For the Summer - 1983

That First Summer

1983

Ronald Reagan is serving his third year as President of the United States.

Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi is released in theaters May 25th.

Karen Carpenter dies of complications due to anorexia nervosa at age 32.

...

BPOV

Fish are so disgusting. Look at them, look at the way they flop all over each other, a pile of fat, scaly bodies gulping at the bits of stale hot dog bun I've been tossing into the water. Their eyes bulge and their mouths move up and down in desperation. It is the grossest and most coolest thing I've ever seen. Whenever Dad tells me to get rid of the buns, I eagerly grab the bag and run down to the docks to incite the feeding frenzy.

The sun is just beginning to rise in the sky, but it's already hot. This is going to be a scorching summer, I can tell. The planks beneath me are already steaming, and when I sit down they burn the backs of my legs. They hang over the edge of the bridge and I rest my arms and head comfortably on the wooden railing. I can smell the sunblock on my skin as I watch the fish continuing to pile on top of each other. There's no breeze to stop the sweat from beading on the back of my neck and I move my long wiry braid off my back and scratch at an itchy spot left from the fuzzy rope of hair.

I watch the launch ramp where a dozen or so trucks patiently wait to back their toys into the shallow water. They're the seasoners, the out-of-towners. Pay Checks, my brother likes to call them, because they bring the money. They are all here for the summer, all of them attracted to the hot, dry climate of the Arizona desert and the venue for water sports that the Colorado River provides.

My dad, Charlie, owns the marina and it is already packed with the first vacationers of the season. The families are boarding the houseboats they've rented for the week, or they've come with their pontoons and speed boats and jet skis, and they are all clumsily putting around in the no wake zone and heading over to the gas station.

My brother easily charms the customers with his dimpled grin. He fills up their tanks with gas, mentioning all the amenities our marina has to offer, like the paddle boats and kayaks, and thanking them for their patronage like Dad taught him. Emmett is a natural salesman and the customers always fall for his speeches. I think it's because he's tall for his age. He's only fourteen, but everyone thinks he's already a grown up. He has the same dark brown hair and eyes that I do, and the same tanned skin, but everyone calls him a "looker", or whatever. I think that means he's handsome or something, but I don't see it. His ears are way too big and he has a little scar above his left eye that makes him look like he's always concentrating really hard. He is way smarter than your normal fourteen year old, though. I think he could be president someday. I mean, if a movie star can do the job, surely my smart-alecky brother can.

I pull at the uncomfortable elastic of my swimsuit. The lycra of the one-piece suit will become my second-skin this summer, but right now it's digging into my shoulders and riding up my butt. I need a new suit but Dad can't afford it, not for another couple of weeks. It's like this every year. My dad does his best to ration the money we make during the summer to make it stretch all year, but things like new swimsuits are rare, even though we usually spend the whole summer in our suits. They're like our uniforms, or something. The one I am wearing now I've had for at least two seasons. I remember when Dad had to tie the straps together in the back because it was too big when he bought it and I had to wear shorts over it because it sagged in the rear. Now it's starting to get thin and I'm stuck wearing my shorts over it again until I get a new one. Maybe my mom will buy me one when I go visit her next week.

I wish my mom lived closer to us, but when my parents got divorced she said she wanted to live her dreams. I don't know what that means exactly, but Vegas does seem pretty dreamy. She's a card dealer at The Tropicana, and it has a really big pool. Sometimes she lets us swim there and I pretend I'm a rich lounge singer relaxing before my big show. I wear my best swimsuit and my mom's big round sunglasses on those trips, and she gets us fruity drinks in tall glasses with little umbrellas and thin red straws. We visit her once a month. It's only an hour's drive and Dad drops us off and Mom brings us home. Emmett says he's not going this month, but he will. He tries to be tough, but I know he misses her.

I break off another piece of bread and toss it onto the heap of fat fish. Their shiny gray bodies rise above the surface and I'm always amazed at how they manage to get out of the water like that. Fish must have really strong fins. That, or they must think stale soggy bread tastes like ice cream or something.

"Hey you! Girl! I wanna try," I hear this kid say, and I look around, wondering who he could be speaking so rudely to. The sun is glaring in my eyes and I squint as I try to make out the shadowed boy before me. He shifts slightly to the left, his head now blocking out the sun, and his face comes into view.

He is glowing. The golden sun behind his head is causing his reddish brown hair to blaze like fire. He is my age, I think, maybe a little older, and his mouth is very red, like he just finished a rainbow sherbet Push-Up or something. His teeth and tongue are tinted pink with sticky syrup collected in the corners of his mouth. His green eyes look like they are shimmering from the reflection of the water, and he has the longest eyelashes I've ever seen, like feathers, and I wonder if they are as soft as they look.

