1

Chapter  1  

The predawn gray painted the Oceanside skate park in soft shadows, dappled monotone

brushing against harsh graffiti and rough wood. Balanced on the edge of the towering half pipe,

Summer O’Neill waited with her board extending into the open air and her weight shifted onto

the back truck. She waited for the rush of adrenaline and the twitch in her muscles to align and

create that perfect hum of focused energy. Waited for her mind to fall silent and her heart to soar.

With a slow, cleansing exhale, she adjusted the hem of her T-shirt. Another breath and

she tucked her dull blond hair under her knit hat—a parting gift from Tobey.

One final breath and she shifted forward, following her board down the heart-stopping

slope of the vert ramp, letting her worries and her memories and her failures fall away. At the

other side, she shifted, bringing her board around and swooping down again. After a couple of

laps, she crouched lower, picking up speed to pull off an aerial at the peak. She twisted, rotating

halfway, all the way, another almost half. The board touched down again in a familiar, effortless

motion.

She turned on the other side, gathering speed and building for something bigger. She

spun, the whole world swirling around her in an undefined, variegated blur. The landing should

be effortless. She’d done it dozens of times.

And missed dozens more.

She bailed at the last minute, a perfect 720 sending her crashing onto the wooden ramp.

Her body slammed against the side, pain ricocheting through her limbs, and she slid down the

rest of the way on bare knees.

2

Curling into a ball, she let out a string of profanity to ease the pain. Her board lay

overturned beside her, thankfully still in one piece.

Mom would freak if she had snapped it already.

Footsteps broke through the quiet morning, the urgent smack of sneakers on pavement.

Because every moment of mortification in her life needed an audience.

She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

“Damn,” a deep male voice said. “You okay?”

She focused on a tall, narrow figure standing over her. Between the early morning sun

and the pain pulsing through her body, she couldn’t draw any details from his silhouette.

“Fine.” She pushed herself upright, clutching her knee to her chest.

“You hit really hard.”

“I’ve hit harder.”

He crouched down, eyes fixed on hers through the lenses of his glasses. “At least clean

out your knee. The sand here is pretty gnarly.”

Summer peeled her fingers away from the injury, appraising the mangled skin

underneath. “Maybe.” She reached for her water bottle.

“Hold up,” the boy said, straightening. “I’ve got some first aid stuff in my backpack.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Really.” She rolled up the leg of her shorts a bit further and

washed out the debris ground into her skin.

“Suit yourself.” He adjusted the oversize camera slung over his shoulder.

“You just carry around a first aid kit?”

“It’s how I get girls,” he said.

3

She stole a glance at him. Dark hair swept across porcelain skin, dark eyes behind thick-

framed glasses, bow-shaped lips, the lower fuller than the top, and a nose just enough too broad

to be endearing. A boy like him didn’t need a ruse.

“Sorry it didn’t work on me.” The breeze off the ocean picked up, raising goose bumps

along her neck where she’d been flushed with exertion. “What are you doing here anyway? The

park is closed.”

“I’m not here to skate.”

“Okay.” She shivered again and pushed up from the ramp.

“I’m working on a series of ocean landscapes.” He fidgeted with the camera. “The park

has the best perspective of the curve in the coast.”

She took an unsteady step, swerving slightly.

“You sure you’re okay?” he said. “You look a little woozy.”

She shook her head, immediately regretting it. “I don’t normally cool down this fast.”

“Here.” He shrugged off his hoodie. The smell of mint and some cool, musky boy-scent

wrapped around her, momentarily disguising the salty decay of the shore.

“I’m good,” she said, instinctively stepping back.

“It’s just a hoodie.” His gaze left little room for argument. “No strings attached. Except,

you know, the strings on the hood.”

She rolled her eyes and snatched it from his outstretched hand. “There are always

strings.” The soft fleece took the edge off the cold and soothed her frayed nerves. “I don’t

normally wipe out that hard.”

“You almost landed that thing.” The disbelief in his voice grated.

“I was going for a 720 gazelle. It’s my specialty.”

4

“No way. You’re a girl.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” She reached for her board. She’d wasted far too many hours defending

her place on a ramp to narrow-minded boys who couldn’t see past her anatomy.

“Wait.” His voice, a warm bass touch framed with confidence bordering on cocky, held

her in place. “That sounded really stupid.”

“No kidding.”

“I’ve just never seen a girl who can ride like that.”

