When Summer Ends Read online

  “They make tick spray, right?” I say absentmindedly as Aunt Sarah shoves her wallet into the brown leather laptop bag hanging on her hip.

  “I … don’t think so?” I’m not sure why I’m asking Aunt Sarah, she’s not outdoorsy either. The Henry women have a long, robust history of thriving indoors.

  “Do you have water shoes?” I ask.

  “No, but you can order a pair.”

  I nod. Maybe it will be a few days before they trust me putting in canoes. Maybe the river won’t be as squishy as I remember it being as a kid. Was that even the same river? What if I fall in? Surely they’ll waive the khaki shorts rule if it’s your first day and you fall in the water or something. They’re not going to make me work in soaking wet shorts. Ellis seemed reasonable, though it also didn’t feel like he was head honcho. Of course he was important enough to interview and hire me. Crap. What if this whole thing is just some sort of prank? Would they really put a teenager in charge of hiring people? Maybe that’s why I got such a strange look from Aiden. I fell for it.

  Stop it, Olivia.

  I take a deep breath and untuck my red shirt. I’ve spent the last thirty minutes tucking it in. And then out. And then in. I hate the first day. Of anything. I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do, or where to go, or what to expect. I’m not afraid of spiders, or heights, or dying in a plane crash (okay, maybe if the turbulence is bad enough), but I am most definitely scared of the unknown. I spent months researching Lake Lights, and here I am walking into River Depot with one day’s notice and nothing more than a two-minute overview.

  At least I’ll know Aiden. Sort of. It’s better than nothing, and maybe yesterday was a fluke. Everyone has always said how “surprisingly nice” he is. The thought of having someone to talk to, and ask questions, calms me enough to leave my shirt alone. I walk to the kitchen and grab the little pad of paper off of the fridge, and the pen Aunt Sarah always has lying on the butcher block island in the middle of the kitchen.

  1. Buy tick spray

  2. Order water shoes

  3. Pack sunscreen

  4. Extra shorts & underwear

  Loosen up, Olivia. My mother’s voice whispers in my ear like the little devil on my shoulder you see in cartoons. She can tell me herself when I call her this afternoon after my shift. I flick that little guy off my shoulder and tuck my list in my pocket. I’ll get Day One over with, and I’ll feel better. You can do this, Olivia. You’ve got this.

  * * *

  When I arrive at River Depot the circle drive is still dotted with puddles from last night’s rain. Past the building and the little covered walkway where people line up to buy canoe trips, the bike rack sits under a tree, next to an old weathered picnic table, tucked in alongside the woods. You wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking for it, and there’s only one other bike sitting there. It’s June, so it’s still cool in the morning—the air feels light, not yet dragged down by the humidity that will hit by midday when I’ll drip with sweat. As I round the front of the building, I can hear the river, the soft tinkling over the rocks, the gentle lapping against the docks that run the length of the property. Maybe working here will be like a spa day, minus the ocean-scented candles and the stress-relief. Wishful thinking.

  There are five narrow docks, one after the next to my far left, and the huge dock to my right is filled with colorful Adirondacks and round tables with red umbrellas. Red, just like my shirt. Red is totally not my color, but no one is going to notice when I’m wearing these shorts. Thanks for taking the pressure off, Aunt Sarah.

  Running my hands over the offending beige fabric in a last-ditch attempt to transform them into anything else, I step down onto the gravel. Gone is the peaceful sound of the river, drowned out by every step I take, crunching through the vast expanse of gray stones.

  I’m not sure where to go, so I return to the wood stump podium where Ellis interviewed me. A cool breeze sends goose bumps up my legs. This is my favorite part of summer, when the humidity hasn’t set in yet and neither have the tourists. In retrospect, this job may be my worst idea ever. Worse than the time I let Emma dye my brown hair red (read: purple) in seventh grade. Because in a few weeks my currently not-purple hair will be overtaken by the wet air, and this place will be overrun by tourists. Terrorists, we locals call them. A little jab for taking all the best parking spots at local restaurants all summer and tailgating us anywhere the speed limit is under fifty-five. For people who are supposed to be on vacation, terrorists sure do need to slow down.

