Chapter 5

The school was nothing like Harbor. There was no tennis court or swimming pool, just a rusted basketball net and pavement. Summer felt a wave of nausea hit her. This wasn't what she was used to, but that wasn't why she was freaking out. She'd just caught her first glimpse of some people entering the building up ahead. And that, more than anything, seemed to make what she was doing real. For as long as it took to get her diploma she was going to be lying to these people. Everyone, her teachers, the principle, and if she were lucky enough to make some friends, was going to believe she was someone she wasn't. In Newport, she'd always pretended to be someone she thought people would like. This seemed different, bigger somehow.

Summer walked inside, her eyes adjusting to the change in light. The bell rang just as she was sitting down in the classroom she'd been assigned to. The classroom was loud and she felt eyes on her. Summer looked down at her clothes. She was going to have to start dressing differently if she didn't want to call attention to herself. No one else seemed to have a Prada backpack.

When the teacher spoke, Summer found herself doing something she hadn't before. She listened. She paid attention and took notes, absorbing the information being doled out.

Even more surprising, Summer found herself raising her hand during class. In Newport, she'd always let the boys answer and reassured them that it was okay if they didn't know the answer, saying something like: 'it was a stupid question, anyway', but here she didn't have to lie and she didn't have to be ashamed of the brain she'd developed over the years. Here, it was okay to know the answers.

The class migrated to the library. Summer hung back in the reference section and listened to a group of girls gossiping. She realized she wasn't interested. The books had more to offer her.

It was insane. She could just picture herself trying to explain to all her superficial friends at home. They would think she was sick.

Suddenly she realized that for the first time, she wasn't lying. Maybe she was lying about her last name, but not about who she was. This was who she'd been born to be. Her whole personality had been staunched in Newport. The first day at this school, she'd discovered herself.

It was at lunchtime that Summer ran into a problem. Literally. She hadn't been watching where she was going and ran straight into a short brunette that seemed vaguely familiar. "Sorry," she said. A group of girls had surrounded her.

"Look, it's the Prom Queen!"

"Who?" one of the girls asked, ignoring Summer.

"Hi," Summer said, weakly. Finally she placed the girl. How she hadn't recognized her before was a mystery. Maybe it was the lack of make-up...or the fact that she had books in her hands instead of Ryan's shirt.

"Atwood's latest," Lena commented to her friends.

"No shit?!" one of the girl's commented, smacking her gum. "A little prissy for him, don't you think?"

"Excuse me, I'm right here." Something cold settled in her heart.

"So you are!"

"I don't know what he's thinking; she looks pretty high maintenance to me."

Summer felt the ice begin to melt and the fire that was her temper heat. She didn't have to take this. "Do you mind not talking about me as if I'm not here?"

"Ooh, attitude. I bet he likes that."

Lena cocked her head to the side, her face dropped with something that could have been sympathy. "Honey, just so you know, he's not exactly relationship material."

"You're so polite, Lena. What she means is that he's not exactly the type to give you flowers and candy. One thing you can always count on Ryan Atwood for, though," the girl said, a look of faraway triumph on her face. The other girls giggled like they already knew the answer.

Summer didn't waver. Showing weakness was not going to make people respect her. She'd dealt with much worse than this at her own school. "Yeah, what's that?"

"He knows how to fuck."

That, she hadn't been expecting. What did she say to something like that? Summer felt herself blush. The sound of the bell saved her from coming up with a clever retort. Clutching her books to her chest, Summer pushed through the crowd and headed for class, ignoring the laughter behind her.

Ryan was in the living room when Summer got home, busily painting the walls. She felt a little sorry for him. By the way he moved, she could tell his shoulder was sore. It had been bothering him from the painting he'd done at the house and now he was painting the apartment to make it nice for her.

His work shirt and boots were on the floor. Sweat was glistening on his shoulders and neck, the cotton wife-beater he wore was sticking to his skin and his hair was plastered to his head. Turning at her arrival, he set down the roller. "How was your day?"

Summer set her bag on the counter and reflected on the day she had. She tried to come up a word for the event in the hallway. "Interesting." That summed it up well.

"Interesting, how?" he asked, distractedly.

"Met a few of your old girlfriends." Her voice was a little bit sing-song, mocking. She used the term 'girlfriends' loosely. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know the sordid details. In fact, she was positive she didn't.

