Strawberry Summer Page 3

  “You coming in?” Clay asked way too loud. “Or are you gonna stay out here and weirdly stare at strangers some more?”

  Damn it. I wanted the ground to swallow me up then and there. Overhearing the comment, Courtney’s gaze snapped to mine and I felt the warm blush hit my cheeks without delay. I turned red at the slightest embarrassment. Probably the lamest thing about me.

  Courtney, however, smiled, which eased the mortification. “Well, hey there, Margaret Beringer.”

  “Hey.” I made my way up the three wooden stairs to the store’s porch. “What are you doing out here?”

  She gestured to the gas pump out front with her chin. “There’s this little bird just below the pump having the best time with the gravel. Picking it up and tossing it around. I just had to capture him.” It wasn’t something I would have noticed on my own, and the fact that Courtney had didn’t fit with my initial characterization of her. Wasn’t she destined to be superficial and shallow? The guilt kicked me swiftly in the gut.

  “You didn’t mention you were an artist.” I peered at her drawing. It was really good.

  “We didn’t get to talk for that long,” she said. “Unfortunately.”

  “That’s right. You were whisked away to the land of…” I abandoned the sentence, hearing how it would sound out loud and a little tired of my own rush to judgment.

  “The land of?”

  “Never mind. I should find my brother.”

  “That or stare weirdly at more strangers.”

  I laughed at the zing. Courtney was different than the average teenage fare around here. She was harder to predict. That had my attention. I held up my hands. “For the record, I didn’t mean to stare.”

  “For the record, I’m not at all offended.”

  My laughter was of the nervous variety. “Good.”

  Courtney straightened. “What are you up to tonight? I’m bored and seem to have very few prospects.”

  “Oh.” I paused, not really sure where to go from there. “I figured Melanie and her gaggle of girls would have you circling the square with them. It’s kind of what they do.”

  “She did mention it.” The fact that Courtney hadn’t jumped all over that opportunity scored her additional points in my book. And she already had a handful.

  “And you’re not joining them?”

  “I considered it,” she said and flashed a smile. “But now that you’re here, I thought I’d see what you have going on.”

  “Weighing your options.”

  She tilted her head from side to side. “Something like that. So what does Margaret Beringer, heir to the strawberry throne, have in store for herself tonight?”

  “Okay, um…” God, I wished I had something more exciting to offer. “I was gonna play it pretty low key, one could say. Maybe go for a swim later.”

  Courtney seemed to perk up. “Oh yeah? So you have a pool?”

  I suppressed a laugh. “No, but, um, there’s a creek down the hill a bit from the park.”

  “A creek, huh?” Courtney seemed to mull over the concept.

  “Yeah. If you follow the path just next to the pavilion, it leads down to the water.”

  Courtney began to pack up her sketchpad and pencils. “Great. What time will I find you there?”

  Wait. This was happening? This was a bad idea. “Oh. Probably a little after eight.” Damn it all! I was a betrayer of self.

  “Perfect. I’ll see you at your hidden creek later,” Courtney said. “I’m up for moonlight swimming. We can hang, get to know each other.”

  What had I done? I felt the dreaded blush again. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll see you later, then.” So we’d go swimming together. Me and Courtney Carrington. Who was very pretty. And who I probably had nothing in common with. Why not? So much for my relaxing Friday night. I was an idiot.

  Searching for white vinegar and my wayward brother, I headed into the store. I found him near the bakery’s glass display case. Darlene, the doe-eyed baker, was chatting him up. She batted her eyes and swatted his bicep with a girly giggle. Subtle, Darlene. As I waited for the super stud to tear himself away, I reflected on the fact that I had actual plans of my own later. Not a big deal. Except it felt like a big deal. I had all this extra energy and my palms were itchy as I strolled the aisles of Klein’s in an attempt to shake it off. Only now, my stomach muscles tightened as I recalled the image of Courtney biting her lip thoughtfully while she sketched. What was that about anyway? Just a girl drawing. Nothing to ruminate on.

