When Summer Ends Read online

  “Two hot dogs. Chicago-style, please,” he says to the middle-aged woman at the window as he pulls money out of his pocket. He looks at me questioningly and I shake my head. I’m suddenly not hungry. We walk as Aiden eats.

  We’re on a side street and behind us is a two-story monstrosity made of metal. I can’t take my eyes off of it.

  “What is this?” I nod up at the dark brown creature’s snout hanging over us on the sidewalk.

  “Steam Pig.” There’s a very noticeable sense of awe in Aiden’s voice. “This was one of the featured exhibits they had on the website.”

  My eyes wander over the creature’s riveted snout and its rocket-like legs. There must be at least fifteen feet between me and the metal beast’s belly, and another fifteen to the top of his head. “Interesting,” I mutter, pulling my eyes back to Aiden, who is looking at this giant chunk of metal like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

  “I bet this was a bitch to put together.”

  “This took a serious plan,” I add, and Aiden nods. “You don’t put something like this together on a whim.”

  “Most art doesn’t come together that way. Not for me, at least.”

  “Me either,” I add. “With writing, I mean. I need a plan.”

  “Maybe someday it will come to us without so much effort—the words and pictures.”

  “You think?”

  He laughs. “Now’s not a great time to ask me. I’m not exactly the king of optimism at the moment.”

  “Yeah, I get that. It’s hard when things change. Or when you can’t have what you really want.”

  “It is,” he says quietly, and tips his head toward the street. “Let’s get going.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me behind him for a few steps before he drops it. I follow behind, giving myself a few moments to enjoy the view. Of the city, the art, and Aiden Emerson. All surprisingly nice.

  * * *

  Our last stop of the day is an exhibit hosted in an old warehouse building. After a half-mile walk from the center of downtown we stood in line for thirty minutes in the expansive space, before being ushered, in a group of twenty or so, into a small room. We follow the guide into the exhibition room—a large makeshift space with a ceiling half the height of the warehouse. In the pitch black, with temporary walls around us, it feels like we’re entering a haunted house and a shiver runs through me. Something grazes my arm and I startle, grabbing toward Aiden and catching a handful of his shirt in my hand. I can feel his hard forearm under my fingertips.

  “You okay?” Aiden whispers, his voice amused. I can barely see him, but I feel his breath over me, warm and soft as it brushes across my forehead. He pulls his arm away from me, and I feel like an idiot for clinging on to him like a scared six-year-old.

  I hate haunted houses.

  If you ask me, anyone who likes them is absolutely masochistic. I hate that you can’t see the other people, or the ground, or what’s coming next. I hate the weird noises and the strange things they touch you with. But this isn’t a haunted house. Get it together, Olivia, you’re embarrassing yourself. A second later, something brushes my back, and Aiden’s arm slowly but firmly drapes over my shoulders, his side pressing lightly into mine. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arm there, his forearm resting on my right shoulder as bodies continue to file in around us, filling the room. It doesn’t feel romantic. It just feels … comforting. Surprisingly nice, I think, and almost laugh out loud, despite the eerie shifting shadows around us.

  Aiden is whispering as we continue to shuffle toward the center of the dark square room, explaining what the installation is trying to portray. Soft music plays as lights begin to pop on one by one, throwing patterns across the room. Bodies begin to drop from the ceiling panels, on what look like trapeze and—Wait. Are they people, or are they puppets? They look so limp, it’s hard to tell. They’re wrapped in colorful silk scarves, and I’m sure they’re attached somehow, but I can’t see anything holding them up. They look like limp bodies descending down into the room over our heads. People. They’re definitely people.

  More lights begin to flash from the perimeter of the room, painting the walls and ceiling with intricate designs. It’s mesmerizing, and I can’t help but smile up at Aiden, whose eyes are fixed on the performers above us. He smiles, but never takes his eyes off of the bodies that are billowing out of the ceiling like an upside-down clown car.

