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  Summer Nights

  By J.M. Sevilla

  Copyright 2017 J.M. Sevilla

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  Summer Nights

  J.M. Sevilla

  For my mom, who finds magic in warm summer nights.

  I love you more than the whole wide world and back again.

  Prologue

  “Who wants ice cream?” My dad asks cheerfully as he comes into the kitchen, where my sister and I are finishing up the dinner dishes.

  My soapy hand is up high in the air before he even finishes the question, “I do!”

  Anything to get out of this house, even if it’s only for thirty minutes or so.

  It’s Friday night and I haven’t been able to leave since Tuesday, when I took Mrs. Fraser her dinners, and that was only for about two hours. Two hours out of the house in one week.

  I’m thirteen and suffocating.

  My dad smiles wider, crinkling the crows feet around the edges of his eyes, “Finish up and we’ll go.”

  “Should Hannah really be having sugar so late?” My sister, Lauren, protests. “It’s her bedtime in an hour.” She’s five years older than me, though she acts like she’s decades more.

  I stifle a scowl while furiously scrubbing the pan in front of me to keep from snapping back at her and risk getting the belt from our dad.

  Why does she always have to get involved? She’s not my mom, so I never understand why she tries to act like she is. My oldest sister, Chelsea, says it’s because she was born needing someone to boss around, and I’m her someone. That makes me feel great. Not. At least she’ll be getting married in a couple months and out of my hair.

  “Pssh!” My dad dismisses, “She’s thirteen, let’s get out on a Friday night!”

  Lauren’s not too happy that she lost, but she keeps her mouth shut for the same reason I did.

  I so badly want to stick my tongue out at her back right now. If Dad wasn’t in the room I probably would.

  We load into the Van, my mom riding shotgun. Lauren climbs into the middle row. The seat next to her is kept empty, having belonged to Chelsea. I follow behind her and get in the back. I don’t mind though, I like not having anyone sitting next to me.

  I have always found it weird that we get in the car by birth order, but then again most of the things my family does I question. Silently, of course. I learned my lesson early on not to question things aloud, but not understanding has only made me feel like an outsider to my family. Actually, I feel like that everywhere.

  I enjoy the scenery as we drive, soaking up the outside world while I can.

  When we arrive, I’m relieved that no one else is here. I hate the way people stare at us. We’re different from them and they know it, judging us for it.

  All the females in my family have their hair in a long braid going down their backs. The clothes we wear are always either a dress or a blouse and skirt, tailored to prevent “too much” skin from showing, even in the heat of summer. My mom believes most girls outside of our family and church “wear too little, where is their modesty?” That’s part of the reason we’re homeschooled: they don’t want the world to influence their kids and disturb our conservative Christian faith.

  My dad orders for us. I find that unfair, mostly because I have always wanted to try the rainbow sherbet. I’m not even sure I’d like it, it just catches my eye every time. The colors are so pretty to me.

  I get mint chocolate chip. Again. Big surprise. That’s what my dad likes, so that’s what we all get. Even my mom.

  We scoot two of their tiny tables together so we can all sit together. I lean back against the wall, slowly licking my cone, hoping to prolong our stay.

  We’re silent. We have to be in public; my dad doesn’t believe in causing noise. You must be respectful and not be a disturbance.

  I hear them coming before I see them. Loud footsteps, even louder laughter.

  A group of teenagers come into view of the window. One of them opens the door, and the loudness of their voices are quite the contrast to the quiet of the store. It’s a jolt to my senses.

  My father frowns in disapproval. My mom places a hand over his, rubbing it with her thumb, trying to soothe his agitation.

  My eyes first catch hold of the girl, the only one in the group. She’s laughing as one of the boys, who’s double her size, puts her in a headlock and messes with her hair. Laughing harder, she pushes him away.

  I’m not quite sure but I think she’s close to my age, yet oh-so-different. She has long hair just like I do, but where mine’s a sandy dull color, hers is a shiny rich brown and dangling all over the place. She keeps having to wipe it away from her mouth. My eyes are a boring hazel color, while hers are a beautiful pale blue. She has on short shorts and a shirt she’s knotted off in the back, making it reveal some of her stomach.

  I blush and look over at my father. He’s too busy scowling at them to notice me staring, so I go back to looking and licking my cone.

  My fascination increases when I take in the identical twin boys. I have never seen twins before – at least not identical ones. They have light blond hair and are wearing identical clothes; dirty and wrinkled, but matching. They also have dimples. I like their dimples. It makes them seem friendly. And cute. Very cute.

  I blush again and look over at my father, worried he may be able to read my less than pure thoughts. I’m in the clear. I hold in a sigh of relief, then I check to see if Lauren noticed. I don’t want her telling on me.

  Her eyes are transfixed and I follow her gaze. There are four other boys all goofing around, jumping up in excitement while scouring their flavor choices, pushing each other around, calling one another names. Amidst the craziness my eyes land on Lauren’s sole focus. He’s leaning with a forearm on top of the high counter, peering down at the ice cream. The arm has defined muscles and his shirt has risen from his stance, revealing his abs. I have never seen anyone with muscles or abs before, at least not like that.

