J.M. Sevilla - Summer Nights Read online

She gestures to the boy who looks like he belongs in the movies, “This is Maddox. He’s not just a jerk, but he’s a douchebag as well.”

  Maddox grabs his crotch and jiggles his hand, “But I have the biggest dick in town.”

  She rolls her eyes, “See what I mean? Douchebag.”

  I try to hide my shock that some boy just grabbed his privates in front of me and used the d-word.

  “And lastly,” she says, gesturing to the boy I dream about all night and think about all day, “The biggest jerk of them all. My brother, Danny.”

  Another chin nod. He has his baseball cap on so it shades his face. I’m glad, or I’d be even more nervous.

  I do one long wave in the shape of a rainbow, then I want to die at how lame that is.

  The girl points a thumb to her chest, “And I’m Sam.”

  Maddox lights a cigarette and passes the pack to Danny, “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen,” I barely make out above a whisper.

  He gives out a low whistle and shakes his head like this makes him sad, “That’s a damn shame.”

  “Don’t be a douche,” Danny says around his cigarette right before lighting it.

  I’ve been warned about cigarettes, about how they’ll kill you and turn you into a sinner, but seeing them against his lips? I have the sudden urge to be a cigarette. It’s completely ridiculous, but that’s what runs through my head.

  Sam claps and jumps with excitement, “I’m thirteen too. What’s your birthday?”

  “January twenty-second.”

  She frowns, “Dammit, mine’s April fifteenth. I’m the youngest still. Fuck.” Her body flops back to the ground, letting her back hit as she lets out a big, exaggerated sigh. She lifts back up onto her elbows. “Sit.”

  I swallow and look around the group. They are nothing like what I’m used to and it frightens me a bit; however, they excite me more than anything. I also know I need to get home.

  I can’t bring myself to leave, so I gently lay my bike in the grass and plop down right next to Sam. She seems like the safest person to be close to. No way could I sit on the other side next to her brother; I’d die. Seriously. My heart would stop. I know it.

  It’s hot out, even with the shade of the trees, and I wish I had on a tank top like Sam. I wouldn’t be brave enough to wear shorts as short as she does, but I think I could do the top. It would feel so good right now. Sweat is collecting all over my body, adding to my discomfort.

  They’re still staring at me like they’re expecting me to say or do something.

  Maddox puffs smoke up into the trees, “Your parents religious freaks or something?”

  I nod, because they are. My whole family is.

  “Mormon?” He guesses.

  I shake my head no.

  “What then?” He probes, blowing more smoke into the air.

  “Leave her alone,” Sam comes to my defense. She turns more towards me, “What school do you go to?”

  “I don’t. I’m homeschooled,” I confess, wary and cautious of what they think of me.

  Sam makes a face, “Really? Does that suck? I think I’d get so bored.”

  It does suck, and I am bored. All the time. I nod my head yes.

  Tag kicks my foot to get my attention, “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?”

  I shrug, not knowing how to respond. Everyone laughs except for Danny, who flicks his cap up a bit. He squints like the sun’s in his eyes as he gets a better look at me. He isn’t smiling, but he isn’t frowning. I nervously pluck at the grass in front of me.

  Danny puts out his cigarette in an almost empty Pepsi bottle, “Back off guys, shit.” He gets up and points to the field, “Let’s go play some ball.”

  They all oblige. He demands it, they comply. He’s like my dad, except not at all.

  Sam stays behind and talks my ear off about everything: clothes, shoes, boys, how her mom is never around so she and Danny basically get to do whatever they want, but mostly her love of dancing.

  “Do you dance?”

  I shake my head no, “I’m not allowed, it’s against our faith.”

  She scrunches her nose up, “Dancing? That’s crazy! Our bodies were meant for it.”

  I don’t have a response. I’ve never danced, so I can’t agree with her, but I don’t have a good enough case to disagree either.

  “Are your parents strict?” She guesses.

  “That’s an understatement,” I breathe out.