He is an out-of-towner, a Pay Check, I'm sure. It's obvious in his pale, flawless skin. His thin legs are interrupted by knobby knees sticking out from under his blue swim trunks, and there's a little alligator stitched into his white polo shirt. On his feet are brand new leather deck shoes, ones I could only dream of affording. I look down at my old sandals, the straps rubbing blisters into my skin. I always have to stop walking to shake the sharp rocks and gravel out from under my feet.

"I have a name," I respond, slightly annoyed with his tone.

"Well, how am I supposed to know your name? I only just met you," he says, placing his hands on his hips.

"We haven't even really met. Technically, I'm not even supposed to be talking to you," I say as I stand up. I'm taller than him and I suddenly feel very confident. I smirk down at the pretty pale boy, his weird fiery hair still catching my attention, and throw him the bag of bread. "Here, you can have it. I'm done here anyway. Make sure you throw the bag in the trash can when you're through."

I start to walk back to the office to see if my father needs any help, but the boy grabs my swimsuit strap from behind and the elastic snaps against my back with a sting. I spin around ready to knock him out, but he is just standing there grinning. And then he winks. My mouth drops open, his stupid smile making me even more furious. What a jerk!

I don't even know what to do. My normal response would be to punch his lights out. That's what I learned growing up with an older brother, if anyone touches you, you punch them. My brother made sure I knew how to throw a decent punch, and this kid is so scrawny, I could totally take him.

Something about his smile makes me freeze up and forget what I'm supposed to do. I can't even think of anything to say and I suddenly feel like an idiot.

Just then, a magnificently beautiful lady calls out and we both turn and look at her. Her skin is like silk and her golden brown hair is perfectly feathered. She wears a very skimpy black bikini with little red running shorts with white trim that stands out against her slender tanned legs. I'm a little embarrassed at how I stare at her perfect body, but then I figure she wouldn't dress like that if she didn't want to be stared at. She opens her mouth and her beauty quickly fades with what she says.

"Eddie! Get your fucking ass over here! I told you not to go running off, you little shit."

It's not really her words that are offensive, living on the marina I hear language worse than that out of my own father's mouth, but her voice is just so full of hatred. The boy's smile fades and he runs back to her with his head hanging. She looks really young, but I guess she's his mother because she pulls his hair and jerks him around as he stumbles onto one of the houseboats tied to the dock.

I turn quickly and march straight to my dad's office, the tears burning in my eyes as I think of how I was ready to knock that kid out. No wonder he was so rude, his mom is horrible! I regret wanting to punch him but I refuse to let my tears fall. No, I will not shed tears over some silly summer Pay Checks.

I have to force open the door to my dad's office. The door sticks sometimes and the paint is chipping from the wooden siding. The office is attached to the little twelve room motel that's part of the marina. He inherited the small resort from his father who started the marina with just a campground and a gravel launch. Now, the resort includes the motel, with a pool and spa, a cafe and general store, lots of spots for trailers and motorhomes and tents, sixteen modular homes for those families that stay the whole summer, over a hundred boat slips at the dock, and a recreational area with volleyball, horseshoes, a swing set and a dozen fire pits along the small private beach. We also hire out paddleboats and kayaks and tubes. My dad's really good at business.

"Well, hells Bells, look at that scowl! It's too early for you to be wearing a face like that," Dad chuckles as I storm into the small room. It's not much cooler in here than it is outside, but at least there's a large fan blowing near the window. "What's got your feathers ruffled?"

"Nothing," I mutter, the encounter with the green-eyed boy too humiliating to retell. I plop down in one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs in front of his desk as he busily scribbles down something in his books. He looks up at me with his wrinkly brown eyes, and his thick mustache twitches over his thin lips. He knows I'm not being truthful; his mustache always twitches like that when he's trying to figure stuff out.

"Aw, see? Now, I don't believe that for a second. You've got anger written all over that pretty little face of yours," Dad says softly. I look down at my sandaled feet, shaking my foot to free a rock stuck between my toes.

"I just hate the beginning of the summer. All these people think they're so special with their big boats and their fancy clothes," I say, thinking about the boy's new leather shoes and the way he winked at me, like he was thinking of a joke and I was the punch line.

"Those big boats and fancy clothes put a roof over your head, missy. And an ice cream in your hand." Dad winks and holds out a couple of shiny round coins, and I know he's right. It's no use arguing with him, I know we're luckier than most folks in this little town. Besides, it's the start of the season and Dad's busy. I shouldn't bring him down with my sour mood.

