The Dead of Summer (7 page)

As I stood to my full height, I turned my head to see Carson and Colt still sitting in front of the hedge. Staring at me. Both of them. I swear Colt’s tongue was lolling out of his mouth in disbelief.

“What?” I asked, tucking another escaped curl into my bun.

“Can we stand up or do we have to army crawl over to you?” Carson asked with a smirk.

I blushed. “You can stand up.”

He rose to his feet, tugging at Colt’s leash to get him to also stand. Colt appeared quite put out by the thought of moving from the soft, cool grass to the heat of the day, but rose reluctantly.

When Carson joined me in front of the Yardley family’s house (thank goodness everyone was at work or summer camp or else the annoying Yardley brats would be pressing their runny noses up against the glass, staring at me and Carson), he pointed to my sweatshirt.

“You do know it’s going to be over a hundred again today, right? Maybe you want to leave the sweatshirt at home?”

I blushed, remembering the braless tank-top that I had underneath there. No way was I taking the hoodie off. My oversized girls could not go unsupported like that. They’d likely flop out right in front of Carson. And that would suck because then I’d have to go dig a hole to China to throw myself into.

“I’m fine,” I replied, pulling my arms closer to my body as if to demonstrate that, despite the insane humidity and debilitating heat, I was cold. Which, of course, I wasn’t.

“Suit yourself,” Carson said with a shrug, eyes still hovering over my sweatshirt. I felt like he could see my braless boobs through the material of the sweatshirt like Superman or Spider-Man or whatever comic book hero had X-Ray vision. My cheeks flaming, I wrapped my arms around my body tighter.

“Um, so…” I wasn’t sure what my next move was supposed to be.

Carson was wearing that cute-boy face, making me feel really self-conscious. I grazed my hand across my cheeks, making sure I didn’t have any more remnants of my breakfast on my face. When I felt that I was in the clear, I closed my mouth and ran my tongue over my teeth.

“What?” I asked, still self-conscious.

“Aren’t we gonna go?” He nodded in the direction of downtown.

“Oh. . .yeah.” I tucked my head to my chest and charged ahead. When I was a few paces in front of Carson, it occurred to me,
maybe I should slow down so we can look at each other and talk.
Then, I thought for a second—looking at each other while walking would probably be a bad idea. I’d probably trip over an imaginary crack in the sidewalk and go flailing face first into the grass. Or more likely, the sidewalk itself. I was feeling at quite a loss without Lindy to guide me; I realized I had no idea how to walk next to a boy alone.

“So where are you taking me?” Carson asked, a note of breathlessness in his voice. I was obviously walking too fast. Feeling like an idiot, I slowed down.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Where do you want to go?” I glanced at him briefly, making sure I had one eye on the pesky sidewalk at all times.

He returned my shrug. “That’s why
you’re
showing
me
around, silly.”

“Well, um, I don’t know what you’d like to do,” I managed to croak out.
Why are you being so difficult, Kennedy? He’s going to leave you standing here on Main Street looking like a bag lady, and go find someone else to show him around town. Someone who isn’t tongued tied and blubbery. And wearing a hoodie in June.

Carson stopped in front of Hilda Henderson’s house and leaned all casual-like against the massive oak out front. I sucked in my breath as I instantly saw the curtain part on the second floor. Hilda was one of Novella’s biggest busybodies. If she could figure out her computer, I’m sure she’d have an e-newsletter that went out every hour on the hour.

“What’s the matter?” Carson asked, eyebrow arched inquisitively.

What’s the matter, Kennedy? Scared to be seen with a boy? What are you afraid of? Mama finding out that you weren’t really with Lindy?

“Nothing,” I said, trying to sound breezy and casual. So what if Mrs. Henderson told everyone in town that I was talking to a boy. It’s not like Mama would find out.

But Lindy might find out
.
And that would be
bad
.

Well, it’s not really like you’re going
out
with him, Kennedy. He just wants you to show him around the town. Think of yourself as that helper the teacher calls on to show the new kid around school. It’s the same thing. No more romantic than bringing a classmate to the guidance office.

“So what kind of things do you like to do?” I asked while staring down at the ground.

