The Lost Summer by Kathryn Williams Page B

specifically requesting the colorful paper tubes filled with flavored sugar. When they arrived, we greedily ripped them open and dumped the sugar down our throats. We’d even sniffed it up our noses. That had been Katie Bell’s idea. It had made our eyes water and noses sting and caused a nasty crash an hour later, but the sugar high was unparalleled.
    â€œLike we used to,” I pressed on.
    Katie Bell’s face hardened again, the parentheses that had formed from the corners of her nose to her chin disappearing.
    â€œWell,” she said, turning to put her bath caddy, filled with shampoo, soap, and razor, back on top of the lockers, “it’s not like it used to be, is it?”
    Her comment stung, partly for the truth of it.
    â€œCome on, Katie Bell,” I urged. “Don’t be like that.”
    â€œLike what?” she said fiercely, turning to face me again with her gunmetal eyes.
    â€œLike that.” I smiled, hoping she would too. “I miss hanging out with you.”
    â€œFine,” she said, rolling her head and eyes dramatically. “I miss you too. Come to my cabin after dinner. And come bearing Pixy Stix.”
    As I started to agree I suddenly remembered about my night off.
    â€œShoot!” My stomach dropped. “I can’t tonight. It’s my night off. I’m just showering before we leave. I’m going with Winn and some people to the pizza place in town. . . . Can we do it tomorrow?” I asked hopefully.
    â€œWhatever,” said Katie Bell, moving around me for the door. Whatever, as in, No. Whatever, as in, I knew you didn’t mean it. Whatever, as in, You’re a bitch.
    Before I could respond, Katie Bell had stepped out into the sideways sunlight and was stalking up the path to the cabins.
    â€œKatie Bell,” I started to call after her, but the words stuck in my throat like a pill that was too big to swallow.
    Later, as I lathered my hair under the water that was starting to go cold, I grew increasingly annoyed until I was finally angry. Katie Bell was right; I knew that. I’d known it since the night of the dance and probably even before that: things weren’t like they used to be. But it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault that I had been born three months before Katie Bell or that somehow in the past year I had managed to grow up when she hadn’t.
    I realized my fingernails were digging into my scalp as I scrubbed. Under the lukewarm shower, I closed my eyes and let the suds run down my back and face. I wiped the soap from my scrunched eyes, really trying to wipe away my frustration with Katie Bell.
    â€œWhatever,” I repeated out loud, echoing her words. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I had to get dressed to meet Winn and the others at the Mansion. We were going to Mama Mia’s, the ancient pizza place off the highway to town, and then bowling. A few Brownies were meeting us, Ransome included, and while no one in her right mind would construe this night as a date, I had the first-date jitters. Pull it together, Hel, I thought. It’s game time.
    The dark shapes of trees zoomed by in the night. Unbelievably, I found myself sitting on Ransome’s lap in the back of Buzz’s car. Sarah had gone back to camp early because of explosive digestive issues she’d told the boys was a headache, leaving us all to ride back with Buzz. When Lizbeth, Winn, Ransome, and I had wedged into the backseat, Ransome had suggested I just sit on his lap. I deflated when Winn offered to sit in the way back, but Saint Buzz pointed out it was full of skeet-shooting stuff. I’d quickly, and gratefully, climbed onto Ransome’s lap before any other arrangements could be made.
    I was slightly drunk. At the Strike ’n’ Spare, the Brownies had bought pitchers of flat beer with their fake IDs, and the one slice of greasy pizza I’d barely eaten at Mama Mia’s was not doing its supposed