The Dead of Summer Page 7

  Stop thinking about Lindy, Kennedy! You can do this without her!

  My body began shaking uncontrollably, I emitted a nervous titter to cover up my unease. I didn’t want to look at Carson, I didn’t want him to see me shake and have him to realize I had never held a boy’s hand before and I had no idea what to do with it. And what if he tried to kiss me? He would know for sure that I had never been kissed.

  Carson’s hand was warm in mine; he was tugging me closer.

  “Kennedy?” he said, his voice suddenly cracking. Look at him, Kennedy! You have to look at him!

  I didn’t want to. Well, that’s not entirely true. I needed him to kiss me, I dreamed of him kissing me, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to actually happen. What if it wasn’t everything I had imagined it to be? What if I, despite Lindy’s tutorials with the back of my hand, was the world’s worst kisser? What if he wanted nothing to do with me after he kissed me?

  Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, I didn’t have to find out. Because just then, we heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the Lincolns’ driveway. Now you may wonder how, three bazillion feet away in the backyard, we could hear the sound of a car pull into the circular driveway in the front yard of a mansion. Well it was mainly because Lindy had gotten her learner’s permit and begged to drive at every opportunity. Mrs. Lincoln’s little sports coupe (so not the car that a normal mother would own) was a stick shift. Lindy was having an incredibly difficult time with the manual transmission and would pretty much stall out the car every time she had to shift gears. For example, pulling into her driveway. She also managed to hit every curb and the garbage cans.

  “What the hell is that?” Carson asked, face contorting.

  “That’s Lindy pulling into the driveway.” And that means the party’s over.

  “Lindy’s driving?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, she’s driving. Or practicing.”

  “Sounds like she needs an awful lot of practice,” Carson said with a smirk.

  I was about to laugh at his joke when he tightened his grip on my hand and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here before she sees us.”

  I didn’t have any time to react because he tugged my arm (I must confess I really didn’t mind. . .it wasn’t like when Lindy yanked on my arm and I wanted to beat her with it when it fell out of its socket) and dragged me toward the dreaded woods. I stiffened for a second, following him reluctantly. Carson will protect you. Nothing bad will happen with Carson holding your hand.

  My adrenaline was pumping as we ran together. For some reason, running from Lindy seemed unnatural. I felt like I just stole a pack of gum from the corner drug store and was racing away so I didn’t get caught. I swear I only did that once because Lindy dared me to and said if I didn’t do it, she would tell everyone I was a big old cry baby who wet her pants once in sixth grade when all the girls’ bathrooms were closed for maintenance. I didn’t particularly think that was very fair of her because she had wet her bed until she was ten, but getting into an argument with Lindy about logistics was like taking a wolf to a hen house and expecting them to sit down and have tea.

  I was panting and out of breath, my heart was racing, and my palms were profusely sweating when we finally stopped by practically slamming into an enormous oak tree in the middle of the woods.

  Carson turned his head to look back at me, huge grin spreading across his face, his dimple on his left cheek very prominent. He was also panting and out of breath, which seemed very odd to me. I had him pegged as an athletic jock sort of guy who could easily run circles around little ole out-of-shape me.

  I grinned back (I’m certain I didn’t look even as remotely adorable as he did) pushing my bangs out of my moist and sweaty face. I was trying not to breathe too heavily and probably looked like a pig running from the slaughter. But at least I didn’t have Lindy next to me, looking beautiful as usual. Carson had nobody to compare me to at that moment. I was also thankful for the fact that only a scant amount of sunlight peeked through the tree cover, making it difficult to see.

  I realized our hands were still clasped together, sweating and clammy. It was suddenly awkward again. With a little throat clearing grunt, Carson dropped my hand and slid his back down the length of the tree trunk till he was sitting at the moss covered base. I glanced away as he tried to inconspicuously wipe his sweaty palms on the fabric of his khaki shorts. I also quickly rubbed my own palms casually over the back of my jeans. At least I hoped it was casual and I didn’t look like I was feeling my own butt.

  “You want to sit?” he asked, indicating the vacant mossy patch next to him.

