Something I'm Good At: A Sol del Mar High Novel Page 2

  Finally, the doctor comes in. After stitching up my chin, he examines my arm. He takes some x-rays and confirms what I already know—I have indeed fractured my wrist. I could have told him that, but I keep my mouth shut. He sets the bone—which hurts like a bitch—and wraps it. Then he gives Mom a referral for an orthopedic surgeon to put a cast on.

  Summer is no longer in the waiting area when the doctor finishes with me. She must be in another room, which is good for her and bad for me. I was hoping to see her one more time and convince her to give me her number. At least she knows I exist now.

  As we exit the building, Mom reaches over and snatches my skateboard from my good hand.

  “Mom!” I protest.

  She gives me The Look, and says, “Until further notice, this is mine.”

  I don’t want to push her too far, so I pause and think before I speak. “Any idea when that will be?”

  She narrows her eyes. “At least until the cast comes off. You may not survive another injury, if you catch my drift.” She cocks a brow at me, and I know she’s mostly kidding.

  “Fine,” I grudgingly agree.

  When we get to the car, she throws my skateboard in the back, and I group text Mark and Abigail.

  KANE: My trip to UC was life changing.

  MARK: Do I even want to know?

  ABIGAIL: ???

  KANE: I ran into the girl of my dreams.

  MARK: Not literally, I hope.

  KANE: Shut up.

  2

  Summer

  Mom brings the car to a halt at a stop sign, and I stare across the stretch of golden beach outside my window. Beyond the long row of parking spaces and past the boardwalk, my old volleyball team is at the nets. Just before Mom pulls forward, I see Michelle Carver spike the ball into the sand on the opposite side. The girls on her side of the net high five each other, jumping up and down in celebration. My ex-best friend, Rachel Yang, is among them.

  I miss being a part of the team.

  Four months ago was the beginning of the end for me. That was when I got really sick. It started with aching in my joints, but my parents assured me it was probably growing pains. But soon I had a gross, scaly rash on my face, which I hid from everyone, including my parents, under a ton of concealer and foundation. Finally, I ended up with mono. When the doctors heard about all of my aches and pains, saw my rash, and ran numerous blood tests, I was diagnosed with lupus, a lifelong autoimmune disease. Now the sun is my enemy, too much time under the hot rays will cause my disease to flare up, so I had to quit volleyball.

  After my diagnosis, I came across The Spoon Theory on the internet. Healthy people start the day with a seemingly infinite number of “spoons." People with a chronic illness, like me, have a limited number, and that number varies from day to day. Every action takes a spoon. Something as simple as getting out of bed in the morning takes a spoon. Once you run out of spoons, you’re screwed for the day, or sometimes longer. So, as much as I want to play volleyball, even if I could withstand the sun, I just don’t have the spoons to spare right now.

  I’m lucky that today’s trip to urgent care was a false alarm. My usual low-grade fever spiked a little higher than normal. Mom freaked and took me in. The doctor advised Tylenol to bring down the fever and scheduling an appointment for blood work with my regular physician. The one who knows my case. So now I have more doctors and blood draws to look forward to. Like I don’t see them enough already.

  “So,” Mom says, breaking the silence. “Who was that boy I saw you talking with in the waiting room?”

  I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and see the knowing smile on her lips. Before I can stop myself, I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. Some guy.”

  “Some guy?” Mom asks. It’s clear from her tone of voice that she expects me to elaborate.

  I shrug, fixing my gaze out the window again now that we’ve passed the beach.

  Mom sighs, a sound I know all too well. She’s giving up on trying to engage me in conversation for the time being. I’m grateful. I don’t want to talk about that guy or anything else. But I know it won't be the end. Mom thinks it would be healthy for me to move on with another boyfriend. She has no clue that I dumped my last one, Bradley, after I found out he and Rachel kissed last spring at Prom.

  We finally pull into the driveway, and the moment the wheels stop, I jump out of the car and hurry to my bedroom.