She turned back to him, stuck in the familiar war between flattery and frustration. “Here I

am.”

“And here I am being totally socially awkward, as usual.”

Face-to-face, he stood just enough taller to make her heart skip. He wore smallish plugs

in both earlobes, maybe a zero or a two gauge. Something about the way he carried himself,

shoulders curved slightly in a permanent shrug, and the careful tilt of his head, spoke more of

defense than swagger.

“I need to go,” she said, mentally shaking herself. “But thanks. For the hoodie.”

“Sure.” He swung his bag over his shoulder. “But next time? Don’t let your own head

psych you out.” He walked backward, with an easy swing in his hips and shoulders, and she

found herself staring despite her better judgment.

“I’ll try that.” She rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch. “Shit!” Fighting the

pounding in her head, she limped toward the fence.

After the amount of effort she’d put into convincing Mom to let her skate, she couldn’t

afford to show up late on the first day of school. It would only take one mistake—even

something as small as missing first bell—to lose whatever modicum of freedom she’d won.

5

Oceanside was her do-over. Her second chance.

Her last chance.

It was probably more than she deserved after the last six months of hell she’d put her

parents through. A wipeout in competition that took off half her face. The benders, attempting to

drown her humiliation in a bottle or a bong. Skipping school. Failing classes. The DUI that

ended it all and cost her everything, from her brand new license to her home with Dad.

One more mistake and she’d lose the skate park. She’d lose her board. She’d end up on

glorified house arrest until she proved herself up to Mom’s impossible standards.

With the skateboard whirling under her, she pushed as hard as she could, navigating her

way through unfamiliar streets back to Grandma’s sprawling house with its perfect lawn and

perfect shutters and perfect emptiness.

Summer turned into the driveway still wrapped in a strange boy’s hoodie.

She stopped short beside the garage, looking between Pete and his shiny black Audi.

“’Morning, Summer.” He gave her a soft, welcoming smile.

“Hi.” She hardly knew Mom’s fiancé and still hadn’t figured out what the heck she was

supposed to call him. “Is my mom here?”

“We just finished breakfast.” He brushed a nervous hand over his impeccable sandy-

brown hair. “I stopped by to drop this off for you.” He gestured toward an aqua beach cruiser

leaning against the side of the garage.

“Oh.” She stepped back and snapped her eyes toward Pete. Even at 7 a.m., he wore a

perfectly pressed suit and shoes with those stupid pointy toes and skinny laces. Tall, broad-

shouldered, model looks and a bank account that matched. It didn’t matter how nice he was or

how happy he made Mom. He was the antithesis of Dad and that made him impossible to like.

6

“I thought it would make getting to school easier,” he said.

“Thanks.” She dropped her eyes. The unspoken reminder that she’d lost her license stung.

“I should go. I have a flight to catch. I just wanted to see you all before I take off.”

“Thanks. Again.” She walked backward toward the house. “Um. Have a safe flight.” She

ditched her board on the deck before slinking through the back door.

“Summer?” Mom’s voice rang out from the front of the house.

She winced. Two seconds too late.

“Kitchen,” she called back. She sank into a chair to take the weight off her knee. It was

still oozing blood; she probably should have taken a Band-Aid after all.

“Where were you?” Mom leaned against the door frame of Grandma’s kitchen, decked

out in a matching sweater set and pearls like someone out of a 1950s sitcom. “I made pancakes.”

“I’m getting ready for school.” Summer picked up an apple from the bowl in the middle

of the table. “See? Breakfast.” Who seriously kept fruit in a bowl on the kitchen table anyway?

Mom frowned. “Are you sure that’s what you want to wear for your first day? That

hoodie is huge.” She lifted a chunk of Summer’s dishwater blond hair off her shoulder.

“Although it’s probably too late to do anything about your hair.”

“What wrong with my hair?”

“And what happened to your knees?”

Summer met her eyes, caught in the lie. “I can fix my hair on the way. And it’s not like I

meant to wipe out.”

“You never do.” Mom squeezed her shoulder in a gesture she probably meant to be

reassuring, but just felt like more judgment.

7

Summer shrugged her off. “If you want to keep me off a board, it’ll take a lot more than

making me move in with you.”

“I don’t want to keep you off a board. But after everything you’ve been through in the

last year, I thought maybe you should start taking life more seriously. Maybe you should

consider that skating might just be a waste of time.”

