The Truth About That Summer

thirty

"Come in, we're out back." Brynn beckons me over her shoulder, her bouncy curls springing up and down with each step she takes.

I follow, kicking my rubber flip-flops out of the doorway.

I've always loved Brynn's house - a bit father from the ocean, but a little larger than Grams place. Not quite as big as ours, but more full with love.

Still, Brynn's mother didn't go for the beach aesthetic like most families. She liked modern styles and blank color schemes, making the house beautiful to look at but more on the formal side.

"We?" I clarify, walking down the hall and admiring the same photos on the wall that have always been there.

The school photos - now Brynn's senior portrait from college and her older brother's wedding shot, the ones they got done professionally as a family every year...

Brynn turns on her heel, smiling apologetically. "I promise he won't be here long."

"He?"

I peer over her shoulder, through the sliding door onto her patio. Low and behold, I catch sight of that stupid, dingy backwards baseball cap before anything else.

"Brynn," I groan, rolling my head back to her.

"Look, I know! I thought he'd be done before you got here. He's just dropping off supplies from the store, and then he's gone." Brynn bumps me with her shoulder. "They were free this way. Besides, at the bonfire, didn't you-"

Didn't I what? I glare at the interruption cutting her off.

"Well, look at this." Luke grins widely as he comes through the slider, carrying empty cardboard boxes on one shoulder. "Is the antisocial Dylan Grace finally having fun?"

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. "Is the childish Luke Henson finally taking a hint and leaving? Doesn't look like it."

"Yeah, yeah." His dimples pop out at me as he passes by us, leaning in to murmur in my ear. "Say what you like, Dylan Grace. I know you like seeing me."

"Dylan. And I definitely do not."

"Okay, okay." Brynn grabs my forearm and pulls me towards the door. "Play nice you guys. Luke, get a move on."

Luke snickers to himself, sauntering out of the house with his I-always-get-away-with-it swagger.

Brynn hides her smile by biting her bottom lip, welcoming me into the patio space.

Along the chic glass table, Luke has organized various paints and large slabs of thin wood. I narrow my eyes as years of Summer Bashes come to mind.

The corny photo booths. The kind with the faces cut out so you can take pictures pinching a gorilla's nipple or something stupid like that simply by standing behind the board.

I wonder what terror Brynn and I will be creating this time.

"So..." Brynn settles at one end of the table. "I don't really have any idea how to do this. I'm open to any suggestions you have."

"I don't have many," I shrug, chewing my lips in concentration. "But I'm not the one running it - what made you decide to do this, if you aren't inspired?"

Brynn laughs, shrugging again. "I don't know, my mom kind of offered my help without asking. I couldn't say no."

"You wouldn't have anyways." I sip my green tea, pulling my legs into my chair. "You're nice that way."

"Yeah." Brynn casts her eyes downwards, rolling a small container of glitter paint in between her hands. "How are you, Dylan? I mean, how are you really?"

I empty my tea too quickly, my mouth suddenly feeling very dry.

"I don't know, Bee." I run my fingers through my pony tail, detangling the sticky strands.

Sea water air and salty sweat. I'd forgotten how no matter how many times I'd shampoo, it became a tradition to always have "summer hair."

"It's hard, being in town." I admit. I'm not sure why. "But I need to be, for Grams."

Brynn's eyes are kind, not pitying. It feels different, not to be treated like the sad puppy I feel like inside.

"See, Dyl?" Brynn nudges my knee lightly. "You're nice too."

does anyone remember what happened at the bonfire that Miss Dylan Grace can't remember? Wink wink
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