby,
he whispers. I’m so sorry.
“I don’t … I just … never
talk about it.” That part is true.
You don’t have to talk about
it. Sorry I brought it up.
He kisses my forehead, down
my left temple, the corner of
my eye. Some weird instinct
I never knew I possessed turns
my face into his, and suddenly
we’re kissing a for-real, deadly
serious kiss. His lips are soft.
Warm. Yielding. His tongue,
when it comes, is gentle. Inviting.
My own tongue is accepting and …
SURPRISE NUMBER THREE
Some totally foreign parts
of my body awaken suddenly.
Oh my God. That’s what it’s all
about! We are kissing. Tongue
on tongue. I can’t believe it’s
so easy. So wondrously,
perfectly, impossibly me.
I am breathless, but I don’t
want to fight the sensation. For
once, not breathing feels right.
I am tingling, too. But in
all the right places.
I DARE
To open my eyes, only to find
Bryce staring at me.
Wow. You know the old saying,
“You’re beautiful when you cry”?
Well, you definitely are.
“I’m not cry—,” I start, but when
his hand brushes my cheekbone,
his fingers come away wet.
“I guess I am, huh? I’m sorry,
I … uh …” He stops me with
one tear-damp finger against
my lips. Shh. Nothing to be sorry
about. He kisses me again,
and this one is even sweeter,
despite a lingering essence
of Esperanza’s world-famous
salsa. Not to mention a spicy
taste in my own mouth. Guilt.
Summer
CRAZY
If I had to use one word
to sum up my life now,
that’s what it would be.
Insane,
pure and simple. Here
I try to do the right thing,
attempt to be one of the
heroes.
What does it get me?
A life tossed into turmoil,
any pretense of stability
shattered. It takes
super-
human strength to get
through the day when
evening might bring pain
or
worse, love, only to have
that love stolen away.
I hold tight to my heart,
otherwise
it might get broken into
tiny little pieces. Taking
a chance on that would
mean you definitely
have to be crazy.
THAT KIND OF DENIAL
Of course means
I must be in love.
Fighting that love
as best I can.
It’s a hopeless battle.
I’m already heart-deep.
Don’t want to be.
Love scares me.
Do want to be.
Love summons me.
Don’t want to be.
It’s an illusion.
Do want to be.
It’s pure magic.
Don’t want to be.
He will smother me.
Do want to be.
He takes my breath away.
WHETHER OR NOT
I want to love Kyle, I do. I have
been avoiding Matt, and he doesn’t
know why. He’s hurt and I should
confess, but I have no clue how
to say good-bye. All I know
is that the only splinter of happiness
I find in each day is when Kyle
is near me. Life is currently a vortex.
The incident with Erica exploded
completely. Human shrapnel
flew. Our mutual caseworker,
Mrs. Shreeveport, is still trying
to sort things out. She yanked
us both out of there immediately.
Ah, but just where to put us?
There was only one foster care
opening—so many messed-up kids,
so few places for them. Erica posed
the biggest risk right then. What to
do with a possible sexual offender?
Now, though, I hear they may send
her back to Darla and Phil’s.
Ashante is too scared to tell
what really happened. Poor little kid.
So begins the end of innocence.
AND ME?
Too bad, so sad. Nowhere else close
to send me, I ended up back with my dad,
at least for now. I can’t stand it here.
I mean, at least foster homes are required
to maintain a certain level of cleanliness.
Not like Dad’s deteriorating single-wide
on a dirt road near a dairy farm at the far
edge of town. Everything here is layered
in tobacco smoke and cow shit dust
and carries a lingering scent of human
piss because neither Dad nor his latest lay,
Kortni, knows how to use a toilet brush.
My first instinct upon arrival was to pick
up the litter on the floor, toss the food,
molding in the fridge. Then it struck me.
Why do any of that? If I do, they’ll expect it,
maybe think God returned me from foster
care to become their designated housekeeper.
I hope I’m not here long enough for the trash
to gross me out completely. Bad enough
I have to lay my head on the same old pillow
I used when Zoe still lived here with us.
It was clean then. Everything was—Zoe
reigned as scrub queen. Something to do
with the little bugs she imagined everywhere,
including under her skin. Meth addicts
pick those nonexistent bugs into sores.