“Not if I get sponsored. The next qualifier is before Christmas and Dad says—”

“Your dad has never taken anything seriously except surfing. I want to give you

something better. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Summer banged the apple back down on the table. “I’m here because I have to be here. If

Dad is so awful, why did you leave me with him for the last four years?”

Mom crossed her arms. “You chose to stay with your father and we all see how that

turned out.”

“I’m here, okay? I’m going to your school and living with your mom and making nice

with your fiancé. What else do you want from me?”

Mom pulled back, but immediately forced her expression into neutral. “I want you to

try.”

“Right.” Summer pushed away from the table and grabbed her backpack. “I’ll try not to

embarrass you or ruin your image.”

“I didn’t mean—” Mom tried to touch her shoulder again on her way to the door.

“Of course you didn’t.”

Her voice hardened again. “Don’t forget you start community service this week.”

“Whatever.” Summer slammed the door and grabbed the beach cruiser from against the

garage.

8

She peddled toward the high school, taking out her anger on the poor, innocent bike.

The worst part? Mom was right. Again.

9

Chapter  2  

After spending most of her life bumming around a series of nowhere beach towns with

Dad, in and out of whatever schools along the NorCal coast, the stream of Audis, BMWs and

Range Rovers outside the high school sent Summer reeling. With almost twice as many kids and

two fewer grades, the cafeteria at Oceanside could have housed her last school in its entirety

without squeezing.

Summer locked her bike to the rack outside and plaited her wind-tangled hair into two

braids before digging around in her bag for some lip gloss. For a second, she regretted wearing

shorts that exaggerated her gangly legs and showed off her battle wounds from the ramp.

Even if she loathed admitting Mom was right, she knew she should try. She wanted to

try. She wanted this whole fresh start thing to work. She’d tried life on her own terms and it

hadn’t exactly worked out.

Maybe she could make some real friends who weren’t part of Dad’s entourage. Tobey

and Lola were great, but they’d both been out of school for over a decade and even if they’d been

the same age, they were more family than friends. They liked her for who she was—Cody

O’Neill’s daughter—not what she was—a loner who understood boards better than people.

At every school she’d attended, she’d been able to find enough people to disappear. A

crowd that allowed everyone to label her without looking closer. Kids to hang out with by

default and fill her time off the ramp.

But they weren’t friends. They partied with her when it was convenient—and had ratted

her out when it was convenient too. They had disappeared as soon as she had, forgotten faces

from forgotten places.

10

Oceanside could be different.

She needed it to be different.

Summer braced herself, screwed up her mouth into her best smile, and pulled open the

door, only to get knocked back by a group of cologne-scented boys heading the opposite

direction. She pressed herself against the wall to let them pass.

Everything was bigger and brighter and louder than at any of the schools she’d attended.

Instead of the familiar, chill, NorCal pace, everyone rushed everywhere, pushing and shoving

and jostling for rank.

It took her several minutes to calm her breathing and fortify herself to try again. After all,

with this many kids, someone had to not suck.

Gripping her schedule in one hand and the strap of her backpack in the other, she

navigated the labyrinth of featureless hallways and faceless students to find her first class in the

dizzying array of outbuildings and courtyards.

Already, most of the seats in her first classroom were taken, kids clustered together into

little groups, heads bent together with that inevitable camaraderie that came from shared

experiences.

The entire school had two solid months on her. Two months to find classes and make

friends and get to know teachers. She was behind on more than just coursework and she hadn’t

even started.

Pressure mounted in her chest and she turned, looking for an escape.

She spotted a bathroom across the hall, tucked between towering rows of lockers, and

darted for it, dodging a cluster of kids congregating outside the classroom to reach it. She burst

11

through the door and pressed her back against the wall, sliding down to sit with her head between

her knees.

A full-blown panic attack would be the actual, literal worst way to start her time at

Oceanside High. She’d managed to keep it together at every other school, kept her weirdness in

check just long enough to move on. But Oceanside wasn’t just a stop along the way. She had to

spend the next two years in those halls. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—screw it up on her first day.

A muffled sob broke her self-focused pity party and she snapped her head up.

Across the room, a short, slight girl sat in the same position, scrubbing at her cheeks.

Bright chunks of pink and turquoise highlighted her blond bob and her oversize blue eyes

glittered with tears.

“Sorry,” Summer said, scrambling to her feet.