"I know, Daddy," I say, slightly ashamed I even bothered him at all. He gets up and places the coins in my hand before kissing me on the head. That's my cue to leave, and I pocket the money before walking back out into the smothering heat.

I skip to the general store, the coins jingling in my pocket, and I see a familiar face standing by the door. His black hair curls around his shoulders and his dark brown eyes look like little pebbles. He's in my class and I've known him for as long as I can remember. Jacob Black has lots of brothers that look just like him. There's six of them altogether and every year the teacher always says how there's another kid from his family in the class. His dad runs the only boat storage place in town. They live in a house close to where we used to go to elementary school, a mile or so from the marina on a road of dirt and cracked pavement. This year we'll be going to the junior high school in Boulder City, a twelve mile bus ride from town, and I'm a little excited. I have been going to school with the same ten faces since I was in kindergarten so I'm ready to meet some new friends. I might even have a girl in my class this year.

"Bella smella," Jacob yells as his two of his older brothers, Jared and Paul, march out of the store. Dad says Jacob makes fun of me because he thinks I'm pretty. I think he's just trying to make himself feel better because he has such a big nose. There were some mean kids staying here last year who kept calling Jacob 'snout'. He didn't like it very much. That's the year he started calling me names.

I walk past him but stop as I open the door to the little shop. "Nice one, Jake. Still only know one word that rhymes with Bella, huh? What about Bella fella? Or Bello Jello? Oh! Bells smells, that's a good variation on your timeless favorite," I say with my fakest smile. Making fun of myself always sucks the sting right out of his insults.

"Close the door, Bella. You're letting all the hot air in," Leah barks at me from inside.

"Later, Jake the fake," I smirk as Jacob scowls at me from behind the glass door. I'm surprised he didn't stick his middle finger up at me. He thinks he's so cool, and always acts especially rude in front of his brothers. They'd tease him terribly if they knew he cried and peed his pants when we saw that rattler on the hiking trail last week. What a cry baby!

"Hi Leah," I say and pull the coins from my pocket. My dad hired her to run the shop this summer. She's sixteen and has really short black hair and eyes the exact color of the dark clouds during the storm season. She's going steady with Jacob oldest brother, Sam. He works with his dad at the boat storage place. He'll take over when their father retires, just like Emmett will eventually take over the marina. And I'll be free to be a famous singer or something, travel around the world and eat all the ice cream I want. At least, that's what I tell myself. "One Big Otis please."

"Don't know why Charlie bothers giving you money, he owns the store." Leah remarks and pulls the chocolate covered ice cream sandwich from the freezer behind the counter.

"I like to buy them myself," I say indignantly.

I've been asking him to give me a job all year but he keeps saying I'm just a kid and should be out doing kid stuff, but I feel like such a useless slug. I can do all the stuff Emmett can do. I can launch the boat and pull it into the slip. I can pump gas. I can work the cash register, and I'm way better at math than Emmett is, but Dad keeps saying no so I keep spending my summers on the docks. Sometimes, Emmett will take me out on the boat to ski or he'll pull me on the inner tube. That only happens towards the end of the summer, in late August when the Pay Checks fire up their motorhomes and hitch up their trailers and drive away from Willow Cove, sun burned and waterlogged, and back to the comfort of their real lives.

For them, this is just a vacation. For us, this is real life.

…

I sit between my father and my brother in my dad's old pickup truck as the radio blares the familiar tunes Dad loves so much. The cramped cab fills with the songs of The Carpenters, The Eagles, and Fleetwood Mac, and Dad sings along with the lyrics. The windows are rolled down all the way and the wind is blowing my hair all over the place. I try to control it, but it's really no use. Emmett keeps giving me dirty looks because twice now my hair almost got stuck in his chewing gum.

"Jesus, Bella, can't you tie that shit back or something," Emmett cusses, and Dad reaches around me to smack him in the back of the head. Emmett's been hanging around with Jacob's older brothers all summer and thinks he's really cool now.

"Emmett, I'm warning you. You'd better watch your mouth in front of your mother. If I hear one complaint about you swearing, you can say goodbye to the rest of the summer. I'll put you on dump detail. Do not test me, you hear?" Dad warns as he balances a cigarette between the calloused fingers he's using to point at him, emphasizing every word with a flick of his wrist. Cigarette ash flies into my face and I squint my eyes to avoid the sting. My brother's face darkens and I can tell he's angry. He always gets this crease in his forehead when he's upset, and his dimples disappear.

"Yes, sir," my brother says, but then mutters, "Asshole" under his breath. I glance at my dad out of the corner of my eye, but he just continues to drive. If he heard Emmett cuss, he's not letting it show.

We drive over Hoover Dam and across the state line into Nevada. I lean over my brother, trying to get a good look at the dam.

