It's Not Summer Without You (Summer 2)

Looking out the window, it was impossible to see where the sky ended and the ocean began. I’d forgotten how foggy the mornings could get here. I stood there and tried to get my fill, tried to make the memory last.

Then I ran over to Jeremiah’s and Conrad’s rooms, banging on doors. “Wake up! Let’s get this show on the road!” I yelled, starting down the hall.

I headed downstairs to get a glass of juice, and Conrad was sitting at the kitchen table, where he’d been when I went to sleep around four a.m. He was already dressed and making notes in a notebook.

I started to back out of the kitchen, but he looked up. “Nice pjs,” he said.

I flushed. I was still wearing Taylor’s stupid pajamas. Scowling, I said, “We’re leaving in twenty minutes, so be ready.”

As I headed back upstairs, I heard Conrad say, “I already am.”

If he said he was ready, he was ready. He would pass those exams. He’d probably ace them. Conrad didn’t fail at anything he set his mind to.

An hour later, we were almost on our way. I was locking the glass sliding door on the porch when I heard Conrad say, “Should we?”

I turned around, started to say, “Should we what?” when Jeremiah came out of nowhere.

“Yeah. For old times’ sake,” Jeremiah said.

Uh-oh. “No way,” I said. “No freaking way.”

The next thing I knew, Jeremiah was grabbing my legs and Conrad took my arms, and together they swung me back, then forth. Jeremiah yelled, “Belly Flop!” and they flung me through the air, and as I landed in the pool, I thought, Well, there, they’re finally united on something.

When I surfaced, I yelled, “Jerks!” It only made them laugh harder.

I had to go back inside and change out of my soaked clothes, the clothes I wore the first day. I changed into Taylor’s sundress and her platform sandals. As I wrung out my hair with a hand towel, it was hard to be mad. I even smiled to myself. Possibly the last Belly Flop of my life, and Steven wasn’t there to partake.

It was Jeremiah’s idea to take one car, so Conrad could keep studying on the way. Conrad didn’t even try to take the front seat, he just went straight to the back and started flipping through his note cards.

Predictably, I cried as we drove away. I was just glad I was up front and wearing sunglasses so the boys couldn’t tease me about it. But I loved that house, and I hated to say good-bye. Because, it was more than just a house. It was every summer, every boat ride, every sunset. It was Susannah.

We drove in near silence for a while, and then Britney Spears came on the radio, and I turned it up, loud. It went without saying that Conrad hated Britney Spears, but I didn’t care. I started to sing along, and Jeremiah did too.

“Oh baby baby, I shouldn’t have let you go,” I sang, shimmying toward the dashboard.

“Show me how you want it to be,” Jeremiah sang back, bouncing his shoulders.

When the song changed, it was Justin Timberlake, and Jeremiah did an amazing Justin Timberlake. He was so un-self-conscious and easy with who he was. He made me want to be like that too.

He sang to me, “And tell me how they got that pretty little face on that pretty little frame, girl.” I put my hand on my heart and fake-swooned for him, like a groupie.

“Fast fast slow, whichever way you wanna run, girl.”

I backed him up at the chorus. “This just can’t be summer love . . .”

From the backseat, Conrad growled, “Can you guys please turn the music down? I’m trying to study here, remember?”

I turned around and said, “Oh, sorry. Is it bothering you?”

He looked at me with narrowed eyes.

Without saying a word, Jeremiah turned the music down. We drove for another hour or so and then he said, “Do you need to pee or anything? I’m gonna stop at the next exit for gas.”

I shook my head. “No, but I am thirsty.”

We pulled into the gas station parking lot, and while Jeremiah filled the car up and Conrad napped, I ran into the convenience store. I got Jeremiah and me both Slurpees, half Coke and half cherry, a combination I had perfected over the years.

When I got back to the car, I climbed in and handed Jeremiah his Slurpee. His whole face lit up. “Aw, thanks, Bells. What flavor did you get me?”

“Drink it and see.”

He took a long sip and nodded appreciatively. “Half Coke, half cherry, your specialty. Nice.”

“Hey, remember that time—,” I started to say.

“Yup,” he said. “My dad still doesn’t want anyone touching his blender.”

I put my feet up on the dashboard and leaned back, sipping on my Slurpee. I thought to myself, Happiness is a Slurpee and a hot pink straw.

From the back, Conrad said, irritably, “Where’s mine?”

“I thought you were still asleep,” I said. “And you have to drink a Slurpee right away or it’ll melt, so . . . I didn’t see the point.”

Conrad glared at me. “Well, at least let me have a sip.”

“But you hate Slurpees.” Which was true. Conrad didn’t like sugary drinks, he never had.

“I don’t care. I’m thirsty.”

I handed him my cup and turned around and watched him drink. I was expecting him to make a face or something, but he just drank and handed it back. And then he said, “I thought your specialty was cocoa.”

I stared at him. Did he really just say that? Did he remember? The way he looked back at me, one eyebrow raised, I knew he did. And this time, I was the one to look away.

Because I remembered. I remembered everything.

Chapter forty-one

When Conrad left to take his exam, Jeremiah and I bought turkey and avocado sandwiches on whole wheat bread and we ate them out on the lawn. I finished mine first; I was really hungry.

When he was done, Jeremiah balled up the foil in his hand and threw it into the trashcan. He sat back down next to me in the grass. Out of nowhere, he said to me, “Why didn’t you come see me after my mom died?”

I stuttered, “I d-d-did, I came to the funeral.”

Jeremiah’s gaze on me was steady, unblinking. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I—I didn’t think you’d want me there yet.”

“No, it was because you didn’t want to be there. I wanted you there.”

He was right. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be anywhere near her house. Thinking about her made my heart hurt; it was too much. But the thought of Jeremiah waiting for me to call him, needing someone to talk to, that hurt so bad. “You’re right,” I told him. “I should’ve come.”