  My legs suddenly felt jello-ish, maybe from our quick run. If I tried to sit, would I crash to the ground, my legs shaky like a newborn foal’s? Then if I managed that, would I be able to get back up again?

  Instead of chancing it, I leaned my back against the nearest tree, bending one knee and placing my foot flat against the truck, and using the other to hold my wobbly legs up.

  “I’ll just stay here,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll stand too, then.”

  Carson stood up, stepping dangerously close to me, moistening his lips. I glanced away, afraid to look directly at him—I mean, what if he thought that was a signal I wanted to kiss him. Well, I did want to kiss him, but I didn’t want him to know that.

  I stared at the base of the tree trunk, but I could feel his breath on my neck. It sent a shiver through my body. A good shiver, not a Freddie Kreuger shiver. He inched closer, but I still kept my head down. “Do you come here a lot?” he finally asked, breaking our tense silence.

  I shook my head. “There’s not too much back here. Although, it is the fastest route to The Canyon,” I explained.

  “The Canyon?” Carson seemed intrigued. The Canyon was a cliff that overlooked the Novella River Basin. It was named The Canyon because some local yokel thought it resembled The Grand Canyon. While it was actually nothing like The Grand Canyon, it still was a beautiful sight, a fifty foot drop to the racing whitewater water below, the mountains as a scenic and breathtaking backdrop. Lindy wasn’t too fond of The Canyon. She claimed it was “too nature-y”, probably because it was easily a two mile walk uphill to get to the sweet spot at the top. I had been there once with her when she insisted because she was meeting some boy who loved hiking and the outdoors. Fortunately that relationship had petered out quickly. I was thankful not only because I was slightly overweight and the climb through the trail had me panting and sweating, but the woods had completely creeped me out. I swore up and down that I heard voices whispering in the trees, voices of ghosts. I’m sure Lindy suspected I was scared, but I never told her about my fears. She would mock me mercilessly.

  But now that I was here with Carson, all my fears were put to rest. They seemed silly now, with Carson’s calming effect on me and all. That is, until I actually did hear a voice in the trees that caused me to freeze.

  SEVEN

  “Hey! What are you two doing back here?”

  If my body had previously been frozen, it was now in overdrive as Lindy’s voice shattered the ice that had been holding me prisoner. I saw the top of her head as she trudged up the hill toward us, only a hundred yards away. She clutched a black bag to her chest.

  “Lindy!” I yelped in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. “You’re back from shopping already?” I glanced down at my wrist, at the watch I didn’t even have on. Carson was as still as a deer in hunting season. Maybe he thought if he didn’t move, Lindy wouldn’t see him or something. It didn’t work; she was next to us in less than thirty seconds.

  “It was a tasting, Kennedy. Don’t you ever listen? And of course, I’m back,” Lindy said with irritation as she swished her hair. “My mama had a tennis date with someone from her hen club, so guess who gets dumped back at home?”

  Lindy’s voice didn’t crack at that statement, but knowing her as well as I did, I sensed that she was hurt. Her mama never seemed to want to do anyth
ing with her other than the obligatory mother duties like shopping for a sweet-sixteen dress or picking out invitations for the party. These were duties that her mama would undoubtedly gush over on her Facebook page, making herself look like a mom of the year candidate. Last year, Mrs. Lincoln actually took selfies of her and Lindy shopping for school supplies. Like four hundred pictures. It was absolutely ridiculous and Lindy and I spent hours un-tagging her from her mama’s pictures and making fun of the whole thing. But I know Lindy had secretly enjoyed that time with her mother and wished for more of it.

  I understood how she felt; I knew the heartache because I had the same kind of hopes and wishes. Except my wish was that someday, my mama was going to be waiting for me by the door, fully dressed, keys in hand, saying, “Come on, Kennedy, let’s go out to eat” or “Let’s go shopping” or even, “Let’s take a walk off the pier”. Anything that would involve her leaving the prison-like confines of our house.

  “But. . .look what I got!” Lindy smiled as opened up the bag and she held up what appeared to be the most sophisticated camera I had ever seen.

