The Summer We Fell Read online

  I was so busy being upset that I hadn’t noticed the turmoil in her eyes, the slight tremor of her fingers. Both telltale signs that she’s been hurt in some way. “Are you okay?” I push off the wall, running a hand through my hair. Visions of Adam with his hands on her fly through my mind. I ball my hands into fists at my sides. Man, it’ll feel good to pop that guy. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? God, I swear I’ll kick his ass.”

  “No.” She gently circles her hand around my arm. Her touch instantly soothes me. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Then what happened? You look like you lost your best friend. But I know that’s not correct, because I’m right here.” I attempt to lighten the mood, praying I’m not the cause of the pain she’s feeling. I couldn’t bear it if I was.

  “Are you? Because I feel like I’m losing you, and I just can’t do that right now” A sob slices through her words. “I need you, Cruz.”

  Her words unravel me. “Hey.” I step toward her, wrapping my arms around her and tugging her to me until her body is flush against mine. “I’m not going anywhere.” My hands rub her back, painting swirling lines over her skin, my fingers tangling in her hair. Her shoulders shake and she whimpers, the warmth of her breath searing into my chest. “Tell me what happened. You know you can tell me anything.”

  “I saw my dad when I was out with Adam,” the words tumble quickly from her mouth.

  “Okay.” I speak slowly, trying to decipher the meaning behind this.

  “He was with a woman.” She sniffs. “Not my mom.”

  I tighten my hold, startled by her words. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure she wasn’t my mom. I’m pretty familiar with how she looks.”

  I draw back. Resting my hands on her shoulders, I search her eyes. God, those eyes. Those dark eyes with tiny flecks of gold that sparkle even when the sun isn’t shining. Eyes that I’ve never seen on anyone but her. Okay, focus Cruz. “No. I mean, are you sure he was with another woman? As in having an affair. Maybe he was just with a work colleague.”

  “Maybe.” She squints, puffing out her bottom lip like she does when she’s in deep thought.

  “Where did you see him?”

  “At the coffee shop across from the theatres.”

  Relief sweeps over me at her answer. I’ve always respected Mr. Martin. I don’t want to believe he would cheat on Mrs. Martin. But more importantly, I don’t want to believe he would ever hurt Sloane like that. Ever since I met her, she’s believed her dad hung the moon. When we were little he used to spend hours outside with us – riding bikes, taking us to the park, playing ball with us. And Sloane would look at him like he was a god or something. She would be devastated if he was having an affair.

  “See?” I nod, giving her shoulders one last squeeze before dropping my arms. “Coffee. That’s pretty innocent.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I can physically see the tension disappearing from her shoulders. “Thanks.”

  I shrug. “What are friends for?” Afraid she might take off, I snatch up her hand. I resist the urge to thread our fingers together and instead, wrap my palm around hers. I plop down onto the cool grass of my front lawn, directly in the shade of a large tree. Since our hands our linked, I pull Sloane down with me. “You gonna talk to your dad about what you saw?” I release our hands. As I do, I wonder if Adam has held her hand. Has he stroked her fingers? Has he touched her milky white skin? In an effort to steady myself, I splay my palms on the grass behind me and turn my face up to the sky.

  “Maybe. I’m not sure.” Sloane picks at a blade of grass, rolling it between her fingers. “You’re probably right. She most likely works with him, and I was just being silly.”

  “Not silly. It’s understandable that you would think that after everything that’s been going on at your house,” I say. “Remember how much my parents fought a few years ago?”

  “Yeah. Only I couldn’t understand a word of it since they yelled at each other in Spanish.”

  “Me either.” I chuckled, remembering how rapidly the words would fly out of my parents’ mouths. It reminded me of those Spanish soap operas my mom used to watch sometimes. Their words so fast and clipped, their motions so demonstrative. “It’s the only time my brothers didn’t tease me for being the one kid who can’t speak Spanish fluently. Mateo said I was lucky I didn’t know what they were saying.”

  “We all knew what they were fighting about though,” Sloane says, leaning back.