  Only she was a beautiful girl.

  Deep sigh to the gods above.

  I considered calling Berta to join Courtney and me, take the pressure off the conversation responsibility, but remembered she was headed to Santa Barbara to visit the grandparents on her father’s side. No-go there. It would be fine, I decided, moving myself past it. We might even have fun together.

  “You’re extra quiet for such a chatty kid,” Clay said on the drive home.

  “I am? Just thinking, I guess.”

  “You know that girl out front of Klein’s? I’ve never seen her before.”

  “As of today, she sits next to me in history. Just moved here from Chicago. She’s a Carrington, as in the department store variety.”

  Clay whistled low. “So, loaded?”

  “I guess.”

  “The prodigal son returns home after all. I’d heard the family might move back when the store opening was announced a few months ago.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “The prodigal son.”

  “Think about it. You ever hear Netta Carrington mention her son?” I shook my head. “Because he’s a moneygrubbing asshole who practically abandoned her. Hasn’t visited once in the last ten years is what people say.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked.

  “People talk to me, Scrap.” Right. There was that. “Plus, he and Dad went to school together. Never got along. Rumor has it Dad decked him in front of the school.”

  “No way,” I said, shaking my head. “Dad wouldn’t hit anyone.”

  Clay passed me a dubious look and my jaw fell.

  “Seriously? Why have I never heard about any of this?”

  “Probably because you’ve never struck up a friendship with the Carrington kid before.”

  “Huh. Good point.”

  We eased into the circular drive in front of the big house and I jumped out and carried my share of the groceries inside. My parents were both in the kitchen, a very common occurrence an hour before dinner. They tended to prepare the meal together and catch each other up on their respective days. It was sweet in a way. My father sliced a tomato and my mother read to him from her laptop. “Wordlessly, Jeffrey kissed her, and not softly. He owned her, every inch of her. He eased his leathery hands—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, holding up a hand. “Child in the room. Child in the room.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a short scene,” my mother said, waving me off.

  I gaped in outrage at her dismissal. “I thought we had a ‘no reading sex scenes out loud before dinner’ clause. If not, we need one. I so move.”

  My father raised his gaze from the tomato, his eyes thoughtful. “Wasn’t Jeffrey the crooked farmhand in the last book? I thought he stole a bunch of money and everyone hated him.”

  “Yes,” my mother said, nodding. “That’s him. But Chastity has had a major influence on his view of the world and makes him want to be a better man. In more ways than one.” My parents locked eyes and tiny little parent sparks shot into the air all around them. Oh, man. Cute as they were, I just couldn’t.

  “There’s also a ‘no flirting in front of your daughter’ clause.”

  “There most certainly is not,” my father said sternly, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, Jimbo left a book for you.”

  I grinned. “I heard. Hemingway!”

  “What’s another word for thrust?” my mother asked.

  I put fingers in my ears. “La-la-la-la-la. Please
yell upstairs when you’re ready for me to set the table. Until then, I’ll be in my room saving up for therapy.” My mother grabbed me as I passed and placed a loud smacking kiss on my cheek. I couldn’t help but smile in the midst of my mock outrage. My parents, while annoying, were pretty great in the scheme of possible parents I could have been paired with. I was lucky that way.

  Snagging the book off the table, I took the stairs two at a time and spent the next ten minutes thumbing through the description of Hemingway’s childhood, intrigued to read that his mother was said to have dressed young Ernie as a girl until he was four. He could join me in therapy. As hard as I tried, however, I couldn’t seem to lose myself in the book—a rare happening, as I was a voracious reader. Too keyed up, I decided. Maybe from the brief encounter with Courtney, a potential new friend. Maybe because I was nervous about us hanging out. Or maybe it was because I knew the actual underlying cause of my anxiety.

  I was into girls.