  “Where’d you get that from?” I asked, squinting in the dim light to make out the details of the camera.

  “Guilt gift,” Lindy said as she popped a stick of gum in her mouth. I stared at it lovingly, tasting my sour breath again, but Lindy didn’t offer either of us a piece. I was annoyed I had swallowed the piece Carson had given me.

  “Oh, nice,” was all I could say. Lindy was constantly getting gifts from her parents, as if you could buy your children off for neglecting them.

  “What are you two doing back here?” Lindy repeated, eying us suspiciously. Then she added, “Aren’t you afraid of the woods, Kennedy?” I felt that damn color returning to my face.

  I was desperately wracking my brain to come up with a plausible explanation for being in the woods, when Carson blurted out, “Kennedy was going to take me to The Canyon.”

  I stared incredulously. I was? I mean, of course! I was! It’s so romantic! Maybe Carson will kiss me there…

  “What a great idea!” Lindy chirped. “I can help Kennedy show you around!”

  Wait. . .what? Who invited her?

  “Oh, you don’t have to. I know you’re busy with your party and all,” I started to say, but Lindy interrupted me.

  “Nonsense!” Lindy replied with that smile as fake as her mama’s boobs. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t show you around?” She sashayed up to him and looped her arm through his. His eyes snapped over to mine, a pleading look on his face.

  “Um, thanks?”

  “We can take selfies with The Canyon in the background!” Lindy was practically gasping as she pulled Carson toward the top of the hill.

  Rage building in my chest, I had had enough. I needed to put a stop to this nonsense even if Lindy bit my head off. After all, Carson was going to kiss me. . .wasn’t he? He couldn’t kiss me if Lindy was standing there.

  “Aren’t you hungry or something if you didn’t have lunch with your mama?” I asked, clearly grasping at straws. Lindy didn’t crave food constantly like I did. In fact, I had long suspected she starved herself at times, barely eating the rabbit food she called lunch at school.

  Lindy’s face lit up. “That’s a great idea! We could have picnic at The Canyon! I’m going to tell Maria to make us some sandwiches!” She dropped Carson’s arm and ran off in the direction of her house, her blonde hair bouncing gracefully from shoulder to shoulder.

  When she was out of earshot, Carson sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “She’s a tough one to get rid of. Like a hemorrhoid or athlete’s foot.”

  I bit my lip in my attempt not to laugh. I’m pretty sure Carson was the very first person of the male persuasion to liken Lindy to a fungal infection.

  “She’s my best friend,” I protested.

  Carson scoffed. “Sounds like a disease. Seems to me, you need to take an antibiotic to cure you of your best friend.”

  “Oh, stop it!” I said with a high-pitched giggle (where did that come from?). “I assure you, she’s a very good friend.”

  “I bet,” he said, raising his eyebrows doubtfully. “She’s really not very nice to you at all. At least from what I’ve seen.”

  “It’s fine,” I mumbled. “You just don’t understand Lindy. That’s just the way she is.”

  “I understand that you could have a much more supportive friend. You know, one that leaves you alone when a guy is trying to have his way with you.”

  “What?” My head swiveled toward Carson. That seemed a bit creepy.

  He cracked a smile. “I’m kidding!” He threw his hands up in surrender. “You could probably kick my ass anyway.”

  Was that a fat joke?

  I didn’t have time to get defensive because Carson quickly said, “I may not know a ton about friends, but I think you could do better than Lindy.”

  “We’ve been friends for six years,” I mumbled, as if that explained everything. Well, in a way, it did. Not everything Lindy did made me happy; she could be downright mean at times, but that was Lindy. But you don’t just chuck six years of friendship to the curb because you don’t always like the way your friend acts, right?

  Besides, I knew that underneath her gruff exterior was a sad little girl who just wanted her mama to love her and her daddy to pay attention to her. People didn’t realize that when they first met her.

  My face must have revealed my feelings because Carson furrowed his brow as if he were thinking deeply. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just, Lindy doesn’t seem like. . .a very nice person or a good friend. And…” He stepped closer to me, brushing away the lock of hair that had flopped across my forehead. My heart stalled. “I think that you are the type of girl who really, really needs a good friend.” He was leaning closer to me. . .he was going to kiss me! This time it’s going to happen!