  “Yeah, we did.” I sigh, thinking about Julian. About how depressed my mom was when he left. And about how my dad blamed her for his choices. He said she had placated him too much. Mom countered, stating that it was Dad’s fault because he was too hard on Julian. I force my thoughts back to the present, not wanting to relive that dark time. “My point is that they got through it, and yours will too.”

  “I just wish I knew what they were fighting about.”

  “Well, they’re not speaking in a foreign language, so you must be able to understand what they’re saying.”

  “I can only pick up bits and pieces. Nothing concrete. Nothing to go on.”

  I reach out, my fingers brushing the tops of hers. “Hey, don’t sweat it. Just enjoy your summer, and I’m sure it will all work out.”

  She glances over at me with a smile. “I’m sorry about today. I should’ve said no to Adam and hung out with you instead.”

  I worry once again that maybe he’s hurt her in some way. Sitting up, I feel my muscles tighten, my veins pulsating under my flesh. “Damn, I knew that guy was trouble. What did he do?”

  She shakes her head in exasperation. “Okay, you’re gonna have to stop this macho act. He didn’t hurt me. He’s a nice guy, and we had a good time. It’s just that you’re my best friend, and friends should come before boyfriends.” Leaning into me, she grins. “You taught me that. You never put your girlfriends before me, and I always appreciated that. So I should do the same for you.”

  I know she thinks she’s saying the right thing, but instead her words hurt me. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “I’m saying that you were right. This is your time to gloat.”

  “Well, of course I’m right. I always am.” I flash a quick smile. “But the reason I never chose my girlfriends over you is because I liked hanging out with you more. I don’t want you to hang out with me out of some weird best friend obligation if you’d rather be with Adam. I don’t want you hanging out with me because you think you have to. I want you to hang out with me because you want to.”

  15

  sloane

  It’s nighttime when I head home from Cruz’s. The sky is dark, the incandescent glow of the streetlamps guiding my way. A gentle breeze rustles my hair, and I’m grateful for the cooler evening temperatures. When I reach the driveway, my stomach drops as I notice only Mom’s vehicle parked outside.

  Steeling myself, I enter the house. It’s quiet, and the silence spins around me. Every light is on, and the brightness assaults me. Searching for Mom, I head into the kitchen. It’s empty, but I notice a lone wine glass sitting on the counter, a deep purple stain setting into the bottom. Mom doesn’t usually drink. I mean, occasionally at a party or when she has friends over, but never by herself on a regular week night.

  “Mom?” I call out.

  “In here,” her voice carries from down the hall.

  I follow it and find her sitting on her bed, a hardback book open over her outstretched legs. Her head bobs up when I enter. “Hey, honey. How was your night?”

  “Good.” I walk further into the room, then perch on the edge of the bed, near Mom’s feet. Her toenails are painted the same blood red color of the lipstick she normally wears. But she’s not wearing any makeup now. Her face is scrubbed clean, her hair brushed. “How about yours?”

  “It was nice.” She rests her open palms on the pages of her book. “Quiet.”

  “Um…Mom?” I swallow hard. “Is everything okay?”


  She smiles, but it’s not her usual smile. It’s not one that comes easy; that sweeps across her face without trying. No, this looks like it takes some serious effort. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Okay.” I accept her answer. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I desperately want to believe it.

  Mom leans forward, her eyes brightening a little. “So, tell me all about this boy you’re dating.”

  “Who says I’m dating someone?” My face heats up.

  “Well, for starters, you’ve been dressing up lately. And you have a certain glow about you.” She shrugs. “Let’s just call it mother’s intuition. I’m right, though, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah.” I lower my gaze, running my fingertips over her bedspread. It feels silky against my skin. “His name is Adam Stewart.”

  “Adam Stewart?” Mom taps her finger to her chin. “Where have I heard that name?”

  “Probably from me. He’s kind of a big deal at school. Quarterback of the football team, super popular.”

  “Ah.” Mom shoots me an impressed look. “And he treats you well?”

  “Very.”

  “What does Cruz think?”

  I bristle. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  “I trust Cruz, and I know he looks out for you, so I want to know if he approves.”

