Jesse
TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO
Bright spots of sunlight dapple the sidewalk as I trek up Harmony Drive. I sidestep them like they’re pools of lava, careful to protect my feet, which are already burning inside my Adidas slides. The last days of August are always unbearably hot, so I’ll take the shade anywhere I can get it.
The houses in my neighborhood make a horseshoe around the lake, and ours is at the very bottom.
My destination, Hog Heaven, is a block away from the entrance.
It’s not a far walk to the ice-cream stand, but it’s all uphill, and the air is so sticky today that the journey feels twice as long as usual.
I’ve only been walking for five minutes, but beads of sweat are already dripping down my back, and I’m starting to regret the promise I made to my brother.
I can’t back out now, though, or he’s going to snitch on me.
Which isn’t fair—it’s not like I hit him in the nuts on purpose.
But accident or not, I knew I was screwed when my bat connected with his pitch, and the ball took a line drive to the family jewels.
I bent over him as he rolled on the basement floor, clutching his crotch and groaning in agony.
If I didn’t do something fast, I was definitely getting grounded, so I promised him ice cream in exchange for his silence.
I’d even pay for it with my own allowance.
I feel bad about hurting him, but let’s face it, it’s also a bribe.
Mom would kill me if she found out we were playing baseball in the basement again, and Toby promised not to say anything if I brought him back two scoops of mint chocolate chip.
That’s one good thing about brothers—you know all their weak spots.
And my little brother is easily bought with treats.
With today’s weather, though, it’s going to be mint-chocolate-chip soup by the time he gets it.
I’m almost at the top of the street now and my eyes wander to the house coming up on my right. Her house.
There’s a minivan parked in the driveway, and her dad is loading suitcases into the trunk.
Marissa’s mom is standing beside him, and even though they’re trying to talk quietly, I can tell by their tone that they’re fighting.
Last week, I overheard Marissa tell her friend Emily that they’ve been arguing all summer.
Judging by the scene in the driveway, I guess she’s going home today. Not a huge surprise. Summer’s over. School is starting in two weeks. But knowing today is the last day feels like … well, a baseball to the nuts.
There’s a rustle from the bushes on my right, followed by a whimpering sound.
At first, I think it’s an animal, maybe a squirrel stuck in the branches.
But when I take a step closer, I see one of her books splayed open outside of the leaves.
I squint at the title. Nancy Drew and the Case of the … Something.
Another sob floats through the air, drawing me over to the hedges lining the front of the house.
Beneath the brush, I see toenails painted glittery purple, slid into a pair of faded pink flip-flops.
As I get closer, I notice she’s got her arms wrapped around her shins, folded in on herself like she’s trying to be as small as possible.
Her forehead’s pressed against knobby knees, hair spilling over her arms. Through the slivers of sunlight cutting through the branches, it glistens like my mom’s copper watering can.
She doesn’t see me at first. A soft sound escapes her and something in my chest tightens. Bad as I felt about hurting Toby, there’s something different about seeing Marissa cry. I would do absolutely anything right now to make her feel better.
“Hey.”
At the sound of my voice, her head pops up. Her eyes are swollen, and her cheeks are red and splotchy. The knot in my chest tightens.
“Oh, hi.” She swipes the back of her hand against her eyes, brushing away tears. Then, shifting into a voice that could easily have come from a different, not-crying person, she says, “I didn’t realize anyone could hear me back here. I thought I was being quiet.”
I’m not sure what to do with that. Whenever Toby cries, which is often, he wants to make sure everyone hears him.
It’s one of the reasons I’m out here right now, sweating like a farm show pig to appease him.
Kids always want their parents to know when they’re upset, don’t they? I wonder why she’s hiding it.
“Is everything okay?” I hedge. I immediately want to kick myself for asking such a dumb question. Obviously things aren’t okay. If they were, she wouldn’t be out here crying behind a bush.
“It’s fine. I’m being a baby.” She sniffles. “It’s just … everything is about to change. And not in a good way. I mean, maybe in a good way? Ugh, I don’t know.” With a groan, she drops her head back onto her knees.
I head over to the strip of mulch where she’s sitting and plop down beside her.
It’s cooler in the shade. I should be relieved, but I barely notice.
If anything, my body feels hotter than before.
I’ve hung out with Marissa plenty this summer, but it’s never been just the two of us.
And I’ve never been this close to her, close enough to smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo.
She’s wearing a tank top, and her shoulders are pink from the sun.
I have a sudden grown-up urge to cover them, so they don’t burn further.
But I don’t cover them. I don’t even move. I just sit there, completely frozen. I’ve spent the whole summer wishing I had a chance to be alone with her, and now that I’ve got the opportunity, I can’t think of one thing to say. Luckily for the both of us, she lifts her head and throws me a bone.
“I got a job,” she says, her voice watery.
I perk up. She hasn’t mentioned her acting career recently, but I know she was bummed that she hadn’t booked anything since her last McDonald’s commercial.
“Oh yeah? What kind of job?”
She blows out a slow breath, composing herself. “A show called Little LLC. It’s about a group of kids in a rock band. At the end of every episode, we perform a song.”
“A TV show? That’s so cool! It’s what you’ve been waiting for, right?”
She shrugs. “I guess. I don’t even know why they cast me. I’m not the best at singing. And I’m worried the show will be kind of dorky. I’m regretting saying yes.”
“What? No way. You have to do it. What if you become a real band, like that show on MTV?” I half-heartedly sing a few bars of their hit song. “I know my calculus. It says u plus me equals us.”
