Chapter Four Summer
Chapter Four
Summer
“How was the first day of practice?” Dad asks as I walk into the house on Sunday afternoon. He’s standing at the edge of the kitchen, leaning on his cane.
“Terrible,” I mutter as I toss my bag on the floor.
His grin doesn’t waver as I shut the door and walk toward the kitchen, the smell of pizza drawing me in. Sure enough, there’s a warm, uncut veggie pizza on top of the stove.
“Pity pizza?”
He chuckles. “I could just eat it all myself.”
I side-eye him as I put myself between him and the pizza.
“That’s what I thought,” he grumbles with a grin.
I grab plates, then divvy us each up two slices.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks as I sit at the table across from him.
“They hate me.”
“Who?”
“The Frost Lake girls.”
“Aren’t you a Frost Lake girl now?”
I grunt around the bite of hot, cheesy goodness in my mouth. He smiles, point happily made, and digs into his first slice. He looks good today. And he only makes pizza when he’s feeling up to the task of standing and kneading the dough.
My dad was diagnosed with MS about five years ago. He has good days and bad days. And good weeks and bad weeks.
We eat in silence for the time it takes me to eat my first slice. Once the edges of my hunger fade, I finally look at him. He’s waiting expectantly. Dad never forces me to talk, but he’s always ready.
“I’m not sure they’re ever going to fully accept me. And if they don’t, then what chance do I have to play well this season?” And I need to play well this season. A soccer scholarship is my best chance at not only going to college but also continuing my soccer career.
“They will,” he says with so much certainty that it’s hard to argue.
But I still do, of course.
“But what if they don’t? How will I get into a college program if I’m sitting on the bench during every game because they hate me and won’t pass me the ball?”
“I don’t think your coach is going to let that happen.”
Again, so rational. It’s infuriating.
I huff a disbelieving scoff. “She probably hates me too.”
This time he says nothing, just lifts both brows. I glance away and finish my pizza, stewing in my own thoughts. Okay, maybe Coach doesn’t hate me, but she’s going to do whatever is best for the team. And if I can’t mesh with the other girls, then I won’t be what’s best, now will I?
Dad finishes his food before I do, but he sits with me until I’m done.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask as I push my plate back.
“Resting. She worked late last night.”
I nod. She does that often. Her main job is at an insurance company, but at least a few nights a week, she picks up jobs with an office cleaning service. More often lately.
Dad owns a commercial and residential paint business.
He used to employ three other guys, and they’d take big painting jobs all over the county, but he’s had to cut way back since his diagnosis and now mostly does the bids and payment-side of things, which means they’re down a person and can’t take on as much work.
I know things are tight despite how they try to shield it from me.
They never outright say they can’t afford something, but I can see it in the strain on their faces when Silas calls to ask for more money for food or soccer gear or whatever he needs at college.
And the way Mom fidgets in line while we pick up Dad’s prescriptions at the pharmacy.
Someday when I’m playing soccer professionally and big-name brands want to sponsor me, I’m going to pay off their house and send them on a month-long beach vacation. Or that’s the dream anyway.
I can’t do any of that if I don’t figure out how to make the most of playing my last high school season at Frost Lake.
Dad stands from the table, grimacing slightly as he does. He leans on his cane with one hand, then rests his other on my shoulder.
“No one can hate my shortcake.”
I huff a small laugh. He hasn’t called me that in a while.
“They can and they do,” I tell him, but I lean into his touch and it’s soothing me despite the uncertainty I feel.
“Nonsense. They just need to get to know you.”
* * *
“I cannot believe I’m not starting school with you guys tomorrow.” I fling myself back on Jill’s bed later that night. It’s covered in clothing and school supplies.
Charlotte is sitting on the floor in front of the full-length mirror trying out new lipsticks, and Jill is lost in her closet looking for the perfect back-to-school outfit.
“At least you get another week of vacation,” Jill says as she reemerges with a yellow floral dress that she wore to our ninth-grade homecoming dance.
“Aww. I loved that dress on you,” Charlotte says, staring at Jill in the reflection.
“But maybe too much for the first day of school?” I ask hopefully. We’ve really gotten off course here. She started with cutoff jean shorts and a tube top, and now she’s considering formal dresses. It’s a cry for help if I’ve ever seen one.
She groans and tosses the dress onto the bed, then flings herself on top of it. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
Jill could wear a plain white T-shirt and jean shorts and still look gorgeous.
