Uncontrollable | ✎

chapter one

Saturday, August 19

If someone says the words Lydia Burke, the first thing that comes to mind is her long red hair. It's a fierce red color that almost mimics fire when it sways under the summer sun. It's the center of attention on her bland gray street—it almost makes this heat bearable as Lydia and I sit on the edge of the sidewalk, trying desperately to salvage our half-melted ice cream.

My strawberry ice cream drips down from the cone to my hand, to my shorts, and I curse at it under my breath. Lydia and I had figured ice cream was the right thing to get in this hot weather, but it's backfiring on us. Or, at least me.

Lydia's managed to finish most of her ice cream without spilling a drop on herself—a trait that I very much envy.

Actually, I envy almost everything about her.

Her hair which, I've already stated before, looks like flames under the sun. It's wavy and hangs down to her waist. Her face is small, cute, and petite, and she's short, coming up to just under my chin. There's a splatter of freckles across her nose, but that's not very visible right now. The bridge of her nose and cheeks are tinted red from the sun, but that doesn't make her look ruffled or like some kind of obnoxiously red fruit sitting on the sidewalk. And her eyes. If her hair is fire, her eyes are pools of rich, golden honey, framed by long eyelashes that she's never needed mascara for.

Lydia laughs when she sees me staring in distaste at the ice cream on my shorts, and I send her a half-hearted glare.

"Do you want to go inside and clean that up?" Lydia offers, still smiling.

"Nah, it's fine," I reply. "My mom probably wants me out of the house anyway."

"We could go to my place?" Lydia suggests, and I let out a long sigh. I don't want to outright say no to her because it might come out sounding rude, but I don't really have the motivation to do anything but sit here on the sidewalk with Lydia until it turns dark and the air cools down a little bit.

"But...we'll have to walk all the way over there. I... don't have proper shoes," I say, gesturing to the flip flops that I think are going melt off of my feet onto the pavement any second now.

"What about the fair? We could go get cleaned and then head over there," Lydia says. "When I checked the weather, it said it would be turning dark at like eight, and we can't just sit here for six hours until then."

I bite my lip reluctantly, avoiding Lydia's eyes, and then shrug. "Okay sure."

"Thank you! I love you!" Lydia exclaims and jumps up with surprising energy. She offers me a hand up, giving me a large smile. I accept it, but look away, a partial blush rising to my cheeks.

For some reason, I'm ashamed. Actually, not for some reason. I know the exact reason.

We walk down the block to my house which is at the corner of the street, dumping the remains of our ice cream in the big trash cans stationed by the edge of the sidewalk in front of my house. I cautiously open the door to our house and then reprimand myself for doing it. I've just gotten so used to avoiding my brother, George, that I still keep thinking that he's here with us.

George, who is three years older than me, has moved out of the state to New York to attend his first year of university there. I will be starting my junior year in high school along with Lydia, and sadly, I won't be going anywhere outside of this tiny town of Stanton. I certainly won't be going to New York where George is, but somewhere else would be nice.

Somewhere where each house on the street isn't just a slight variation of the one before it. Somewhere where gray isn't the only color you can see from a distance. Somewhere where the view is tall skyscrapers and busy streets.