Summer of Yesterday (2 page)

According to my father, it was because Mom was “too reckless, too free-spirited.” And in one particular beer-affected conversation, he actually told me there was never a love-at-first-sight factor when meeting her.
Pfft, nice, Dad.

So where does this leave me? In the middle. Not cool, parentals. Not cool.

I can feel the tension in Dad's ten-second silence. “I don't have delusions of a TV family, honey. I was just trying to spend more time with you. That's all.”

“Then, why couldn't we have spent a few days at home on the beach? Alice and Willy would've been fine with
one
day in Disney. Who's the only person who ever wants to spend a whole
week
in Fart Wilderness? You.”

No eye contact from him. But plenty from others around us, including a manager type, for blaspheming about his beloved campground. “Haley, don't be selfish,” Dad grumbles.

Wait. . . . Whoa
. “Me?
You're
the one trying to relive your childhood memories and making
me
pay for it. How does that make me selfish?”

“Stop it now,” he stage-whispers, “or you're going to understand the true meaning of pain. In five . . . four . . . three . . .”

Empty Daddy words that he's been threatening me with since I was a kid. But I'm not a kid anymore. He needs to listen to me. “I hate this place!”

A stunned hush falls over the room.
Great. Now I've done it.

His brown eyes bear down on me, and I know I'm in trouble. But I'm past the point of caring. He ruined my summer plans. How else am I supposed to feel?

His voice is icy. “I've heard enough, Haley. Go wait in the car.”

My eyes sting. They plead with him, but they have no power anymore. Apparently, I have to be Erica for that. “Fine.” I crouch under the ribbon-divider thingy in one swift movement and charge toward the main exit. Everyone in the lobby stares at me, but I don't care. It took me seventeen years to have
one
tantrum. Not bad, if you ask me.

Someone brushes by me on purpose. “Campfire by the Meadow Trading Post tonight. Nine thirty,” a male voice says. When I look up, a guy and a girl about my age are exiting through the other doors. The guy, blond hair hanging in his face, looks back at me, I guess to make sure I heard him.

“It's a lame campfire,” I inform him. “A sing-along and a Disney movie. And it's at seven thirty, not nine thirty.”

A taller, older kid strides past me just then. “Not our campfires.”

Oh. I see.

His dark brown eyes challenge me. “Nine thirty. Without your old man.”

two

W
e drive through the campground in search of our cabin, and all I can think about is the invitation to hang out. I don't know how I'll pull off going alone under the circumstances, but I'm thinking of a plan that sometimes works with my father—entitlement.

We wind through a looped road stemming from a main middle road. All the loops look the same. They all have some fifty cookie-cutter “cabins,” with loglike exteriors, fully equipped kitchens, bedrooms with one double bed and bunk beds, and a little living room with a Murphy bed that folds up into the front wall. When we finally reach our cabin, I pull down the Murphy bed and fling myself onto it.

Entitlement, Act I
. “This one's mine.”

My dad and Erica exchange looks. “That will be fine,” Dad says, “but don't complain when I'm out here making coffee in the morning.”

“Okay.” So far, so good.

We rented an electric cart for getting around the campground, so here comes
Entitlement, Act II
. “I'm also going to need the golf cart tonight when you guys are done with it.”

Erica starts unpacking grocery bags full of food for our home-away-from-home kitchen. “You can't drive it without us, Haley. It's in your father's name.”

“Actually, she can,” Dad mumbles, dodging two screaming, car-liberated preschoolers. “I added her to the contract for emergencies. Minimum driving age is sixteen.”

“Aaaahhhh!” A Willy-like blur runs by.

“I'm gonna eat you!” Alice jumps on Willy's back and tackles him to the ground.

“Really? Thanks, Dad!”

“I said
for emergencies
. I didn't say you could use it.”

“What? Aw, come on.”

“You can't drive yet. Are you purposefully trying to forget everything the doctor said?”

I sit up in protest. “But it's not even real driving. It's a
golf cart
.”

“Can you two argue about it while you help unload the rest of the car, please?” Erica's sighs and huffs emphasize the fact that she's unloading everything herself.

“No problem,” I mutter. Helping them will show how responsible I am. I get up and follow my father outside. “Please, it's the only fun thing to do here. Nothing bad is going to happen. I'll have my phone on me the whole time.”

“You barely reply to my texts, so that's not helping your argu­ment.”

“Okay, I'll reply to your
every
text. Just don't text every two minutes.” I smile. “You told me to have a good time, right? Well, I would have a good time driving the cart around. You know, to explore Fort Wilderness, see what there is to see and stuff.”

