Cruel Summer (2 page)
Though I’m still not sure how it happened. It’s like, one moment, I’d been secretly worshipping her from afar, going all the way back to elementary school when I’d pretend to make fun of her hairstyles and mannerisms (but only because my one and only friend at the time truly did despise her, which made me feel like I had to hide the fact of how I wanted to be just like her), and the next, in a complete and total fluke which also turned out to be a moment of complete and total kismet, I’d scored the winning goal in a down and dirty game of fifth-period PE volleyball, after which she came right up to me and said, “Hey, way to score.”
And then she high-fived me.
And then she complimented me on my brand-new Nikes.
And the next thing I knew, I was pretty much her new best friend.
Which kind of required me to get rid of my old best friend.
But since we were kind of in a fight anyways, I decided to go with it and never look back.
Anyway, all of this happened just in time for what was gearing up to be the most amazing summer of my, so far mostly unamazing seventeen years, which, now, because of my parents, their attorneys, and my mother’s personal guidance counselor, has been tragically edited down to just one single night.
Still, as far as nights go, I have to admit it
WAS
pretty incredible (hence the two hours past curfew return!) and since it’s most likely the only great night I’ll ever get, I should probably write it all down so I’ll always remember it.
Only not now, later. Because now, the flight attendants are bringing the meals and I’m starving.
June 17
Dear Mom and Dad,
You may notice that this letter is written on a Coke-stained Ellas Ferry Lines cocktail napkin. Well, that’s because I’m now on the boat to Tinos. That’s right,
THE BOAT.
Because apparently there is no airport in Tinos, which means you are sending me to a place that planes refuse to land in.
Thanks for that.
Though what you may not have realized is that planes do land in Mykonos, lots of them. Which only makes me wonder why you couldn’t have sent me there instead? Because according to the superhot Italian guy I sat next to on the flight from Athens to Mykonos (and his boyfriend),
NOBODY
goes to Tinos.
Nobody but, oh yah, that’s right—
ME.
At first I was thinking I’d use this napkin to get rid of my gum, but then I realized that would only deprive you of seeing the unhappy results of your decision.
Love,
The extremely unhappy but not like you care—
Colby
Colby’s Journal for Desperate Times When the Electrical Outlet Is so Weird She Can’t Even Plug in Her Computer to Recharge It
June 18
I don’t even know what time it is, much less what day. All I know is that I just woke up and it’s dark out, but whether it’s night dark or early morning dark, I can’t be sure. The only thing I know is that my room looks like this:
Smooth white walls
White filmy curtains
White marble floors
White sheepskin rug on white marble floors
Single bed with white sheets and sky blue comforter
White bedside table with small silver lamp with sky blue shade
So basically, you could say it looks a lot like the view from seat 37G—nothing but white, white, white, with the occasional small pocket of blue. And oh yeah, the electrical outlet is all weird and different and absolutely refuses to cooperate with my computer plug, and it makes me wonder what the rest of the house is like too. I mean, I barely got a chance to see it, because the second my aunt Tally showed me my room, I pretty much fell face-first on my bed. Partly because I was tired from the twenty-two hours of nonstop traveling, and partly because crying always exhausts me like that.
That’s right, I cried.
In public.
Like the world’s most pathetic baby.
It’s like, the second I’d finished writing that napkin letter to my parents I felt so angry and frustrated and sad, I just broke down in tears. And even though I knew it was stupid and embarrassing and childish, I couldn’t stop. I guess it just needed to come out, so there wasn’t much I could do about it.
But when I finally calmed down enough to look around, I noticed this really old lady dressed in all black, and she was totally staring at me, though not in a kind grandmotherly way like you’d think. So I grabbed my bags and went outside, where I stood on deck, gazing back at where I came from, wondering what would happen if I just turned around and took the next boat back to Mykonos, found a job, a place to live, and settled in without ever contacting anyone to tell them where I am and what I’m up to. Just start over, build a new life, and grow old. Never to return.
I mean, how would my parents feel
THEN?
It’s funny how just fantasizing about getting revenge can actually make you feel better. So after imagining my parents so frantic with grief, worry, and guilt they vow to halt the divorce and bring me back home, I wiped my face and gazed toward Tinos, and that’s when I noticed this really cute guy standing just a few feet away.
And just as I thought—
hey, maybe things are starting to look up, maybe this won’t be so bad after all,
I glanced down at my hands and saw how they were all black, and inky, and streaked with mascara, which meant that my face was probably all black, and inky, and streaked with mascara too. Which was probably the only reason he was even looking at me to begin with. So I ran back inside to search for a bathroom so I could clean myself up, but then right when I found one, the horn blew, and from the way everyone stampeded for the exit, I figured it meant we were there.
It’s weird how I recognized my aunt right away even though the last time I saw her I was just two, and it’s not like I can even remember that time. But still, I just took one look at her and I
knew
. Though it’s not because she looked like someone’s crazy aunt. It was more because she looks a lot like my mom. Well, if my mom was relaxed and happy, and had kept her original nose, and let her blond bob grow back out to its natural brown waviness, and then dressed in beachwear all the time and not just when she was actually at the beach or by the pool.
Okay, so I just looked outside again and I’m guessing it’s
A.M
. since the sun is now rising. So I think I’ll stop writing and go outside, and try to figure out just where the heck I am.
Twenty Minutes Later:
Okay, all I know is this—I can totally see part of Mykonos from here. And let me just say that even at a distance I can tell it’s a helluva lot better than this place.