  This wasn’t a brand-new revelation. I’d known for a while, but this was the first time that a girl had made such a startling impression on me, and I’d only known her for a few hours. But Courtney was also a seemingly friendly and intriguing person. I didn’t know a ton of those. God, I didn’t want to do anything to make it weird. So for the next ten minutes, I did things like pace the length of my room, look over my swimsuits to make sure I didn’t choose a stupid one, and run my fingers through my hair just because. In other words, I behaved like a crazy person.

  “Where are you off to?” my father asked an hour later as I stood from the dinner table with my plate in my hand.

  “I didn’t say I was going anywhere.”

  “Don’t have to.” He exchanged a look with my mother. “You got that look. Clay said you made a new friend. Is that where you’re headed?”

  I took in the expectant expression on my father’s face and the amused one on my mother’s and then passed Clay a stare of my own that said, “Traitor, I will pay you back for this if it takes me until my dying breath.” He grinned happily and shoved a forkful of green beans into his highly offensive big mouth. Underneath the broad shoulders and sandy blond hair, he was just a big kid. I shook it off and aimed for nonchalance when answering my father. “I’m going to the creek. It’s finally warm enough to swim. I won’t be late, though.”

  “Curfew is ten,” my father reminded me. “And make sure there’s no swimming by yourself after dark.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My mother inclined her head in curiosity. “Who’s the new friend?”

  “Oh. Her name is Courtney. She just moved here.”

  “Well, then bring her by,” she said. “We’d like to say hello.”

  “I’ll see if she’s available.”

  “You forgot to mention her last name,” Clay said. He dodged my death glare by way of intense concentration on his obnoxious mound of mashed potatoes.

  “Don’t you have some sort of hot but less-than-intelligent date to pick up?” I asked with a raise of my eyebrow.

  “It’s seven thirty on a Friday,” he pointed out with a twinkle in his eye. “The night is young.”

  “What’s her last name, then?” my father asked, his interest now piqued. Damn my brother.

  I met his gaze. “Carrington.”

  “Mitch Carrington’s girl?” my father asked, setting down the plate of spinach he’d just picked up.

  “I believe so, sir.” I held my breath, hoping this information wouldn’t get in the way of my plans tonight.

  My mother placed a calming hand on my father’s wrist. “Has to be. Bring her by after you swim. We went to school with her dad. Your father could put together one of his famous strawberry shortcakes for dessert.”

  My father didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll see if she’s free.”

  My mother sat back, pleased. “Wonderful. We’ll hope she is.”

  I thought about the exchange on the ten-minute walk to the creek’s edge, curious about my parents and their relationship to Mr. Carrington. What did my dad have against the guy, anyway? I passed through Town Square, waving politely to those I recognized, which, let’s be honest, was just about everyone in a town the size of ours. Some bluesy music spilled out from Lonesome’s Bar and the sweet smell of hamburgers frying permeated the air near the Berry Good Café.

  And oh, good. There was Travis and Melanie and their dutiful followers, all gathered around Travis’s new car. He’d recently turned seventeen and had thrown one of the biggest blowouts the teenage Tanner Peak had seen in years. Berta and I had dropped in but were long gone by the time the cops arrived to bust it up for noise complaints and underage drinking.

  “Beringer,” Travis said indifferently as I approached. He wore his letterman jacket, which in May seemed oppressive, but hey, it was a choice. It wasn’t as if we’d forget who he was or his laundry list of athletic accomplishments. As if anyone would ever allow that.

  “Hey, Travis,” I said politely.

  The group broke a little and I saw Courtney standing in their midst, laughing at something Melanie had said. Gone was the plaid skirt and in its place jean shorts and flip-flops. She appeared infinitely more casual and relaxed.

  “Margaret, hey,” she said, catching sight of me and smiling. She gestured generically at the group. “These guys are talking about roasting marshmallows at Melanie’s house.” Cue Melanie looking instantly uncomfortable at the insinuated invitation. I had never really been a part of their set.