  Both of the large garage doors are closed, and no light shines through the slits of glass at the top. Where is everyone? The Grill was still dark when I walked by, its wooden shutters closed across both of the small rectangular food windows. I didn’t have time to pack a lunch this morning, and I’m sort of excited to have an excuse to eat a corndog and ice cream. With all the boat-hauling I’m going to be doing, I probably won’t even have to worry about the possible repercussions daily corndogs could have on these already-heinous shorts. Perhaps this will be the summer I have ice cream cones on the daily.

  I kick the gravel and a few pieces skitter into the water, rippling along the edge. One of them skips a few times, leaving little ripples behind it, like the tracks of a water bug.

  “Nice,” I mutter.

  “Hey, New Girl.” Behind me, Ellis rounds the building, a small pack of redshirts following behind him. “We meet by the gazebo for morning assignments.” He points toward the path leading up toward the building, cutting into the trees. It must wrap around to the little covered area where boaters are checked in. Morning assignments? “Thought you were a no-show.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Crap. My first day and already I’m “that” employee. Maybe I should have listened to the internet and moved away to one of those all-summer camps, group-shower foot fungus be damned.

  “He probably forgot to tell you,” the pretty—and very short—black girl standing next to Ellis says with a smile. She’s shorter than Emma, who is only 5'3", and I can’t help but notice that even her shorts are not as long on her as mine are on me.

  “No problem, I’ll catch you up. Olivia, this is Allison and Avery.” He gestures to the girl standing off to his left and the tall blonde next to her, and they each give a little wave. “And this is Alex, Andy, and Aiden.” The guys wave and nod.

  Avery, Allison, Alex, Andy, and Aiden? What the hell?

  “Are you all related?” I suspect the answer is no—aside from Ellis and Aiden none of them look alike at all. Avery has blond hair cropped into a pixie cut, and Allison has long black braids with gold twisted through. They’re gathered up in a thick ponytail and swing at her shoulders. Alex is short and stocky, with a mop of messy brown hair, and Andy is a tall, skinny ginger. Probably not related. But it’s just so strange that everyone who works here has a name that starts with A, like one of those reality-show families that discriminate against twenty-five letters in the alphabet. Everyone except for me and Ellis, of course.

  Everyone looks confused. “No, why do you ask?”

  “Just—” I feel stupid for even bringing it up. “I know you two are.” I nod to Ellis, and Aiden, off to my right, gazing out toward the water with a smug look on his face. So much for knowing someone, I guess.

  “Nope.” Ellis unfolds a paper in his hand, lays it on the stump next to him, and reaches down for a little hammer I hadn’t noticed, hanging by a little leather ribbon off of a rusty nail. He pulls a nail out of the top of the stump and slams it into the paper with one quick hit. I flinch a little with the bang. “We go for a certain aesthetic here,” Ellis says. “For our visiting friends.”

  Friends.

  “Everyone can take your spots.” He points to the girls. “You’re in The Grill.” The two girls give each other a high-five that rings with familiarity, and head up the stairs. “Andy, you can unload the cages from last night. Your first pickup isn’t until ten.” Andy nods. “Alex, you’re in the gazebo.�
� He turns toward the back of the building, and heads toward the customer—I mean, visiting friend—counters, where the river trip sign-ups happen.

  “You’re on boat duty, New Girl.”

  “I thought today was orientation?” We’re all just doing our own thing, thrown to the wolves—I mean, visiting friends?

  “For you. Everyone else is old news,” Ellis says. “Don’t look so scared though—you’re with me and Aiden, you’ll be fine. You’ll be running this place by lunch break.”

