What Happened Last Summer
Charlotte Ramsey-Lemmings
Outside the crisp autumn air tasted like water after eating a mint. Winter was coming. Something about Autumn always made me feel alive. Like it was the start of new things.
I stood on the corner of First and Main, seeing Adams across the street, it took up the whole block, a gothic like building with tall spires that made me think it was either a cathedral or a castle. And a broken clock tower that was permanently stuck at 1 o clock. The lawn was clear of students, a deathly sign that I was already late. Might as well be late-r, I thought as I tucked my skateboard under my arm and ducked into Mimzy’s café.
The familiar smell of coffee came in thickly up my nose. I stood at the back of the line of people in suits, soccer moms, and police officers waiting to get their morning cup of life. While the baristas spun and danced to the whim of their caffeine starved customers.
I made it to school late because I didn’t really care to go. I had a near perfect GPA anyway, except for chem, which I was failing miserably. Shit, I could lose my scholarship if I didn’t catch up. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I could go to school with my friends again. Go back to being popular not a social fucking reject like I am at Adams.
“Shouldn’t you be in class, little lady?” a voice came from behind me. I turned to see Tommy, a kid from the neighborhood. A cinnamon skinned boy with dark curly hair. He wore lots of layers of clothing, hoodie over flannel and cargo pants with red chucks. I hadn’t really seen him since the summer….
“Shit,” I didn’t expect to see him here, “They let you in this side of town?” I fived him, gripped his hand and pulled him into a hug. He’d always been a little on the thick side, but now it felt like hugging clothes on a hanger he was so thin. And he had these permanent shadows under his bulging eyes.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. So it’s true you go to Adam’s now?” he asked. I glanced at the school at the end of the block among the high city buildings.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Excuse me, what can I get for you?” the barista asked, having no time for nonsense. I opened my mouth, but Tommy answered for me.
“Hot chocolate on me,” he said, sorting through a stack of hundreds he had tied together with a silver clip, “And a latte for me please. Thanks, doll.”
She blushed and took the money.
“Coming right up,” she said. We moved to the coffee pick up window where other customers waited desperately for their names to be called.
“So, what have you been up to, lil sis? How come I haven’t seen you around the underground lately?” Tommy said. I shrugged.
The underground, once a place teeming with young people out there trying to have a good time. A social spot where everyone who knew everyone came to mingle. Now a wasteland of kids making bad decisions. Kids you used to sit next to in Math class snorting powder off of bathroom sinks and flicking the tips of syringes.
I was glad when I got my acceptance into Adams, though a bit stunned as well. I did work hard in hopes of getting out, but you had to be some kind of rare genius to get recruited out of Bayside.
“Been busy with school and stuff, you know how it is,” I said, pocketing my hands.
“Actually, I don’t,” he said, “You know Rowdy’s getting out today.” I eyed my feet.
“Yeah, I heard."
“We’re gonna hang at my place and jam a bit. You should come,” he said.
“I’m busy,” I said.
“I didn’t even tell you what time,” he said, watching me. I let out a tense laugh.
“I’m way behind in chemistry, there’s no way I can go,” I said.
“Here are your drinks,” the barista said.
“Thanks,” he said. We both grabbed ours off the counter.
He continued to watch me as we both took our first sips.
“What’s going on with you two?” he asked. It was hard to hear, the sound of steel pitchers being clanked against marble counters filled the air, some barista trying to pop the bubbles in his cappuccino milk.
“What do you mean?” I asked while squinting.
He smiled, “Don’t play dumb with me. I knew you since you were in diapers, you don’t think I know when you’re lying to my fucking face. Besides you’ve both been crazy awkward since he got locked up. And you’re the only kid in the neighborhood who hasn’t either visited or wrote him, pretty funny because the week before you were his fucking shadow.”
“How do you know I haven’t visited him?” I asked, squinting.
“He mentioned it to me,” he said, shrugging. My heart squirmed-jolted in my stomach at the idea he was mentioning me, a sick feeling like vomit sluiced up my throat.
