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

soon. I don’t know where she is, but I can’t seem to gather the will to get up and go find her. I’d rather be alone.

The air conditioner is working too well now. I start to shiver as I climb under the covers and cocoon myself beneath them. Thoughts of Ricky flood in again, and before I know it, tears are sliding down my cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath my head. I flip it over, but soon I’ve soaked that side, too. Yanking the covers back, I throw the pillow to the floor and grab another one to place beneath my head.

I have no idea what time it is when the tears finally dry. I’m exhausted, but sleep still doesn’t come. The air conditioner shuts off and silence fills the room. A dull throb pulses in my forehead. I roll onto my stomach, pressing my head into the pillow, allowing the pressure to soothe the ache. It’s hard to breathe lying like this, but I don’t move. More muffled footsteps sound outside the room, followed once again by silence.

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep.

I wake to a scuffling noise outside the room the next morning. I sit up, wiping the sleep from my eyes as an envelope slides beneath the door. My first thought is that it’s another one of Grandpa’s letters, and my face tingles. Maybe this one will say “Just kidding, it was all a joke,” but then again, I know that isn’t likely.

“Hey, look…”

It’s then that I notice K. J.’s bed is still perfectly made. I search the room for any signs that she’s been here, but everything is just as we left it yesterday. Slowly, I push the covers away and climb out of bed. I pick up the envelope, discovering it’s only a receipt and directions for checkout, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved.

My stomach gurgles with uneasiness as I grab my phone on the nightstand, but when I pull up my contacts, I realize K. J. and I never exchanged numbers. I have no way to get ahold of her. I don’t exactly rush getting dressed and brushing my hair, but I don’t dally either. I splash water onto my face and pat it dry. After applying some loose powder and mascara and rubbing the ointment over my tattoo, I grab my key card and debit card and stuff them into the front pocket of my khaki shorts. The car is still parked in the alleyway, so K. J. couldn’t have gone far, but I’m not sure where to start my search.

I walk down Duval Street, peeking in some of the windows of shops we’d been in before, though I know it’s unlikely she would be in there now. My eyes scan everyone who passes by, but every face is unfamiliar. I’m not sure how I’ll feel if I do find her. My anger has abated, but irritation mixes in with my uneasiness now. Why would she just disappear like this? I pass a shop displaying a colorful array of surfboards and suddenly it hits me. I make a left, heading toward the public beach where we spent much of yesterday afternoon.

It’s there that I find her, standing knee-deep in the water with her hands shoved in the pockets of her shorts. She pulls one hand out and runs it through her wild-looking hair, and oddly enough, something tugs inside my heart. Has she really been out here all night? I move to the water’s edge.

“K. J.,” I call. She doesn’t turn around, so I call her name again. A man and woman jog by, looking from her to me and back to her again. Is it obvious we received life-changing news last night? “We have to check out,” I say, pulling out my phone to check the time. “In forty-five minutes.”

God forbid I have to go in and drag her back to shore. I’m still deliberating about doing just that when she finally turns around. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a glassy sheen to her eyes. “Where have you been all night?”

She nods toward a nearby row of lounge chairs before slowly making her way back to shore. Her eyes meet mine for a split second, and then she walks right past me.

“That’s real smart.” I shake my head and follow behind her. “So… what… are you mad at me now?” She doesn’t answer and refuses to say a word as we walk back to the hotel. I let out a sigh of frustration after trying to question her for the third time. “Are you really going to act like a five-year-old and have a tantrum? Please talk to me.”

Still nothing from her. I take a measured breath, trying to keep control of my temper. Back at the hotel, we pack up our belongings in silence and she trails behind me as we go to check out. After turning in our key cards, we head back outside to the car.

“What’s your problem?” I demand as I start the engine. I leave the car in park, turning to face K. J. The glassiness from her eyes is gone, but she looks exhausted, like she’s been awake for a week straight.

“All my life,” she starts, her tone steely and her hands balled into fists at her sides. “My entire life, I wanted a sibling, but I pretty much gave up on Mom ever getting married or having any more children. She’d rather read those trashy romance novels than actually go on a fucking date.” Her jawline grows rigid and she gives a slight shake of her head. “And now this? I’m eighteen, and I finally find out I have a sister. But oh, wait! She’s also my cousin and we’ve hated each other for nearly all our lives.” She pounds her seat with a fist, tears shimmering in her eyes. “This is so fucked up. Our family is so fucked up.”

“I know it is.” I draw my hands