Summer Break

When Summer and I were little we spent all of recess trying to figure out which boys belonged with which girl. At this time, summer had first discovered her obsession with boys and gossip. At the ripe age of nine, Summer was amidst all the school drama and took it upon herself to spread it. 

Now Summer, had made a game of it. We would sit under the massive slide and took our composition books to write out a chart. We would slowly chart out other's lives and how they'd turn out in the end. 

For Summer, I'd put a news anchor, fifteen kids, and a handsome celebrity boyfriend. She smiled a toothless smile and nodded in approval. 

She had put a writer, living in Washington, with two cats, and interchangeable boyfriend. She didn't have the interchangeable boyfriends but when I saw her writing Peter Nixen, I'd protested and threatened to tell the teacher she was being mean. 

So she sighed and changed it to interchangeable boyfriend. When I'd asked her what that meant, she'd shrugged and told me she overheard one of the teachers say it. 

Back then Peter Nixen was actually decent. Him being freshly eleven and me, still nine. He was in fourth grade and me, third grade. So that put us in the same halls. 

I saw him often and caught myself staring at him, blushing when Summer would tease me about it. She elbowed me in the sides repeatedly when we saw him in the library. When we saw him at lunch Summer would force me to get back in line behind him and buy a snack. 

I clearly remember doing that for two months straight before my mom stopped giving me money for school lunches and forcing me to pack instead. I didn't mind because that meant I didn't have to get up anymore. 

Back then Peter was nice, not the asshole he was now. 

While I was younger than him and his friends, he'd run after the soccer ball when I kicked too far. He'd help count my money when I had trouble with in at lunch. He'd volunteer to help the younger kids with math. 

He was our golden boy. 

Now, not so much. The once, golden boy, was positioned in front of the alcohol cooler. His goons having told him to get them something. 

I'd been trying to avoid him, but at this time, it was completely unavoidable. From where he stood, five feet away from me, he would see me in line when he turned around. 

Even though I knew I shouldn't I felt myself drawn towards his light, curly hair. He ruffled the back of it as he scanned the cooler for something that caught his eye. 

I watched his head tilt up slightly, until he's staring at the ceiling, looking as if he's basking in the sunlight. His pink lips tilted into a small smile. Then he drags a hand down his tired face and turns around, instantly catching my eyes. 

Embarrassed at being caught, I look away, instantly blushing. I felt heat pool up my neck and my heart catching in my throat. He'd caught me doing something I never knew I'd be doing. 

Still, it seemed as if I couldn't help it. I could actually see him, instead of it being completely dark out and only a fire showing his face. He wore sweatshorts with a black T-shirt, something printed on it in red. It looked as if he'd rolled out of bed, except his hair was nicely put back. Only a singular curl hanging in his face, which he blew away every couple of seconds. 

I wanted to ignore him, even as he called my name. But I was hard when his sneakered feet appeared into my vision from my direct gaze to the floor. 

I sigh, not wanting to do this again, for the second night.  So instead of fighting him, I look up and offer him my most polite smile. Even if it was fake. But he didn't seem to care, or notice.