“It’s nothing. I’ve got to get to class,” I said, turning to leave.
“Whatever kid, later,” he said, impatiently.
I waved and left. Rowdy was Tommy’s best friend. If he didn’t know, nobody knew. I felt a wave of gratitude for Tommy even though it was hard to feel anything for him anymore. After what happened. Just forget it. I shake my head and try to shake away the thoughts I knew were coming.
I took a deep breath and walked across the street to the tall gothic building I called school. In the center, I instinctively glanced at the clock tower, even though it was broken, had been for over 20 years. They say it’s broken because a kid hung herself on the clock hands on prom night.
The town of Everton had a lot of history. It was over 300 years old, one of the first places settled in America. This place had come up from being just a bunch of trees and wilderness into this sprawling old Northeastern town. And behind it were all of these legends. Bad things that happened like a native American massacre back in the early days. And stories of native American shape shifters that hunted in the woods at night. Gaunt hill had the bulk of the scary stories and it was why I avoided it like the plague, including a mass axe murder in the late 1800’s.
The grounds were deserted. I wondered if I stalled enough to blow off Chem and checked my watch. Only twenty minutes to burn before Computer class. I opened my locker and tried to breathe, hanging my head inside of it. Picturing Rowdy’s dark curly hair soaked, bent over, pummeling that kid to the ground.
So what? Everyone knew Rowdy had a problem with his temper. Maybe his mom cried when the cops pulled up to his house to arrest him. I heard she did, I heard she was screaming at him in this shrill voice to never come back to her house again and that she’d never forgive him.
My locker door slammed itself closed, Clemm’s tanned hand placed over its surface. He looked at me with those mischievous green eyes of his, his sweet expensive cologne tickling my nostrils. I was probably the only girl in school who went sick to her stomach when I saw him. Every other girl practically fall all over themselves when he’s around.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked. He knocked the books out of my hands. Should’ve seen that one coming. He only does this every day.
“You wish you could, roach,” he said. He held up a paper and I knew why he’d come to me. I should’ve known but I didn’t think he or anyone else for that matter actually read the school paper.
“What the fuck is this?” he asked.
“A newspaper,” I said.
“What Rams, you didn’t think I would find out you were trashing me in the paper? Are you really that stupid?” he said.
I grinded my teeth, pressed them so hard together they were in my gums. No one called me Rams except for my closest friends. No one else was allowed to. If we were in my hood, he would’ve gotten a fist in his jaw. Fear would’ve struck his heart at the thought of disrespecting me. But this wasn’t my hood.
“I just wrote a commentary on the school play, get over it,” I said turning to leave. He grabbed my arm and yanked me back towards him.
“Oh yeah, then read this, if you fucking cunts over in Roachville can even read,” he said, pointing to the part in the article where I said his performance was passably mediocre and that he and the other actors put Shakespeare to shame.
“Please release me before you regret it,” I said. He did a bit roughly so that I staggered and nearly tripped over the bench in the middle of the hall.
“Put my name in any of your article’s again, Good will, and I’ll put my fist in your mouth, got it, home slice?” he said, sliding a cigarette in between his lips in the middle of the busiest hall in school.
“Go fuck yourself,” I told him.
These rich kids sure were bold out here. In some towns the rich kids are afraid of the hood kids but not here. They gave no shits. Fighting words said at all times. And to be fair, their parents ran this town. Were the police chiefs, DA’s, doctors and criminal lawyers. Cuss a Dawson out and you can get sued for defamation of character. I heard it’d happened to a girl once, she’s still paying off the fees.
He laughed. One of his boys kicked my books further down the hall. The bell rung. I tried to run to get them but it didn’t help, my books and papers got trampled and kicked. I was late to my next class chasing them down.
Most kids don’t get noticed by the popular kids, you know. They sit around wistfully staring at the troublesome trio wishing they knew their names. But not me, ever since I made the mistake of coming upon one of their parties last summer we were on first middle and last name basis and they wouldn’t leave me alone.