  As soon as my bedroom door closes behind me, I hear excited footsteps racing down the hall. “Mom! Mom!” my sister, Mandy, yells. “I finally beat the level!” Oh, to be eleven and healthy again.

  I switch on my music to drown out her voice and sit at my vanity, scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror. I turn my face this way and that, looking for any sign that my makeup is wearing off. I dab on more concealer, hiding any trace of the most obvious sign of my lupus; the purplish butterfly rash across both cheeks.

  Satisfied that the evidence of my disease is hidden, I turn to my bookshelf and pull out last year's yearbook. The guy from urgent care recognized me from school, but I don’t remember him. My high school isn’t huge, how could I not recognize someone with whom I’ve shared a building for two years?

  Flipping to last year’s sophomore class, I page through, skimming the list of names for Kane. It doesn’t take long before I find Dwyer, Kane. He’s the only Kane at Sol del Mar High.

  I shake my head. His hair was different last year, but I still don’t recognize him. Flipping to the index in the back, I look to see if he was in any sports or clubs, but he wasn’t. His only appearance in the yearbook is his school headshot. It shouldn’t bother me that I don’t remember him, but it does.

  I close the book and return it to the shelf. Laying on my bed, I realize that this year’s yearbook will only feature one photo of me. I’ve always been active in clubs and sports. Volleyball, debate, show choir…the list went on. Knowing that I won’t be on those pages is like my disease pointing a finger at me and laughing.

  I didn’t have to quit all of my activities, but the thought of letting down any of my teammates makes me too anxious. Better to hide out alone, at home, than disappoint them.

  I roll over, turning my back on the bookshelf in annoyance, and try to nap.

  It feels like only seconds have passed when Mandy bursts into my room and I'm jolted awake. She jumps on the end of my bed chanting, “Dinner! Dinner! Dinner!”

  I try to shoo her from my room, but eleven-year-olds aren’t the most compliant of people. Finally, I give up and let her drag me by the hand to the dinner table.

  Mom is standing over the crockpot, poking at a pork loin. “Summer, dishes. Mandy, silverware. Please and thank you.”

  She’s very efficient in her orders, and we do as we’re told. I set a plate for each of us at the table and glare at the pills waiting for me when I reach my spot.

  My drug cocktail varies between appointments with my doctors. Currently I’m on azathioprine for my aching joints; hydroxychloroquine for my skin and arthritis; and prednisone, a steroid that helps prevent my body from attacking itself. Combined, my pills have a mile long list of side effects, including; nausea, tiredness, loss of appetite, headaches, and an increased chance of skin cancer.

  Mandy takes her seat across from me, and I gather up my meds. I swallow them with a large gulp of water from the cup already waiting for me at the table.

  “No Dad tonight?” I ask, glancing at his empty seat.

  “You know your father,” Mom says, shaking her head. “Working late on an important case.”

  My parents are both lawyers, but Mom is real estate and Dad is criminal law. He’s always working late on a case.

  Mom sets the pork loin on the table, and Mandy scrunches up her nose in disgust. “I’m not eating that.” Her voice is matter of fact, and she crosses her arms over her chest and gives her blonde head a defiant shake.

  Mom stares at her. “You love pork loin.”

  “Mom even made it with bacon on top,” I add, ge
sturing to the platter.

  “Do you even know where pork and bacon come from?” Mandy demands, her mouth agape in horror as her brown eyes shift between Mom and me.

  After exchanging a look with me, Mom slowly says, “Yes…”

  Mandy’s eyes grow wide. “You knew all this time that we were eating cute little pigs?”

  “It’s the circle of life, Amanda,” Mom says, though she doesn’t roll her eyes, I can hear it in her voice. She’s using Mandy’s full name; she wants to end this ASAP. “And they’re not little pigs.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not eating that. I’m a vegetarian now.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I think I’m getting a headache, and I don’t think my lupus is to blame. When I open them again, Mom’s lips are a tight line, and she’s engaged in a staring contest with my sister. Mom blinks first, and says, “Then you’ll just have to fill up on green beans.”

