Heatwave

The only thing I hate more than this stupid summer heatwave is watching Kevin Darcy strut around the neighborhood, acting like he’s God’s gift to women. It’s over 100 degrees out here, and you can literally see the waves of heat rippling over the cracked black asphalt on the old basketball court. I would rather be inside in the air conditioned cold of Aunt Miranda’s apartment, but instead I’m out here, sweating my ass off on the stoop so my sister, Erin, can swoon over the charming Mr. Darcy.

This is supposed to be my “golden summer,” or so Mom says. My last summer of freedom before I graduate high school next spring and step into adulthood. That’s why Erin and I are here in Denver with Aunt Miranda instead of back home in rural Iowa. Back home, I would visit the library twice a week and spend my afternoons inside, reading. Erin would chase after the neighborhood kids through the fields and splash around in the stock pond, sometimes coming home covered in slimy green algae. Those are the summers I am used to.

“Abby, we’re going to walk down to get some ice cream with the guys. Is that okay?” Erin approaches me, twisting a lock of her straight brown hair around her finger. It’s her signature move that always gets Mom or Dad to give her what she wants. It doesn’t work on me. I can see, standing behind Erin and her new pals, Renee and Cassie, Kevin Darcy and his crew of Backstreet Boys wannabes are milling around, shirtless, hands stuffed in their pockets as they wait for these tween girls to get permission from me to go off alone with them.

While Erin is only twelve, her city friends are both thirteen. I know for a fact that Kevin is sixteen. When we got here three weeks ago, he wouldn’t shut up about the “epic” sixteenth birthday party that he had back in May, and he told Erin at least three times that he was “bummed” that he hadn’t been able to invite her. I scowl at him. Kevin flashes me a winning smile.

“We’re having dinner in an hour. You’ll spoil your appetite.” This is a poor excuse for not getting ice cream in the middle of a heatwave. It is also a lie. I have no idea when we’re having dinner, but it will definitely not be in an hour.

Erin calls my bluff. “That’s crap, Abby. Aunt Miranda isn’t coming home until after seven o’clock. She told us this morning.”

Sighing, I stand up and stretch, stiff from sitting on the concrete stairs for so long. It’s shaded on this side of the building, but still too damn hot. My t-shirt, which is plain grey and soft from multiple washes, sticks to me. I pull it away from the skin of my back and stomach, and notice with sharp eyes that Kevin is watching me. I shoot him a death glare and hope it works. To my disappointment, he does not die.

“Fine. You can go, but I’m going with you. Mom said you’re not allowed to go out on your own.” I know Erin will hate that last sentence. She hates anything that reminds her friends that she’s younger than they are. To their credit, Renee and Cassie don’t snicker or snort as I had thought they might. Instead, they give Erin sympathetic looks and link arms with her, the three of them heading toward the boys, who grab their shirts from the pavement and sling them over their bare shoulders, leading the way down the block. I check to make sure I have some money and my keys in my pocket, and then I hurry after them.

The ice cream parlor we are headed for, The Little Dipper, is only a few blocks away. Built in the seventies, it is still owned by the same family that originally opened it. The interior is painted pink and mint green, with black and white checkered floors. The tables and stools remind me of an old-timey diner, with shiny plastic white tops and silver chrome. Erin and I have gone there a couple of times with Aunt Miranda when she wasn’t busy working as a Community Outreach coordinator for the city.

Up ahead of me, I notice one of the boys slip his arm around Renee as they’re walking, and the two of them fall back a little behind the group. I am partially glad that he has not chosen Erin as his target, but I also definitely don’t like the way his hand is resting on Renee’s side, just above her hip. I walk a little faster, my black Converse slapping the pavement loudly. Renee looks back at me over her shoulder, eyes widening. She wriggles out from under his arm and jogs to catch up with her friends. The defeated boy gives me an ugly look and speeds up, too. I am doing my best not to laugh.

The Little Dipper is a popular spot today. Even though the heat would ordinarily be oppressive enough to keep me indoors, it is apparently not enough to deter most of the kids and teens in the neighborhood. The line is out the door and down the sidewalk. My sister and her friends join the queue, laughing and joking. I step up behind them, keeping some distance between us. The boys reek of sweat. I fold my arms and lower my head, trying to ignore the burning sensation on the back of my neck. Erin and I are lucky enough to have inherited our mom’s Mediterranean skin, which means we are more likely to brown than to burn. Today, however, I worry that I will skip right over brown and go straight to red.

“Hey.” A friendly voice chirps behind me, and I turn to look. Standing there, apparently all by herself, is a gorgeous redhead. She’s pale and freckled, and her big hazel eyes are accented by perfect wings of glittery black eyeliner. My eyes land on the juicy sparkle of her glossy pink lips, and I don’t get a chance to look lower than her neck before I am instantly smitten.