The other girl laughed. “No worries. I doubt I have a corner on the misery market.”

“I didn’t mean—I should get to class.” Summer backed toward the door, bumping into

the tiled wall.

“We still have . . .” The girl checked her watch. “Three minutes and forty-seven seconds

to bawl our eyes out before first bell. I don’t know about you, but I can get a lot of catharsis out

of three minutes of crying.”

Summer shifted her feet. “I . . . Are you . . . okay?”

The other girl shrugged. “Just a breakup. I’ve been here before. Except.” She shut her

mouth and looked down at her hands. “Never mind. You?”

“First day.”

“Oh.” The girl looked up, her eyes focusing in a way they hadn’t before. “I didn’t think I

knew you.”

12

“I don’t know anyone.” Because that was a brilliant introduction.

“Eh. There aren’t that many people worth knowing. Come sit.”

“Um.” She inched forward and awkwardly sat a foot away on the cold tile. Six schools in

four years ought to have made her an expert at meeting new people, but she couldn’t make her

words work without a beer or her board.

“I’m Abby.” She tilted her head and smiled, an obvious invitation.

“Summer.”

“Welcome to the hell mouth, Summer.”

“Is it that bad?” The panic rose again.

“Not really. It’s just been a crap morning.”

“Do you . . . want to talk?” Summer’s words came out halting and awkward, but Abby

giggled.

“Pouring out my guts to a total stranger does seem like a fitting way to top off a morning

like this.”

Summer smiled, letting Abby’s candor ease the tightness in her chest. “Considering I

don’t know a single person at this school, it’s a safe bet that I’ll be on your side.”

“This is true.” Abby sniffed and blotted her eyes with some crumpled paper towels,

pushing her heavy eye makeup back into place. “The worst part? I can’t even talk to either of my

best friends because they’re both in stupid-happy relationships. Not to mention, one of them is

dating my brother. I literally cannot escape their happiness.”

“That’s . . . uncomfortable.”

13

“Tell me about it. The ride to school this morning was unbearable. I mean, I gave them

my blessing and all that, but she probably won’t even notice I’m hovering on the depths of

despair.”

“How bad was it? Does the ex need a arachnogator piranhaconda sent after him?”

Abby burst out laughing, a delightful, musical laugh that made Summer smile again. “Did

you really watch that movie? Because if so, you might be my new best friend.”

“Dude, Creature Feature Originals are the best. My dad and I watch them every

Saturday night.” She shook off the hovering ache that accompanied thoughts of her old life. “At

least we did. Until my mom dragged me here.”

“Then it’s settled. You and I are now friends and you have to come over next Saturday to

watch Snakephoon.”

“I am so in.”

The bell rang and Abby pushed up from the floor. “Thanks. For being cool about this.

This place is too small.”

“It doesn’t feel small.” Summer accepted her outstretched hand and hopped to her feet.

“Thanks for the distraction. Maybe school won’t totally suck?”

Abby shook her head. “No. Oceanside is basically torture unless you’re Malibu Barbie.

But there are a few people who make it survivable. What does your schedule look like?”

Summer pulled out the crumpled piece of paper and they compared notes for a moment.

“So at least we have lunch together,” Abby said. “Although I have to warn you, Ben and

Bria are annoyingly perfect together. Makes it hard to eat.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Summer held open the door to the hall and followed Abby out. “My

friends up north are like that. I’ll bring a barf bag just in case.”

14

“See? You’re going to be just fine.”

15

 Chapter  3  

After the morning parade of classes, introducing herself to disinterested classmates led by

disinterested teachers, and generally ravishing any remaining sense of calm and dignity she still

had, Summer took what she hoped would be a shortcut across an open courtyard to find the art

room.

It took all of thirty seconds for her to identify the kids she should be friends with.

Leaning against the side of the school, cigarettes half hidden in cupped hands. Scraggly hair.

Scuffed skate shoes. Holes in jeans that only happen from actual wear. Skateboards propped

against the wall.

Ten to one, they knew where there’d be a party tonight. Every night. They knew the

easiest way to get by is to forget.

“Hey.” A boy with dark hair and dull eyes nodded at her. The kind of nod recognizing

your own kind.

The stoners. The skaters. The party kids.

She jerked her chin upward in acknowledgment.

With more willpower than she knew she possessed, she tightened her backpack straps and

steered toward the art room, slipping into another unremarkable hallway.