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  With the boys playing baseball I finally get up the courage to talk. “How long have you guys known each other?”

  “Let’s see,” Sam looks up into the trees while she rattles off her answer. “Maddox for as long as I can remember. Same with Jerry. The twins moved to our neighborhood when I was in the second grade, Danny was in the fifth. North just kind of appeared one day, we still don’t really know from where.” She stops to laugh, finding entertainment from the fact that they don’t know where he’s from. “Tag joined us when they were all in the sixth grade. His parents died, so he came to live with his grandma. He got in a lot of fights. Danny took him in, said they needed a good fighter on their side. Now he’s one of us, Danny’s right hand man. They have a real bromance thing going.” She laughs again, amused by what she said.

  Bromance? I have never heard that term before. I wonder if it referred to homosexuals. That would be good, then maybe Danny wouldn’t make me so nervous if I knew he liked other guys. “Are they gay?”

  Sam laughs so hard she falls back, rolling on the ground, tears falling down. “That’s the funniest shit I’ve heard in a while. I can’t wait to tell them that!”

  Once again I’m a deep shade of red. “Please don’t!” I announce in horror.

  Her face turns serious as she wipes at her eyes, “Don’t fall for my brother. All girls do, and it never ends well. And I like you.”

  “Okay,” I say, at a loss with how else to reply.

  “Promise?” She holds out her pinkie. Finally, something I’ve seen before.

  “Promise.” I give her my pinkie back. I’m pretty sure I’m already breaking that promise but it’s not like anything would ever come of this crush.

  “I have to go,” I say sadly. Even though they all make me far too nervous and Sam talks really fast, I’m drawn to them. I love hearing about how she lives. It’s so different. She has so much freedom.

  “That sucks, I like talking to you.” I like talking to her too. “Come back tomorrow, okay?”

  “I don’t think I can.” I wish I could though, oh how I wish I could. “Next Tuesday?”

  She lights up, “Yes! I’ll make sure we’re here.”

  I arrive home expecting that I’m about to get the worst scolding of my life, but my dad’s not even home yet and my mom is busy sewing, showing Lauren how to do fancy edging on a dress.

  She glances up when she sees me, “Can you get dinner going?”

  I nod, astounded that they never realized I wasn’t home. I guess there are benefits to always being the quiet one. Nobody really notices if you’re there or not.

  Now I go to that park every Tuesday, getting closer to Sam. The boys even start getting used to seeing me around. They begin teasing me like they do her, messing with my hair so I have to fix it before I get home. I love every second of it.

  Sometimes other girls show up. I hate those days, and so does Sam. She hates them because the boys act differently. I hate it because most of them fight for Danny’s attention and it makes my stomach hurt with jealousy.

  I find out that they’re sixteen. “A horny sixteen,” Sam points out, which I find to be true. They’re always looking for girls. Danny never pays me any attention, but I don’t want him giving that attention to anybody else either.

  There’s something about Sam that I connect with in a way I didn’t know two people could. I guess it’s because I haven’t really had friends before her.

  She finds ways to hang out wi
th me, knowing every Tuesday I make my delivery to Mrs. Fraser. She gets on her bike and keeps me company, riding her bike up and down the street until I’m done.

  She found out I have the mornings to myself on Thursdays so she has me sneak her in, making sure no neighbors can see. We laugh the whole time, and when she leaves my face hurts.

  I was worried she would call me a freak once she saw all the crosses in my house and the pictures of Jesus everywhere, but she never did. In fact, she starts coming to my church on Sundays just so we can hang out more. That’s how Friday nights start: My parents wanted to know who this new girl was at church. I told them I had seen her staring at the church one day so I told her all about God and being saved by Jesus, which floored them like I knew it would. It was the first time I had ever lied to them. I couldn’t sleep that night from the guilt.

