The Summer We Let Go

Chapter One

Leo

          The best way to make a drawing more realistic is to perfect the shading. It could be a tree, a face, a building, doesn't matter. If you can't perfect the shading, then it turns out like shit and the best way to remedy the situation is to tear the page out, crumple it into your fist, and toss it into the nearest trashcan. Which is exactly what I'm about to do, because it's hard to catch the shading under this swing when it's moving, and I can't stare too long because the woman pushing it would get the wrong idea and think I was eying her son.

          I guess in a way I sort of am.

          Just not like that. I sigh and rest the back of my head against the bark of the tree, trying to ignore the nagging awareness that an ant could be crawling somewhere on me and I wouldn't even know. It'd be easier if I just drew this from memory, but it doesn't affect me as much as it could, and if I try later I'd lose any inspiration. Just another wasted page. I straighten up and move to tear it out.

          "Leo?"

          My hand pauses. Slowly, I blink and gaze up at the girl approaching me. I pay attention to the way the sun glints off the light brown strands of her hair, turning it gold, and try to keep a bored expression on my face instead of the grimace that so badly wants to accompany the recognition of her. With a light snap, I shut my sketchbook, rest my arm over the cover, and relax into a slouch.

          Christine or something. That's her name. She stands awkwardly, her hands in her back pockets to seem casual, but the way she hunches her shoulders takes away the appearance of self-confidence. Her type typically has confidence issues, so I'm not surprised in the slightest, although why she considers herself fat I have no idea.

          I don't care either way, though. "Do I know you?"

          She flinches at the monotonous tone in my voice but recovers with a smile. "Yeah, I'm Chrystal. We, uh, met at that party the other weekend."

          Chrystal. I was close enough. I blink up at her like I don't have a clue. "Oh."

          "Do you remember me?" She asks, blushing now, her smile faltering with nerves. Something else, too, but I can't tell if it's embarrassment or offense.

          I stand up, brushing the dirt off my pants and shoving the sketchbook in my bag. "No."

          "We fucked."

          There it is. I shoulder a strap and shrug, meeting her eyes as she narrows them, gawking at me incredulously. It's ironic, really, because I remember assuring her that I'd never forget her. Whispering in her ear that she had the most amazing blue eyes that I had ever seen; that I couldn't stare into them for too long because they made it impossible to think straight. I don't have any problems staring into them now, though. "Nope. Don't recall. I fuck a lot of girls at parties. You must not have been as memorable as you thought you were."

          "Asshole," she spits, trudging past me, in the general direction I need to go.

          I sigh at the inconvenience and walk the opposite way, past the mom pushing her son on the swings, past the metal slide collecting heat from the blazing sun overhead, past the jungle gym filled will screams and laughter, and all the way toward the pavilion on the opposite side of the park where some older kids sit and appreciate the shade. I keep my eyes locked on the area ahead of me, glaring at nothing, hoping none of them feel the urge to acknowledge me. But I recognize a few of the people almost immediately, and I know by who I see that I won't be able to walk by unperturbed.