Ryan stopped painting. "Huh? Who?"

"That girl and a bunch of her friends." Summer didn't even bother to keep the distain out of her voice.

"I'm sure they had plenty of things to say," Ryan muttered under his breath.

Summer kept her eyes on him, watching as he grew more uncomfortable the longer she took to answer. He wasn't just sweating from exertion anymore. "They warned me about you and your womanizing."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you believe them?" There was an edge to his voice that Summer couldn't place. She shrugged it off.

"I've seen it for myself, Atwood."

Ryan rolled his eyes. He laughed and there was a hard, sarcastic bite to it. "Right, how could I forget."

She smiled. "Don't get grumpy; I was just teasing you."

"Right." Ryan rocked back on his feet. "You hungry?"

"Don't worry about it."

Most of their meals had been take-out for the last couple of weeks. While easy, it was also expensive. They were going to have to start budgeting their money. Summer had decided that if this was going to be her life, she'd better learn how to cook. Because starving wasn't the best way to prove she was capable of being normal. Yes, it was true that at her home she'd had someone to wait on her hand-and-foot, and she'd never put much stalk in anything domestic. But that didn't mean she couldn't learn.

She'd even taken out a cook book from the library and marked a few things she planned on trying. From the state of things, it looked like Ryan had been surviving, doing things on his own, for quite some time. If a boy could do this, so could she.

Ryan had gone back to painting. "I thought we could order pizza tonight. Let me know when you get hungry."

"Actually, I thought I would make us dinner."

"You know how to cook?" Ryan was just barely concealing a smile.

"Don't sound so surprised. There's a lot about me you don't know. Besides, it can't be that hard."

Ryan stopped, looked over his shoulder at her. "Didn't you have a maid back in Newport that cooked and cleaned for you?"

"Yeah, and?" Summer shifted her weight, cocked out her hip.

"Nothing," Ryan said and returned to painting.

"You obviously have something to say."

"Me? Nope. "

"Go ahead, I know you're dying to." Summer waited for his sarcastic reply.

Ryan shrugged. "Nothing. Just, you know, good luck."

"Thanks!" Summer pivoted around.

"There's a fire extinguisher under the sink," Ryan teased.

Summer picked up a roll of paper towels and threw them at him. Ducking out of the way, it whizzed past his ear.

"Ass!"

Summer retreated to the kitchen, filtering out Ryan's laughter.

An hour and one severely burned casserole later, Ryan entered the kitchen to clean up. The counter was covered in flour, dishes were stacked high in the sink and Summer was up to her elbows in suds.

Ryan reached around her, his arm grazing her side. Summer jumped. "Sorry, just trying to get to the sink."

"Oh."

"Dinner's almost ready."

Ryan chuckled. "It looks like it was ready twenty minutes ago." He turned on the tap and ran his hands under the water.

"Shut up! It's not that burnt." Summer looked on the stove at the concoction barely passing as food. "Okay, so maybe when they say 350, they really mean 350. I think it was pretty good for my first try."

"Uh huh," Ryan said and tried to keep his face neutral.

Summer shook her head and laughed. "Okay, it's horrible, but you still have to eat it."

"Okay, but I can't right now."

"Aren't you hungry?"

Ryan grabbed some paper towels to dry off his hands. "I have to shower and then head to class."

"Right, I forgot. Well, I can wrap it up for you for later," she said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Summer wiped her hands on a tea towel. She fidgeted with a piece of cellophane.

"Hey," Ryan said, taking her hand. His grip was firm and reassuring, soothing. "Thanks"

Summer looked up, smiled.

Ryan showered quickly. He only had half an hour to get to class and it was a ten minute walk from the apartment. He considered taking the motorcycle, but he hadn't gotten around to fixing it so it ran perfectly. "Gotta go, I'm late. Lock the door behind me."

"I will, don't worry."

Ryan didn't feel stupid for worrying. He hadn't forgotten the kind of trouble that Summer attracted. "Just...be careful. Don't open the door to anyone." Ryan sighed. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Ryan, relax." Summer took him by the shoulders. "I'll be fine."

"I should be back around ten."

"Okay."

Ryan was ready to give more instructions. Summer beat him to the punch. "Go. I'll be fine. And besides I've got homework and the T.V. to keep me company."

Ryan nodded and attempted a smile. Summer pushed him all the way out the door and laughed, closing it behind him.