Not Our Summer by Casie Bazay (android based ebook reader TXT) 📗

“To date Becka. She’s only eighteen, you know.”

She elbows me again, harder this time.

My reaction is automatic. I shove her away, and she stumbles several steps backward.

Her eyes widen in surprise and then quickly narrow into slits. “You…” She doesn’t finish the insult but shoves me back with an amazing amount of force for someone her size.

“Hey!” I yell. Anger flashes through me. I’m suddenly back in the sixth grade, having it out with Charlie McDonald, the bully of bus number nine. I push Becka back with everything I’ve got. This time, she squeals as she loses her balance and teeters close to the edge, but with cat-like reflexes, she manages to duck down and recover her balance. As she squares up at me, the look on her face is murderous. Okay, maybe I went a little too far that time. I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can say a word, she draws a fist back and throws a punch that lands just below my left eye.

“Son of a…” Specks of light cloud my vision, and the world around me spins. Now I’m worried I’ll be the one to fall into the acid water.

“Girls!” Johan yells, and he’s suddenly between us. He places a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Stop it.”

I hold the injured side of my face while Becka looks half-mortified, half-triumphant. The rest of our group stands there, gawking at us like we’re circus freaks. No one says a word. Guess they didn’t see that coming.

But shit, neither did I.

By day three, our last day of hiking, I’m in a mega-pissy mood. My leg muscles are achy and tight, and I have a nice greenish bruise below the eye where Becka decked me. To make matters worse, I haven’t had a cigarette on this entire damn trip because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.

When we stop to watch a herd of bison grazing in a meadow, I complain to Johan, telling him I’m not sure I can finish today’s hike. He reassures me I can and that the view of Yellowstone Lake will be worth it. He even digs into his backpack and hands me a small packet of Icy Hot to rub on my calves. Becka gives me a smug look as I sit on a fallen tree to massage it in. I’d like to kick her right in the back of her calves, but I know how that would likely turn out.

Sue slows to walk beside me once we get going again. “Feeling any better?”

Not really. “A little, I guess.” I stare down at my hiking boots, which are slightly scuffed on the toes now. I’m definitely breaking them in. “Sorry to be such a weenie.”

She laughs. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Not everyone’s used to this sort of thing.”

Since Sue’s taken up with me, I’ve learned she’s a retired botanist from Tennessee. She hikes nearly every weekend in the Smoky Mountains, near where she lives. She must feel sorry for me because of the whole Becka thing, but it’s kind of strange how on both trips so far, I’ve made friends with the grandma types. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a real grandma. Or maybe it’s because I’m just weird like that.

“Up ahead,” Johan says, coming to a stop, “we’ll see some giant boulders to our right, and if you look closely, you may see some of the yellow-bellied marmots. They’re one of the largest members of the squirrel family.”

“Ooh, exciting,” I deadpan. “Giant squirrels.”

Sue nudges me with her shoulder. “You better get your camera ready.” A small group of marmots does indeed appear on a boulder as we approach. “Aren’t they cute?” Sue says, lifting her camera to get a shot.

I’ll admit, they are sort of adorable, like a cross between a beaver and a squirrel on steroids. I follow Sue’s example and take a few pictures with my phone just for the heck of it, but what I’d really rather see is a bear.

A half hour later, the Icy Hot has worn off, and my legs are killing me again. I had no idea we’d be walking so far. Or that Yellowstone would be so freaking huge. It could practically be its own state. When the lake finally comes into view, I could cry with relief. A pointed strip of land Johan calls Storm Point juts out into the water—our destination—but I’ve had all the sightseeing I can handle for today. All I want to do is sit down and rest. Our small group splits up, some going left and others going right to walk along the rocky beach, but I find a large rock near the water’s edge and perch myself on it. Reaching down, I dip a finger into the water, finding it ice-cold.

“Not too good for swimming,” Sue says with a laugh. I hadn’t heard her approaching.

“Does it ever warm up?”

“Don’t think so. I think I heard Johan say the average temperature is forty-one degrees.”

I must’ve missed that piece of information.

Sue sits beside me, taking a drink from her water bottle. “So whatcha think, kid?”

I survey the lake in front of me. It’s pretty, but it’s hard to appreciate things when you’re tired and cranky. “I think… I’m ready to go home.”

“I’m getting there, too, but this has been fun. Haven’t been here since I was a kid.”

I draw up my knees so I can massage the backs of my legs again. Becka and Johan walk toward us along the beach, engrossed in conversation, as usual. I wonder what in the world they could possibly be talking about because they can’t have that much in common. She’s probably complaining about me. Maybe along with going to a stylist and using hair product, he’s also the sensitive, good-listener type.

“I can see the resemblance,” Sue says.

“Huh?”

“Between you and your cousin. You look the same right through here.” She sweeps her fingers across her eyes.

I glance back toward Becka.