  Mandy scowls. “I hate green beans.”

  “Too bad.”

  Mom begins dishing pork onto her own plate, followed by a healthy spoonful of steamed green beans. They look disgusting, and I eye up Mandy, who is also watching Mom. I wonder if she’ll cave and eat the pork.

  I take the serving fork and place a piece of meat onto my own plate. Then I add a significantly smaller serving of green beans than Mom took. Like Mandy, I also hate green beans, but Mom won’t let me leave the table if I don’t eat at least a few. Then it’s Mandy’s turn. I bring a bite of pork to my lips and watch her carefully; she’s still glaring at the dish of limp and soggy vegetables. Finally, she reaches out and fills her plate. She grimaces with every bite she takes, but she clears her plate in record time and then asks to be excused.

  “Wow,” I say, once Mandy has loaded her plate into the dishwasher and left the room.

  “How long do you think this will last?” Mom asks, a hint of despair in her voice.

  “I honestly thought she’d cave when you said she had to eat the green beans.”

  “So did I.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, then Mom says, “Are you looking forward to seeing your friends at school?”

  I shrug. School starts in two weeks, and I’ve avoided everyone all summer. They quit calling after the first couple weeks, so I guess I wasn’t that important to them anyway.

  “I worry about you, Sweetie. I want to see you hanging out with friends again, okay?”

  I push my food around my plate and nod. Great, now I need to make excuses to not come home after school and lie about still having friends.

  “Anyway,” Mom says, changing the subject. “I thought we’d go school supply shopping tomorrow when I get home from work.”

  I shrug. “You have the list. You can just get me whatever I need. I don’t really care.”

  Mom frowns but doesn’t say anything. I’ve always insisted on going with for school supplies to make sure Mom didn’t buy the ugly colored folders or the wrong brand of pencils. But it’s hard to care about things like that once you find out you’ll be sick for the rest of your life.

  As soon as I excuse myself from the dinner table, I return to my bedroom and pull out my sketch pad and pencil. Since I stopped spending time around people, I’ve taken up sketching. I used to draw all the time when I was Mandy’s age, but stopped when homework and friends and my clubs and activities took over. Now, it’s the only thing that gives me any semblance of joy.

  Flipping to a clean page, I sketch the outline of a wave on the ocean and get lost in my art.

  3

  Kane

  Never before have I been so anxious for the school year to begin. It’s been two weeks since I broke my wrist. Two agonizingly long weeks not only without my skateboard, but also without running into Summer again. I was sure it was fate that brought us to the urgent care waiting room at the same time, but with each day that passes, I doubt fate more. But today’s the first day of junior year, and I know she’ll be here.

  Pedaling into the school lot, I narrowly avoid turning in front of a blue Ford Focus. I raise one hand at the driver in a “my bad” gesture then roll my bike to a stop on the sidewalk, chaining it to the bike rack next to a few others.

  The California sun is already shining at seven in the morning, and I know it’s gonna be one of the hotter ones. I’ve dressed for the heat in a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt that says, “Tacosaurus.” It’s green and has a picture of a taco shaped like a stegosaurus.

  Any other first day of school, I’d be annoyed at being cooped indoors all day when I could be outside skating or biking. But this year is different; Summer knows I exist. Assuming she remembers me from our all too brief conversation.

  Watching Mark and Abigail skate, and surf, and do all the cool stuff I’ve been banned from doing has sucked. But I’ve honored Mom’s wishes and played it safe. I’ve managed to stay free of any new injuries. Well, major injuries anyway.

  The only thing that’s gotten me through is Mom letting me keep my bike. Under the condition that I use it for its intended purpose and not for stunts.

  Not seeing my friends yet, I text Mark and Abigail. Abigail texts back right away, letting me know they’ve just parked and will meet me by the bike racks.

  I hop up, seating myself on the metal rack. Balancing on the bar, I scan the crowd of students. Every blonde girl I see has me looking twice, but none of them are Summer. I’m beginning to think she’s transferred to another school when my friends approach.