"It's still there," Emmett says to me. He says this every month. I just like to look at the structures. You can see the back of the dam, a big curved wall, and the concrete cylinders sticking out of the water from the highway.

"I know," I respond sitting back in my seat and trying to find something to look at for the next forty-five minutes. I sigh, wishing I hadn't left my Nancy Drew mystery in my backpack in the bed of the truck.

"Wanna play slug-bug? Outta-state license plate? I spy?" Emmett asks. I guess he's as bored as I am.

"Outta-state license plate," I choose, noticing the car in front of us. "OUTTA-STATE LICENSE PLATE, ARIZONA!" I shout at him and grin.

"All right, you got one," Emmett laughs. We continue to play until we reach the 15 freeway and take the familiar exit to the Tropicana. My dad always drops us off at the hotel. He says he doesn't want to have to drive any further than he has to, but I think he just doesn't want to see where Mom lives. She has a pretty little house about fifteen minutes from the hotel. From what I've been told and the few things I can remember, she never liked living at the marina much. I was only five when she left but they decided that we would be better off living with my dad. My mom was working long hours and had a couple of different jobs when they first got divorced.

My dad parks in the lot and I can see my mom standing outside of the casino waiting to meet us. She's wearing her uniform, a crisp white collared shirt under a bright green sequined vest that sparkles like diamonds in the sun. She flicks her cigarette to the ground and jogs over to us as we get out of the truck, her fake blond helmet of hair bouncing oddly as she runs.

"Hi there, my babies!" my mom screeches and pulls me into her chest, the tiny glittering disks of her vest scratching against my face. I try to pull away but my hair tangles in the sequins.

"Ow! Mom, I'm stuck!" I shout and grab my hair as she tries to untangle the mess, eventually just ripping the tiny strands from her vest as I squeal.

"Emmett, baby, how are you?" She greets my brother as soon as I'm unstuck and she gives him a big smooch on the cheek. Emmett likes to pretend he's all grown up and doesn't need to be loved anymore, but I can see a hint of his dimpled grin as she kisses him on the cheek.

"I'll bring them home at the end of the week, Charlie," my mom says to my dad.

He looks at her with his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes squinting from the sun. "Alright, Renee. Don't be late, we've got a big weekend. It's gonna be a busy season, you know," Dad tells her as she throws her arms around my brother and I.

"I know all about the season," she responds dryly. My dad follows with our backpacks as she turns us towards her car. It's a Chrysler and she's really proud of it. It's a convertible.

"How's my Bella?" Mom whispers to me and kisses my temple. "You know Bella means beautiful, don't you?"

"Of course, Mom, you've only told me a million times," I respond shyly. I hate when she talks about me being beautiful, like it's all that matters, like my name makes it so.

"Have I?" she grins and I smile back at her. My mom is silly sometimes.

"Can I drive?" Emmett asks, and Mom turns her attention to my brother.

"Have you aged two years in the last month?" she asks him, and I can see his dimples appear.

"Yep. Alien abduction." Emmett shrugs and we all laugh as she ruffles his hair.

Dad's putting our bags inside the car and I break away from my mom's side to hug him around his middle. His strong, lean frame seems bigger than it is as he wraps me in a fierce hug. He kisses my forehead before I get into the backseat and he closes the door, sealing me inside. He pats my brother on the back and waves a quick goodbye to my mom before turning and walking back to his truck. He always has an odd look on his face when he leaves, I think he misses us.

Once inside my mom's car, we beg her to drop the top. She agrees and my brother climbs over the seats to help me secure the folded up roof, before heading off down the freeway towards her pretty little blue house. The sun is on my back and the tank top stuck to my sweaty skin flutters and cools in the wind.

My mom spends the rest of the week spoiling us with goodies. Good food, new clothes, sweets, even taking us to the theater to see the new Star Wars movie. Mom takes us shopping and I get to pick out a new swim suit. As soon as Mom saw my old ratty one, she drove us straight to the store and bought us both new suits and sandals.

The night before we leave, my mom braids my hair and lets me sleep in her silk pajamas. I'm lying in her bed while she paints her toenails beside me. I watch her carefully slide the brush along the nail, the bright red color looking natural on her toes. She glances up at me and smiles as she dips the brush back into the bottle, her eyes inspecting my face before she tightens the cap on the polish.

"So, Bella, how's Jacob been treating you?" she finally asks. She knows all about how he teases me.

"He still calls me Bella smella. I did what you told me to. I was nice and tried to show him his comments didn't mean anything to me, but he just doesn't give up," I say, laying my head on the pillow.

"Oh, honey. I know this doesn't make any sense now, but you'll understand in a few years. Who knows? You might even want to be his friend." I stare at her, waiting for her to laugh. Surely, she's joking. Why would I want to be his friend?