I stand and walk over to the side of the bed, then take her hands and pull her to her feet.
“Maybe there’s still time to run to the mall?”
“You don’t need more clothes,” I tell her.
“I could always buy more clothes,” Charlotte says, pursing her lips and admiring the dark-red shade.
“Same,” Jill adds.
I stay silent because clothes aren’t really my thing. I like jewelry, especially rings, but that’s it for anything close to personal style. And most of my rings are cheap, funky ones. The mood ring on my left pointer finger cost three dollars at the pharmacy.
All the rest of my money goes toward my college savings. Maybe once I’ve graduated with a degree and am playing professional soccer, I’ll focus on buying a new wardrobe.
“Close your eyes,” I say to Jill, placing my hands on her shoulders.
She arches one brow.
“Just do it,” I demand.
Her lips quirk into a small smile and her eyes shut.
“You arrive at school. The sun is shining, and the birds are chirping happily around you like Cinderella.”
“Birds kind of freak me out,” she says, eyes still closed.
I continue, undeterred. “The parking lot is already half-full, but you find the perfect spot. You get out of your car and flip your hair over your shoulder. You are having the best hair day and your makeup is on point.”
Her lips curve into a smile and Charlotte lets out a quiet chuckle.
“People are standing in groups next to their vehicles. You make your way through the crowd and up the stairs to the front doors. And as you go, everyone is looking at you. You are the goddamn queen of Oakley High.”
She snorts a laugh.
“Okay, now what are you wearing?”
There’s a pause and then slowly her eyes open and she aims a wide smile at me.
“Sum, you’re a genius!” She hugs me quick, then goes to the bed and digs through the heap of clothing until she finds a black skirt and white tank top.
“Now if only I could visualize myself there,” I mutter and walk over to the collage of photos on the wall.
There are pictures of the three of us over the years. School dances, soccer, weekend hangouts, days at the lake. But my gaze is continually pulled to all the ones taken at Oakley High. The two of them are going to make so many more memories there without me this year, and it sucks.
“How was the first day of official practice with the evil teammates?” Jill asks from the closet where she’s disappeared again to change into her perfect outfit.
“Same. They still hate me.”
“They’re lucky to have you.” Charlotte has abandoned her makeup and lies on a corner of the bed to scroll her phone.
“She’s right.” Jill reemerges, pulling down the white tank top over her dark-brown stomach. “We are so missing you at midfield. Coach moved Bree there, but she’s no Summer Lindsey.”
I make a noncommittal hum. They’ll manage without me. They have six seniors returning and several underclassmen with enough talent and experience to step up.
“You know the thing that really gets me about the Frost Lake team is they could be so good. There are moments of brilliance. Take Sophie Cook. I’ve never seen anyone so calm and patient on defense. And Amanda Jones is one of the best in the state for sure.”
“Too bad she’s such a terrible human,” Jill adds.
I can’t deny that. We’ve always hated playing against her. And in the two days since I’ve been part of the team, she’s barely acknowledged my existence. I get that she doesn’t want me there. I don’t want to be there either, but I’m not giving up soccer even if I have to play for Frost Lake.
“Umm…” Charlotte sits up on the bed, staring at her phone. “Sum, why is Kevin hanging out with Lizzy Thompson?”
Jill gasps and looks to me. Her outrage on my behalf is touching. And normally this news would be worthy of it, but I’m not all that surprised. Or at least I shouldn’t be.
My face heats and I can’t look either of them in the eyes as I say, “We broke up.”
“When?” They shriek the question at me in perfect, screechy unison.
“This morning over text.”
My friends gape at me with a mixture of disbelief, shock, and pity.
“He said that since we aren’t going to be at the same school this year, it was in both of our best interests to have some space and see where things go without the pressure of a label.”
“Oh my god, is that actually what he said?” Charlotte asks, lip snarling. That shade is nice on her.
“Almost verbatim. I’m pretty sure he used ChatGPT to write it for him.”
“‘See where things go’? And twelve hours later he’s conveniently hanging out with Lizzy.” Charlotte lets out a disgusted huff. “What an asshole.”
Jill’s expression softens. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I’m not as sad as I thought I’d be, though I am irritated he’s already moved on to Lizzy.
I knew she liked him. I even told him that this summer when we all went to the lake.
I said, “I think Lizzy is checking you out.” And he laughed and said something like, “Nah, but even if she were, I’m not interested in anyone but you. ” Gah. I was such a sucker.