I’m so screwed.
I think Tally just woke up.
Twelve Hours Later:
How I Spent My First Day in
PrisonGreece
1) I woke up (duh).
2) I wrote in my journal.
3) I went exploring on my own and discovered that I am surrounded by: dirt, white houses, geraniums, more dirt, rocks, and if I crane my neck a certain way I have a pretty good view of both the sea and Mykonos—which, I can tell just from looking, is a gazillion times better than here.
4) I got through a very awkward breakfast with my aunt Tally that consisted of bread with butter and honey, along with a completely horrible cup of coffee that not only tasted like mud but actually
TURNED INTO MUD
when I let it sit too long. Seriously! And I did everything in my power not to vomit that first sip back up (because that would be both rude and gross). Though I think Tally could tell by my face how much I hated it, because she just started laughing and said I was under no obligation to finish it. And all I can say is if the rest of Greece is as bad as their coffee, then this summer is going to suck even more than I thought.5) During breakfast Tally tried to get me to open up about the divorce, but luckily, when I made it clear it wasn’t on my list of favorite things to talk about, she let it go. Then she just started talking about herself, and how she came here fourteen years ago and never looked back. And when I asked her why she didn’t go to Mykonos instead, she just shook her head and said that wasn’t her scene. Which I took to mean that she has a very high tolerance for boredom, because from what I’ve seen so far, that’s about all this place has to offer.
6) After breakfast, I tried to be polite and help with the dishes, but Tally just shook her head and waved me away so I went back to my room where I took a shower and unpacked.
7) After, we walked into town (um, if you can even call it a “town,” I mean, it’s really more like a tiny village, but whatever) so Tally could show me where her shop (where she sells her jewelry and stuff), the bank, the market, and a couple other places I might need are located—even though they’re pretty much all lined up on the same small street. And when I asked her where the big stores are, you know like the department stores and stuff, she just laughed and said, “In Athens.”
8) After my tour of the town, we walked back home and got in her jeep and then she drove me all around the island so I could look at more dirt, more geraniums, more rocks, and more white houses.
9) And after two hours of that, she asked me if I wanted to go to the beach, but I just shook my head and told her I was jet-lagged. And even though I’m not really sure what being jet-lagged actually feels like, I’m thinking if it resembles anything remotely like sadness, depression, and complete and overwhelming despondency, then I totally was not lying.
10) In the evening, I emerged from my
prison cellroom just long enough to have a dinner of Greek salad (decent,no, good actually, though by no means great) and some Greek casserole dish that I won’t even try to pronounce, much less spell, but that tasted like some seriously messed-up lasagna. And then I said good night, and went back to bed.
The End.
P.S. The good news is I have about seventy-five more days ahead of me that promise to be exactly like this one. Yippee!
Colby’s Journal for Desperate Times When There’s No Logical Explanation for What Is Happening to Her
June 19
Okay, so apparently my mom was
not
joking. And I didn’t mention this before because I was really hoping that she and Tally were in cahoots, playing some kind of messed-up mind game. But evidently, I’m completely cut off from the outside world. Because not only does my aunt Tally not have a computer or Internet access, but she also does not have a TV. Which is so completely weird, not to mention practically impossible to get used to. I mean, even though the shows are probably all in Greek, which I wouldn’t be able to understand anyway, not having access to a television just doesn’t seem right.
Though it does explain why my parents refer to her as
Crazy
. But unfortunately, that’s not even the half of it, because believe me, there’s more. For example:
1) She talks to her plants. Seriously, she thanks them for blossoming, growing, and basically doing all of the things they’re supposed to be doing anyway. And when she caught me gaping at her with my jaw hanging down to my knees, watching in complete and total disbelief as she whispered sweet nothings to her geraniums, she just turned and explained (with a totally straight face) that they’re
alive and aware
. And even though I’m clearly not doubting the
alive
part, since all the leaves are green and not brown, it’s the
aware
part that worries me. I mean, aware of
what
exactly? So when I asked her which language they respond in—Greek or English, she just smiled in that weird peaceful way and kept at it.2) She only keeps what she can use. Which sounds completely reasonable until she goes on to explain that collecting and acquiring things you don’t
truly
need only results in “clogged energy.” Which also means that the moment she finishes a book (and she reads like, one a day) she thanks it for the knowledge it provided (believe me, I wish I was joking but I’m not) and then she passes it on to someone else. Same with CDs, clothes, you name it, nothing gets saved, it all gets thanked, blessed, and passed on to the next recipient. Which basically means this house is so spare and empty it feels like we’re living in a monastery—only without the vow of silence, since we do get to talk (especially to plants and other inanimate objects). Though the truth is, I really wouldn’t mind a vow of silence since I don’t have much to say anyway. Mostly because I’m too busy worrying about how I’ll possibly survive the next seventy-four days (and counting!), to focus on something as trivial as small talk.3) She’s totally in cahoots with my mom’s shrink and thinks it’s just wonderful that I’m escaping my parents’ “negative energy” as well as taking a break from my “computer addiction and obsessive focus on accumulation and mass consumerism.” whatever the heck that means.
I mean, she’s nice and all, don’t get me wrong, and she means well, I can tell. But the freaky thing is that she actually
believes
all of this stuff. And while that may be all fine and good for her, the fact remains that she’s the one who
CHOSE
to live this austere, serene island life, while I myself did
NOT
. And even though I just got here, I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to say that it’s really not working for me.