She chuckles at my facial expression and smoothes her hand over my head and cheek before kissing my forehead. "I know, life is weird. You just remember that you only get one crack at this thing, so do it right."

I have no idea what this means, but for some reason the talk makes me feel a little better. I quickly fall asleep next to her, my legs slippery in the silky pajamas, and her pillow smelling like the Laundromat back at the marina.

Before I know it, we're back in Willow Cove and I'm kissing my mother goodbye. She drops us off in town because she refuses to drive on the uneven pavement back to the marina in her new car. She hugs me for what seems like an eternity before she stands by her car and wipes the tears from her eyes. I hop into my dad's old beat-up truck, my sullen brother sliding in beside me. It seems a little dirtier, a little older, and smells musty after riding around the city in Mom's new convertible. We're quiet the short ride home, and I even nod off a couple of times, leaning my head against my dad's shoulder as he drives.

It's business as usual when we get home. Our semi-permanent mobile home is a little shabby compared to my mom's pretty little house in the city. Our furniture is old and the carpet worn and dusty, but it's home, nonetheless. I wash the dishes my dad left in the sink, then me and Emmett sort the laundry. We fill a couple of canvas bags with the smelly clothes and toss them into the back of the utility cart we use to get around the marina. Emmett drives us to the Laundromat down by the motel and we take turns sitting with the laundry as the sun sinks behind the jagged hills that surround our little cove.

When it's Emmett's turn to watch, I walk down to the general store and sneak a pack of Pixy Sticks from the candy aisle. Leah doesn't say anything, just rolls her eyes as usual, and I take them down to the little private beach by the swing set and volleyball court. I stick my sandaled toes in the warm water and rip the paper from the top of the stick, pouring the sour powder onto my tongue and swishing it around my mouth as my lips purse. The gentle waves lap against the sandy beach and it's still hot outside even though it's well past nine o'clock at night.

I look up. The sky is dark and spotted with millions of little stars that I can't see in Vegas because the bright lights of the casinos make them disappear. The moon is high in the sky and I stumble, a little dizzy from craning my neck and looking at the enormity above me.

I hear the metal chain of the swing squeak behind me and I spin around nervously. I immediately recognize his fiery hair. His head is slumped forward, gazing at his leather shoes digging into the dirt beneath the set. I can't see his face, but his pale arms and legs glow white in the moonlight. Wiping at his eyes, I see his body shake and I hear him mumble something to himself. He's upset, maybe even crying, and I try to sneak away but my stupid sandals catch in the sand and I fall flat on my face. I immediately look up to see if he noticed. He's staring at me now. He wipes his nose on his sleeve and continues to stare at me so I get up off the ground and dust myself off.

"Are you okay?" the boy says to me in a broken voice, and I feel myself soften towards him a little.

"I'm fine. I just tripped," I answer and walk over to where he is swaying on the swing. "Do you want a Pixy Stick?" I hold out the now crumbled sticks and I'm a little embarrassed by their appearance.

"Okay," he mumbles and takes one from my hand. I casually sit down on the swing next to him and tear the paper from the candy, the sour sugar forcing a pucker on my face.

"Were you crying?" I ask him, and he looks at his feet again.

"So?" he responds in a sharp voice.

"Is it because of your mom?" I speak without thinking and then realize maybe my question was a little rude.

"She's not my mom. My mom's dead. She had cancer in her brain." He twists in the swing, winding up the chain and then letting it go. I watch him as he is spinning, spinning, spinning around.

"My mom lives in Las Vegas. She works at the Tropicana Hotel and Casino. She lets us swim there sometimes and I pretend I'm famous," I ramble, because I don't know what else to say. His mom is dead? I don't really know what cancer is but I think of my own Mom and how I'd feel if she were replaced by a beautiful wicked witch. "That other lady's not very nice."

"Jane? She's my stepmom. I hate her. She's a monster," he says quietly, and resumes his spinning and twisting.

"A monster! Maybe she's a vampire! We should try to expose her! Like a Nancy Drew Mystery!" I say excitedly before I can think about how stupid I sound. He's going to think I'm a weirdo.

"You know what? She hardly ever eats. I bet she is a vampire and just drinks the blood of her husbands and their children. We need to warn my dad!" His lips are smiling now and he no longer looks upset, so I smile back at him. We are quiet for a long time before he speaks again.

"We went on a houseboat. Now we're staying in our motorhome," he says, his body twisting and turning on the swing. "My dad brought us here for the summer so he can finish his book. He's a doctor and he does lots of tests and experiments and then writes books about it."

