I clean Rylie’s dropped cheesecake, then throw that tissue on the table. I mimic Natalie’s brisk tone, “What do you want, Summer?”
She opens her mouth, then flattens it when she looks from me to Rylie. Quietly, Rylie excuses herself to get more food, pushing Natalie along with her to the kitchen. Summer lets out a breath, then slides aside the things on the coffee table to perch there.
“Contrary to what you might think, Walsh, I’m not a liar,” she starts, setting her giant purse on the table beside her. “And I don’t tell secrets. Ever.”
She takes something out of her purse. Her phone. I wait for her to start poking around on it, to avoid meeting my eyes while I take her apology—if that was an apology—and forgive her. Instead, she stares down at the screen and sighs. A deep, weary sigh.
“But I’ll show you this one. Just this once.”
She holds the phone out to me. I press play on the video. Indecent noises fill the room, and from the kitchen, Natalie blurts, “Are you watching porn?”
I stop the video, not needing to see anymore. I don’t even want to know how she took it, my curiosity, for once, completely fine with not knowing something. Summer takes the phone, taps a few times, then puts it away. “I emailed it to you. Do with it what you will.”
“Summer,” I ask, closing my eyes against that image. “Why?”
She hoists her bag over her shoulder. Stands up, visit over in less than a handful of minutes. With a quick glance in the direction of the kitchen, she lowers her voice to ask, “You didn’t run the story about Elijah. Why?”
My skin warms. I’d turned in my profile to Brook Sunday afternoon. I’d added a quick update about the fundraiser from what I’d seen before everything went down. And even if I didn’t take photos or collect quotes, Brook understood I couldn’t get those things while under death-by-balloon duress. Besides, there’s enough material floating around social media. The article had run, as planned, Monday morning. With no mention of the vandalism, Elijah, or my allergy emergency.
I flirted with the idea. Still ticked from Meegan’s attack, I sat at my desk and started writing a version of the article that did start with a gasp-inducing mystery reveal that Summer paid someone to paint a penis on her father’s namesake.
Not a third into it, however, I remembered Summer’s face. Staring at that simple bee cupcake. How angry and hurt she looked that Nolan flaked. Remembered how angry and hurt I had felt—and pumped with adrenaline from my body’s reaction to the balloon avalanche—when I thought she betrayed my trust and told Spencer’s ex everything. Because other than my friends, who would never tell, Summer’s the only one who knew.
I pulled up the only image I have of her, spinning in her study room chair. Hair in her face, movement hiding her features. Hiding her. All her off-the-record stories and on-the-record platitudes. Only revealing parts, keeping the rest to herself. And I’d realized, under my own hurt and pain, there’s a reason why Summer did what she did. A reason I might never know.
I shrug now. “It’s really no one’s business, is it?”
She releases a breath, the first sign I’ve ever seen from her that she’s nervous. She hides it quickly with a nod, stepping towards the door.
“How’d you know?” I ask before she can leave. “The way to use an auto-injector?” Because even close to passing out, I hadn’t missed her taking charge of that situation. How she hadn’t needed to read the directions printed on the side of the tube.
Summer rolls her eyes, sticking a hand in her purse and pulling out a case of epinephrine. “You think you’re the only one on campus with life-threatening allergies, Walsh?”
“What are you—”
“Bees.”
My mouth drops open. “But you love bees.”
“Yeah, and they can kill me with one sting,” she simply states, replacing the medicine in her bag. “Doesn’t mean I’m giving up on them. Walsh, I’ve told you this, bees pollinate more than ninety percent of the world’s leading crops, and where would you or I be without—”
“Oh my god, enough with the bugs already,” Natalie whines from the kitchen. “Are we going to finish this movie? I’ve been waiting for them to reveal the killer’s her estranged uncle from the asylum.”
I laugh when Summer’s face drops in a pout. Ignoring Natalie, she murmurs to me, “For what it’s worth, Kennedy, I didn’t tell. Anyone. About anything. I never do.”
Remembering my photo of her, I nod, accepting that as the truth. I pat my blanket. “Summer… do you want to stay?”
Her eyebrows raise at the invitation. She looks at the kitchen again. To our living room mess, and then back to the kitchen. Finally, she holds her purse tighter to her side and shakes her head. “No, thank you.”
She makes her exit then, with me staring after her. I spent almost a whole semester with Summer Prescott, asking questions about her life, listening to her sorority tales, receiving gifts from her bottomless purse… and I don’t think I know a single thing about her.
What secrets does Summer keep about herself?
Just as I ponder that, Natalie and Rylie file in from the kitchen. Natalie holds up two chocolate cookies with a slab of cheesecake between them and bites into the creation.
Rylie shakes her head. “Morris will kill you.”
“Theo doesn’t need to know a damn thing,” Natalie says around another bite. She holds it out to me. “Kennedy, want some?”
I grab my computer. Check my email. Sure enough, the first unopened item is from Summer. I download the attachment, jumping to my feet. “Not now. We have to go.”
“Where?” Rylie asks. Natalie asks the same, only muffled through food.
“Trust me, you’ll love it.”
40
