Summer Love by Tanya Lin (read the beginning after the end novel .TXT) 📕

 "Grayson! We gotta get on the road! GRAYSON!" Dad's yell made me cringe.

 I snarled under my breath. But maybe there was a bright side. Perhaps there were hot girls over there, just waiting for me and my undeniable charm.

"Coming!" I shouted back. The stairs thumped as I ran down from my room.

"Ready to go?"

"Whatever," I grumbled sullenly. No. No I wasn't ready to go. I still wanted to play one last game of basketball in the driveway. I still wanted to toss the football around in the backyard. I still wanted to slouch on the sofa, watching TV. I still wanted to smell the barbecue in the patio, sizzling and juicy. I still wanted to sleep in my room. I still wanted to stay.

"Horrible weather today, right?" he chattered, forcing a smile.

Outside it was raining heavily. The sky was a dreary gray. "Sure. Stop talking, Dad. I wanna get this over with," I said, all while chewing the inside of my cheek.

"Of course, Gray." I flinched. This was the first time he had called me that since Jamie's... "accident". Like I believed any of that "accident" stuff. "Of course. Let's get moving."

The ride behind the moving truck was silent and boring. Mom tried attempting conversation, yet I refused to answer. I didn't want to do anything involving socializing. I'm that stubborn. I'm that amazing. Totally.

When we finally reached the house, I didn't bother to ooh and aah. What was the point, we'd seen it five times already.

Sliding out of Dad's red BMW, something caught my eye. Someone caught my eye. Across the street, there was a gray-brick home.

Whoever lived there didn't have much for privacy. The curtains and blinds were up. May as well have been advertising yourself. Here I am! Come watch me get naked while I change! Come shoot me!

Upstairs, there was in one room, a man. He was bedraggled and thin. Another room on the same floor showed a girl who looked around thirteen-ish. She was pacing and obviously infuriated.

Then, downstairs in what I believed was the kitchen. There was another girl, this time around fifteen- my age. Her bright strawberry blonde hair looked like fire amongst the dead day. Even here, I could see eyes rimmed with red: she had been crying. And the eye doctor claimed that I had 10/20 vision! Ugh, rude. A box of Raisin Bran stood on the table. I gagged; Raisin Bran was horrible. Clearly, my new neighbor hated it too.

She was so distressed, she didn't notice me.

I was so mad at Serena. She acted like I was her personal little pet. Like she owned me. I am not a cat! A sharp glass shard lodged itself in my heart. I was like a slave.

Downstairs, my sharp ears heard soft weeping. I swallowed down bubbling guilt. I made Serena cry. Again. I'm not going to pretend I didn't hear her as I left Serena's room. I don't lie.

My name is Rose Sharpe, and I do not lie. I haven't lied since I was five. Two or three years after- what should I even call her? Mom? Mommy? Mother? It's just... "Mommy" was my initial name for... her. "Mommy" doesn't seem right for her anymore. "Her" isn't a title either.

Two years after my m-? My erm... mother? That seems okay. Two or three years after my mother died. And I lied to my "buddy" Gianni about how I felt.

Gianni was very empathetic with everyone. Unlike Thia Nordrakis, our girly, popular, and filthy rich neighbor who kicked my sister in the dust. Yeah that's right, I know about that too!

But when Gianni asked me if I was alright, knowing full well that I wasn't, I suppose I had just had enough. Enough pity. Enough coddling. "Y- Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine, Gi."

She didn't believe me. As small- or was it small- of an untruthful answer that was, she didn't trust me again. And I mean ever again. Gianni was my only friend besides Serena. Look how well that turned out. Perfect. Just perfect.

I poked my head out of the room. It was painted bright yellow when I was born, my mother believing it would bring luck and joy to me. Right...

Now I have my own definition of yellow. The particular shade of yellow looks like a lemon. Lemons are sour and bitter, with a taste that makes you want to cry. But once you get to get used to it, the lemon starts to taste sweet and tangy. That is only once your instinct learns to love it.

I have not  learned to love lemons. I have not learned to love yellow. I have not learned to love life. And yellow is my life.

Oh great. Just great. In the kitchen, Serena is crying harder than before. I don't know what to do! Go comfort her? Stay with my hair sticking out looking like a dork? I don't really care about what I appear like, but still. This is one of the most uncomfortable position I have ever been in; my neck is starting to strain and my arms and legs are sore.

 I made my descision before I lose my mind. "Stay here, Rose," I said to myself quietly. I would rather not face the guilt of confronting someone I made sob.

 My head pulled back into an egg yellow bedroom. I wondered if I should paint it blue, black, and silver with white birds... Calm, meaningful shades of sorrow.

 Absentmindly, I began to start wandering aimlessly in the room. It was quite big, with a marble tiled floor, with a carpet under my bed. The covers were the shade of a blue day flower. They used to be white, but I traded with Serena. Somehow. When she was in her right mind.

Publication Date: 04-25-2014

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