"Where are you from?" I ask him. I'm always interested to see where the Pay Checks come from. Last year, I made it a goal to meet a person from every one of the fifty states. So far, I am up to six states. The people that come to vacation here are mostly from California or Nevada, but last year there was a family here from Massachusetts. I liked listening to them talk.

"Seattle, Washington. It took us two whole days to drive here. Where do you live?" He asks the question like it's a competition and whoever drove the farthest wins.

"I live here," I say proudly. Sometimes kids are impressed by this, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying to impress this boy. It's strange how he makes me feel, all fluttery in my belly, and the words that come out of my mouth sound silly.

"You live here? Cool! You get to live here all year long?"

I like this reaction and I nod my head. "Yeah. I can drive our boat too," I add.

"No way! Can we go for a ride in your boat tomorrow?" he asks, but I think before I answer. Emmett will have to go with us. I'm not really allowed to drive the boat by myself, but if Emmett goes out with us, maybe Dad will let us take the boat just a little ways up the river.

"Maybe. I have to ask my dad," I say, disappointed I can't tell him yes right away.

"Yeah, me too," he says, and I am relieved. His father probably won't let him take a boat ride with strangers. "Do you want to do something else tomorrow?"

"We can go for a hike. Sometimes we see snakes and scorpions and wild donkeys. And then we can go swimming at the pool or the beach, or we can take out the paddle boats. There's lots of stuff to do at the marina," I tell him. I remember my brother and how he uses his dimpled smile to charm customers, so I smile too and try to be charming.

"Scorpions! Cool!" He kicks at the dirt underneath his feet. "What's your name?"

"Bella Swan," I say quietly. "And you're Eddie."

"Edward," he corrects me with a scowl. "I hate the name Eddie. Only the vampire witch monster calls me Eddie."

"How old are you, Edward?" I ask.

"I just turned twelve. My birthday was last week," he says, his chest puffing out a little.

"Me too!" I say. "Well, I'm not twelve yet. My birthday's in September, but we're still the same age."

"Well, not really the same. I'm older because I'm twelve before you," he says smugly and I frown, partly because he's arguing with me but mostly because he's right.

"You know what I mean," I mutter. I kick my feet off the ground and he does the same, and soon are both swinging higher and higher until the wooden legs of the swing set start to shake a little.

"Bella! It's your turn to watch the laundry!" I hear Emmett yell from the Laundromat, and I slow my swing, dragging my feet in the sand until I'm going slow enough to jump from the seat. I land on my feet and feel a sharp pain shoot up my leg, but I pretend I feel nothing.

"That's my brother, I gotta go," I say to Edward as he too drags his feet in the dirt.

"You have to do your own laundry?" he asks, and I sigh.

"Yeah, my dad says it builds character," I explain, but I can see this means nothing to Edward. He's a rich kid, I bet he doesn't even know how to use the washing machine. They probably pay some lady to come wash their clothes for them.

"I'll come with you," he says as he hops off the swing.

"Okay." I'm a little hesitant as he follows me up the sidewalk to the building. Emmett's sitting on one of the folding tables and he jumps down when he sees me walk through the door. The already hot room is sweltering now from the heat of the dryer.

"What took you so long," Emmett grumbles before he notices Edward behind me. He frowns and straightens his back to stand a little taller.

"Edward, this is my brother, Emmett." Edward gives a slight nod of his head but Emmett just stares at him. "Edward's from Washington."

"D.C. or state?" Emmett asks like it's a very important factor in his acceptance of him.

"State," Edward responds, his eyes confused and hesitant.

"Huh," my brother scoffs. "I gotta piss. I'll be back in a few." He glares at Edward as he walks slowly out the door.

"You're brother's scary," Edward says once Emmett's gone, and I chuckle because that's exactly what Emmett wants him to think and I can't believe he fell for it.

"He's really not. He's actually a big baby. He's ticklish too. If he ever gets you in a headlock, just dig into his armpit and he'll let you go. Works every time," I tell him as the dryer buzzes. I open the door to let the clothes cool before pulling the bundle of whites from the machine. I almost choke when a pair of my undies fall to the floor, and suddenly, folding clothes in front of Edward is a really, really bad idea.

"I don't have any brothers or sisters. I'm a lonely child," Edward mumbles as he fiddles with the knobs on the washing machine, and I quickly pick up my underwear from the floor and shove them into one of the canvas bags along with the rest of the clothes from the dryer. Emmett's going to be pissed at me for not folding, but I'll just have to do it back at the house.

"You mean, an only child," I say as I toss the clothes from the washer into the dryer. I turn the dial and push the start button and the machine begins to tumble.