  I’m frozen, ice cream cone suspended in place.

  He puts the rest of the boys to shame with his looks. His dark hair contrasts with his pale eyes. His face is hard, not joyful like the rest, and it only intrigues me more.

  He looks over his shoulder. Our eyes meet and my stomach flips over. That has never happened to me before. When he keeps looking, my body gets tingles from head to toe.

  One of the boys falls into him, the one that’s almost as handsome. Almost.

  He shoves him off, “Watch it, Maddox.” The Maddox boy laughs, causing the most beautiful boy I have ever seen to smile. My heart stops right there. I swear, it does, and I’m completely paralyzed from it.

  My father stands, scowling, “Let’s go.”

  I speak without thinking, protesting with my raised cone that is beginning to drip down my hand, “I’m not finished.”

  “Too bad,” he declares, moving to the door.

  I slump in my seat, take one last lick, and get up to toss the remains in the trash.

  Loud laughter has me turning my head one last time before I get back into the van. The girl’s laughing again, the belly-aching kind, as she eats her cone (rainbow sherbet, I can’t help but observe), ice cream all over face.

  I can’t think of a single memory where I have laughed that hard, and I want to know what
someone did to warrant such a reaction. I’m envious of this girl, in the thick of all those boys that have more life to them than my entire church during choir.

  The boy I know I’ll be dreaming about for weeks looks over again. I hold his gaze until my dad yells at me to get in.

  I don’t sleep a wink that night, thinking about the boy and his friends, and that girl who did nothing but smile and laugh.

  ***

  On Tuesday I’m still thinking about them and feeling desperate for another glimpse.

  As I’m packing the back of my bike with Mrs. Fraser’s dinners for the week, I officially make up my mind. I will ride my bike around the area of the ice cream shop in hopes of spotting them. It’s out of my way and I’ll probably get in trouble, quite possibly even get the belt for it, but I don’t care. I’ve found something worth defying my parents for. I should check the news later to see if pigs have started suddenly flying.

  The trek to Mrs. Fraser’s home isn’t particularly long, but in the summer heat it takes forever. I had politely declined my mom’s offer to drive me; I’m that desperate for freedom.

  Sweat pours down my back and trickles down my face. I have to continually swipe it away to prevent it from getting in my eyes and blurring my vision.

  I’ve been riding to Mrs. Fraser’s for about two years now. Her husband had died and her only child lives in one of the Carolinas. She’s in her late eighties and can’t really take care of herself, but she can’t bring herself to leave the home that holds all her best memories. So my mom and I (and sometimes my sisters) pre-make her meals that she can freeze and easily reheat in the microwave.

  I have to knock a few times to get her attention, and then I have to wait awhile for her old body to get to door.

  It has to be a hundred degrees out today, if not more, and the heat makes me want to pass out.

  “Beautiful Hannah,” Mrs. Fraser greets, a bit slumped over from years of poor posture. “Is it Thursday already?”

  “Tuesday,” I remind her.

  She steps to the side, thoughtfully pondering, “Don’t you normally come Thursdays?”

  “Afraid not, Mrs. Fraser.”

  “Oh well,” she taps her head, “these kidneys aren’t working like they used to.” She gestures to me, “Come in, dear.”

  Her house is cool and I sigh with pleasure. Although I would have liked it to be even cooler, I know she can’t take chill and I’m so hot I can’t afford to be picky.

  I rush into the back with her food in my arms, quickly stuffing it into the freezer.

  The politeness embedded in me can’t help but check in before I go, “Can I get you something before I leave?”

  “Let me get you a snack.” She slowly rises from her couch and hobbles in the direction of the kitchen, slow as a sloth.

  Normally out of politeness, and the need to prolong my outings, I accept Mrs. Fraser’s invitation of what is usually milk and stale, generic cookies. Today, I do the boldest thing I have ever done in my thirteen years: I decline an invitation from someone who is older than me. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Fraser, but I have to be getting home.”

  I just lied. I never lie. I wait for the guilt to kick in, but it doesn’t. I wait to start feeling guilty about not feeling guilty, but that doesn’t come either.

  She bids me farewell after I make sure she’s comfortably seated with a show on for her to watch, her mixed nuts and a glass of diet coke close by.

  I want to leap for joy once I’m outside, but I contain myself. I ride as fast as I can, huffing and puffing as I cover the distance to the ice cream shop, my long skirt constantly getting in my way.

  They aren’t there. I hadn’t thought they would be, but I’m young and stupidly hopeful. I slowly ride around the area, regaining my breath and bringing down the ache in my chest from riding so hard, wishing I had more water.

  I hear distant laughter and my ears strain to determine the direction of its origin. My heart lurches out of my throat, and I push harder on my pedals as I follow it to the park down the road a few blocks.

  I see them. I actually see them. I grow a wide smile.