  And then. . .Lindy’s voice broke through the trees. “I’m back!” I heard her call out as branches snapped underneath her feet. Damn it! She had the worst timing!

  Carson’s hand slid to his side as Lindy came into view He rolled his eyes upward. “Cripes. Back already?” He didn’t even attempt to disguise his annoyance.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Maria had a tray of sandwiches already made up,” I whispered as we watched Lindy approach. In her right hand, she carried an actual picnic basket with red gingham lining. A loaf of French bread stuck out the side. Were there feta stuffed olives and goat cheese in there, too? French champagne and two flute glasses? What the hell was Maria thinking when she packed this picnic basket? A romantic picnic for Lindy and her future boyfriend Carson?

  Next to me, Carson groaned audibly. “Damn. She’s really not gonna go away, is she?”

  I nodded my head slowly. Carson didn’t know Lindy like I did. We would be going on this picnic come hell or high water, that was for sure. What Lindy wanted, Lindy got. She was like that girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

  “Hey, y’all,” Lindy chirped in her best fake Southern-girl accent. For the most part, Lindy sounded like a Midwesterner, always desperate to get rid of any Southern twang she did possess, unless it came in handy, like in the case of flirting with a boy. Then, she was dropping letters like Vanna White and do-si-doing like nobody’s business. It usually gave me a chuckle to watch her revert into the type of deep-South Southern Belle that she normally mocked, but today, I wasn’t finding it all that funny. In fact, it was making my blood boil.

  I turned my back on Lindy with an inaudible humph and stomped up the trail ahead of her and Carson, despite my fear of the woods. It was worth it to tick her off because, like the head pack dog, Lindy always had to be in front, leading the way. Heaven forbid anyone else claim that advantage.

  “Wait for us now, Kennedy,” Lindy called to me in a syrupy sweet voice. I ignored her as I forged ahead, stomping the dirt angrily underneath my tennis shoes. My breathing was coming out in raspy puffs (I might have had a touch of the asthm
a as Mama said. . .or a touch of being fat) but it didn’t matter because I was getting to the top of that hill before Lindy did, damn it.

  I could hear her, huffing equally loud, desperately trying to catch up with me, sticks snapping underneath her feet as she jogged. Who knows what Carson was thinking? He was so silent I was beginning to wonder if we hadn’t left him behind, but I certainly wasn’t going to turn around to look.

  “Kennedy! Slow down!” Lindy pleaded behind me, but for once, I ignored her. My anger at her behavior around Carson was overtaking my rationalization at the moment. The only way to get past my anger was to get to The Canyon before she did. At least that’s what made sense in my mind.

  I curled my fists up and held my arms close to my body as I pumped my thick legs up the steep hill, nearly running. I was determined, steadfast in getting there first, doing something in my life before Lindy managed to hog all the glory, when I heard a sharp snap. And then, a high-pitched screech, followed by a thump to the ground.

  “Are you all right?” Carson’s concerned voice called out, the first time I had heard him since I had stormed off like General Custer leading the charge.

  I whirled around to see Lindy about fifty feet behind me, sitting on the ground with her left leg bent to the side, her foot twisted in a very unnatural manner. Carson was on one knee, bent over her body as she clutched her leg and wailed in agony.

  Instantly, I was shamed. Oh my goodness, Kennedy! Look what you’ve done to your best friend! If you hadn’t been trying to prove something, this wouldn’t have happened.

  I slunk over to them like a reprimanded child. As I got closer, I could see Lindy was crying so hard she had made her mascara run.

  Carson looked up at me as I approached. “I think she just sprained her ankle,” he told me as he pointed to the way her foot bent back in that weird sort of way.

  I sucked in my breath and cringed as Lindy cried out, “It’s not sprained! I’m sure it’s broken! It hurts!”

  Standing up, Carson leaned into me and whispered, “I was a first aider in my old town. That doesn’t look broken. It looks what we call exaggerated.”