"No I don't," Edward says quietly, and again my stomach feels all strange and mushy. I know how he feels. Sure, I have Emmett, but he spends a lot of his time with Jacob's brothers. I'm alone a lot, and if I'm not alone, I'm usually wishing I were.

"There's this kid that lives in town, Jacob. He makes fun of me all the time. He calls me names," I say, wanting to tell Edward something now, because he shared something with me.

"What does he call you?" he asks, but I don't want to say. It's stupid, but I don't want to look foolish in front of him. Then I remember that he was crying on the swings and again, I feel the need to make things even. So I tell him.

"Bella smella," I mutter without looking at him.

"Well, that's not really an insult. Everyone smells. My mom used to smell like the ocean," he says as his fingers pick at the chipped countertop. "Is smella even a word?"

"Jacob's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed," I say with a grin, and I have to admit, the little dig gives me some satisfaction.

"Next time he's mean to you, you should tell him everyone can see his epidermis," Edward grins at me but I just look at him confused because I have no idea what that means, but I don't want to ask him because then I'll just feel dumb. Apparently, it's obvious I don't get the joke because he explains it.

"Your epidermis is your skin. It's always showing, only Jacob will think it means something bad, that's the joke," Edward laughs, and I grin because it's the perfect comeback for Jacob's insults, much better than the "kill him with kindness" crap my mom always tells me to say.

"You know a lot of big words," I remark.

Edward shrugs, "Well, only because of my dad. He wants me to be a doctor too. But he has to work all the time. He never gets to do anything fun. Do you know what he's doing right now?" I shake my head, not even bothering to mention how it's impossible for me to know what his dad is doing right now since I'm here with him.

"He sitting in the motorhome, writing his stupid book. He spent the whole time on the houseboat, writing. We didn't go fishing or hiking or do any of the things he said we were going to do." Edward kicks at the linoleum floor with his new leather shoes that are now dusty and scuffed from the dirt and gravel.

"Well, that stupid book puts a roof over your head," I quote my dad, but Edward doesn't seem to like my response. He gives me a dirty look and I feel a little bad for acting so snotty when he obviously feels sad about it. "I just mean that he works hard so you can have nice things and do fun stuff. It's just the way it is, things cost money." Dad talks about money all the time. He sees every opportunity as a chance for Emmett and I to learn something, so he tells us everything like when the books look good and when they don't, or when to splurge and when to sit tight. It's all about keeping the customers happy and making sure they come back.

"Yeah, I guess," Edward mumbles, and uses his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Edward tells me a little about Washington and his friends back home and I tell him about the river and the Hoover Dam and we talk until the dryer buzzes again. I pull the last of the laundry from the machine just as Emmett walks up the sidewalk. His hair is wet so he must have gone for a night swim.

"You didn't fold it? Why didn't you fold it?" Emmett asks me while eying Edward, and I just shrug my shoulders as I hastily shove the clean clothes into the laundry bag.

"I'll fold it all when we get back to the house, okay?" I beg, and thankfully he shuts up about it and hauls the large bags out to the utility cart.

"Well, I gotta go now," I tell Edward as we step out onto the sidewalk.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, right?" Edward asks, and I nod my head.

"I get up with the sun so be ready early. You might want to put on a lot of sunblock. You're really pale," I remark without thinking. Again.

"Yeah, well, you have really fuzzy hair," he smirks back. "It's like a deflector shield."

I narrow my eyes at him and he laughs even harder. I can feel my face getting hot and I'm sure I'm as red as a tomato. Again, I'm stumped as to what to say. Usually I just make fun of myself and the teasing stops, but my brain doesn't work right around this kid.

"Relax, Bella. Take a chill pill, I was only joking. You're hair's nice, it looks really soft," Edward says as he shrugs, causing that sick feeling in my stomach again. I can feel the blood burning in my face and I'm embarrassed that he knows his comment bothered me. I do the only thing I can think of to do.

I punch him in the gut.

I don't hit him hard, but he isn't expecting it so he stumbles backward and falls on his butt. He sits there stunned for a minute so I lean over him to make sure he's okay. I didn't mean to hurt him, I just didn't know what to do. But now I worry that he's going to rat me out to his parents and that could mean a lot of trouble for my dad. Rule number one, take care of the customer. And that's what Edward is, a customer.

"Are you okay?" I ask him hesitantly.

"Yeah," he answers defensively.

"Are you going to tell?" I ask as Edward gets himself up off the ground.

"It depends. Are you going to tell anyone I was crying?" he asks, and I shake my head no. "Pinky promise?"

I lick my thumb and hold out my pinky and he does the same. We hook our pinkies and shake.

"Seal it," I say as I stare into his eyes, and we press our spit covered thumbs together. The bond is made. He will not speak of it and neither will I.