  The performers begin twisting and climbing and flipping on their silky tethers, shouting and singing, their voices spinning around and over me as the lights whirl around the room like a deranged kaleidoscope. As a woman dangles in front of us, I look up at Aiden again and realize how close we’ve gotten as I twisted and turned to follow the performers. I’m nestled into him, my back almost to his chest. His arm has shifted across my collarbone. I’m not sure if Aiden’s fingers are moving on my bare shoulder, or if it’s just me, vibrating against him, but I suddenly feel like I might explode. What are we doing? All the spots where we touch feel charged. The back of my head rests against his chest as I look up toward the performers overhead. There are two of them, limbs tangled in the silk cords and each other, as they rise and fall with twists of the fabric. My breathing feels slow and heavy as I try to keep myself in check, before I crawl out of my skin.

  As the last performers retreat back into the ceiling—the flowing cords of fabric trailing behind them like the tendrils of a jellyfish—the lights slowly come up. Like a dimmer switch, Aiden’s arm slowly eases off of my shoulder with the brightening of the lights, and as we begin walking behind the mass of bodies in front of us we’re completely silent. The moment right after his arm leaves me, it feels like I lost something, but then his hand finds mine, the way it did at the Steam Pig. Except this time he doesn’t pull it away after a few steps. He holds on as we’re caught in the current of people around us, slowed to a crawl as we filter out of the small door of the exhibit room and back into the expansive warehouse around it.

  When we finally reach the doorway and pour out into the open warehouse, Aiden is holding my hand so tight it should be uncomfortable. Except it’s actually sort of amazing. We walk faster, picking up pace until we’re almost pulling each other, frantic, as we make our way toward the exit. We’re not running, but my breath is catching, caught in my throat, my heart racing right along with me. Aiden makes a sharp left, and I follow one step behind, still connected by our magnetic hands. There’s nothing in front of us except for a wide expanse of open concrete, but Aiden’s charging ahead with a clear goal in mind. And then I see it, the little red letters overhead, waving us in like the lights on a runway. E-X-I-T.

  Aiden shoves the door with his shoulder, and there’s more concrete as we enter the small corridor of the stairwell. A flight of gray steps goes down, and there’s a metal ladder bolted to the wall, but the little space is empty. Aiden pulls me in behind him and then releases my hand.

  He smiles slowly and closes the gap between us. His hand slides along my neck, and he’s pressed against me as his lips hit mine. It’s soft and warm and effortless. Like the way he pushes us in the canoe, strong, but not rough. Smooth. And I feel it everywhere, vibrating through me like the music in that tiny room, filling all of the gaps that have been left in me lately.

  When we leave the stairwell, it’s hand in hand. Aiden’s thumb rests lightly against my hand, rubbing with each fall of our feet as we cross through the building and out into the afternoon sunshine. We walk down the sidewalk, my hand in his, and it feels like we’re walking through a different city. Like the day is brighter, the people around us more alive. It sounds so freaking cliché. But for the first time in weeks, I see the happy smiles of couples and I don’t scowl. I don’t envision how they’ll end; don’t wish them to crash and burn in some sort of fiery anger-filled breakup. This is what summer is supposed to feel like—exciting and carefree and new. Emma would approve.

  Aiden’s phone buzzes and he plucks it from his pocket, swiping with one hand while
mine dangles in his other. He silently slides his finger across the screen and then drops my hand.

  “Everything okay?”

  There’s a long pause as his fingers slow down and his phone returns to his pocket. “Yeah, fine.” But he doesn’t sound fine. He doesn’t sound like the Aiden who sees sunsets where I see goldfish.

  And his hand doesn’t find mine again. It goes in his pocket, and we walk in silence. Past a giant, glittering mosaic that he doesn’t even give a passing glance. Up the hill, and four blocks over, in silence the whole time. So that’s that. A kiss in a stairwell. One kiss, and it’s over as quickly as it started. Which is fine. Longer just means harder. Trying harder, falling harder. And I’m taking life less seriously this summer, anyway. Aiden gets in front of me, and his long strides are outpacing me. He’s not running, but he might as well be. And I’m done chasing.

