Somedays the sun shining on the sea—reflected through her window—just made Summer smile. There was no real reason but it made everything seem warm and safe, it was beautiful. And Summer had long since learned that you couldn't put a price on beauty—unless you meant shoes—it was something of immeasurable value. If you were beautiful and wore the right clothes you went to the right parties, talked to the right people and had the right admirers.
Sure, you couldn't just wear whatever you felt like, and sometimes when you really wanted to frown you just had to smile—wrinkle prevention—but the compromises were calculated and weighed against their reward. Popularity. No matter what was going on inside your head or how bad your family life might be, if you had popularity then you were never going to be alone. At least that's what Summer had first thought when she had started school. It was actually a little different, and though popularity held more than a few glittering prizes it was also riddled with self-doubt and loneliness. No one really wanted to know you because of you, they just wanted your popularity to extend to them by association. People used you for a few moments of lime light.
There had been a few times when Summer had looked like she would break the popular mould, try to keep her integrity, but it had just been an illusion because her mermaid poem—everything she'd done in school—was carefully constructed to an equation of what other people liked. She had always written doubles of her Junior High assignments—back before she gave up on herself—one for the teacher and one for herself. The "real" copy that held her own version of truth. All the "real" assignments were in one of her father's old shoeboxes that she kept hidden under last season's clothes.
Sometimes when Marissa was self-indulging or her father was out of town for a while Summer missed the old her, the one who tried to cling to some kind of identity that existed outside of other people and their perceptions of her. Those were the times that she was jealous of Seth. Part of the reason she was so attracted to him, despite the affect that dating him could have on her well-built popularity. He seemed so happy in his solitude—always had done—sitting reading under a tree or skating down the sidewalk. Before Ryan had arrived in town the only way she could really remember seeing Seth was alone, but he never seemed lonely, never doubted his worth as a person. He still had a friendly voice and loving hands, despite his isolation.
And Summer wished that someone could see her loneliness, but the only person who really saw her had her glorified, he didn't see her well enough to strip away the fake assignments and designer clothes. It was eating away at her little by little everyday, although she would never let anyone know. Summer knew it was a question of her honesty, if she confided in someone then the loneliness would go away. Everything she and Marissa said to each other was superficial—unlike Seth—they didn't have the heart for truth. Honest, direct truth. She admired that in him—his honesty—the way he had never pretended to feel anything for her other than what he did. Seth wasn't like the people who surrounded her during the day—football players, water polo players and their plasticine girlfriends—glossed and prepped with the latest gossip. Or latest drugs.
Seth didn't pretend to be someone he wasn't and Summer did. Because the glittering prizes and endless compromises of High School popularity had shattered the illusion of her integrity. But sometimes when the sun was shining on the sea—reflected through her window—and Summer smiled, she though of Seth with his honest words and happy solitude.
Sure, you couldn't just wear whatever you felt like, and sometimes when you really wanted to frown you just had to smile—wrinkle prevention—but the compromises were calculated and weighed against their reward. Popularity. No matter what was going on inside your head or how bad your family life might be, if you had popularity then you were never going to be alone. At least that's what Summer had first thought when she had started school. It was actually a little different, and though popularity held more than a few glittering prizes it was also riddled with self-doubt and loneliness. No one really wanted to know you because of you, they just wanted your popularity to extend to them by association. People used you for a few moments of lime light.
There had been a few times when Summer had looked like she would break the popular mould, try to keep her integrity, but it had just been an illusion because her mermaid poem—everything she'd done in school—was carefully constructed to an equation of what other people liked. She had always written doubles of her Junior High assignments—back before she gave up on herself—one for the teacher and one for herself. The "real" copy that held her own version of truth. All the "real" assignments were in one of her father's old shoeboxes that she kept hidden under last season's clothes.
Sometimes when Marissa was self-indulging or her father was out of town for a while Summer missed the old her, the one who tried to cling to some kind of identity that existed outside of other people and their perceptions of her. Those were the times that she was jealous of Seth. Part of the reason she was so attracted to him, despite the affect that dating him could have on her well-built popularity. He seemed so happy in his solitude—always had done—sitting reading under a tree or skating down the sidewalk. Before Ryan had arrived in town the only way she could really remember seeing Seth was alone, but he never seemed lonely, never doubted his worth as a person. He still had a friendly voice and loving hands, despite his isolation.
And Summer wished that someone could see her loneliness, but the only person who really saw her had her glorified, he didn't see her well enough to strip away the fake assignments and designer clothes. It was eating away at her little by little everyday, although she would never let anyone know. Summer knew it was a question of her honesty, if she confided in someone then the loneliness would go away. Everything she and Marissa said to each other was superficial—unlike Seth—they didn't have the heart for truth. Honest, direct truth. She admired that in him—his honesty—the way he had never pretended to feel anything for her other than what he did. Seth wasn't like the people who surrounded her during the day—football players, water polo players and their plasticine girlfriends—glossed and prepped with the latest gossip. Or latest drugs.
Seth didn't pretend to be someone he wasn't and Summer did. Because the glittering prizes and endless compromises of High School popularity had shattered the illusion of her integrity. But sometimes when the sun was shining on the sea—reflected through her window—and Summer smiled, she though of Seth with his honest words and happy solitude.
