Rating: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated. I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.
Author's Notes: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. They're (hopefully) pretty relevant to the subject of the chapter. In this chapter, I'm trying to begin the establishment of the popular, nasty Summer, yet make her evolution understandable and sympathetic. Also, as promised, take a first look at early Marissa!
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Chapter 5: Oceans
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.
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Friday, March 6, 1998:
Okay, listen up. Ms. Diaz held up her hand for silence, casting a stern eye over the group of fifth graders. We're here in the library until the end of the day. Your papers are due on Monday, so you should try to get as much done today as possible. She grinned, flashing the youthful dimples that made her one of the most beloved teachers in the school. You want to be able to enjoy your weekend, right?
Summer peered behind Peter's back to grin at Emily. They were planning the best sleep over ever for that evening: Emily's dad worked in Hollywood, and he had promised them an early release copy of The fifth grade girls had been buzzing about the news for a week. Sleep overs with Holly, Emily, and Summer had become a big deal in the last year and a half. It had started with just the three of them, every Friday and most Saturdays, but had soon extended to various other girls who fell into their good graces. Now it was standard gossip at the lunch table, who had merited an invitation this week, and who hadn't been invited back.
Wielding that kind of power made Summer secretly happy. For years she'd been jealous of Emily and Holly, their friendship and perfect lives. But now she was equal to them, part of an influential triumvirate among the girls in her grade. Suddenly, everybody wanted to be friends with her. Girls lent her their new colored pencils and offered to trade their cookies for her apple at lunch. She didn't have to spend time at home anymore, if she didn't want to.
I'll be over there if you have any questions, Ms. Diaz was saying, pointing to a table in the far corner to the library. Work quietly.
The kids scattered, some to the stacks to do research, some to the tables to work on their essays. Summer settled with Emily and Holly at a table against the wall, not bothering to look up when Ashley and Rose sat across from them. She'd learned from watching Emily that indifference was the key to social power. It was hard, with Rose always trying to catch her eye and smile, but she managed to keep her head down and her arm curled protectively around her paper, tuning out the giggles and gossip while she worked.
The hiss and the pen poked in her side were hard to ignore. She looked at Emily, wondering what was so important.
Seth Cohen is staring at you!
Summer whipped around in her seat. Sure enough, Seth was sitting two tables behind them, but he was staring at a book. After a moment he lifted his head, saw she was still looking, and dropped his gaze in a hurry, chewing on the end of a pencil. Summer hissed, turning back to her friends. He's so gross!
It was true. No one ever liked working in groups with Seth Cohen because he usually smelled slightly like stale sweat, especially right after recess. The white shirt of his uniform was always tinged faintly yellow under the arms, leading the girls to wonder if he had ever heard of deodorant.
He's still staring, Rose reported, watching surreptitiously over Summer's shoulder.
Maybe he's looking at all of us. Summer hoped desperately that this was true. She was terrified that she'd become associated with Seth, just because the weirdo had a crush on her or something. She wiped a sweaty hand across the top of her plaid skirt.
Ashley shook her head. No, he's staring at you.
He likes you! Holly giggled, poking at Summer's shoulder. Seth and Sum-mer, sittin' in a tree!
Summer begged. The last thing she needed was for one of the guys to overhear. They'd never stop teasing her. And she'd die if Greg Bliss found out. Greg with his perfect freckled nose and blond mushroom-cut hair. Greg who even managed to look handsome in the school uniform, because the blue matched the color of his eyes. When the girls kept laughing, Summer hardened the edge in her voice. I mean it! Stop! They stared at her, giggles dying out. She rolled her eyes. Let's just keep working, okay?
For a few minutes their table was silent as each girl returned to her essay, either scribbling on scratch paper or copying out a final draft in her neatest cursive. Rose got up to ask Ms. Diaz a question, and Ashley twirled her pencil on the table, looking bored. She had the shortest attention span of any of the girls in the class, which was one of the many reasons Summer found her annoying.
Ashley leaned forward, breaking the silence. What are you writing about, Holly?
The class had just finished reading The Giver, and had spent a lot of time discussing the word utopia, and what that meant. Ms. Diaz had assigned them to write about what they would miss most if they had to live in Jonas's utopian world, which was perfect but bland.
The color pink, Holly answered. She read aloud from her essay. I think if I lived in Jonas's world I would miss the color pink the most. I would miss pink because it is a pretty color. Without pink, the world wouldn't be as pretty.