  Chapter

  Ten

  OLIVIA

  When you live in a town as small as Riverton, and work somewhere like River Depot—where everyone is up in your business all the time—it’s not hard to know when you’re being avoided.

  When Aiden’s bike was missing from the rack on Monday, I wasn’t worried. It’s not like seventeen-year-old guys never show up to work late. But when our shift started and I was still standing on the riverbank by myself, something felt off. Then Ellis trotted out from behind the building—his hair not coifed into its usual fauxhawk, his shirt visibly wrinkled. On his day off. And I knew. In another town, at another job, maybe I could have made it more than thirty-six hours without suspecting I was being blown off. I could have lived in denial for just a little longer and told myself that it wasn’t me. Maybe he got bad news. That his dog died, or his grandma was sick. Not that I want his grandma to be sick—I’m not horrible—I just don’t want it to be me. But I do live in Riverton and work at River Depot, so on Monday I do know. I just don’t know why.

  “Did you have fun at ArtPrize?” Ellis says it with a smile, and it’s clear he doesn’t have an agenda.

  “It was fun,” I say, picking red cushions out of a canoe and looping them over my arm.

  Ellis tells me about his date the night before, with a “gorgeous blond” terrorist named Darren who took him to dinner at an artisan pizza place. About mini-golf, where he won, even though he tried to lose. “Liv, I’m inconveniently good at mini-golf.”

  “Poor baby,” I joke.

  “We’re supposed to go out again on Wednesday,” he says, but he doesn’t sound excited, he sounds worried.

  “Well, he sounds nice,” I say.

  Ellis nods as he stacks an armful of paddles on the rack.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is we had the best first date ever, and I have no idea how to follow that up.”

  Part of me wants to laugh at how much I can relate to this. Aiden and I weren’t on a date—I don’t think, despite the kiss—but it was a pretty magical day. Art and music and stairwell kisses? Maybe it’s a good thing we stopped before we started. I’m not sure how we’d go up from there.

  “What about bowling,” I suggest.

  Ellis gives me a disgusted look, like I suggested he go sit in a pile of trash.

  “Blacklight bowling?” I offer. “That’s kind of retro-cool.”

  “I don’t think we’re the bowling type.” There’s a stretch of silence and then Ellis turns to me. “I thought you wrote love stories. Shouldn’t you be good at this sort of thing?” He smiles and goes back to stacking.

  “Aiden told you that?” I’m not sure if I’m upset that he told Ellis, or flattered that he was talking about me.

  “Is it a secret?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t go around telling everybody, but it’s not a secret. I just—anyway, I’ll try to think of something for you.”

  “Awesome,” Ellis says, putting his fist out and then knocking it into mine.

  We’re lowering a canoe down from the rack after lunch when I finally work up the nerve to ask Ellis what I need to know. “Where’s Aiden?” I was going for a casual question, but my voice sounds harsher than I meant—obviously it wasn’t Ellis’s fault that his cousin is an ass.

  “I…” He’s looking at me like he’s not sure what to make of my question. “I’m not sure. He just called this morning and asked me to cover his shift.”

  “Did he sound sick?” For just a moment I let myself believe it isn’t me.

  “Not really?”

  God, why couldn’t he just lie to me?

  We lower the canoe to the ground and Ellis nods me over toward the brush, away from the family that is loading in to the right of us. “Is there anything you need to let me know about?”

  “Um.”

  “As your boss—” His voice gets a little deeper, more serious. “—Is there anything you should let me know about? Anything that … could become a problem in the workplace?”

  “Like?” I say.

  “Like … a relationship?”

  I laugh. “No, there’s definitely no relationship to report.” I’m pretty sure kissing someone and then disappearing the next day is the exact opposite of a relationship.

  “Excellent.” Ellis pretends to wipe sweat off of his brow. “That’s the first time I’ve needed to ask anyone that.”

  “I think need may be a little strong. I just asked if he was sick.” My head snaps up. “No one has ever dated here before? Does Beth and Troy trying to eat each other’s faces the other night not count?”

  “That wasn’t at work.”