  I know, it’s a little crazy to be fixated on this girl I talked to for all of five minutes over the course of two years, but I can’t remember the last time a girl smiled at me like she had. Excluding my mom—for obvious reasons—and Abigail, because she’s like a sister to me.

  “Aww, Mark, look how cute Kane is.” Abigail reaches up to rub my head, and I swat her away with my good arm. Losing my balance, I fall off the bike rack. Somehow, I manage to not fall on my ass when I stumble and regain my footing.

  Mark laughs and shakes his head. I glare, but it’s halfhearted.

  “Have you spotted her yet?” Abigail asks, taking my vacated seat on the metal rail.

  “Would I be standing here if I had?”

  Abigail shrugs and pushes her red bangs out of her eyes. “What’s she look like again? We'll help look.”

  I shrug helplessly. “Can mere words be used to describe an angel?”

  Mark laughs so hard he snorts, and I elbow him in the ribs.

  “Okay, but really,” Mark says, recovering from his fit of laughter and my elbow. “At least give us a hair color to go on.”

  “Blonde,” I say and return my attention to the students streaming past us.

  “Gee. A blonde girl in Southern California.” I can hear the sarcasm in Mark’s voice but choose to ignore it.

  “Well, as fun as it is helping Kane stalk this poor girl, I think it’s time to head in. I don’t want to be late on the first day.” Abigail hops off the bike rack—far more gracefully than I had—and strides toward the school’s front doors. Despite looking like someone who couldn’t care less about school, with her dark eye makeup and the line of piercings running up her ears, Abigail has the best grades of our trio.

  “Come on, Kane, you have all year to find her.” Mark jogs away to catch up to Abigail.

  I give one last fleeting look around, then follow my friends into the school.

  By the time my lunch period comes around, I’ve pretty much given up on seeing Summer again. I’m half-convinced that in the pain-induced delirium from my fractured wrist I may have imagined her.

  The best part of school is eating lunch outside. There are plenty of tables in the cafeteria, but my friends and I have always preferred eating in the courtyard.

  I find Mark at the same table we sat at last year, in the shade of the only oak tree in the outdoor eating space.

  “So?” he asks.

  “So what?”

  “Did you find her?”

  I shake my head, glum and defeated. “Maybe fate i
sn’t on my side after all.”

  Mark doesn’t reply, his mouth is full of cafeteria quesadilla.

  I scan our surroundings. The courtyard looks the same as always, a dozen or so rectangular picnic tables slowly filling with other students as they exit the cafeteria doors with lunch trays in hand.

  And then I see her.

  As my gaze shifts to the cafeteria door, Summer comes striding through. She has on a long-sleeved purple top, and her hair is loose around her shoulders. She finds an empty table in the shade of the building and sets down a blue lunch box. I think it has purple butterflies on the side, but I can’t tell from this far away.

  I realize I’ve frozen in place when I feel Mark kick me under the table. “Earth to Kane.”

  I jerk my head in Summer’s direction and say, “It’s her.”

  Mark cocks an eyebrow and glances between Summer and me.

  “Bye.” I grin at Mark and take one moment to quick finger comb my hair, then I gather up my things, stand, and march up to her table. I sit down across from her and pull a brown bag lunch from my backpack.

  She looks up in surprise. I half-expect her to tell me to go away, but she just stares at me.

  I take my PB&J out of the plastic sandwich keeper and take a bite. I swallow and grin at her.

  “Hi, Summer, I’m sure you remember me from urgent care.” When she doesn’t say anything, my smile falters. “Kane?”

  “I remember you,” she says quietly. She’s dipping a carrot stick in a little container of dip over and over again, but she doesn’t take a bite. She’s not the same Summer I remember from the last two years. That Summer would be in the cafeteria, talking and laughing with her friends.

  I ignore the oddity of her sitting out here alone and let out a relieved breath. “Good. That will make this easier.”