The Swap (31 page)

The boys are all there, the three of them around the table, sitting, eating breakfast. They all look up. It's absolutely uncomfortably quiet. Gunner and Stryker's eyes are bugged out, as if they can immediately tell what's going on. Jett looks worried. “
Settle down
,” he mouths.

The Captain turns back around. His big square jaw, his ice-blue eyes. He looks right at me. And that's it, I don't even think, the words tumble out—

“Why are you always on everyone's case!” I say, my voice growing louder. “Can't you say one positive thing, ever?!! No matter what Jack does, it's never enough!” I stop and swallow hard, realizing my slip. “I mean, no matter what I do,” I correct myself, quick. “Nothing is good enough for you!”

The quiet is unsettling. The boys all just stare at me, stunned. The Captain stays exactly where he is. Stone-faced. Stewing. A long time passes. Nobody speaks. Stryker's fork is halted halfway to his mouth. Nobody dares to even move. The Captain finally takes a deep breath, the kind we can all hear and can see, the way his big barrel chest rises, the way his eyes narrow on me.

“Jack, I'm only going to say this once.” He looks like he might explode. I watch the words leave his mouth. Each one comes out as its own complete sentence—

“Go. To. Your. Room.”

“Fine!” I answer, dangerously loud. No “yes, sir.” No “I'm sorry.” I am not polite. I do not feel like being nice! I don't even regret anything. I can't stop. I feel this power rising up. My face begins to feel extremely hot. “Do you have any idea how mean you are?” I look him in his eyes. I begin to shake. “You're so, you're so—” I pause, I glance at Stryker, Gunner, and Jett; all of them are watching this in total shock. I get the feeling maybe nobody has ever done this before. I don't even care!

“You're so hung up on how perfect everyone should be!” Yes, I'm shouting now. I take a step backward. “I don't even know if you even love your kids!” I whirl around. I storm off. I stomp up the stairs, one at a time. And this is the craziest part. For the first time, I'm not really scared at all—I am not even crying. I'm just—

God. I'm MAD!!!! And when I get upstairs, I go straight to my room, and I do something I've never done before.

I slam the door.

Hard.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

THE FIRST THING SUMMER SAYS
when we get into the car is, “Want to get you-know-what and go you-know-where?”

Whatever that means, her eyes light up.

“Sure,” I say, smiling back. It can only be something good, right? I'm still so pumped. I'm pretty sure Elle made the team, for one. And two, I'm not gonna front, that was straight-up fun!

Pulling out of the Sportsplex, I feel like I'm leaving everything behind. My worries about my dad, about hockey. I don't know why, but I feel a hundred pounds lighter. The day is warm for September. The sun is bright. Summer has these glamorous big, black oversized sunglasses on, and all the windows are down. Red hair is blowing all over the place. Hers and mine. Leaping up and dancing as the wind blows past us. Summer reaches out, pushing a button on the dashboard.

“Let's open the sunroof and get this party started!”

Her hand moves to the stereo. She turns the volume up until I can actually feel the vibrations moving through my body.

“Who is this?” I ask through the wind, over the music.

“What?” Summer shouts back, and we both start hysterically laughing, because our hair is going crazy and all the windows are down and I can't hear a word she's saying over the sounds.

“Who is this?” I repeat, louder, through my laughter. Summer's red hair is swept up and flying behind her like a cape. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the side of the car. My hair—Elle's—is flying too. I smile really big. The air feels so good.

“Who is this?” Summer laughs. This time I can hear her. “You know, silly!”

“I do?” I'm practically shouting.

Summer shoots me a grin. “The Beatles!”

We turn into a gravel parking lot full of cars. The sign says luna's in three-foot-high red scripty letters. The building is kind of a shack, with one of those window counters. But if it's a shack, it's a popular one. We walk across the pebbly lot toward the line of people stretching down around the corner of the building: moms, dads, babies in strollers, sleepy college kids, old people. We fall in line too.

“This place must be good,” I say, excited.

Summer props up her sunglasses, pulls me in, and kisses me on the head. “Must be? You headed too many balls out there today, silly! We've only come here a hundred times.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” I say.

“So are you getting the usual?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “The usual.”

I hope the usual is something good, I think to myself, as we get closer to the front of the line. I know it's crazy, but I'm already hungry again. Starving. And my stomach kind of hurts.

“What about you?” I ask Summer.

She winks. “Oh, you know my thing.”

I nod and laugh again, stepping forward to the walk-up window.

“Hey, Summer!” says the girl. Her face lights up when her eyes land on Summer. The girl is kind of short and pudgy, with a sparkly diamond in her nose. “Hi, Ellie!”

“Hi.” I grin back. I love how everyone loves Summer. She has this way of making everyone around her feel special. Something about her energy, it's almost impossible to describe. She just has so much life in her. I watch her step up to the window, and I feel kind of proud. For this second, it's like—she's with
me
. She's my mom.

“Ellie, you remember Janie Tate, right? She babysat you.”

Janie Tate blushes. “Well, that was a long time ago,” she tells me, with a big smile. “But you sure were one cute baby! You used to have the most precious little baby-doll ears!” She pauses. “What can I get you two
mamacitas
?”

Summer puts her arm around my shoulders. “I'm going to have a coffee, dark roast, thanks, and yes, I will definitely get a vanilla ice cream cone. And you?” Summer looks at me. Janie Tate's waiting with her pen and pad.

“Um, I'll have, uh—” I stall. I scan the menu up above the window.

“French fries, please, and, uhhh, a vanilla milkshake?”

Summer pulls me in tight, her voice tickles in my ear. “Same order every single time. We're two totally predictable peas in a pod.”

Ha. I guess Elle and I think alike
.