“And here she comes,” Mrs. Fleischer, the drama teacher said as I came in, standing in front of the school theater as everyone else stared me down.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said and sat down in the closest seat on the edge.
“You’re sorry you’re late every day. Lots of students are fighting for your seat in this class. Come late again and the struggle will end, capice?” she said. I nodded, cheeks flushed red, opening my backpack to find my destroyed script.
“Come on, come on, we’re waiting for you,” she said. I hopped over my back pack and made my way to the front of the class. The teacher sat in the third row next to Everest, the president of the drama club. He watched me with his pale blues. I opened the script and the front page fell off. Some kids laughed, Fleischer rolled her eyes, I bent over hurriedly to pick it up.
“Stop, just stop,” she said. I looked at her, confused. “Honey you truly are a mess.” I looked back down at my script, more giggles filled the rooms and whispers. A cold burn singed the edges of my stomach. My cheeks felt heated.
“What are you reading?”
“A dialogue from Midsummer Night’s Dream,” I said.
“What part?”
“Hermia,” I said, “page 53.” Everyone opened up their playbooks and turned to the page.
I read a few lines before the teacher interrupted.
“Good you can read Shakespeare. That’s always a plus. Who’s next?” she said. I folded my script and walked back to my seat. The drama teacher massaged her temples.
“Are there any other auditions?”
The bell was about to ring and I liked to get a head start so I headed down the aisle. I pushed open the wooden door into the crowded hall. As I joined the throng of pulsing students, I could hear Clement Delacruz shoving his way through the crowd.
“Out of my way, roach,” he said, his hand coming over my shoulder to push me out of the way.
“Don’t touch me,” I said and I kind of push him, hard. Shouldn’t have done that. But the feel of Clemm’s skin makes me throw up in the back of my mouth.
Clement Delacruz, the European bastard child of a French model and a guy who descended from Spanish Conquistadors. Their family wealth built from old Spanish gold made from pillaging poor native islands and sacking British war ships. Now the Delacruz’s conquer in the court room. Half of his family were lawyers, the other half ruthless businessmen. He practically had “do not fuck with me” tattooed to his forehead. And I normally didn’t, especially after what happened last summer.
I squeezed my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.
“What’s your deal?” he asked, that playful twinkle in his eyes. He always loved a challenge. It was the quickest way to get his attention. The kind of attention you don’t want. And every time I see him I think about Rowdy beating him up and the way he just lay there grinning with blood all over his face, not even fighting back. It was as if he got a hard on.
The hall cleared fast as the warning bell rang, only a few students left, trotting down the halls rapidly.
“Just leave me alone, Clemm,” I warned. I warned him, didn’t I?
I thought he got the clue. He surprised me, he actually turned to leave, and I actually believed it was over.
He stopped, right next to me, hot breath whispering in my ear, “Good girl.” He said so that only I could hear.
And I had another vision, of my head in his lap while he stroked my hair.
“Good girl,” he’d said to me then. And my stomach sluiced with sickness.
I turned to punch him right in his mocking mouth. But he expected it and spun out of the way just as easily and I fell during my fury induced war path, my mouth clicking onto the bench in the middle of the hall.
Blood, filled the inside of my mouth fast. I saw a flash of light and then darkness.
A dog’s breath, panting as I ran through the woods. It was too dark to see, I nosed my way through dirt and leaves.
Again, my head was in his lap, this time in the middle of the hallway, I felt the smooth corduroy pants he wore against my cheek, a dark blue. Saw the scattered design of the scuffed linoleum floors. His fingers bent in weird designs, like meditative mudras as he whispered some words, sounded like the kind of chanting you do during yoga, “bhavati tatkratur bhavati.”
His hand lightly glowed blue. I faded back out of consciousness and woke up to being poked by a dean. Lying splat in the middle of the hallway arms splayed.
“Um…are you okay?” the dean asked. I sat up, still remembering falling, my face smacking against the side of the bench, the pain, the blood, but right now feeling nothing. I felt perfectly okay like nothing had happened at all.
“Um…yeah,” I said, getting up and wondering what I’d just experienced.