Everyone is already at the conference table, looking over a few of the full-page spreads. I’m in no mood to talk or listen, so I head over to a computer and pull up the photo account to see what new pictures have been posted. Ashley Pines has posted a bunch of selfies of her and the cheerleading squad at the all-you-can-eat burger fund-raising night at Fuddruckers. There are a few good ones that I save of the whole group and one of Ashley chowing down on a burger, and I delete the rest. There are also a bunch of photos and selfies from the Academic Decathlon. They actually placed first in the state. I save a few of them standing with their trophy and delete the ones where they are partying like crazy.
“Hey, King,” Justin shouts from across the room. “Did you finish the spread of Enchanted Sea Night?”
I sit back in my chair and crane my neck to see Justin. “It should be there. I uploaded it a few days ago.”
“I didn’t see it posted. Can you check it? Maybe the server crashed before it finished.” I watch Justin go back to flirting with Amber, who is the senior quotes editor. Their blond heads merge together like a shampoo commercial. I would say they would have perfectly towheaded children except that I saw Amber’s roots when we were working together on the senior portraits page. Luckily for them, if they want to have blond kids, they just have to insert a blond-generating SNP, otherwise known as a single-nucleotide polymorphism, a regulatory gene for hair color, into their embryo. Ahhh, genetics. It’s like magic, but real.
I return to the photo account and save a few more pictures of the track team and the girls’ lacrosse team before I switch platforms and look for the Enchanted Sea Night spread. Damn, it did crash before completely uploading. I hit upload again and watch the bar slowly crawl across the top of the page. The upload will take a while. I notice a small photo of Dave Riley in the corner, but he is with another girl whose face is turned away from the camera. He is smiling so wide you can see both rows of teeth. Could he really love Hannah? For her sake, I want it to be true. I want it so bad, I am even willing to stop the upload and go back in to Photoshop the black-haired girl out of the frame. There. At least Hannah won’t see that he went with someone else to that stupid dance. I hit render and watch the new reality take form.
After school, I pace outside next to the administration building, waiting to see if Hannah will show up so I can give her a lift to her usual drop-off spot. As the minutes gather with no sign of her, the realization dawns. She is not coming. And I’m not surprised—why would she want someone like me as her friend? Who am I to tell Hannah that Dave doesn’t love her? That he probably just used her for sex. What do I know about falling in . . . love? Dad ruined his whole life for love. An entire lifetime wasted on someone who was never going to come back. And if by some great miracle she did return, what would she have to offer him? Or me? Her love? Or just a life spent in a drug haze, moving from hospital to hospital like the first time?
Love is a word. A four-letter word that means nothing and everything to the wrong people. I start kicking at a bush by the sidewalk, thinking about all the times Dad made us move in the name of love. Most times I never even had a chance to make a friend before we were packing and leaving again. All for another lead at another lab. Another possible discovery. To help HER. I kick hard at the shrub and then reach down, begin yanking and pulling at the leaves. They scatter and fall to the ground. My anger and frustration pour out as I destroy this living thing until a calm begins to settle over me.
“Nice gardening work!”
There is a group of guys laughing and staring at me. Their eyes pass over my face, my body, their gaze like a physical presence of their judgment. My palms are streaked with green stains. I rub them on the sides of my jeans and walk quickly to my car. I can still see, from the corner of my eye, the group laughing. I jump into my car and gun it, screeching out of the parking lot. Rounding the corner, my front wheel hits the curb and my ribs smash into the steering wheel. The last ball of anger deflates in one motion as I pull over and clutch my side, panting.
The image of the group snickering at me plays over and over in my mind. Stupid. Idiot. Their mockery echoes loudly in my ears. I lean back against the headrest, massaging the knot on my rib cage that will show black and blue by tonight. A truck passes and I glance over. Was that Hannah in the passenger seat? The misty silver of Dave’s truck turns the corner and disappears.
Holding my breath, I try to make everything fade away: the pain in my ribs, the stench of school, Hannah, Dave, the leers, the green stains under my nails, Dad’s irrepressible hope—I just need everything to stop for a minute. The swirling images and whispers gnaw at me until I am dizzy. The bright afternoon light streams in through the windshield. Pressing my fingertips hard to my temples, I close my eyes and force my mind to quiet. The sun presses against my closed lids, turning my world red.
Summer
The sun will beat against