  One day, Sam asked them if I could have a sleepover at her house. My dad didn’t like it and told her a flat no. That’s when Sam let out a sob story about how she’s an only child and her mom works nights and she’s lonely. My dad offered to have her sleep at our house. My mom protested, having about a hundred different things going on and didn’t want to add sleepovers to her list, so she joined Sam and I convincing my dad that me going over to Sam’s would help Sam find her way to Jesus. He eventually gave in to the idea.

  Before my parents and I arrived for the first time at their house the following Friday, Sam forced her brother and his friends to scrub the entire house. When we entered it smelled like Febreze had bombed the place, my parents and I coughing from the fumes.

  Dan and the boys made sure not to be around, due to my parents needing to believe Sam was an only child, or I can guarantee I could never have stepped foot in her house. She even managed to get her mom, Angie, to play along.

  Angie was the perfect hostess and kept thanking my parents for being such a valuable influence on her daughter and how she’s noticed a real change since she started going to church. They ate it up like pie on Thanksgiving.

  That’s how I formed a family outside of my home. A family I loved with all my heart, who I would do anything for. I know they felt the same way, because over the years I’ve seen how they don’t allow just anybody to hang with them. They had accepted me; for reasons I can’t understand, but I’m grateful nonetheless. They have become my sanctuary.

  Chapter 1

  “Change your niece before you go!” My mom hollers to me from the kitchen.

  I’m practically at the back door, inches from freedom. I sigh loudly, knowing my mom can’t hear or I wouldn’t have dared.

  I begrudgingly make my way to the kitchen, where the beginnings of dinner are going. This time, instead of it being enough to feed just my parents and I, it’s enough for Lauren, her husband, and their three kids. The fourth is growing in my sister’s belly. Four kids in under five years. That will be me soon.

  I shake my head. I can’t think about that. It’s Friday night, my favorite night of the week. That’s what I want to be focusing on.

  My one-year-old niece is in a highchair. Her snack is mostly on her clothes and face rather than in her mouth. She squeals with happiness when I pick her up, talking to me in gibberish. Despite having felt at first that changing her was a burden, my heart softens towards her. I nuzzle her adorable button nose, feeling the food that’s crusted on there and I giggle with her.

  I make my way upstairs, where my mom still has a changing table for when her grandkids come to visit. All nine of them. The women in my family love to make babies. It’s been ingrained in us since we were born: marry a good Christian man and have lots of babies. My mom only had three. She would have had more, but that wasn’t in God’s plan for her. It was upsetting for a long time, then my oldest sister got married and gave her a grandson… and then another one, followed by more. Then Lauren got married and did the same. Now there’s just me left at home, though not for long according to my parents.

  I don’t allow myself to think about that either.

  I change my niece, taking a few extra minutes to play peekaboo with her. Her laughter makes cleaning the poop that had gotten everywhere not such a disgusting task.

  As I make my way back down the stairs, the little feet of my nephews scurry past me, yelling and screaming as they play. I place my niece back in her highchair in the kitchen and give her more strawberries. She gurgles something which I would like to believe is “Thanks, Aunt Hannah, you’re the best aunt ever and I love you so much!” I pat her curly head. Someday I hope she really feels that way.

  Lauren points to the counter, where there are vegetables waiting to be chopped, “I set up a station for you.”

  A reply is at the tip of my tongue, but I was raised to obediently do whatever I’m told. I glance at my mom, but she’s too busy adding seasoning to the giant pot on the stove to have heard.

  It’s Friday night, the one night I’m free. I can hardly get out the words, but I have to. I can’t miss tonight. “Well, uh..,” I play with the end of the braid behind my back, its tip close to my bottom. Speaking up for myself is nearly impossible. “I usually leave around this time. Samantha’s house, remember?”

  My sister tries to not make a face; she was raised with the same rules I was. She has never understood why my parents allow me over there, even if it’s for a good cause (or so they believe). “Your family is over for dinner. Don’t you think that’s more important?”

  I nervously glance over at my mom again, praying she will pipe in. She’s still distracted and I know my sister will win and I’ll be stuck here for the night.

  All I can do is nod in agreement. Sometimes always doing what you’re told sucks.

