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

Delilah’s smile falters. “Becka?” she calls, a note of anxiousness in her voice. She turns a three-sixty in the water, calling for my cousin again.

“Oh no,” I mutter as I search the shoreline ahead but still don’t see her. I imagine her lifeless body floating down the river. Not too long ago, I might have even wished for that, but now the thought makes my stomach twist in fear.

“Becka!” I yell again as I swim toward shore and scan the faces of the spectators. There are probably a dozen or more of them, but no one is paying us any attention. Did no one see her go under? “Becka!” This time I yell so loud that my voice cracks a little. The sick feeling in my gut intensifies to the point where I feel like I could maybe puke. Then I hear a peal of laughter rising over the sound of the rushing water.

“Hey, over here!” Perched on a rock not far from the Sluice, with her tanned legs dangling, my cousin waves at us.

What the hell? A frown pulls at the edges of my mouth, but I can’t ignore the rush of relief flooding through me.

“How’d you get up there?” Delilah yells.

“I bailed early,” she yells back. “I was afraid we were going to flip.”

I’m not sure how I missed that, but then again everything was happening all at once. “You suck!” I yell as I grab ahold of a rock and hoist myself up onto it.

Becka gets to her feet and starts downriver, meeting up with us.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know,” I say when she’s within earshot.

She gives me a skeptical look. “So you’re saying you would have actually cared if I drowned?”

“Maybe.” I drop my gaze before turning to help Dillon, and then Delilah, out of the water.

As the four of us make our way along the river’s edge, my heartbeat manages to return to somewhere around normal. I can’t believe I got so worked up, but then again, maybe that’s to be expected when two people have spent as much time together as Becka and I have lately. It’s hard to say.

We leave South Carolina for our next stop in West Palm Beach the following day. It’s strange, but I can sense a subtle shift between us. Becka’s behind the wheel and I have my earbuds in, listening to music she probably wouldn’t care for, but it’s like I can breathe a little easier around her now. Like some of the hate between us has maybe evaporated. We’re nowhere near being friends, but the urge to slap her hasn’t been nearly as overwhelming today. Maybe thinking she was dead for ten seconds really did have an effect on me.

I nod my head along to the beat and stare out the window. We pass another cotton field, only this one’s been harvested, with round bales of cotton wrapped up in bright pink plastic. Weird how they bale it up just like hay. A ding cuts into my song and another text from Carter appears at the top of my screen. He got a job at Reynold’s Auto Parts in Siloam Springs, which is cool. I respond with a thumbs-up emoji and tell him about (almost) slaying the Sluice.

We text back and forth for several more minutes, though it’s mostly him just telling me about his first day on the job. He’s making nine bucks an hour, which doesn’t really sound like much when I think about it. Good thing he’s splitting the bills with Dax.

At one point, I notice Becka peeking at my phone, so I push it down in between my legs. Nosy much? She quickly focuses on the road again as I stop the music and pull out my earbuds.

“I need a bathroom break,” I tell her.

“I think there’s another town up here in a few miles.” She raps her fingers on the steering wheel before continuing. “So… is that your boyfriend?”

I snort. “Um, no.”

“Oh, okay. Just wondered. I saw you with a guy that day when you left the coffee shop. Thought maybe that was him.”

“It is him, and he’s just a friend. Carter. We’re texting. Ever do that with your friends?” Sarcasm oozes from every word.

“Yes,” she says, frowning. “Sorry. Guess I’ll know better than to ask something like that next time.”

I push out a sigh and fold my arms across my chest. “It’s fine. I just get sick of people always making assumptions. It gets really old after a while, you know?”

Becka rolls her eyes. “I said I was sorry. Did you ever consider that maybe I was just trying to make conversation? I don’t really care if you have a boyfriend… or a girlfriend for that matter.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you. And I don’t have either one. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just all this closeness.” I gesture around the car. “I think it’s getting to me.”

She nods, seeming to understand. “I know what you mean.”

“At least we haven’t killed each other yet. Grandpa would probably be proud.”

Becka laughs. “Probably. And speaking of Grandpa, I wonder why he didn’t leave us a letter after the rafting trip.”

“No idea. I’m sure we’ll get another one soon, though.” I point to a sign up ahead. “Hey, there’s a Love’s.”

Becka moves over to the right lane and takes the next exit.

We park, and I hop out, making a beeline for the bathroom. Becka’s not far behind me. Afterward, we browse the touristy gifts, probably because we both need a little more time to stretch our legs. I find a T-shirt that says LIFE’S A BITCH, only with BITCH crossed out and BEACH written above it. Since it seems totally fitting for the next leg of this trip, I decide to splurge on it. As we’re waiting in line at the register, I show Becka the shirt, half expecting her to turn her nose up because she seems so goody-goody and