The door to a small, dark closet or room off the main room stood open and she slipped

inside instead of taking her seat with the other kids for Art I. She needed a few stolen moments

to herself before dealing with the banal chatter that came with non-lecture classes.

The door closed behind her, sealing her in silence. The pungent, chemical smell and the

glow of reddish lights shrouded her with a false sense of serenity and allowed her head to clear.

16

So many people. Everywhere. So many questions.

And worse, no one even cared to hear the answers.

She looked up at the photographs suspended over a set of plastic tubs. A lifeguard tower.

The beach. Some shots of the skate park. She stopped at one of a skater on the vert ramp.

Of her on the vert ramp.

The photographer had captured an angle that made her look weightless, her pale hair

scattered in the first rays of morning sunshine. The transcendent look on her face matched the

effortless slope of her shoulders. She looked beautiful. She looked free.

She looked totally unlike herself.

Except she recognized the skulls on the underside of her board, the Spitfire logo on her

wheels, her cutoff jeans, her beanie from Tobey.

In crisp black and white, it all looked so uncanny. Like she was soaring on invisible

wings. Like she wasn’t bound by earth or gravity or a past she couldn’t shake.

The door swung open, casting a narrow swath of light across the floor. She threw up her

hand to shield her eyes and bumped into the counter.

“Oh. Sorry. The door wasn’t locked.” His voice was familiar, somewhat mismatched to

his narrow silhouette.

“No. I’m just . . .” Hiding. She was hiding. Like a child.

“It’s you,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “I didn’t know you were into

photography.”

Her eyes adjusted enough to see his face—the dark sweep of hair above thick-framed

glasses. The boy from the skate park. “Oh. No. Is this a photography room?”

17

“Darkroom,” he corrected without further comment. “I’ve been developing pictures of

you all morning. Which totally sounds creepy. I swear I’m not a stalker.”

He moved closer. In the tight space, that mint-and-boy scent momentarily disguised the

sharp tang of the chemicals.

“I still have your hoodie. In my locker.”

He smirked. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I thought you were at least in college or something.”

He shrugged, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. “Abuelita always said I’m an

old soul.”

“Did you make these print? I thought you had a digital camera. It looks like my dad’s.”

Because that was less awkward than asking his name. Zero for two on making friends.

He nodded toward a big, black machine on the counter. “Digital enlarger.”

“I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Oceanside has an exceptionally well-funded art program.”

“Seriously? Isn’t this a football town?”

He unclipped the photo, examining it. “Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” Wow. That was bold.

He shifted his eyes, studying her for a moment before straightening and holding out his

hand. “Sebastian Vega. But you can call me Bastian. Or Bas. Or Vega. Really, anything but

Sebastian.”

She took his hand, surprisingly strong and rough compared to his less-than-macho

exterior, and fought against the shiver of delight the contact triggered. “Summer O’Neill.”

“Like Cody O’Neill? The surfer?”

18

“Actually, yeah.” She ducked her head. “He’s my dad.”

Bastian nodded. “That explains your skills on a board.”

She suppressed an eye roll. “My skills are my own.”

“True.” He turned the print of her around. “Magic like this doesn’t happen by accident,

no matter how good your genes are.”

Summer shifted and looked down at the scuffed toes of her DCs. “What were you doing

at the skate park so early? It was barely light out.”

“Golden hour.”

She scrunched up her face. “Golden hour?”

“The first and last hours of daylight. The light is softer, more diffused. The shadows melt

and everything turns to gold.”

“Golden hour.” The imagery made her smile.

“Mmhmm. Two hours out of twenty-four when the light is magic.” His eyes drifted away

from her, lost in thought. “If I’m not there to capture it, it’s gone forever.”

“Aren’t all moments like that?”

The look on his face shifted, like he was really seeing her for the first time. She lifted her

chin, refusing to let a boy she didn’t know make her blush.

“I guess they are,” he said.

“You don’t skate at all? Are you a surfer? Snowboarder? Kamikaze pilot?”

He moved to a paper cutter, meticulously straightening the print before pulling the arm

down. “I have this bleeding problem. I generally avoid anything with a high likelihood of

physical harm.”

“Like hemophilia?”

19

“That’s the one.”

For the first time she noticed his long sleeves and pants, when everyone else, including

her, was in shorts and tanks, and couldn’t help but wonder if they hid bruises marring his

porcelain skin. “Then I probably shouldn’t distract you while you’re using a sharp object.”