Pretty sure Dad doesn’t do meth anymore.
You can’t eat like he does or wear such
a big belly while dancing with the monster.
He cleaned up when Grandma Jean
and Grandpa Carl took him to court over me.
Guess, win or lose, he decided to stay ice free.
Noticed I didn’t say bad habit free. He chugs
cheap beer, and the smell of weed
has become a daily welcome home
in the two weeks since I’ve been back.
He even asked if I wanted a hit once, but the idea
of smoking with my dad seemed messed up.
I hate that he made that offer to me. Hate
that he doesn’t think better of me.
Hate him for not really wanting me here.
ONE OKAY THING
About being here. Neither Dad
nor Kortni really cares about
when, if, or how I come or go.
They barely take notice at all.
Other than school, I’m free.
The main problem is transportation.
It’s a long way to civilization,
if you can call anything about
Bakersfield civilized. To find
something to do on this Sunday
morning, I need a ride into town.
Dad is still sleeping off too much
Saturday night fun. I should
call Matt. Have him come get
me, apologize for being so cold.
&nb
sp; He’s such a nice guy, at least
for the most part. I mean, pretty
much every guy is about feeling
you up when he can, right?
But Matt’s never pushed me to go
all the way. Never once raised
his voice to me. Never once
made me feel less because
of where I came from. And
somehow that makes him boring.
SO INSTEAD
Of calling Matt, when I pick up
the phone, the numbers I punch
in add up to Kyle. B-r-r-r-n-g.
Why am I doing this? B-r-r-n-g.
He won’t be home anyway.
B-r-r-n-g. He’s out having fun—
H-hello? Definitely Kyle on
the other end. Was he sleeping?
“Oh, hey. It’s me. Did I wake you
up?” The long pause that follows makes
me wonder, “Do you know who this is?”
Of course. Wide awake now.
What’s up? Everything okay?
Nerves strike suddenly, try to
shut me up. “I-I’m fine. I just
have some free time today and …”
And what, Summer? “And thought
maybe you could pick me up….”
Bad choice of words. “Uh, come
get me. Maybe hang out for
a while? I’m at my dad’s, and
claustrophobia is making me insane.”
THERE, SAID IT
This time there is no hesitation.
Thought you’d never ask. Give
me about a half hour, okay?
Over and out. It’s a very long
thirty minutes, watching for dust
clouds blowing this direction.
Finally, though, a big puff of gray
signals Kyle’s F-250 is coming
this way. My pulse picks up speed.
I leave a note: Went into town
with a friend. Back before dark.
Not sure why I bother. Dad
and Kortni will probably
just be rousing around then.
Hey, maybe they’re vampires.
On the more likely chance that
they’re not, I grab my hoodie
and head out the door. No need
for verbal explanations when
a written one will do. Kyle skids
his truck to a stop in the gravel.
He slides across the seat,
opens the passenger door.
Get in, he says. Where to?
FAIR QUESTION
After all, this was my idea.
But I don’t have a destination
in mind. I shrug. “Anywhere.”
He grins. Anywhere it is.
He starts the truck, which
hums gently. Well-tuned.
We bump down the dirt
track, turn onto the blacktop
away from town, toward
the state park. The road
winds along the Kern River.
Ever rafted this section?
I shake my head. “Heard
it’s fast through here.” I don’t
mention my water paranoia.
I’ll take you in the spring.
It’s more than fast. It’s ball-
shrinking crazy. And cold.
I laugh. “I’ll take your word
for it.” I look over at him,
can’t help but stare at his
incredible physique. Only
problem is, he catches me.
What? Something wrong?
“No.” Is he kidding? Just
being here so close to him
makes everything, “Perfect.”
It’s close to an invitation.
Kyle takes the opportunity
to ask, So what got into you?
I understand the question,
but pretend I don’t. “What do
you mean? Got into me how?”
We’ve been traveling at
a good clip. He slows down
now. Why did you call me?
A direct question deserves
an equally direct answer.
“I wanted to be with you.”
Well, if that’s the case …
His hand finds my thigh,
pulls. Come over here.
I’VE BEEN THIS CLOSE
To Kyle before, but never with the same
intention. Not sure where he’ll decide
to park, but I do know when we get there
everything will be different between us.