  “Oh.” My shoulders relax. “Yeah, he approves.” I remember how many times tonight Cruz threatened to kick Adam’s ass, but keep that information to myself. “In fact, that’s how I met him. He’s the drummer in Cruz’s band.”

  “Yeah, I figured he was trying out the band thing again. I keep hearing noise from his garage.”

  I chuckle. “Actually they’re not that bad this time.”

  “Well, I know Cruz isn’t. I’ve heard that boy play and sing. He’s incredible.”

  “Yeah, he is.” I smile. “They actually have a gig tomorrow night.”

  “I’m assuming you’re going?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Becca has a night off from work, so I drag her to Ruby’s to watch Cruz’s band play. They still haven’t agreed on a name, so we’re just calling it Cruz’s band for now. Not that it matters. It’s not like they have a real gig or anything. Still, I can tell that Cruz is excited even if it is just open mic night. I guess I don’t blame him. It’s something he’s dreamed of for a long time.

  Adam tried to talk me into playing tambourine with them, but I vehemently declined. It’s one thing to play at practice, but no way am I going to play in front of people. I’d completely freak out and probably play at all the wrong times, or fall off the little makeshift stage or something equally horrifying. No, thank you. I’d rather just sit at a table with Becca and drink coffee while the boys play. I’ll stay safe and hidden in my seat.

  I’m a little surprised at how busy the place is as Becca and I search for an open table. I’ve never come here for open mic night, so I had no idea what to expect. I hold my coffee cup precariously in my hand as I weave through people. A girl with too much makeup and perfume on, pushes past, almost causing me to spill my coffee. As I fight to hold it steady, I repress the urge to cough. The strong floral smell still lingers in the air when we finally locate an empty table.

  Becca snatches it up quickly before anyone else can. I’m grateful to set my cup down. After lowering into my chair, I smooth down my jean skirt and adjust the black tank top. I borrowed an outfit from Becca for tonight, and it’s a little tight. But she said it would be perfect for watching the band. She’s wearing something similar, but I think it looks better on her. More natural, I guess. Lately I feel like I look like a girl trying to play dress-up. It makes me wonder if I’ve even been pulling it off, or if everyone can see through me, see the tomboy underneath. The girl who’s more comfortable in her t-shirt and jeans.

  Shifting in my seat I attempt to get more comfortable. But it’s a losing battle. Short jean skirts are uncomfortable by design. Finally I realize I have to cross my legs so I don’t flash the entire place. This only irritates me further. It’s not how I normally sit. Plus, my knees scrape the bottom of the table, and I think a piece of gum just stuck to the top of my leg. Gross.

  “Here comes Adam,” Becca whispers, leaning toward me. Her eyebrows are raised, her eyes wide.

  When I turn, my face practically slams into Adam’s middle. I peer up at him. “Hey.”

  “You came.” He smiles, resting his hand on my shoulder.

  Becca’s mouth gapes open, staring at Adam’s hand.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  His fingers graze my hair. “I’m glad you’re here.” Scouring the room, a nervous look passes over his face. “I’m not sure we’re ready for this.”

  “Are you kidding? You guys sound great.”

  “I wish you would be my tambourine girl. That would make me feel better.” He raises a brow.

  “That’s a great idea,” Becca interjects. “You should totally do it.”

  “No way.” I shoot Becca a firm look.

  But it’s like she doesn’t even notice. “Yeah. That would be awesome. I’d love to hear Sloane pay the tambourine. And I know she’d love to do it.”

  “I guess it’s settled then,” Adam squeezes my shoulder.

  “What? No.” I shake my head.

  “I’ll go tell Cruz and grab the tambourine for you.” Before I can stop him, he’s gone.

  I turn sharply to Becca. “Why did you do that?”

  “C’mon, it’s obvious the guy was desperate for you to help him out. Besides, now you get to be up there with Adam. Everyone here will know you’re together. It’s like you’re marking your territory or something. It’s perfect.”

  “I’m not a dog, Becca.” Agitated, I run my fingertips over my coffee cup. “I don’t need to mark my territory.”