She chokes out a laugh. “You’re just being nice.”
“Nope. I’m invested now. I’m going to watch every episode. I’ll find out where they sell T-shirts and wear one around town.”
Her face splits into a grin and it feels like an electric zap to the heart. When I smile back at her, our gazes catch, then hold for a beat too long. Then another. Unnerved by the strange weight of it, I tear my eyes away and redirect my attention to the mulch, raking one hand through it.
“You still wanna be an actress, though, right?”
She bites down on her bottom lip and nods.
“So, why are you crying?”
She releases her knees, leaning back on her palms and stretching her legs out in front of her. There’s a brown dusting of mulch coating both of her calves. It does nothing to detract from her appeal. “When you say it like that, I sound like a jerk.”
I straighten up quickly, eager to redirect before she gets the wrong impression. “No, I don’t think you’re a jerk at all. I’m just … wondering if I’m missing something.”
Marissa doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilts her head back and squints up at the sky.
“I love coming here,” she says after a moment. “Nothing bad ever happens at the lake house. My brother doesn’t annoy me, because he’s at sleepaway camp, and everyone else is happy all the time.” She turns to get a glimpse of her parents through the leaves. “Well, at least they used to be.”
Returning her attention to me, she adds, “And I get to be with my grandma, who is the best.” That much I can agree with. Everyone in Lake Tranquility adores Mrs. Steiner.
“Summer is great,” I agree. “But you’ll be back next year. I’ll tell everyone to buy autograph books before you come.”
“That’s just it. I don’t think I’m going to be back here next summer.”
She pauses for a bit before continuing. “The show films in LA. My mom and I are moving there together. We’re going to be renting an apartment. And my dad and brother are staying in Pennsylvania.”
My stomach churns as her words sink in. She’s got a job.
Like a real job. Not being a lifeguard or bussing tables.
She’s going to be a big-time actress. But what does it mean that her dad and brother are staying in Pennsylvania while she and her mom move to LA?
She didn’t say they’re divorcing, but that’s what happens when my friends’ parents move into separate houses.
I feel in over my head just hearing about it, and as I look at her now, I wonder if that’s how she’s feeling too.
You know the feeling when you’re little and you skin your knee, but you try to act tough?
You hold it together right up until you see your mom and then you burst into tears?
She looks like that. Only, when I see her looking back at her parents, I can tell she won’t let it out.
She’s stuck in that place between pain and relief, not knowing where to look for the comfort. I wish I knew how to give her that.
It’s only then, as my eyes drift back to her sunburned shoulders, that I fully absorb the other thing she said.
Marissa isn’t coming back next summer. This is probably the last time I’ll see her.
Her eyes fill with tears again, but her voice is steady.
“I think that’s why they’re fighting more lately.
My mom had to quit her job to go with me, so they’re worried about money.
And I feel bad because I’m splitting up my family.
Don’t you think that makes me selfish? Families should be together.
What if my parents get divorced and it’s my fault? ”
I scoot closer and, after a moment of hesitation, put an arm around her shoulders. Her body goes still and for a moment I worry that I’ve done the wrong thing. But then she drops a head onto my shoulder, and my chest warms. I’m trying to comfort her, but it’s making me feel better, too.
“You’re not selfish,” I tell her. “I think you’re cool as heck. How many people get to be on a TV show? You shouldn’t feel bad about that. You should feel proud.”
She doesn’t say anything but lets out a soft, contented sigh, like some of her anxiety is fading. I feel a twinge of pride knowing I’m the one who made her feel that way.
“Whatever they’ve got going on, they need to figure it out themselves,” I continue. “You’re their kid. If you have a chance to be what you want to be, you have to go for it.”
She pulls back to stare up at me, wide-eyed. Then a flicker of amusement enters her expression. “Wow. You’re wise. Like a fortune cookie.”
I scoff, embarrassed. “How old are you?” I ask. “Eleven?”
“Twelve.”
“Well, that explains it. I’m thirteen. Older and wiser.”
She laughs again, then lowers her head back on my shoulder. A warm blanket of contentment stretches over me. I’m no longer thinking about the heat, or moving, or the weird dying-animal noise Toby made when I clocked him. I would happily sit out here in the mulch with her forever.
But forever ends less than a minute later, when her parents call her name from the driveway.
“Marissa? It’s time to hit the road. Come say goodbye to your grandma.”
Marissa lifts her head from my shoulder and—maybe it’s my imagination—she looks as reluctant to separate as I feel.
“Thanks for making me feel better,” she says. “You’re cool. I wish we had hung out more this summer. But who knows? Maybe I’ll get sacked from the show and will be back next year after all.”
I force a smile. “Nah. I’ll be rooting for ten seasons.”
“Marissa!” The sound of her mother’s voice redirects Marissa’s attention to the driveway. She blows out a sigh.
“Guess that’s my cue. Thanks again, JJ. You’re the best.”
She leans forward, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I feel the warm heat of it all through my body, like a jolt of electricity.
I watch as she grabs her book, brushes the dirt off her legs, and steps out into the full sunshine, before turning and walking out of sight.
Through the bushes, I can faintly make out the sounds of her parents talking, of goodbyes being exchanged, and finally, the minivan rolling over gravel.
When it’s completely silent again, I stand up and make my way back home in a daze.
It isn’t until I walk through the front door that I realize I’ve forgotten the ice cream.
My parents ground me for a week.