“Hi.” My voice sounds like a croaking frog, and I cough to clear it. “Hi,” I say again, this time hoping I don’t sound sick. “What’s up?”

The red-headed goddess grins at me and points at the line for The Little Dipper. “It’s a good day for ice cream. I guess we had the same idea.”

“Yeah, I guess we did.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and casually flip my head to toss my dark brown hair out of my eyes. I had it cut into a pixie style at the beginning of the summer, but it’s growing fast, and already too long for my liking. “What’s your name?”

“You first.” She folds her long arms behind her back, and I take in the details of the sun dress she has on. It’s white with a bold brown-and-yellow sunflower print all over. The straps and the hem are edged in white lace, and she’s wearing a pair of strappy white sandals. Her toenails, I notice, are painted dark green.

“Uhm. Abigail. Abby. Fischer.” I pull a sweaty hand out of my pocket to offer her for a shake, and instantly think better of it, transforming the movement into a casual swipe through my hair, again pulling it away from my eyes. She smiles at me, blessing me with a glimpse of her dimples, and gives me a once-over, too. I realize that my grungy t-shirt and faded cut-off shorts are not an impressive summer outfit. I had not planned to leave the stoop.

“Marisol Gibbons.” She nods at something behind me. “It looks like the line is moving.”

I turn to look and see that Erin’s gaggle of teens has moved a few feet ahead. I take a few steps in their direction, and turn back to Marisol, trying to think of something clever to say. “Do you live here?” Not clever, but it’s a solid question.

She nods. “Yep. Not in this neighborhood, but over by Cherry Creek. We come here to visit my Grandpa once a week. He’s napping right now, so Mom told me I could come down to get some ice cream.” She pauses, pushes her curly red hair back over her shoulders. I can see a light sheen of sweat on her pale skin. She’s lucky she hasn’t burned.

“What about you?” she asks. The line moves again. Marisol has now joined me in my place in line, instead of standing behind me. My cheeks grow warm, and I tell myself it’s just the searing hot sunshine.

“Uh, no. No, my sister and I are from Iowa. Just outside of Decorah.” I think back to the little town and its sleepy neighborhoods, green lawns and fields, and the wooden baskets of flowers that decorate the sidewalks in the summer. I think, too, of the library, where I have found refuge from many things, not just the summer heat. “Our Aunt Miranda lives here, and we came to visit. It’s my last ‘summer of freedom’ before graduation next year. And then the responsibilities begin!”

She laughs, and I wonder if you can fall in love with someone’s laugh before the rest of them. It is sweet and light, and I can’t help but grin back in response.

“I understand. I’m the same way. I’m planning to go to New York for college, hopefully be discovered as an exceptional actress.” She strikes a flamboyant pose, one arm lifted dramatically into the air. I clap for her excitedly. From the corner of my eye, I see Erin has turned around to look at me. I face her and give her the stink eye. She’s been flirting with the impeccable Mr. Darcy, I see. He’s giving her all of his attention, to the chagrin of Renee and Cassie. I know I should be stepping in, but Marisol is talking again, and I can’t miss what she is saying.

“...ever since I was a kid,” she finishes. I nod, as if I understand. “And you?” she asks.

“I’m hoping to go to New York too,” I lie. It rolls easily off my tongue. I hope Erin isn’t listening. “I want to study to become a doctor. Maybe a pediatrician.” This is laughable. I am terrible with children. I don’t even like teenagers, and I’m still technically considered one for almost three more years. My words have the desired effect on Marisol, however. She beams at me and clasps her hands together. I can see that her fingernails are painted to match her toes.

“Oh, Abby, that’s a beautiful thing to do! And maybe we’ll end up in the same part of New York, so we could see each other again. It would be nice to have a friend there that I already know!” She’s still gushing about it as we step into the blissfully cool interior of The Little Dipper. Erin and her friends are at the counter already, ordering. I hear Kevin loudly tell the group that the ice cream is “on him,” and I watch Renee turn to whisper something to Cassie, who titters in response. I roll my eyes.

When it is my turn to step up to the counter, I turn to Marisol and ask her what she wants. She blushes at me and shakes her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. You don’t have to pay for me.”

“But I want to. Since we’re new friends, and all.”

I finally convince her to order, and she goes for a small waffle cone with butter pecan and honey vanilla ice cream, one scoop of each. I order a small cup with two scoops of mint chocolate. The ice cream clerk, a bored teen with a paper hat and a stained white apron, rings it up. “Eleven eighty, please.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of cash I have there.