“I’m pretty flexible,” he said, evading the question. “What kind of things do
you
like to do? What’s your favorite place in town?” he asked, dimple dancing on his cheek.

My throat was a pile of sandbox sand, scratchy and dry. I was afraid to speak, knowing my voice wouldn’t be audible. How was I supposed to tell this gorgeous,
older
guy that my favorite place was a ninety-year-old pile of bricks we called a library in this backassward town?

“Bab’s Beauty Barn?” I lied as I pointed to the store a few paces up the block. Bab’s was the place in town where all the girls went for their mani pedis and beauty supplies. I had actually only set foot in that place once—with Lindy, of course. It reeked of acrylic paint and I spent the afternoon dry heaving in the bin behind the store.

“You don’t sound too confident,” Carson teased as we walked in that direction. “And you don’t strike me like the beauty barn type.”

I halted and crossed my arms over my chest.
What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m butt ugly and obviously don’t care about my looks?

“Why not? You don’t know me,” I snapped. The second the words were out of my mouth I wished I could reel them back through the air like a fish on a hook.
Shut up, Kennedy! You’re gonna ruin it with this guy!

He stepped closer to me and grinned. The air between us was actually crackling. “I can tell. I’m good at reading people. You’re not the superficial type. You’re the kind of girl who wants people to know you for who you are and not what you look like.” His eyes appraised me appreciatively and then suddenly he turned shy.

My mouth hung open.
I still don’t know—is he calling me ugly?

“Well I usually don’t look like this,” I stammered, glancing down at my hideous attire. I starting walking again. “I just woke up, you know.”

“Oh, I’m not saying you look bad,” Carson quickly said, following me. “You just didn’t strike me as the kind that gets her nails done and worries about flat-ironing her hair and having the latest clothes. I thought maybe you were more the kind that likes to read and go for walks.”

That’s exactly the kind of girl I am. But is that the kind of girl you’re looking for?

I was about to answer when Carson asked, “What’s that pain in the ass friend of yours up to today? What’s her name? Lindsay?”

“It’s
Lindy
,” I mumbled, despondent despite the fact he called Lindy a pain in the ass.
Of course. Every boy wanted to know what Lindy was up to
.

“Whatever,” he shrugged. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl you’d be friends with. She’s really superficial, isn’t she?”

Confused and slightly annoyed, I asked, “What do you mean? You only met us yesterday. You don’t know how we are.”

Carson’s cheeks prickled with red spots as sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’ve seen you guys around,” he mumbled, suddenly fascinated with the weeds growing out of the sidewalk cracks.

Instantly, it became clear. The shadow I thought I saw in the woods the day before and how Carson knew where I lived. He had been following us! Or rather, he had been following Lindy. That was much more likely. Immediately, I felt like an idiot.
Of course he’s only talking to you to find out more about Lindy. He’s just like every other guy. A classic get-to-Lindy move. Duh. Why would you think he was interested in you? Sometimes you’re a real moron, Kennedy.

“Oh, well then. I’ve got to go. Lindy should be home if you’d like to go talk to her. You know where she lives.” And then I had the urge to hurt his feelings. “But I wouldn’t bother. She doesn’t like you anyway.” I pivoted on my heel, intending to march away, but Carson grabbed my arm before I could have my drama queen moment.

“Hey!” I yelped as he pulled me closer. There was a small crowd gathering in front of the aforementioned Bab’s Beauty Barn, girls I went to school with staring wide-eyed at me and whispering.

“I don’t want to talk to Lindy. I don’t even like her. She’s fake. I want to talk to you,” Carson replied, his brown eyes twinkling, his mouth dangerously close to mine. I recoiled, my brain not computing what was going on.

He doesn’t like Lindy? How is that possible? Does he like
me
? Is he gonna kiss me? Oh dear God not now! Not on the morning I forgot to brush my teeth!
I yanked my arm away and tripped over the ginormous tree root that was creeping out of the ground, resulting in an oh-so-dainty face plant into the dirt.

As I laid on the ground, I wanted the tree to open into a secret compartment and swallow me up, like in
The Princess Bride
. I screwed my eyes shut, tempted to tap my heels together and think,
There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.

When I opened my eyes though, I was still on Main Street, Carson standing over me with an amused look on his face. “You okay?” he asked, stretching out a hand to help me up.