"Bella! I'm gonna tell Dad you skipped out on chores!" my brother yells, and I drop Edward's hand and take off running towards the cart.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Bella!" Edward shouts after me, and I wave back, grateful to have at least one friend, even if it's just for the summer.

…

I hang around with Edward all summer. Sometimes, Emmett comes along and we go hiking, or he drives us around in the utility cart. We try to camp out in a tent one night but Edward gets scared when I tell him about the mountain lions and coyotes that live among the rocks, and he begs to go back to his motorhome. We go swimming in the river and float on inner tubes that we tie to rocks with long rope, trying to jump from one tube to the other. I show him how to use the gel from the Aloe Vera we have in our rock garden when he gets sunburned and every day we eat ice cream from the general store. He always gets a rainbow sherbet Push-Up and I get a Big Otis and we sit on the swings and jump in the water when we get too hot. We plot ways to destroy his wicked monster vampire stepmom and think of funny names I can call Jacob at school this year, and I laugh so hard I almost pee my pants.

My dad even takes us all out on the boat a couple of times. I get to meet Dr. Cullen, Edward's dad, and I find out he's actually a really nice man. I don't know, I thought maybe he would be as horrible as the devil woman, but he's really different. The evil witch barks orders and complains endlessly. It's too hot, it's too wet, it's too dirty, blah, blah, blah. But Dr. Cullen is quiet and says a lot of meaningful things, and I like his blond hair that he combs so neatly. His hair always looks perfect, and even when it's a hundred and twenty degrees out and everyone else is melting, he looks calm and composed.

Dr. Cullen likes our marina so much he speaks to my dad about buying one of the new modular homes that were built last year. They are all the same, similar to the one we live in, only brand new. I'm excited because this means Edward's family might be coming back next year. I've been friends with lots of different kids for the summer but most of them I never see again. That's just the way it is when you live in a summer town.

The night before Edward leaves, we have ice cream on the swings again. I know he's leaving because his campground is clear of the usual debris. All the towels, shoes, and ice chests are all packed up, and the awning is rolled back and hooked into place. Only the motorhome sits in the spot now. We silently sway on the swings, and the air smells different. The air is heavy and my t-shirt sticks to my skin. It's August, storm season, and the sky is dotted with high clouds that billow and bow. Edward doesn't speak of it and neither do I. He hasn't really told me he's leaving but he knows that he doesn't have to. I've seen it all before.

"I'll get him to come back next year," he says eventually. "I'll make him." He speaks in a confident tone and I have to admit I feel hopeful for an instant, but then I remember that a year is a really long time. Things change. People do too.

"Maybe we can go to Laughlin for the Fourth of July. Next year, we'll go see a big fireworks show," I say half-heartedly, wanting it to be true so bad but knowing there's only a slim chance.

"I made you a birthday present," Edward says, and I look up at his face now. His cheeks are pink from the sun and the skin on his nose is peeling. "I know it's not until next month, but I wanted to give you something. So you can remember me."

My heart feels big in my chest, like it takes up too much space, and I feel my eyes start to burn, but I can't cry in front of Edward. Instead, I look down at the shell he holds in his hand. It's small and white and ridged, and he holds it out to me, flat in his palm.

I recognize this shell. He found it while we were hiking last week and he wondered why a seashell would be found so high up on the hill. He said it must be special and shoved it into his pocket with the black glassy rock and the piece of wood that looked like an eye. Edward likes to collect special things.

I carefully take it from his hand and turn it over in my fingers. On the inside, where the surface is smooth, clearly printed in tiny neat writing are the letters: B & E 1983. I close my hand over the shell so I can't see the black letters anymore because if I look at them again, I will cry.

I sleep with the shell enclosed in my fist that night.

Emmett and I watch Dr. Cullen unhook his motorhome from the site as we sit on the swing set. He eats a popsicle beside me while mine melts in my hand, the sticky liquid dripping onto the dirt. My insides feel like they're sloshing around in my belly and I fight back the tears that are filling my eyes because I don't want my brother to call me a big baby.

Once they have everything sealed inside, I start to panic, worrying that I'll never see him again and I'll lose my friend forever. I can see him in the back of the trailer as they pull away, and my heart drops. He's waving, though, so I wave back as the tears slip down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away before Emmett can see, but it's too late.

"Get used to it, sis," Emmett says quietly. "Summer friends don't mean shit."

…

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A/N

Hi my lovelies! So, this story be all Bella's Point of View and each chapter will chronicle a different summer.

Thanks be to betas n7of9 and SubtlePen, and to miztrezboo for prereading.

Reviews are like rainbow sherbet...the make me feel all melty like :)