Not Our Summer by Casie Bazay (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

mouth. I’m shivering by the time I unwrap the candy bar, and the cold drink isn’t helping things.

God damn it, Becka. I slap the door hard with the palm of my hand, the resulting sting making me instantly regret the action. “Open the door!”

Still not a sound.

I grit my teeth and stand. Leaving my trash on the ground, I stomp back toward the front desk.

“Can I get another key card?” I ask the woman. “Room 103.”

She looks at me like I must be the most irresponsible person on earth, but she rifles through a drawer and retrieves one. “There’s an added fee if you lose any more,” she informs me.

“Alrighty.” Becka can just cover that fee if need be.

I take the card and hurry back toward our room, but just as I’m about to use it, the door opens. Becka stands before me, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

“Oh, there you are,” she says, her tone completely indifferent.

I stare back at her, wide-eyed. “Are you kidding me? What the hell have you been doing this whole time?”

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “Just listening to music.”

I shake my head and brush past her with a huff. She could still hear me, I’m sure of it.

Becka puts her earbuds back in and sits cross-legged on her bed while munching on what looks like peanut butter crackers and sipping from a bottle of Coke. Funny, I pegged her for a protein bar and Evian water type of girl. I go to the bathroom to change into my sweatpants and a T-shirt but pull my hoodie back on.

“Where are you going now?” she asks as I head back toward the door. I hold up my pack of cigarettes and she rolls her eyes. “Don’t forget your card this time.” The hint of a smile tugs at her pouty lips.

I glare back at her. “Don’t worry, won’t make that mistake again.”

CHAPTER 7BECKA

IT’S ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO SLEEP KNOWING K. J. is in the same room. Plus, this bed is hard as a rock and my pillow feels like it’s had a few too many heads on it. I stare at the ceiling for a long while before shifting to lie on my side. The red numbers on the alarm clock show 1:24 a.m. I need sleep; otherwise, I’m going to be a zombie tomorrow. Lord knows that won’t be good while I’m sitting on a mule, descending into the pits of the earth. My stomach clenches tight at the thought.

I try counting backward from one thousand—a trick my mom taught me when I was little, and one I had to use quite a bit in the months following Ricky’s death—but other thoughts soon push out the numbers, and I lose track of where I’m at. K. J. lets out a snort and rolls over so she’s facing me, still sound asleep. The dim moonlight peeking through the curtains shines on her face, making her look completely unfamiliar. Of course, she is unfamiliar to me. Until this trip, I’d only seen her in person three times—the lawyer’s office, the funeral, and once by mistake when we were around twelve. My mom and I ran into Jackie and K. J. at a Wendy’s. They were coming in as we were leaving, and I remember Mom cursing under her breath, grabbing my shoulder, and practically pushing me out the front door.

I’ve always known my cousin best by the grade school picture hanging in Grandpa’s hallway, and she’s always been somewhat of an enigma to me. My trashy aunt’s tomboy daughter. Turns out she’s worse than I thought. She had to have been high today on God only knows what.

I roll onto my other side, forcing K. J. from my mind and my eyes closed for the hundredth time, silently repeating, “I have to sleep… I have to sleep… I have to sleep,” like a mantra. Eventually it does the trick. The words mush together, my brain grows fuzzy, and sleep finally comes.

My phone alarm awakens me much too soon. Ugh. Is it five-thirty already? I sit up but have to wait several seconds for my head to clear. I was having this weird dream about playing soccer next to a giant ravine and the only way to score was to kick an opposing player into the abyss. Completely sadistic but maybe not all that surprising considering the circumstances.

K. J. stirs in her bed and swipes at her eyes. “Shit, is it time to get up?”

I grunt in affirmation and climb out of bed, taking my clothes to the bathroom to get dressed. By the time I’m out, K. J. is fully clothed and packing a few things into a smaller duffel bag, like we’ve been instructed to do. She wears the same hoodie from last night with jeans and a gray sock cap that nearly covers her short hair. It makes her look even more boyish. I tear my eyes away before she can notice me looking and use the mirror and sink outside the bathroom to get ready. Ten silent minutes later, we step out into the crisp morning air.

Except for a few chattering birds and the occasional rumble from a vehicle in the distance, all is quiet. The sun isn’t quite up yet, and the air has a gray, misty quality to it. I breathe in the fresh smell of pine, which makes me think of the one camping trip I went on as a kid—back when Mom was married to Ricky’s dad, Billy. We’d rented a cabin in Missouri for the weekend, which was fun until Mom and Billy got in a huge fight on the second night and we went home early. I doubt this trip will be any better.

As we trudge across the parking lot, K. J. pulls a cigarette from the pocket of her hoodie and sticks it between her lips.

“Really?” I ask. “Do you have to do that now?”

She smiles, obviously enjoying