We will no longer be two sides of a triangle.
We will be adjacent parallel lines.
My own hand travels the length of his leg,
from knee to groin, memorizing the cut
of his muscles. You’re driving me crazy,
he says breathlessly. But then you’ve
been driving me crazy for a while.
I just have to know: Why? Why now?
“I don’t know. I love Matt, really I do.
But more like a friend. Not like … this.”
At the mention of Matt, Kyle tenses.
Matt. Right. He’s going to be pissed.
I pull my hand away. Slide over a little.
“It’s not too late. We don’t have to …”
Yes, we do. He pulls me against him again.
Put your hand back where it belongs.
HE TURNS OFF THE MAIN ROAD
Onto a narrow strip of potholed
pavement. It leads to a small parking
area. River access, and this time
of year, there’s no one else here.
My heart beats against my chest
like eagle wings against heavy air.
Kyle throws the shifter into park,
pushes me over enough to slide
out from beneath the steering
wheel. In almost the same motion,
he yanks me into his lap and our
lips weld together. Heated. Urgent.
This is not a kiss of friendship.
This is a kiss born of lust, and I have
This is unstoppable, no holds
barred. This is beautiful.
Crazy. A beginning. Betrayal.
Addictive. Aggressive. Alive.
This is something to be afraid of.
I AM CERTAIN OF THAT
Yet even as my brain cries, “Slow down,”
my body insists, “Give me more.” Kyle’s
hands move over me and his touch
is nothing like Matt’s clumsy
investigation. Somehow, these
hands have intimate knowledge
of the heights and depths of my body.
Their skin is unimaginably soft.
But they are not gentle. “Easy …,”
I start, but as the word leaves
my mouth, I realize I don’t want
it easy. And Kyle knows it too.
Shush, he commands. Don’t tell me
what to do. I know what you want
and I’m going to give it to you.
His words bring a rush of fear
and, worse, excitement. He lifts
my shirt up over my head, kisses
down my neck to the deep V
between my breasts. Pauses.
You are incredible. Beautiful.
I look down into his upturned
eyes, and though he doesn’t say
so, I know he wants my permission.
In answer, I unclasp my bra, offer
myself to his mouth, his tongue,
his teeth. This is already more
than I’ve given Matt, or ever will.
Superego whispers, “How far are you
willing to go?” But I don’t have to
answer that question yet. I place
my hands on Kyle’s cheeks, lift
his face toward mine. He pulls
away reluctantly, like an infant
intent on dinner. But he lets me
kiss him softly, cool the inferno.
“I didn’t come here with you
because I want to have sex
with you.” I kiss him again,
feel the heat of his response
beneath me. Still, he asks reasonably,
Why did you come here with me?
A BATTLE BEGINS
Inside me. Head versus
heart. Logic versus emotion.
And every synaptic surge of
logic
is telling me not to let
my mouth spill
the words my heart
insists
are true. Any girl ever
stung in this common
manner would agree
it’s
a bad move to confess
such a strong emotion
so quickly. In fact, it’s
idiocy.
So okay. I’m stupid.
I don’t stop myself,
but rather rush
to say,
“I know I shouldn’t tell
you this, but I wanted to
be with you because …
I love you.”
I EXPECT HIM
To laugh. Snort. Push me
away. What I don’t expect
is for him to knit his fingers into
mine and say, I love you, too.
God, Summer, don’t you realize
how hard it’s been to feel like this
about my best friend’s girl? How
it hurts to see you with him?
It’s torture. I’ve wanted a day
like today for a long, long time.
One hand rises to touch my still
exposed right breast. This time
he is gentle. I close my eyes, give
myself to the dizzying sensation.
“So what are we going to do?
About Matt, I mean.” The hand
falls away. We tell him. Tomorrow.
You’re mine now. Nothing can
come between us, especially
not Matt. Understand?
SUDDENLY I’M UNCOMFORTABLE
But it’s not the tone of his voice—
inflexible, with jealous undertones—
that makes me that way. It’s how
I’ve been kneeling, legs spread
across his lap, for twenty minutes.
When I try to move, he stops
me. No. Not till you say you
understand. You and Matt
are finished, right? He sounds