“We can explore as a family.”

What?
“No!”

He throws his hands up, then pulls me closer to the car, away from what I can only assume is Erica's range of hearing. “Haley, what is your problem? You're acting like this is all so terrible.”

“It is to me.”

“Really? I would disagree. You're pretty damn lucky to have two families that love you. Stop saying crap like that. Erica takes everything you say very personally.
I
take what you say personally.”

I twist my arm out of his hold. “Why do you always defend Erica's feelings? What about mine?” Yes, I sound whiny, even to my ears, but this is how I feel. He needs to hear it.

He studies my eyes. He looks up and eventually sighs. “If I lend you the golf cart . . .”

Yes . . . ? I'll do anything!

“You're just going to take off, and then we'll never see you. Which is not what we're trying to accomplish here. That is the antisolution.”

“It's just a GOLF CART!” I cry.

But okay . . . okay . . . I need to act more mature for this to work. I lower my voice and try to sound as rational as possible. “Dad, some kids my age are meeting after the campfire tonight. I just want to go see what they're up to. It's probably going to be boring. But I don't want to show up with Daddy and Stepmommy, you know?” My eyes plead with him. “You understand, right? Right, Daddy?”

He doesn't respond. Why is this so hard for him? I'd better start thinking of a Plan B.

I place my hands over his folded arms. “Please? Trust my judgment. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll be fine. Don't you trust your parenting skills enough to be comfortable with the fruits of your labor?” My eyebrows turn up for a very convincing finish.

“It's your mother's parenting skills I worry about.”

“Dad. Not funny.”

He smiles to himself, sighs heavily, and places his hand on the car. “Okay. But you have to answer me every time I text you. Spend the afternoon with us, then after dinner you can take it for a spin.”

“Yes. Thank you.” I throw my arms around him, and he leans in, enjoying the hug.

“Just try to pretend that you love us, okay?”

“What?” I take a step back and look at him hard.

His eyes don't meet mine. He starts grabbing the last of the bags from the trunk.

“Dad, it's not like that. At all. It's just . . .” He never even
asked
where I wanted to go this summer or my opinion on anything. He always used to ask. When it was me, him, and Mom, he would listen to everything I said. Not anymore.

“Don't worry about it, Haley. Just come inside.”

I want to say I'm sorry for acting like a brat, but a part of me really feels he deserved it. For not taking my feelings into consideration. But all I say is, “Thanks, Daddy. I love you.”

He nods. “Love you too.”

I go back inside, feeling victorious but sad. Can't figure out why. I just hang out, watch TV, and play with Willy and Alice as much as I can before it's time to go. I get so caught up in reruns of
The Suite
Life of Zack and Cody
on the closed-circuit Disney Channel that I jump when I see it's past nine thirty p.m. “Gotta go.” I grab the map and kiss the twins, their smooth little faces pressed to my pillows, a breath away from sleepy time.

“Where you going, Tata?” Alice pops up.

I gently guide her back onto the pillow. “I'm going for a ride in the—”

“She's going to the bathroom.” Dad eyes me.

“Right. Bathroom.” Mention a ride in the golf cart, and I'll find myself accompanied by two midgets. “So I'll see you in a bit, okay?”

“No, Tata, don't go.” Alice pouts.

“Yeah, Tata, don't go,” Dad says weakly, but then smiles. “Alice doesn't want you to go . . . so far . . . to the bathroom.”

“Dad. Stop.”

“Don't be too long,” Erica adds from the adjacent kitchen. “We want to leave early tomorrow morning for Magic Kingdom, so you'll need all your energy.”

“Okay.”

“Have fun.” Dad smiles in a sad way. “Come right back if you feel off in any way, you hear?”

“Yes, Dad.” I take the cart key from the kitchen counter. “See you later.” When I step into the hot night and close the door gently behind me, a deep breath fills my lungs and escapes slowly. The silence of the Florida wilderness settles around me as I slide into the golf cart.

My heart races for the first five minutes. I'm out! By myself!

Even with headlights on and the occasional streetlight, I almost miss the street I'm supposed to turn onto, it's so dark. Hard to believe that four theme parks light up the night just a couple of miles away. I recognize the pool I came to last time we were here and turn onto the electric cart road next to it. Driving around the curvy path, I hear movie music, and then slowly, a big outdoor screen appears to my left under the stars. Metal bleachers are full of families watching
Sleeping Beauty
. Nearby are two campfires surrounded by people roasting marshmallows.