  I nod and smile, relieved I’m not going to be left on my own on my first day. Maybe Ellis—not Aiden—will be my person, my quick friend. There’s always one—that person who immediately feels like someone you’ve known forever—someone you’d tell a secret to immediately after meeting, if they asked.

  Unfortunately, Ellis is also a liar. Because within twenty minutes of dispersing everyone to their duties, he disappears with nothing but a “You got this.” Which I hope was directed toward Aiden, because I totally do not “got this.” I watch Ellis as he leaves, and slowly turn toward Aiden, who has managed to operate in complete silence since introductions. He’s almost robotic in his actions, moving canoes from the stacked piles to each dock, then jotting something down on the paper nailed to the stump. Canoe numbers, probably. Ellis showed us the list of today’s reservations, and we’re basically supposed to queue up all of the equipment for the day, assigning boats to each group and noting the numbers on the paperwork. People are too impatient to wait for us to do paperwork once they get down to the water, Ellis told me.

  So I look at the paper on the stump, and pick the first trip that hasn’t been checked off. I grab a yellow kayak from the pile, put a life jacket inside, and shove a paddle down into the cavity, jotting down a number for each on the sheet. Everything at River Depot has a number on it, so they can track who has returned what. Next to me, Aiden is hauling a canoe down from the rack.

  “How’s your eye doing?” I say it because I’m nervous. And because I’m stupid around new people. Even though I’ve seen Aiden around the hallways since elementary school, and at every baseball game I’ve ever been to, I don’t think I’ve ever actually talked to him one-on-one. New people make me nervous—especially when they seem annoyed by my very existence. But somehow I keep hoping that for some reason he just doesn’t recognize me. That outside of school, I must look different. Maybe it’s the khakis. Or the lack of makeup. Yes, of course. I mentally salute myself for solving the riddle.

  “It’s fine.” Another canoe comes down in a controlled fall.

  “I bet you’ll have a great scar.”

  “Yeah, I guess I can check that off the old bucket list,” he says.

  Okay. This isn’t going great.

  Before I can think of another benign comment, Aiden turns on me, a light in his eyes that I’ve yet to see since I got here. His brows twitch up like he’s just remembered something exciting.

  AIDEN

  I know it’s not a long-term solution, but I was hoping Olivia and I could just work in silence this morning. But since small talk is inevitable, I figure I might as well steer things into a non-baseball direction. Plus it will give me something to talk about tonight at family dinner.

  “Congrats on the big win,” I say.

  Olivia is looking at me like I’m not speaking English. “Excuse me?”

  “My dad told me this morning. He saw it in the paper?” I’m not sure why she’s looking at me like she can’t believe I’m bringing this up. It’s obviously public knowledge if it’s in the newspaper. Does she think I’m going to try to hit her up for money or something? “I guess my dad and your mom went to school together.”

  “I don’t…” She’s still staring at me blankly, and maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe it’s a loyalty thing—me being the guy who ruined her boyfriend’s senior baseball season before it even started and all. I’m not sure how I’m the bad guy when I had to give up baseball, but whatever. If she can somehow make my problems about her, then she and Zander must be soul mates.

  “It’s fine—” I turn toward the garage, ready to grab the first batch of red cushions to be put in the canoes, and feel a hand on my wrist. A grab, a gentle tug, and then it’s gone.

  “Wait. What about my mom?” Olivia asks.

  Shit. The way she’s looking at me—with eyes that look more scared than excited—there’s no way she knows. Now I feel like an ass. But how can she not? “Crap. You should talk to your mom. I don’t want to—”

  “I’m talking to you.” Her voice is firm. “So tell me.” She crosses her arms over her chest, like she’s bracing herself.

  “She, um … won the lottery. Down in Florida, I guess.” Her expression hasn’t changed at all—no smile, no screams. Maybe she’s in shock. “You’re rich!” I say, trying to use the excitement she doesn’t have. “Congrats!”

