The Summer We Believed (Denim Days #1)

Day 2 -- Duncan

I'd already been back from my morning run for over an hour, and still hadn't seen any sign of Mel. Usually we ran together. She must've been totally pissed off.

But the whole thing was ridiculous. It wasn't my fault that my dad was being a total douche.

I walked across the Brickendon's yard to her bedroom window. It was open and through the screen, I could see a lump on the bed that was no doubt Melody. The covers completely covered her head. I rapped on the glass part of the window. "Wake up, Mel. You can't avoid me until we leave." I managed to sound confident, even if I wasn't 100%.

The longest Mel had ever stayed mad at me was nine days when we were in the seventh grade. I'd told my friend, Jackson, how I'd accidentally seen Mel in her bra. I guess I thought it made me seem cool.

"What cup size is she?" Jackson wanted to know.

"Cup size?"

"You know: A, B, C, or D?" Jackson's hands moved further and further away from his chest as he recited the alphabet.

"B, or maybe C," I answered like someone who knew his way around bra sizes. I had no clue about them in seventh grade, but what a ridiculous answer—Mel's really small up top.

Almost as ridiculous as not talking to me about my Dad's betrayal.

At any rate, Jackson let on what I'd said, which in turn pissed off Mel, and I had to suffer through nine days of total silence even after I gave her Baby Ruth candy bars, her favorite, and not all that easy to find.

I still could not believe I'd convinced her to go to prom with him. Talk about irony.

"Mel, I know you're awake." The lump didn't budge.

Okay, if flattery won't work, let's try guilt. "You skipped out on our run. This is the first time we missed a day in three months." Still no movement. Time for truth. "It's not my fault, Mel. I don't want to go to Florida. You know how I feel about the U."

And you.

Mel pulled the covers down to just under her chin. Her eyes were practically swollen shut. Her long auburn hair, usually pulled back or braided, was fanned out across the pillow. It looked pretty spectacular.

"What happened to your eyes?" I asked.

"I cried all night, you asshole. What did you think? That I was attacked by north country mosquitos?"

Oh, yeah. She was pissed.

"I considered it. There was that special report on deadly nocturnal 'squito bites last week. Did you get lucky? Did they get your chest?"

Mel snorted a laugh and threw the covers back. She was still wearing her jeans and that faded red sweater from last night. I hated that sweater. She spread her arms wide. "What do you think?"

"I think you should take off that ugly sweater. I can't tell what you look like with it on."

Melody waggled her finger at me, and tried to look earnest. "Do not insult the wubbie. It's forbidden."

I grinned at her. "Sorry. I forgot that rule."

She smiled back. "Okay. You're forgiven." Then her expression turned serious. "But I'm still mad that you didn't tell me. Why did you keep it from me?"

"I just found out on the ride up here." Which was the longest four hours of my life. "Then, I tried to, but—"

"Before that, Duncan. You could have told me before the Jet Ski ride. You could have sent me a text when you found out."

She was right. I could've, but I hadn't figured out how I wanted to tell Mel. I hadn't even figured out how I felt about the news. I was pissed, of course. And I didn't want to move. That goes without saying. But I didn't want to whine about things. I wanted to have a plan of action, a way to fix things. Maybe I was chickenshit for not pulling her into my dilemma right away. It sucked. Or rather, I sucked for letting my dad do the dirty work.

"Not a text. It was too important. That's why I said right after dinner. I knew when my mom broke out the wine where this was headed. I didn't want you to get the news like that."

Mel rubbed her chin twice. I knew from past experience that meant she was really listening. That she understood my point of view.

"I feel stupid standing at your bedroom window. Can you come out to play?"

Mel laughed. "Okay, but no Jet Ski today."

"Deal. If you make me pancakes."

"No way. Pancakes get me a lot more than no Jet Ski."

"What do they get you?"

Melody grinned, but her smile didn't reach her swollen eyes. "I don't know. Give me some time to come up with something good."

"You suck at negotiation. You gotta have something in mind before you start making deals."

She lifted her chin in fake defiance. "I might suck at negotiation, but I make killer pancakes, so be nice."

I'd do practically anything for a plate of Mel's pancakes and we both knew it. Being nice was easy. But the thing I really wanted to do—the thing she wanted me to do—stay in Minnesota, well, I just didn't know how to make that happen.