“I’m fine,” I said indignantly, refusing his help and struggling to my feet on my own. No need to make this more humiliating than it already was, right?

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“It’s okay. I bleed all the time,” I quickly told him as I glanced at my knee, blood dribbling down my shin.
What? I bleed all the time? Who says stuff like that? Stop talking, Kennedy! Get up and stop talking for the love of God!

As I got my bearings, I heard a car honk from the other side of the street.

“Hey klutz!” Lindy’s voice floated through the air.

I groaned inwardly.
Awesome. Could this day get any worse?
Cue the camera crew and the newspaper reporters!
I could see the headlines now, “Kennedy Ryan Face Plants in Front of Cutest Boy in Town
and
Lindy Lincoln! Who Will Be Her Friend Now?” I might as well change schools now.

But then, Lindy became my savior as she called out, “Get in the car! We’re going for my dress fitting!”

I glanced at Carson for a split second, brushing the dirt off my bloody knees. “I’ll, uh, see you around, I guess.”

Without waiting for his response, I darted toward Lindy’s waiting car, nearly getting flattened by Mr. Crumley (the town’s oldest resident) and his moped (which he should
not
be driving).

The Lincolns’ driver, David, was in the front seat with an impatient Mrs. Lincoln, who was tapping her freshly manicured nails on the passenger side window. She craned her neck toward the back seat as I climbed into the car. Mrs. Lincoln gasped as she got a look at me. “Kennedy! Your knees are a wreck!”

For a second, I thought she’d fallen, hit her head, and had discovered she actually had a maternal bone in her body. However, she finished her statement with, “Don’t get any blood on the leather! David just had this detailed. Isn’t that right, David?” She stroked the young, good looking driver’s arm with her blood red nails. He tensed up, his face appearing pained, but didn’t move a muscle. He knew exactly how to keep his well-paying, cushy job.

“Ewww, Kennedy,” Lindy said, as the car pulled away from the curb with alarming speed. “What are you wearing? And what were you doing with
Carson
?”

I peered out the window in time to see Carson shoving his left hand deep into his pocket and sauntering away in the opposite direction, Colt tugging on the leash he held with his other hand.

“I have no idea,” I replied.

A few days went by and I didn’t see Carson again making me pretty certain I had totally misread his signals. Besides the fact that I had made a complete fool out of myself, tripping all over the sidewalk, I wasn’t sure if he was actually into me or not. Still, I spent several hours a day tucked under Lindy’s hydrangea bush in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him ambling past, whistling while he swung Colt’s leash around. All of those hours were when Lindy was not home; she was in town having a “tasting” for her party and yet another
dress fitting.

After the last horrible trip, I had no desire to traipse through the town, having lunch at a swanky restaurant and calling everyone “dah-ling”. I had felt like an absolute ass in my pajama bottoms with my bloody knees knocking while I shopped with Lindy and her mama that day. The girls in the dress fitting shop had spent the entire time whispering about me and I overheard one tell the other that I was Lindy’s cousin with special needs. I should have just gotten a helmet to top off the look. Or hid in the car to do Sudoku puzzles with David.

Lindy had begged me (demanded actually) to come along with her to the tasting, but I had gotten out of it by claiming my mama wouldn’t let me go. Lindy huffed off, making it very clear that I wouldn’t get to light one of her candles at the party unless I was a better best friend. I didn’t really care about the stupid candles. In fact, I thought the whole party was dumb. I couldn’t imagine how demanding Lindy would be if she was ever a bride.

So instead of spending the days with my best friend, caviar, and other vomit-inducing delicacies, I found myself reading the racy novel I had picked up from the library. I had to admit, it made me blush and actually feel a little tingly in places I was definitely not used to feeling tingly in. I didn’t want to read it anywhere near Mama, afraid she would scold me for such a trashy choice, or worse, want to read it herself. I honestly didn’t realize that people
did
the things that were described in that book. I was slightly grossed out, yet oddly riveted. The writing flowed like poetry in a way.

In fact, I was so inspired by the flowery writing that I started doodling poems on the scrap of paper I was using for a bookmark. Really sappy girlie poems. I was practically ashamed of what I was writing, but I couldn’t help myself.