I press down on the brake and pocket the key.

Stepping out, crunching over gravel, I scan the amphitheater area for the teens I saw earlier. What if they're not here? Maybe they were messing with me. If that's the case, I'll stay until the movie ends, then drive somewhere else.

“Haley,” someone calls from off to one side. I look around. “Over here.”

Dark figures lounge under a tree behind the concession stand. I head over, letting my eyes adjust again to the dark. As I get closer, I recognize the three kids I saw at registration.

“Hey,” says the only girl. She has shoulder-length light brown hair, streaked with thick blond highlights.

“Hey. How'd you guys know my name?”

The first guy, the one who told me to meet them, breaks a twig and tosses a tiny gravel rock into the space between us. “Everyone in the lobby knew your name.” He chuckles.

We were arguing that loud? Man. “Right.” I put my thumbs into my jean shorts pockets. “So, what are you guys up to?”

“Plotting,” says the girl, eyes focused on the phone lighting up her whole face.

“Plotting what?”

“Something to do.” There's the deeper voice, the other guy who talked to me.

“Are you guys all related?” Not that it matters. Just want statuses.

“We are,” the older one says, pointing at the other boy. “He's my brother. She's some crazy chick we just met.” He smiles, and the girl pegs him with a piece of gravel. “Okay, she and her brother are friends of ours. We stay here for a month every summer.”

“A month?” My eyebrows fly up. I can't imagine any normal family affording that. “You mean in the RVs?”

They nod. Oh, right. I forgot how many people actually live in Fort Wilderness part of the year. I guess that's cool. If you like trees.

“So where's the rest of your families?” I ask, scanning around.

“Different places. My parents are at the camper, sitting outside, having their nightly beers. Dina here”—he gestures to the girl on her phone—“is a year-rounder.”

“You live here all year?” I ask her. I take a seat cross-legged across from them and start yanking at blades of grass poking through the gravel. “Why?” I laugh.

She sits back against the tree. “Not all year. I live in Kissimmee. My dad manages Pioneer Hall, the restaurants and common area over there, so I'm around a lot, like when these guys visit during the summer.”

“So you're Dina,” I say. “And you two are . . .”

“Jacob and Edward,” the older one says, and they all start laughing. “Sorry, I meant . . . I'm Luke, and he's Han.” They stifle smiles this time.

I'm pretty sure those are names from
Star Wars
. “Right, and I'm Chewbacca,” I say.

We all laugh. Dina smacks them both on the arm. “They're stupid and stupider is what they are. This is Rudy and Marcus.” She points out the younger, cuter one as Rudy and the older, taller one as Marcus. “They're from Michigan or something.”

“Minnesota,” Rudy says. He's more my age, while Marcus looks like he might've just graduated high school or even be in college. Rudy has front teeth that slightly overlap each other, but it adds character to his smile. Marcus is a good six inches taller than his brother, and his hair in his face makes his expressions hard to read. Both seem like nice guys, but I can't say I'm drawn to either one of them.

“Minnesota? Wow. So, you're forced on this trip every year?” I ask.

Rudy shrugs. “I wouldn't really say forced. It's a family tradition, since before we were born. We come each summer in three RVs, go to the parks, come back by dinnertime, grill between the campers, then chill the rest of the night. Not a bad deal.”

“Better than the Smokies,” Marcus adds.

“Aw, yeah, the Smokies suck,” Rudy says, making a little gravel pile. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh, uh, I didn't want to come. My friends are all leaving for camp in a week. It's my dad. He made us all come, so I won't be seeing any of my friends again before school starts.”

“And home is?” Marcus looks at me.

“Jupiter.”

“The planet?” Rudy has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“The city in Florida.” Dork. Like I've never heard that one before.

“Oh. Still cool,” he says. “Anyway, we're planning something for tonight, and we need one more person. Dina's brother usually plays with us, but he's not up for it tonight.”

“Why do you need one more person?” I ask.

“Scavenger hunt, so the teams can be even. What about you? You up for it?”

I'd done scavenger hunts before at Ranch Camp. My team, the Panthers, always won, because we had Sean as a secret weapon, and Sean was born to be a Navy SEAL. He could get into any building, steal anything, go anywhere without being seen. I, with a newfound penchant for passing out at unexpected moments, was probably not the best choice for this game.

“I'm not that good at scavenger hunts,” I say. “There could be a dog barking right in front of my face, and I wouldn't see it.”