  “Aiden and I haven’t done anything at work.”

  Ellis gasps. “You’ve done something not at work?” I don’t say anything, and Ellis’s voice gets serious again. “This is my first year having to worry about it. My brother was still in charge last summer.” He pushes a hand through his fluffy hair, and looks disgusted when he touches it.

  I give Ellis an accusing stare. “You’re just being nosy.”

  Ellis snorts and smiles. “Fine, don’t tell me…”

  “Nothing to tell,” I say. I sort of hate that it’s true. Almost true.

  Tuesday, Aiden’s name is crossed off of the roster next to mine and moved to the concession stand. Apparently smelling like greasy burgers and risking a breakout is preferable to interacting with me. I hope he can’t get the smell out of his hair. Wednesday I don’t have to work, and spend the morning googling my potential new high school and planning how I can make Aiden do all the safety demonstrations from now on. I’m not sure why I’m so upset. Maybe because this whole thing didn’t seem like that big of a deal until he made it one. And he kissed me. How am I the one being avoided in this situation?

  When I finally emerge from my bedroom, I find my mom in the kitchen. She’s sitting at the breakfast table, a coffee mug cradled in her hands. “Good morning,” she says, as I pad across the tile in my bare feet.

  “Morning,” I mutter, as I groggily open the refrigerator. My mother and I haven’t had to see each other much since she moved in last week. I leave early for work, and she seems to come home late. I don’t know what she’s even doing while she’s in town. I pull a two-liter of pop out of the refrigerator door and set it on the counter. I open the cabinet and fish out my favorite glass, covered in pink and yellow polka dots. It’s more suited to orange juice, but we’re out.

  “Oh, Olivia,” my mother says dramatically.

  “What?” I set the glass next to the bottle.

  “Pop at nine in the morning?” She shakes her head as she takes another sip from her mug. “That’s unholy.”

  “I don’t like coffee,” I say, though I’m not sure why my mother has decided that my drink choice is a good place to make her first stand as a responsible adult. “And I need caffeine.” I start pouring a glass, slowly so it doesn’t fizz over the top. My mother gets up from the table and joins me across the island, and as I’m twisting the cap onto the bottle my mother dumps the glass into the sink next to me with a satisfied look on her face.
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br />   “No,” she says. “There are better options. You’ll ruin your kidneys.”

  I roll my eyes and let out a disgruntled sigh.

  “Here,” she says, setting a mug in front of me. She opens a cabinet over the refrigerator that I didn’t know had anything in it, and plucks out three silver cylinders. “Try one of these,” she says, as she sets them in front of me.

  I twist the cap off of the first and it comes off with a little pop. The smell of berries fills my nose. It looks like potpourri. “What is this?”

  Mom’s face twists in confusion. “It’s tea. You’re looking at it like it’s a pile of moon rocks.”

  “I just thought tea came in bags.” I open the second container. It smells spicy, like pepper and something else I can’t put my finger on. It doesn’t smell like something I’d want to drink. I put the lid back on and open the third. It smells like what I expect tea to smell like … sort of earthy and warm; there’s just a hint of orange. Mom is next to me, filling a yellow teapot—I didn’t know we had a yellow teapot—with water. I push the container toward her. “I’ll try this one.” I suppose if my mother and I are going to live together for the next two months, her being my barista isn’t the worst thing that could happen.

  She sets the teapot on the stove and turns the silver knob. The burner clicks as the flame flickers to life, and it seems so loud in the silence of the kitchen.

  “Aunt Sarah leaves tonight, right?” I know when Aunt Sarah leaves. I already said my goodbyes last night, in case we don’t cross paths today before her flight. It just seems like the most innocuous thing we can talk about.

  My mom nods. “I’m taking her to the airport this afternoon.”

  The teapot is softly whistling, and Mom sets a little silver ball in front of me. It’s connected to a chain, and full of tiny holes. I give her a questioning look.

  She nods to the canister in front of me. “Put that GPA I’m always hearing about to work and fill it up,” she says. She sets a little spoon next to it.