A laugh bubbled up from him and he turned to her with a grin. “Are you making fun of

the sick kid? You’ve got nerve, Summer O’Neill.”

The bell rang before she could absorb his words. “Oh shit. I’m supposed to be in art right

now.” First day of school and she’d already messed up. She could already see the hurt on Mom’s

face. The familiar disappointment. The resigned sigh.

“No worries.” He picked up his print and nodded toward the door. “Follow me.”

She fell in behind him, arms crossed around her belly, holding herself together.

“Ms. Fury,” Bastian said, nudging Summer toward a towering woman with medusa hair

and fabric draped about her in a ragged semblance of a dress. “This is Summer, the skater in my

photo.”

The woman smiled, eyes wide and teeth flashing. “Oh, yes! I see it! Such energy! Your

cheekbones are divine.”

“I was showing her the prints in the darkroom so I think she missed the bell.”

“Are you one of my students?” A line formed between her eyes.

“Summer O’Neill. I’m supposed to be in Art I.”

“Oh. Huh. A transfer? I have an attendance sheet somewhere . . .”

Summer nodded, by turns fascinated and terrified by the art teacher. “I’m sorry?”

“Isn’t moving wonderful?” Ms. Fury said.

“I guess.”

20

“How many opportunities do we get to write our own stories? This is your chance to be

exactly who you want to be.”

“I didn’t want to be late,” Summer said.

“Well, no worries.” Ms. Fury smiled again. “I’m certain Sebastian is an excellent teacher.

His darkroom skills are extraordinary.”

“So I’m not in trouble?”

“Goddess, no. Art is art. So long as you check in with me, I let my birdies fly.” And with

that, she fluttered off toward the opposite side of the room.

“Right.” Summer nodded again.

Bastian winked at her. “You picked a good class to ditch. The Fury is a bit off, but she

means well.”

“I really didn’t mean to.”

“Art 1 is over there.” He backed toward the darkroom “You’ll be fine.”

21

 Chapter  4  

“Hey!” Abby waved at Summer before racing across the hall to join her walking out of

the school. “You survived!”

“Sure.” Summer fidgeted with her backpack. “Let’s call it that.”

“Ouch.” Abby’s bright smile faltered. “After I didn’t see you at lunch, I was starting to

wonder.”

“Leaving in three!” a tall, clean-cut boy called to Abby as he marched into the parking

lot.

Abby yelled something vaguely inappropriate after him. “Brothers are such a pain,” she

mumbled.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Lucky you.” She huffed. “Especially when he’s basically the crown prince of this

school. I am an utter failure just because I’m not him.”

Summer shook her head. “People look for failure.”

Abby turned those bright eyes on her. “It’s because they’re cowards. Most people spend

their lives hoping someone else screws up so no one will notice they’re too scared to take risks.

It’s justifies their insecurities.”

“Somehow that isn’t comforting.”

“Maybe not.” Abby bumped against her shoulder and winked. “That’s why I’ve turned

failure into spectacle. With enough flair, any failure can look purposeful.”

“I should try that.”

“It does makes life less mortifying.”

22

Summer’s heart rose a little. “It’s nice to have someone on my side.”

Abby caught her hand and squeezed. “It is.”

“Summer!” At the end of the parking lot, her mother perched on her bike. A couple of

wolf whistles followed her and Summer covered her face with her hand.

“Popular, aren’t we?” Abby teased. “Sister?”

“Mom. Actually.” Summer fought the urge to run back inside.

Her mother reached the sidewalk. “You ready?”

“Crud!” Abby darted after an old jeep. “I swear I’m not this rude, but my brother is

leaving without me. Bye, Summer’s mom! Ben! You wanker! I’m telling Mom!”

“She seems interesting,” Mom said, smiling from under the brim of an oversize hat.

Summer glanced around the parking lot. Mom had traded her cardigan and pearls for a

casual pair of crisp white shorts and a loose blouse that draped off one shoulder, drawing far too

much attention. “What are you doing here?”

“I feel bad about how we left things this morning.”

Summer fumbled to unlock her bike. “I meant everything I said.”

“Anyway.” Another smile. “I thought we could ride home together. I haven’t gotten to

pick you up since elementary school!”

Summer clambered onto her bike, far less graceful and sophisticated than her mother.