It only takes, like, a minute. “Here you go,” says Janie Tate, handing Summer her coffee and her cone. “And for Ellie.” She hands me my shake with a straw and a ridiculously huge paper basket of crispy, hot, golden fries.

Summer lingers at the window. “You want some vinegar, too, right, hon?”

“Sure, yes, please!” I grin. That's totally a Canadian hockey-trip thing.
How does she even know that!
I think, and shake my head. Vinegar and fries. Best combination ever. I'm not even shocked anymore. Really. This day is getting better by the second.

It's hard not to eat in the car. I'm staring at the fries and I want to inhale them. But we have come to an agreement. We are going to wait and get to the “spot.” Wherever that is.

Summer's kind of a rebel. She ignores all the rules. She shines me a smile, turns the music up loud, and we barrel down the smooth roads through the sun before finally turning down a long, bumpy dirt lane. Gigantic fields of yellow sunflowers are on either side. I'm kind of in suspense, looking all around. Until—

“Wow,” I say when I realize where we're going. Down the hillside, through the tall trees, I can see it right in front of me, stretched out for miles.

“The lake,” I say aloud in the car, gazing straight ahead.

I love the lake! It's cold and deep. My mom used to bring us. Not to here, since I don't know where “here” even is. Same lake. Just, like—a different spot. My brothers and I would all race to swim out to the raft and play King of the Mountain, shoving each other off a hundred times. Jett and Gunner would pick me up by my feet and my hands and literally have a contest to see how far they could hurl me. Ha! We'd stay out there all day until we were totally sunburned and exhausted. Then my mom would stop for ice cream or pick up Lombardi's pizza. I don't mind thinking about those memories. It actually feels good. Lately I've been worried that I was starting to forget. Forget, like, the little things.

We stop at the lake's shore, because if we drove any farther we'd drive right into the water. I follow Summer down a well-worn dirt path, and in twenty or so steps we are standing together, looking out at an endless stretch of shimmering blue-green water.

“I like being here,” I say, mesmerized.

I feel Summer's hand smooth over my hair. “I love it too, hon. Especially with you.”

I look around—the water, the faint green hills across the lake in the distance. This is totally the coolest little hidden spot, tucked away. I'd never find it in a million years. I'd never even know it was even here.

We sit shoulder to shoulder on the warm, smooth rocks, a few feet from the water. Summer's holding her “mmmmmmm . . . truly amazing cup of coffee.” I'm working on my extra-thick vanilla milkshake.

The sun is blazing.

There's not a cloud in the sky.

This spot is completely quiet. No sailboats. No Jet Skis. The water is so clear it's see-through. A giant pool as far as you can see. I dig into the fries and polish off the milkshake. Neither of us says a word. The view is doing the talking.

I ditch my turf shoes, my shin guards, and peel off my striped pink socks. Summer kicks off her flip-flops, and the two of us lie straight back on the hot stones, our feet dipping into the cool lake water.

“Feels good.” I sigh.

“Mmmmm,” agrees Summer. She takes off her shades and shuts her eyes.

I watch her for a moment, smiling. Then I copy the same pose. The warmth of the sun feels good on my face.

We lie like that, side by side, solar panels soaking up the heat and the quiet for a long time. And when Summer finally talks, she talks up into the sky. I feel her hand rest on mine. “You know, at some point we're going to have to talk about last night, right?”

“Yeah.” I whisper, and open my eyes.

I watch a hawk, way, way up, soar and swoop over the water.

“Soooo?” Summer asks again. Her voice is warm. There's a lightness.

“Um . . . ,” I start. But . . . what do I even say? This wasn't about anything she thinks.

I exhale loudly.

I feel Summer squeeze my hand. “I see you're having a hard time starting, so I'm going to give this a shot,” she says, pausing. “I think this was a little bit about you and Sassy, and
a lot
about your dad.”

At first I'm like, wait, how did you know? But then I quickly remember she's talking about Elle's dad, as much as I wish she could somehow make me understand mine.

I keep my face to the sun. I bite down on my lip to stop myself from saying anything dumb.

“So, yeah, this Sassy thing, I just—” Summer hesitates. I glance at her just as she looks at me. “Honestly, honey—I don't need to know the details of what happened. All I really care about is that you feel safe. That you know you can talk about anything with me, even when it's hard.” She smiles softly.

I look back up into the sky. I shut my eyes.

“It's not just middle school,” Summer goes on. “Trying to change other people is a waste of time. It took me a long time to learn that. Figuring out what matters and what doesn't.” She exhales. “It's not easy—”

“Yeah.” I sigh. I think I get it—
I didn't have to beat the snot out of Porter Gibson. I don't always have to fight.

“And it's hard, right, I understand. Believe me. Every bone inside of you wants to take the bait, but when you don't—it feels so good.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess that's what I did today in soccer?”

“Exactly! I saw it.”

I peek at Summer as she's talking. Her eyes are closed, but she's smiling. She pauses for a long moment and squeezes my hand. “I want you to know how much I believe in you.”

I breathe. I don't even care that's she's talking about Elle. I feel this overwhelming attachment to both of them.

There's a hushed quiet, then Summer laughs lightly and says, “Not done yet.” Big breath. This time she turns and waits for me to look. “Running away like that. You scared me. That's not okay. That's not safe. And—”

“I'm sorry,” I tell her. My voice kind of cracks from the lump in my throat.

“I just—” I start. I don't even know what to say. I don't have words.

“Ellie, honey, it's okay. I don't expect you to be perfect. You're going to make mistakes. My god, you're twelve years old. I want you to make thousands of them! That's how you learn, right? That's how you grow.” Summer smiles softly. Her eyes are so green. She's like this mixture of wildly rugged and graceful at the same time. The way she talks, the way she listens.