The Summer I Turned Pretty (Summer 1)

Cam seemed to know everybody. He said hi, shoulder-bumping guys and hugging girls. He introduced me. He called me his friend Flavia. "Meet my friend Flavia," he said. "This is Kinsey. This is his house."

"Hi, Kinsey," I said.

Kinsey was sprawled out on the couch, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. He had a scrawny bird chest. He didn't

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look like a meth dealer. He looked like a paperboy.

He took a gulp of beer and said, "My name's not really Kinsey. It's Greg. Everybody just calls me Kinsey."

"My name's not really Flavia. It's Belly. Only Cam calls me Flavia."

Kinsey nodded like that actually made sense. "You guys want something to drink, there's a cooler in the kitchen."

Cam said, "Do you want something to drink?"

I wasn't sure if I should say yes or not. On the one hand, yeah, I kind of did. I never drank. It would be, like, an experience. Further proof that this summer was special, important. On the other hand, would he be grossed out by me if I did? Would he judge me for it? I didn't know what the straight edge rules were.

I decided against it. The last thing I needed was to smell like Clay had the other night. "I'll have a Coke," I told him.

Cam nodded, and I could tell he approved. We headed over to the kitchen. As we walked, I heard little snatches of conversation--"I heard Kelly got a DUI and that's why she isn't here this summer." "I heard she got kicked out of school." I wondered who Kelly was. I wondered if I'd recognize her if I saw her. It was all Steven and Jeremiah and Conrad's fault--they never took me anywhere. That was why I didn't know anybody.

All of the chairs in the kitchen had purses and jackets

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on them, so Cam moved over some empty beer bottles and made an empty space on the counter. I hopped up and sat on it.

"Do you know all these people?" I asked Cam.

"Not really," he said. "I just wanted you to think I was cool."

"I already do," I said, and I blushed almost immediately.

He laughed like I had made a joke, which made me feel better. He opened up the cooler and pulled out a Coke. He opened it and handed it to me.

Cam said, "Just because I'm straight edge doesn't mean you can't drink. I mean, I'll judge you for it, but you can still drink if you want to. That was a joke, by the way."

"I know," I said. "But I'm good with this Coke." Which was true.

I took a long sip of my Coke and burped. "Scuse me," I said, unraveling one of my braids. They were already too tight, and my head felt sore.

"You burp, like, baby burps," he said. "It's kind of gross but also kind of cute."

I unraveled the other braid and hit him on the shoulder. In my head I heard Conrad go, Ooh, you're hitting him now. Way to flirt, Belly, way to flirt. Even when he wasn't there, he was there. And then he really was.

Out of nowhere, I heard Jeremiah's signature yodel on the karaoke machine. I bit my lip. "They're here," I said.

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"You want to go out and say hi?" "Not really," I said, but I hopped down from the counter.

We went back to the living room, and Jeremiah was center stage, falsetto and singing some song I'd never heard of. The girls were laughing and watching him, all googly-eyed. And Conrad, he was on the couch with a beer in his hand. Red Sox girl was perched on the armrest next to him, leaning in close and letting her hair fall in his face like a curtain that encased the two of them. I wondered if they'd picked her up, if he'd let her sit shotgun.

"He's a good singer," Cam said. Then he looked where I was looking and said, "Are he and Nicole together?"

"Who knows?" I said. "Who cares?"

Jeremiah spotted me then, as he bowed at the end of his song. "Belly! This next song goes out to you." He pointed at Cam. "What's your name?"

Cam cleared his throat. "Cam. Cameron."

Jeremiah said right into the mike, "Your name is Cam Cameron? Damn, that sucks, dude." Everyone laughed, especially Conrad, when just a second ago he'd looked so bored.

"It's just Cam," Cam said quietly. He looked at me then, and I was embarrassed. Not for him, but of him. I hated them for that.

It was like Conrad and Jeremiah had deemed him

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unworthy and so I had to too. It was funny how I'd felt so close to him just a few minutes before.

"Okay, Cam Cameron. This song goes out to you and our favorite little Belly Button. Hit it, ladies." Some girl pushed the play button on the remote. "Summer lovin', had me a blast ..."

I wanted to kill him, but all I could do was shake my head at him and glare. It wasn't like I could grab the mike out of his hand in front of all these people. Jeremiah just grinned at me and started to dance. One of the girls sitting on the floor jumped up and started dancing with him. She sang the Olivia Newton-John part, off-key. Conrad watched in his amused, condescending way. I heard someone say, "Who is that girl anyway?" She was looking right at me as she said it.

Next to me, Cam was laughing. I couldn't believe it. I was dying of embarrassment and he was laughing. "Smile, Flavia," he said, poking me in the side.

When someone tells me to smile, I can't help it. I always do.

Midway through Jeremiah's song, Cam and I walked out--without even looking, I knew Conrad was watching us.

Cam and I sat on the staircase and talked. He sat on the step above me. He was nice to talk to, not intimidating at all. I loved the way he laughed so easily--not like with Conrad. With Conrad you had to work hard for

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every smile. Nothing ever came easy with Conrad.

The way Cam was leaning into me, I thought he might try to kiss me. I was pretty sure I'd let him. But he'd lean in and scratch his ankle, or tug at his sock, and then shift away, and then he'd do it again.

When he was in the middle of a lean in, I heard pissed off, belligerent voices coming from the deck outside. One of them was definitely Conrad's pissed off, belligerent voice. I jumped up. "Something's going on out there."

"Let's check it out," said Cam, leading the way.

Conrad and some guy with a barbed wire tattoo on his forearm were arguing. The guy was shorter than Conrad, but stockier. He was packing some serious muscle, and he looked like he was, like, twenty-five. Jeremiah watched, bemused, but I could tell he was alert, ready to jump in if he needed to.

To Jeremiah I whispered, "What are they fighting about?"

He shrugged. "Conrad's wasted. Don't worry about it. They're just showing off."

"They look like they might kill each other," I said uneasily.