  “You can come if you want,” Melanie said reluctantly with a shrug, averting her eyes.

  “Oh, no. But thank you. For the invitation.” My gaze skated from Melanie to Courtney, then back to Melanie again. “I’m good, though.”

  Melanie showed off the plastic smile, her claim to fame. “Have fun, then.”

  “You guys, too.” I nodded and waved and headed off on my own path. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to hang out and roast marshmallows in the land of social people. It was more the stress of holding my own with those kids that had me heading the other direction. I didn’t say the right things, or know the right clothes to wear, or listen to the most popular music, and surely there would be a giant sign over my head that notified them. So I chose to remain on my own, and that would be just fine. I could convince myself of that anyway, if I said it often enough.

  The last little bit of daylight clung to life as I arrived at the peaceful creek. The sky held glimmers of pink from the sun’s descent, and I took a moment to really appreciate its brilliance. The water lapped leisurely against the bank in serene accompaniment. This was my spot. I let out a relaxed breath at how at home this place made me feel.

  Safe. Comfortable. Calm.

  I stripped off the shirt and shorts I’d worn over my one-piece suit and slipped easily into the water, hissing as the cool liquid pressed to my skin. I pushed back from the edge with my foot and floated on my back, acclimating to the temperature. God, I loved the rush I got in those first few seconds. A surge of adrenaline that shouted, “This is too cold to live,” making it a moment I fully embraced. I liked living dangerously. Well, in small, controllable scenarios quite close to my own backyard.

  “You weren’t lying. There’s a creek out here after all.” I righted myself abruptly and whirled around at the sound of the voice, surprised to find Courtney standing at the water’s edge. “Hey,” she said and offered a little wave.

  “Oh, hi. I thought you were gonna—”

  “Marshmallows don’t really excite me. Plus, I haven’t been swimming in I don’t know how long.”

  “You came to the right place for that.” It was the stupidest sentence ever uttered, and I winced internally, willing it back. The turtles on the bank were cooler than I was.

  Courtney seemed amused. “I appreciate the tip. So is there any kind of science to this?” She started to unbutton her shirt and at the same time stepped out of her flip-flops. A strand of hair fell haphazardly across her eye. “City girl and all.” />
  I played back the sentence because my brain had been otherwise occupied by the bright blue of her eyes. They sparkled when she smiled. “Oh. I think you just get in the water,” I said with a smile, focusing on the simplicity of the question. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  She shook her head and shrugged out of her shirt, revealing a light blue bikini top with a sidecar dip of noticeable cleavage. I swallowed. “Good thing I have you.”

  “I do what I can for the city folk of the world,” I said, and swam a short distance away, giving Courtney some space. This also offered me a moment to deal with the butterflies that apparently had taken up residence in my stomach—you know, introduce myself and work out some sort of rental agreement.

  I heard a splash behind me and turned. “Holy shit, that’s cold,” Courtney said, her eyes wide. She treaded water a few yards away.

  “Give it a minute. Your body will get used to it.”

  “Shit, shit, shit. Okay.” But she was laughing. “Let’s see what we can do to speed up that process.” Before I knew it, she dove headfirst beneath the water’s surface and I was left alone, listening to the quiet sounds of nature at dusk—and waiting for her to surface. I heard a splash behind me and turned.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Courtney took a deep gulp of air and tossed her hair behind her. “This really gets your blood going! Wow.”

  “It does. That’s the best part.”

  “I could get used to this.” She was under again. This girl was an adventurous type. For the next few minutes, she explored the area, taking short little swims and dips beneath the surface like an audacious otter. I used the time to pep talk myself into relaxing a little. Courtney was just a girl from school. A very nice girl from school who was nothing like the other girls in town. A very nice, beautiful girl from school who chose to hang out with me on a Friday night rather than the infinitely more sought-after kids. There were those butterflies again.