“Oh, shit.” I don’t mean to swear in front of Marisol, but it slips out. I only have ten dollars and forty-two cents. Not quite enough. The clerk gives me a dead-eyed stare. I can feel Marisol looking at me, wondering what is wrong. I can hear the impatient shuffling of the customers in line behind us. I start wishing for the floor to open and swallow me. Or maybe a random bolt of lightning could hit me. I open my mouth to tell the clerk to take back one mint chocolate scoop.

“Oh, Abby, I’m paying for yours, too. And your charming friend’s.” From behind me comes Kevin, sweeping forward in all his bare-chested glory to hand another twenty-dollar bill to the clerk, who hands change back after collecting it from the register. Kevin pockets it in a wad and flashes his flirtiest smile at Marisol. I resist the urge to karate-chop him in the throat, and wonder what happened to the “no shirt, no shoes, no service” rule. Apparently, it does not apply to him or his friends.

He leaves before I have a chance to say anything. Marisol and I walk away from the counter and head back outside since the inside tables and booths are all full. Erin and her friends are outside, too, headed back toward the basketball court that’s just outside Aunt Miranda’s apartment building. Kevin is leading the way. He has an arm slung over Cassie’s shoulder. Erin looks pissed.

“How do you know that guy?” Marisol asks me as we stand next to the building, trying to stay in the little bit of shade there. “He’s kind of hot.”

I snort. “That’s the majestic Kevin Darcy. He lives in my aunt’s apartment building, and he’s been chasing my sister and her friends around all summer.” I scoop up a bite of my ice cream and spoon it in my mouth. Somehow, knowing Kevin paid for it in front of Marisol has dampened my enjoyment a little... but not entirely. It is still delicious, sweet, cold, and creamy. In the heat, though, it is already starting to melt. I watch as Marisol tries to keep up with her rapidly melting cone. She is losing the battle, I think, as I watch a dribble of butter pecan run down over her knuckles and plop onto the sidewalk below, barely missing her foot.

“I see,” she says. “He sort of reminds me of my boyfriend. Way too friendly to everyone.”

The word “boyfriend” from Marisol’s lips is enough to crush all my hopes and dreams entirely. She is beautiful, utterly flawless, with a personality to match. Of course she’s not into girls. Of course the girl of my dreams is fucking straight.

“Abby?” Marisol is looking at me. I realize that I must be making some sort of ugly sad face. I straighten up at once and put on a smile again. There’s no need for her to remember me as an asshole. Maybe we can still be friends.

“Sorry. Just thinking. I should really get back and make sure my sister isn’t making out with one of those dorks. She has no taste.” I make a goofy face, and again, Marisol laughs. My stomach seems to explode with butterflies when she does.

“Alright, Abby. If you have to.” Marisol holds out her hand, unaware that it is covered in ice cream. I take it anyway and shake firmly. “I’m happy I met you. I’ll be here next week, same day, same time. Can we meet again?”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you then.” I grin and watch as she turns and leaves, licking butter pecan dribbles from her knuckles. I wait until she disappears around a corner, and then turn to head back to Aunt Miranda’s, licking Marisol’s ice cream from my fingers.

Back at the stoop, Erin is waiting for me. The boys have gone, and so have Cassie and Renee. Erin looks utterly dejected. “Erin? What’s wrong?”

“He likes Cassie, not me. I’m too young, he said. She’s only four months older than I am!” Erin follows me inside the apartment building, and we climb two flights of stairs to reach Aunt Miranda’s unit. It is refreshingly chilly from the air conditioning, and I think immediately of the two books I have waiting for me next to my bed. It is a good evening for reading, I think.

“What about you?” Erin interrupts my thoughts. “I saw the way you looked at that girl. She’s pretty.” Erin is the only person in my life who knows about my preferences for girls and my utter disdain for boys. “She seemed to really like you.”

I sigh and shake my head. “She just wanted to be friends. She dropped the ‘boyfriend’ bomb on me just before I left.”

“Ah, jeez, Abby. I’m sorry.” Erin reaches out and pats my arm. Even though she annoys me sometimes, I’m grateful for my little sister. She has a kind heart, and it is a relief to have one person who knows my secret and still loves me just as much as she did before. I won’t ever tell Mom and Dad, not if I can help it.

I head to my room to read, but end up just laying on the bed, eyes closed, daydreaming about Marisol. I wonder, briefly, if I could go to college in New York next year. I definitely don’t want to be a pediatrician, but I do want to be a biologist, and I think I can get that degree just about anywhere.

Forgetting about the heatwave, my intense dislike for Kevin Darcy and his stupid bare chest, and my plans to read the evening away, I slip into a doze as I dream about going to college with Marisol Gibbons, wondering what she would say if I told her that I was gay.