“You’re not checking up on me? Or drilling me about my day?”

“Nope. This is just a relaxing mother-daughter bike ride.”

Summer shot her a look. Their bikes were identical, right down to the sunny yellow

baskets on the fronts. “Since when do we do the matchy-matchy mommy-daughter thing?”

Mom laughed. “Okay, that is kind of weird. Pete means well.”

23

“Maybe I’ll cover mine with stickers.”

“I do want us to be friends, Keiki. Like we used to be.”

The old nickname made Summer cringe. “Can’t you be my mom instead?” She pushed

off the curb and started for Grandma’s.

“I’m trying to be that too.” Mom kept up effortlessly. “Starting with dinner tonight. I

want you and me and your grandma to all sit down for a nice, quiet dinner. Like a family.”

Summer bit back an angry retort. Family meant Dad too. “Fine.”

“Isn’t this place beautiful?” Mom spread out her arms, showing off the meticulously

landscaped neighborhood in front of them. “Oceanside has been the perfect place for me to get

my fresh start.” She turned to Summer. “I hope it can be that for you too.”

Summer put down her feet to stop her bike. “I don’t want to change who I am. I know

that’s not what you want to hear, but this is me. This is who I am.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Summer shook her head. “You’re still not listening. I don’t want to be you. I don’t even

know how to act around you anymore. I want to be allowed to be me.”

“I never said I wanted to change you. But I want to help you find better ways to express

yourself. Healthier ways.”

“How is that any different?”

“You’re a good kid, Summer.”

“No, Mom.” She pushed off again. “I’m really not.” She kept her eyes on the bike path

and away from the hurt she knew was on her mother’s face.

24

The ticktock of the grandfather clock in the corner and the clatter of silverware against

china intensified the awkward silence filling Grandma’s dining room. Summer sat in the center

of one long side while Mom and Grandma took opposite ends of the oversize table, facing off

like feuding lords.

“You look nice,” Mom said, scanning Summer’s outfit.

Mom wanted a nice family dinner and Summer felt guilty enough to comply by pulling

her hair up and throwing on a sundress she’d never even worn.

“Thanks,” Summer said. She’d keep up her quiet rebellion in less obvious ways.

“How was your first day?” Mom pushed her asparagus around on her plate.

“Fine.” Summer took a sip of water.

“Do you like your classes?”

“Sure.” Summer looked down at her overcooked chicken breast. For all her attempts at a

perfect suburban life, Mom certainly wasn’t any better at cooking than Dad was.

“What are you taking?” Grandma asked. Dressed in a flowing batik jacket, with her steel-

grey hair pulled into a harsh bun, she looked brilliant and creative and intimidating all at once.

“Mostly required classes. And art.”

A smile creased Grandma’s face. “Good for you.”

Mom folded her hands on the table. “Did you make any friends?”

“Leave her be, Rachael,” Grandma said. “Not everyone cares as much about people as

you do.”

25

Summer hid a smile behind another sip of water. Mom always said her parents were too

steeped in academia to notice about the outside world. It drove Mom crazy, but was the one thing

Summer actually understood about her grandma.

“I did, actually.”

Mom snapped her head away from glaring at her mother so fast she must have gotten

whiplash. “Oh?”

“Abby.”

“The girl with pink hair and a penchant for British vulgarities?”

Grandma cackled. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”

“She’s kind of saved my skin this morning.”

Mom stopped glaring at her mother again and smiled politely at Summer. “I just hope

she’s a good influence. You could use some good friends this time.”

Summer set down her fork with a little too much force. “Is there anything else about me

you’d like to critique today?”

“Summer.” Mom’s tone was less sharp and more hurt.

“Can you possibly be happy for a moment before jumping straight to the worst possible

scenario? You wanted me to make friends. I did.”

“It’s just that the wrong kind of friend can be even worse.”

Summer pushed back from the table. “May I be excused?”

“You haven’t eaten,” her voice turned pleading. “You have to eat.”

“It’s been a long day,” Grandma said gently.

“I’ll find something if I get hungry,” Summer said, making for the relative safety of her

room.

26

“Will you stop telling me how to raise my daughter?” Mom’s voice rose up the stairs

after her.

“I want to help,” Grandma said.

“Since you did such a great job raising me?”

Summer shut her door, blocking out the echoes of generations-long misunderstanding

reverberating through her family.