  They’re there, playing at the park like they are little kids and not teenagers. My crush is there, and I can’t take my eyes off of him. I’ve thought of nothing else for the past four days. Unfortunately, his baseball cap is obscuring his face, but I’m just so happy I found them. Right away I notice they all listen when he talks and do what he commands; it’s obvious he’s their leader.

  I watch until I know my time is up and I have to get home.

  I race home and expect to get a lecture, but my mom doesn’t even notice my late arrival. Chelsea is there with the kids and my mom is busy holding the baby. Lauren is at her bible study or I’m sure she would have brought it to Mom’s attention.

  The following Tuesday I do it again, watching them like a stalker, but I can’t stop. I watch them play tag; I watch them tackle each other; I watch them sit under the trees and talk.

  The boy I believe is named Maddox, is telling a story. He uses his whole body to do it, which frequently results in an arm hitting whoever is next to him, but none of them seem to mind. Every so often my crush smirks at whatever is being said, sending my little heart racing. The twins are always arguing and using language I would never dare use, but I like hearing it from them. One of them, the one that intimidates me the most because he is so much broader and taller than the rest, is always messing with the girl, irritating her. He seems to always find an excuse to play with her hair or make her squeal. The last two are smoking, mostly laughing at everyone around them.

  I don’t get caught for being out late that day either, and after a few more Tuesdays I realize my mom is so busy she doesn’t even notice. On my next Tuesday, I leave for Mrs. Fraser’s earlier in order to be done sooner, and when I would normally leave my hiding place at the park to get home, I stay. I want to see how long I can be out before getting in trouble; how long I can pretend to be a part of this group that is so full of life. I need to be near the boy who keeps me awake at night with his smile and his eyes that shine with amusement from the shenanigans going on around him.

  My mom doesn’t notice the longer time, so the next week I boldly do it again.

  I’m so busy watching my crush that I don’t see the girl hop on her skateboard and head my way.

  “Hey!” She shouts.

  It startles me and I jump, a hand to my heart.

  She stops right in front of me, popping the skateboard up and resting a hand on top to hold it in place. Her hair is wild all around her like she hasn’t brushed it today. She smacks the gum in her mouth while she talks, “You gonna hang with us or just keep staring?”

  I nervously shrug. Over her shoulder I can see the group watching us and I want to disappear.

  “Come on,” she nods towards them.

  She gets back on the skateboard and for about a millisecond I consider not following her, but I have to. Even if it’s just for today, I have to see what it’s like.

  I get off my bike when I hit the grass and pull it along with me. It’s nerve-racking having all of them watch me. I feel exposed and I become self-conscious about the clothes that cover my arms and legs, and my braid I have tucked behind my shirt so it won’t get in my way when I ride. I pull it out and play with the end behind my back.

  “Hey,” one of the boys greets, the one who’s always picking on the girl. He nods in further acknowledgement, his smile welcoming. I like his eyes. They’re warm and friendly, and although his size intimidates me, his easygoing posture and smile put me at ease.

  The girl motions toward me, “This is…”

  She waits for me to answer.

  I try saying my name, but it comes out so soft they can’t hear. I clear my throat and try again, “Hannah.” It’s not much louder, but that’s all I can do at the moment.

  “Hannah?” She confirms.

  I nod, my cheeks a bright red from having so much attention.

  She poin
ts to the boys one by one. First is the boy who’s always messing with her. “This is Tag. He’s kind of a jerk.”

  My eyes get wide from her using that word so freely.

  Tag shrugs and gives a nod of agreement.

  She gestures to the next two, “Those are the twins, Tripp and Price. They can also be jerks, but they’re harmless.”

  Price has a weird looking thing in his hand I’ve never seen. Some kind of glass with swirling colors in it. He lights the end and it blazes like the end of a cigarette. He puffs it in and holds his breath, nodding his chin at me and extending his hand out in my direction.

  I’m not sure what he wants me to do. Take it? Why’s he holding his breath like that?

  Then he starts coughing as he waves the smoking device at me. He’s coughing hard enough I think he might lose a lung.

  The other twin smacks him behind the head, “You’re scaring her you dipshit.”

  He ignores his brother, still holding that thing out to me, “You” –cough– “smoke?”

  Price gets smacked again. “Of course she doesn’t, you idiot. Look at how she dresses.”

  I turn as red as a tomato and my eyes sting from embarrassment. Why did I come over here?

  The girl rolls her eyes, “See? Jerks. Just ignore them.”

  I want to leave, but she keeps talking so I stay, not wanting to be rude.

  She points to a boy next to the twins, who has freckles covering every part of his skin that’s exposed. His eyes are bloodshot, almost to the point of matching his hair (that I’ve noticed is always tucked under a newsboy cap, red curls randomly sticking out). “That’s North. We named him that cause he can’t ever find his way around.”

  “That’s because he’s always too stoned,” one of the twins jokes.

  North just lets out a grunt of a laugh.

  She then points to the guy next to him, whose body is lanky and has a crooked nose and big ears. “That’s Jerry. He’s always high too so don’t expect to hear much from him, but he’s a great listener.”