  Olivia is just standing there, looking at me with dead eyes. No smile, no tears, no glimmer of excitement. Her cheeks are flushed, almost the color of her shirt now, and she doesn’t look happy. She doesn’t look like someone whose mom just won $2 million and some change. She actually looks sort of pissed. I mean, it’s not move-to-the-Bahamas money, but she’ll probably get a new car or house or something out of it. Instead she looks like I just told her I ran over her puppy. What is wrong with this girl?

  It starts off slowly, almost like she has a weird case of the hiccups, or something stuck in her throat she’s trying to clear. One singular laugh, followed by another. Faster and faster, until she’s cackling like she’s completely lost it. This girl. She’s bent down, her hands on her knees, like someone winded from running a race. Her shoulders shake as she continues to laugh. Tears are running down her cheeks, but I don’t think she’s crying. Something catches in her throat, and she snorts mid-laugh. And I can’t help it, I laugh too. And when I laugh, she laughs harder. And then I lose it. I don’t even know what we’re laughing about. I’m laughing at her, because she looks completely ridiculous right now, losing her shit by the boathouse.

  When Olivia finally pulls out of her breakdown, two seconds haven’t passed before she says, “We shall never speak of this.” She holds her hand up dramatically, and I’m not sure if she’s joking or serious. Either way, it’s hard to argue with, as a guy who doesn’t currently want to talk about anything. I just nod.

  Olivia starts to pull a canoe down from the rack, and I help her, easing the other end down to the ground. I get the next three canoes down from the rack and tell her to get the kayaks and cooler floats that go with it. We don’t actually call them cooler floats, because drinking on the river is technically illegal. The paperwork says they’re “accessory floats,” but we all know what they use them for.

  Once our equipment is staged, I walk Olivia through sending the first family of the day out on a trip. We pull each boat down to the docks, pack each with red flotation cushions, and pass out life jackets and height-appropriate oars to the parents and four children. Before they leave, we remind them to look for the giant red sign along the river that says STOP HERE. She pays attention to everything I do, and does it identically, always asking if she did it right, and letting out an excited little squeak with every affirmative nod. Now that I’ve had a front-row seat to her laugh-fest, and she seems to be happy to be working with me, it’s really hard to keep up my plan of not talking to her. Because she doesn’t seem anything like Zander. And maybe if we’re friends, she’ll just keep him away. Maybe that’s my best bet anyway; to make her an ally.

  After lunch, we’ll have our first group demonstrations. This is mandatory for first-time boaters, and it requires one of us to do an overly dramatic flight attendant–style demonstration of life vests and how to hold a paddle properly. Neither of us has done it before, but someone needs to start reading the script to be ready to lead the demonstration. Not it.

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll flip you for it.” I pull a quarter out from my pocket and hold it between my fingers in front
of me. “Since it seems like good luck runs in your family.”

  She smiles.

  “Heads or tails?” I ask.

  OLIVIA

  “Heads.” I always pick heads. Because my mom always picked tails, claiming it was creepy to bet on a dead president’s severed head. What could be lucky about that? she said. So I’ve made it my life’s mission to prove her wrong, one coin toss at a time. “Heads, you have to do it and tails, I do,” I clarify.

  Aiden rests the coin on his thumb and flicks it into the air. He catches it in his hand, closes a fist around it, and looks at me with dramatically wide eyes. “Flip or open?”

  “Flip.” He’s making this fun, and I’m relieved that the last few hours have been tension-free working with him.

  Aiden opens his palm and flips the coin onto the back of his left hand. He leaves it covered.

  “Come on. Come on,” I urge him.

  He pulls his hand away, and there is a big beautiful dead-president face looking up at me.

  “Yes!” I pump my fist in the air.

  “Now you’re excited?” Aiden shakes his head, a huge smile on his face. “Two million dollars gets nothing, but a coin toss and…” He shakes his head and mutters, “… you’re so weird.”