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

I get stuck on K for the longest time, until we pass a Krispy Kreme sign in Little Rock, and then I’m on the dreaded letter X. For the last three letters, Ricky and I always bent the rules a little so that the word could just contain the letter, instead of begin with it. I scan every approaching sign, desperate to finish the game, like somehow I’d be dishonoring my brother’s memory if I didn’t.

“Oh my god,” K. J. says, breaking the long stretch of silence as well as my concentration. She dog-ears her book and snaps it shut. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

I don’t take the bait but instead keep searching the landscape for signs.

She takes a sip of her Dr Pepper and cracks her window even though the AC is on. “Mind if I have a smoke?”

Incredulous, I glance her way. “Actually, yeah, I do.”

“It’s my car you know.”

“Yeah, and these are my lungs.”

“Fine,” she huffs, buzzing the window back up. “Guess I’ll wait till we stop again.”

“You’ll survive.”

Before long, Little Rock fades away and we’re back in the countryside again. The highway narrows to two lanes as we begin to wind our way through the hills. I still need words for Y and Z but remind myself there will be more opportunities coming up. K. J. and I are still quiet even though she’s no longer reading and the radio is off. Strangely, I don’t find it weird or uncomfortable anymore. This is just how things are with us now.

“So… were you and your brother close?” she asks after a while.

Goosebumps prickle on my arms. It’s almost like she knows I’ve been thinking about him. “Not especially,” I say because, sadly, it’s the truth.

“Oh…”

It’s obviously not the answer she was expecting. “But if you mean, do I miss him, then answer is yes, I do. He annoyed the crap out of me sometimes, but I loved him.”

“I always wished I had a brother,” K. J. says. “I think we’d be close. You know, if I had one.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty. If I’d known my brother was going to die, I would have made more of an effort to get to know him.” My stomach seems to fold in on itself as the words leave my mouth, and I wonder, Was I ever a good sister at all?

“True.” K. J. nods thoughtfully. After another beat of silence, she asks, “Do you ever talk to your dad?”

What is this, a game of twenty questions? I almost snap at her, but then, for some reason, decide, what could it hurt? “Not much,” I admit. “I see him a few times a year. Usually around holidays and stuff.”

“Does your mom talk to him?”

“Nope.” I tolerate my father, but I still think he’s a complete jerk for what he did to my mom. Though I always thought it was odd that Mom seemed to blame her sister more than her ex-husband for the affair. They’re both equally guilty in my opinion.

I glance toward K. J. “Do you ever talk to your dad?”

She laughs. “Heck, no, that guy’s an asshat. Didn’t give two shits about me. He left my mom as soon as he found out she was pregnant.”

“I guess we have something in common, then,” I say. “Asshat dads.” I try not to, but it’s impossible not to smile after I say it.

She takes another sip of her drink, the straw making that annoying sucking sound when all you have left is ice. “We’re also cousins.”

“Being related isn’t the same as having something in common.”

“Why not? Our mothers are sisters. Isn’t that something we have in common?”

“Whatever, you win. I don’t feel like arguing right now.”

K. J. heaves a deep sigh. “It’s impossible to have a conversation with you, you know.”

“Oh really?” I glance over at her and put a little bite in my tone. “I could say the same about you.”

Like a sulking child, she slouches down in her seat and crosses her arms; but a few moments later, she reopens her book and starts reading.

That’s more than fine by me. I’ll take the peace and quiet any day.

We stop at an Arby’s in Birmingham to get dinner, and then K. J. insists on driving the rest of the way to Atlanta, where we have reservations at a Super 8 for the night. I’d rather she didn’t—I feel safer when I’m behind the wheel—but it is her car. Plus, it’s been a long day and I’m tired, both mentally and physically.

I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been back on the road, and my eyelids are starting to grow heavy when K. J. breaks the silence again.

“Hey, sorry I blabbed about the whole affair thing to your friends.”

My eyes snap open and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I guess I wasn’t expecting an apology, and I’m really not sure what to say now that I’m getting one. Finding a string on the hem of my jean shorts, I wrap it around one finger and tug, but it doesn’t want to come loose.

“Yeah, they had no idea,” I finally admit.

“I could tell.” She glances my way, but I’m still toying with the string. “And just so you know, my mom feels really bad about everything. I mean, she doesn’t ever talk about it or anything, but I know she does.”

“She should feel bad.” My words come out harsher than I intended, but K. J. doesn’t seem to notice. “How could someone do that to their sister?”

“I don’t know… maybe there’s more to the story than we know, though.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh please. Don’t make excuses for her.”

“I’m not! God. I hate that she did that. I just wish we could maybe talk about it without you getting your panties all in a wad.”

“What’s the point?” I say, finally yanking the string on my shorts free. “Your mom and my dad screwed up, and now we’re the ones who have to pay