  A knot forms in my throat as I head over to my dinner station, and I fight to hold back the tears. My dad would tell me this is a silly thing to get upset about, that there are people starving who don’t even have clean water. He would be right, but it still doesn’t stop the disappointment.

  I say a silent prayer to God, first asking him to forgive me for praying about something so trivial, and then begging him to help me. I’ve heard my mom do this many times over things as silly as a free parking space opening up, so why can’t I do it for the one part of my life that means something to me?

  “I’m home!” My dad walks in with a greeting right after I finished my prayer.

  My mom lights up, hurrying over to his open arms and giving him a gentle kiss, “You’re early?!”

  He nods, giving her a squeeze, “Indeed I am. I finished up work and couldn’t wait a second longer to be home.” He reaches out to my sister and gives her a big bear hug, her arms trapped tight at her sides and unable to move. He’s a big man who’s grown bigger as he ages, mostly around his gut that now protrudes out enough he can’t see his feet.

  “Oh, Dad,” my sister huffs when he lets her down, pretending it annoys her like we all do, yet we’d all be sad if the day came that he stopped doing it.

  He comes to me, only giving me a side squeeze around the shoulder. I’m the child he sees everyday so I’m not so exciting, “Why aren’t you at Samantha’s? It is Friday night, isn’t it?”

  “She’s helping with dinner,” Lauren cuts in, putting on a smile I’m far too familiar with. It’s the one she used on me when we were young, when she treated me like she was the mom and I was her child she could control. “It’s important for her to spend time with us. We don’t get to see each other as often.”

  Except we do. My family is always around. Don’t get me wrong, I love them and love spending time with them, just not on Friday nights.

  My dad nods his head in agreement as he reaches for a carrot I haven’t gotten to cut yet.

  My sister is satisfied as he retreats to change into his after-work clothes.

  I don’t know why she hates me going over to Sam’s so much. The rest of my family encourages it. They view Sam as a lost soul in need of guidance from a good Christian girl.

  We continue working on dinner, my mom and sister talking about this
and that while I remain silent, which anybody who knows me is used to. I occasionally take a peek at the clock on the wall, unable to resist thinking about the house on 227 Lockwood Drive and what the people who live there are doing.

  Ms. Shepard, who always insists I call her Angie, is either still sleeping, waiting for her favorite dive bar to be packed, or at her latest boyfriend’s house. Her son is either playing a video game with his friends, drinking, or…well, I’m pretty confident they’re doing both. Sam, my best friend and the girl I would do anything for, is probably practicing dance moves in her room, waiting for when her house becomes jam-packed with people, all drinking and getting high. Except me. I’m usually in their backyard, sketching. The only sober one in their entire neighborhood besides the kids, though sadly I’m pretty sure most of them are drinking too.

  I love it though. I’ve loved being at that house since the moment I stepped foot in it five years ago. It was the exact opposite of my home: overgrown with weeds, the exterior paint twenty years overdue for a new coat. The inside walls have old, peeling wallpaper, the coloring faded and dirty from decades of neglect. The furniture’s old and ratty, freebies from the side of the road. The carpet’s stained everywhere you look, its permanent infusion of BO wafting up from every step. All kinds of weird noises emit from the refrigerator as it rumbles in the corner, threatening to topple the piles of dirty dishes on the counter to the floor when it takes its last breath.

  I love it more than the home I’ve lived in my whole life. There, I can just be myself. I’m free. I’m not told what to do every second of the day. I’m not told I can only wear dresses or skirts that have to reach my ankle, and sleeves down to my elbow or further. I’m not reminded of God and being a sinner everywhere I turn. It’s also the home of the two people I love with everything I am.

  My father is in an exceptionally good mood and gives a dinner prayer that seems to last just as long as the meal.

  Cleanup takes forever.

  Giving my niece and nephews baths and getting them into their pajamas takes an eternity.

  Saying goodbye and getting my sister and her family out the door feels like it will never end.