"Out of Season"
Part Five
By Sister Rose
Disclaimer: The characters of "The O.C." belong to Fox, and no infringement is intended in this fictional work.
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Nearly a week passed. Ryan Atwood still hadn't seen Summer. He had started using plain soap in the shower. He had almost quit looking up every time the bell over the door at Nina's rang. He had definitely quit raising his head every time a car drove into the construction site.
Ryan salvaged a cardboard box from Nina's, one that once held giant cans of peaches for Joyce's above-average peach cobbler.
He went through his room and gathered everything Summer had left. Ryan didn't really think Summer would come back for her things. She had left nothing irreplaceable at his room, not even him. But just in case, he filled the box. The things were hers.
He had hidden -- stolen really, though he had promised himself never to do that again -- exactly one souvenir: the Cosmo magazine with the cover model whose peach lips matched Summer's. He put it under his mattress.
Everything else went into the peaches box: a hairbrush that still had long, dark hair in it; a pair of sandals, sweat-stained and sandy from a trip to the beach; deodorant, toothbrush, lip gloss; movie ticket stubs; a notebook from a biology class; a pair of two-pound hand weights from the week Summer decided to get into shape; a pair of black satin underwear; a string of Mardi Gras beads from a charity event; a well-worn copy of "Madame Bovary" that Summer had read to him in bed; and about 10 magazines full of advice on shoes, makeup and men.
Ryan wasn't sure of the etiquette on returning gifts. He left the tiny refrigerator plugged and running, but he slowly emptied it of contents and didn't replace them. When -- if -- Summer came back, it could be unplugged and loaded into her car. He went to the thrift store and bought two used towels. He started using one for his bath mat and the other for his body.
The pink bath things he folded to join the rest of Summer's leftovers in the peaches box.
He put the cardboard box near the only window in the tiny room. There really wasn't any other place for it. At night, the parking lot lights outside the window blasted through the thin, gauzy curtains, and the box cast a much bigger shadow than it should have on the wall.
When he lay in the bed on his left side, he could see the shadow. When he lay on his right side, he could see the box.
When he lay on his back, all he could think of was how good it had felt to lay there with Summer's head on his shoulder, her body still trembling from the sex they had shared; and the way she giggled during the sex; and the way she always kissed the point of his shoulder afterward and said "thanks" softly in his ear; and the way she liked to jump his sweaty body the minute he walked in the door; and the way she drove him crazy with pillow talk about clothes and fashion and fancy parties.
Ryan had dedicated some time to his punching bag, wearing himself out nightly with the unthinking rhythm of the bag and his fists. But unthinking led to thinking, which led to his remembering the first time he showed Summer how to use the bag and position her feet and how her first blow landed her elbow in his eye and they had ended up giggling together on the floor and everybody at work the next week kept asking him how badly he lost the bar fight.
Not thinking about Summer was exhausting enough that Ryan wasn't getting much sleep.
At work things weren't going so well either.That morning as everyone gathered around the construction trailer, Josh taking a hand count of all those who got laid in the last week, Mr. Roberts stepped out, closely trailed by a string bean of a kid.
"This is Chip Saunders," Mr. Roberts said. "He's an engineering student at UCLA. He'll be interning here for the next eight weeks. Please help him out all you can."
Then he passed out assignments. Ryan got concrete duty, which he hated. Nasty stuff. The cement dust blew in his eyes and the semisolid goo always hardened in the seams of his pants and wouldn't come out. Ryan would need to find time each night to wash this pair of pants until the concrete pouring was over so he ruined only one pair.
Mr. Saunders was going to be working with the concrete crew. Terrific.
When introduced, Ryan responded politely, with a nod, "Mr. Saunders."
"Call me Chip," Mr. Saunders said.
"Yes, sir," Ryan said.
Mr. Saunders gave him a pointed stare and laughed. Ryan flushed and looked at the ground.
And didn't his co-workers have a good time giving him hell over that.
They wouldn't be calling a college kid "mister." They were older. They were experienced construction veterans, valuable on a work site.And they hadn't been in juvie, where Ryan had learned the fist-filled lesson that he should call everyone in authority "mister" or "sir." Or "ma'am."
Ryan wondered whether he should call Summer "ma'am" if he saw her again. She hated "Miss Roberts." But she was the boss' daughter. At some point her dad would take her into the family business. And then Ryan really would be working for her. Maybe she would be signing his paychecks. Maybe he should start practicing.
"Ma'am," he told his pickup's rear-view mirror during lunch. His mirror didn't look convinced. "Miss?" he tried. Again with the skepticism. He sighed. Maybe he should just go back to work.
He shook the last sandwich crumbs from his lunch sack and folded the brown bag neatly for reuse. He got out of his pickup and put his hard hat back on.He swallowed another gulp of water from his mustard-yellow jug.He batted at the cement dust on his clothes, coughing when too big a cloud arose. Great.
That's when he saw the car pull up beside his, skidding a little on the gravel. It was Seth's.
Ryan's stomach somersaulted. He regained control as Seth cut the ignition and stepped out. Ryan had thought he might run into Seth again, but somehow it was a surprise -- not a totally pleasant one -- to see him again. Ryan wondered what Seth wanted and hoped that he wouldn't need any of the condoms stashed in his pickup glove box.
Not that he couldn't give a good blowjob. He had practiced in juvie, after all. He knew exactly how much he owed Seth and his parents and if Seth wanted Ryan to pay up that way, Ryan was prepared.
But he didn't want to spoil his memory of the few days that had been the best time of his life and he hoped Seth wouldn't ask.
"Hey," Seth said.
"Hey," Ryan said, cautiously.
"I was stopping by to see whether you would take me up on the coffee shop offer," Seth said.
"Sure," Ryan said.
"Tonight?"
"Sure," Ryan said.
"You know," Seth said, "this conversation sounds a lot like the last one we had, which is fine if you like reruns.Me, I like original programming. So I'm going to fast-forward right to the part where you won't get in my car in your work clothes and then to the part where you tell me you really aren't dressed for anywhere nice and then to the part where we agree to meet back at Nina's."
Ryan looked at Seth. That was just weird.
"So," Seth said. "Which is it going to be, Nina's or Nina's again?"
"I like Nina's," Ryan said.
"I thought you would," Seth said. "So I'll see you there at 6, OK?"
"I may be a little late," Ryan said, shaking his shirt out as evidence. "Concrete is finished when it's finished."
Seth wrinkled his nose. "I'll just get started on my memoirs while I wait," he said.
Ryan watched Seth drive away, dust puffing up from under the wheels.
That was just weird.