  “Well, you should. This is Adam Stewart we’re talking about. He can have any girl he wants.”

  My stomach knots. “What are you saying? That I’m not good enough or something?”

  “Not at all.” She waves away my words as if they’re ridiculous. “I’m just saying that girls are going to be after him all the time. You have to make sure they know he’s taken.”

  Is he taken? We’ve only been on a couple of dates, and we haven’t exactly defined our relationship. But the idea of other girls being all over him certainly turns my stomach.

  A hand clamps down on my shoulders. “We’re up.”

  I stiffen as Adam shoves the tambourine into my hand. Am I really going to do this? Standing up, I feel sick. My legs wobble as I trail behind Adam, holding the tambourine in my sweaty palms. When the manager announces Cruz’s band, I don’t even hear what she says. It’s all muffled and far-away sounding, like I’m in a tunnel. My heart hammers so loudly I hear it above all the chattering and the whir of the espresso machine. I start to think that maybe that means I’m having a heart attack. But when I reach the small stage and I’m still alive, I realize that it probably wasn’t one.

  Taking deep breaths, I attempt to lower my racing heart. Wiping my palm on my jean skirt, I step up the two small steps and stand next to the drum set. Adam plops down in front of it and throws me a wink. Trey and Carlos are strapping on their guitars, and Cruz is messing with the mic over the keyboard. I pull down the jean skirt that creeps up my thighs and force myself to breathe. Dozens of eyes are on me, and I worry that I might faint. The walls close in around me.

  Cruz speaks into the microphone, introducing the first song. I vaguely remember them practicing this one, but I pray that Adam’s cues are spot on because I’ll never be able to keep the beat on my own. Before starting, Cruz’s eyes meet mine and he offers me a subtle nod of encouragement. That simple act causes me to calm a little. My heart slows enough that I can breathe again. I give him a small smile before he turns back to the audience.

  The band starts playing, and I keep my eyes trained on Adam the entire time, petrified of missing my cues. Surprisingly, I don’t do half bad. Of course I onl
y hit the tambourine when Adam nods to me, so it really has nothing to do with me. But still I’m happy that I don’t botch things for the band.

  By the end of the set, I am actually enjoying myself. I feel like I’m a part of something. Cruz and Adam keep giving me encouraging smiles and nods. Trey and Carlos are being their usual perverted selves. I keep catching them starting at my butt and smiling, but I just ignore them.

  When we finish, Adam stands up from the drum set, a large smile sweeping his face. “You did great, my tambourine girl.” His arms circle my waist, and he pulls me close, his lips fanning over my cheek. “Thank you.” Hot breath meets my skin, and I shiver. When he draws back, I regain my composure and then turn around to exit the stage.

  Cruz is standing at the keyboard and his gaze slams into me, his expression troubled. Without saying anything, he whirls around and hurries off the stage. I lose him in the crowd. Unsure of what just happened, I swallow hard and step off the stage. The scent of Adam’s cologne signals that he’s behind me. His hand finds mine, and he guides me back to the table.

  “You guys sounded incredible,” Becca gushes when we reach her.

  “Thanks.” I sit down and reach for my coffee cup. My mouth is so dry that I need a sip now. All those nerves really messed with me. Adam grabs a chair from a neighboring table and joins us.

  “Was it a rush being up there?” Becca asks.

  “Not really. I kind of felt like I might throw up.”

  Adam laughs, slinging his arm around my shoulders. “Well, you couldn’t tell. You looked like you owned the stage.”

  I blush. “What about you? Was it all you dreamed?”

  He shrugs. “It was cool.”

  His response bothers me a little, and I find my gaze shifting around in an effort to find Cruz. I wonder how he’s feeling right now. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t shrug if I asked him what it felt like to finally play in front of a crowd of people. If his excitement earlier today was any indication, I’m sure he’s beside himself right now. Also, I’m dying to tell him how great he sounded. When I finally find him he’s sitting at a table alone, staring sullenly in my direction. My heart pinches. Why doesn’t he come over here?