Summer Vacation!

T.W. Divorce and unstable parental relationships

The first day of Summer Vacation. Oh glorious day! I could hardly wait for the school year to be out. No more hiding, no more pretending.

But it's not even eleven o'clock yet and I am BORED. What am I supposed to do? I don't have a pool. Or a big yard. Or a car. My eyes scan my pale boring room until they land on my bookshelf. I'm struck with an idea.

I swipe my favorite book from the shelf and grab a picnic blanket from the hall closet and I'm out the door before I remember I don't have my own car yet. I set my things down inside the foyer and go back upstairs to ask my mum for her car keys.

I tentatively knock on her bedroom door. The sound of her computer keys stops suddenly and her slippers whisper against the hardwood floors. She hesitates before opening the door.

"What." She demands. I'm stunned. She's never this curt with me. Work stress? Yeah, that checks out.

"Can I borrow your keys?" I ask, barely above a whisper. She raises one of her carefully shaped eyebrows.

"What for?" I feel like shrinking into my shell like I usually do.

"So I can read at the park?" I say, a little louder, but still quiet, "I have my license." I add.

She considers for a second. "How long will you be gone?"

Now it's my turn to think. "A few hours?" I say, "Is that alright?"

For the first time in years, relief floods my mums face, and my spirit lifts. "Just a moment." And she shuts her perfect white door in my face, my nose barely touching the smooth painted surface. I take a step back.

Drawers open and close on the other side of the door. Mum utters a few curse words that barely make it through the door's surface. Keys jingle and she returns to the door. It opens with a whoosh.

"Open your hand." Mum demands. I do as I'm told, my excitement barely contained behind my calm features.

"Tha-" The door shuts in my face again and the clicking of computer keys start up again.

---

My book is just starting to get intense when a shadow looms over me. I place my bookmark to mark my place, and prop myself up on my elbows.

"Can I help you?" I ask, letting the sarcasm drip off my words, raising an eyebrow.

"I've read that book." The boy says, sitting down next to me. "Mind if I spoil something?"

I don't have time to answer before he plows on.

"The killer isn't who you think it is." He half whispers behind his hand. I laugh.

"Like I haven't figured that out yet." I say, sitting up the rest of the way.

I like the way his shaggy toffee brown hair sits just above his ice-blue eyes. He speaks as if he'd been practicing what to say for months. Somehow, I like it.

"What other stuff do you read?" He asks, chuckling. God, it's like Dove chocolate. Smoothe and rich.

"I like Stephen King?" I try. He nods, considering my answer.

"You read 'The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon'?" He asks. I shoot him a quizzical look as an answer. He chuckles again.

The rest of the afternoon melts away with easy conversation floating between books and movies and completely random things like how I like my coffee in the morning.

The sun begins to set and I finally have to end our conversation.

"Tomorrow?" He asks, standing up with me. I look at his face again, and then go back to folding the picnic blanket.

"My mum might not let me have the car again." I say, real disappointment in my tone.

"I can pick you up?" He asks, eager. I almost laugh at his puppilike personality. He reels it in before continuing. "If that's alright with you."

"Yeah." I say, keeping my eyes on the blanket, knowing for certain that my face is a tomato.

We exchange phone numbers and addresses and I agree for him to pick me up at nine the next morning.

I'm giddy with excitement the whole drive home. So much so that I don't fall asleep until midnight.

I woke up at my usual time, seven-thirty, and dress like usual. A comfy t-shirt and cut-off jeans that are a little too short for my father's taste.

I don't bother telling my mum that I'm going out. She wouldn't care anyway. And if she did, what would she do? Not let me see my dad in July? Like that would bother me.

My phone rings in my back pocket and I hurry to pull it out before it goes to voice mail.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Hey, Emmy," The boy from yesterday. "It's Axel. Do you mind if I pick you up early? I need to get away from home for a while." I'm taken aback, but respond within reasonable time.

"Sure." I say, "How far away are you?"

"Um, I'm actually in your driveway. I was down at the end of the street. I was planning on waiting 'til nine-ish, but it's boring and my dad won't stop texting me."

"Oh." I say. At the mention of his dad I'm stopped short. I haven't seen my dad for eight years. I get to see him next month, but only if my mum lets me. "I'm coming." I say through the lump in my throat.

"Great." And the line goes dead.

I slip on my sandals and take my house-keys from the rack before stepping outside into the hot summer air. Axel's car is idling on the curb next to the driveway. I wave with a smile plastered across my face when he looks up at me.

I slide into the passenger seat. The whole car smells like him, and I catch myself swooning for someone I've known for less than twenty-four hours.

Axel notices, I'm certain, because he turns his face a little away from me and his neck is red, much like my face.

His arm that rests on the console is tense from the fist that he made of his hand. I feel like I've crossed a line by doing something out of my control. I turn to look out the window, hoping my hair will hide my crimson cheeks.

He pulls into a parking space at the City Park and we both get out. He takes a blanket out of the back seat and tucks it under his arm.

Then my hand is in his.

"Forgive me for my awkward behavior in the car." He says when I look up at him. "Damn this is gonna' sound cheesy, but even though I hardly know you, I really like you." My cheeks flush red again, but I muster up a response either way.

"Me too." I smile.

Thunder cracks across the sky. Was it always dark? My smile doesn't fade, not even when the rain begins to pour down in buckets.

I tighten my grip on Axel's hand and pull him with me. He drops the blanket and follows me.

"Dance with me?" I ask, "I've always wanted to."

"Why not." He shrugs, and twirls me.