That's such a good idea! Ashley propped her chin in her hand. You must be really smart. Holly smiled smugly and Summer decided not to tell her that she'd spelled incorrectly.
What about you, Summer?
Summer pushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear and sighed. I haven't decided yet. She ignored Ashley's sympathetic look and jumped to her feet. I'll be right back. The truth was, she had decided: if she had to live in a bland utopia she knew she'd miss the ocean most of all. But she felt silly saying so in front of her friends. All the girls were doing colors of the rainbow, or their pets. And all the boys were writing about electric appliances, like TV and video games. Summer didn't want to be different from everyone else.
She slipped into the stacks, gravitating towards the 500s by habit, tracing over the covers of books. She was familiar with most of the books in the ocean section. Her favorite was The Pacific Ocean, with the tropical orange fish on the cover and the vivid photographs inside. It was impossible to imagine life without the jewel-toned coral reefs, the spider-like baby crabs, the silvery flashes of fish darting through shallow water. All the ideas for her essay, the best essay she'd written all year, were right there.
But if she came back carrying the book, everyone would want to know why. With a sigh, she reached up to replace the book on its shelf, only to freeze, stretched on tiptoe. Someone was standing on the other side of the shelf, watching her. As soon as she looked straight at the eyes they disappeared, followed by a clunk as several books fell to the floor. Holding her book tight to her chest, Summer walked slowly around to the next row.
Seth Cohen was crouched on the floor, hurriedly shoving books back onto the wrong shelf. One of his oversized sneakers was untied. When he saw her standing above him he jumped and fell backwards on his hands.
Were you watching me? Summer demanded.
His eyes darted between her and the end of the row, as if gauging the distance to freedom.
She set her book down on the edge of the shelf, glaring at him. You're a liar, Seth Cohen.
No, I'm not! he protested, looking stubborn.
You'd better stop, or I'm telling Ms. Diaz! He stared up at her without blinking, and she backed away. I mean it!
Seth tried to scramble to his feet. At the last minute, however, he tripped over his shoelaces and fell back against the book shelf. The book she'd left behind, already balanced precariously, fell off the shelf and him square in the face.
Almost immediately, his nose started to bleed. He caught the first dribble of blood with a finger, pressing the back of his hand to his nostrils, head tilted back. His eyes met Summer's, and she felt guilty, seeing the embarrassment there. She dismissed the feeling almost immediately: it wasn't her fault he was so clumsy.
A little bit of blood dripped onto his white shirt. Summer backed away, moving into the main room. Luckily Ms. Diaz was nearby, yelling at the boys' table; Brad and Peter were throwing paperclips again. Summer caught her just as she turned to leave, pointing to the stacks. Ms. Diaz, Seth's nose is bleeding.
Oh, not again! Seth? Ms. Diaz walked quickly toward the bookshelves, looking worried. Summer returned to her seat and sat down, pretending not to notice as Ms. Diaz steered Seth past, urging him to keep his head tilted back so he didn't bleed on the carpet. As they left the library, Peter stood up and imitated Seth's awkward stumbling gait, his head tilted exaggeratedly back. The rest of the boys were practically on the floor, laughing. Peter stumbled over until he was standing in front of Summer.
What happened to Seth's nose? he asked. Did you try to kiss him, Summer? He made a kissy face.
Summer was suddenly aware that the rest of the class was watching her, connecting her in their minds to Seth Cohen. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't have Emily and Holly thinking of her as tainted in some way. She'd spent so many years trying to be the same as everyone else. And she definitely could not risk losing the sleep overs. If she didn't have a friend's house to go to every weekend, she wasn't sure what she'd do.
She wasn't as good at being mean as Emily and Holly were, but right now she had to try.
Ew, no! she sneered. How should I know? He was probably picking his nose again! It was surprisingly easy to adopt the superior tone she often heard her classmates employ. And the resounding laughter made her relax, leaning back in her chair. The focus was off her for now.
Peter continued with the Seth impressions until Ms. Diaz returned, pulling his pants up higher to imitate Seth's eternally ill-fitting uniform. The girls abandoned the pretense of maturity, joining in the raucous laughter as well. Summer pushed aside a twinge of guilt at the further teasing that awaited Seth, telling herself that it wasn't a big deal. Besides, so what if they laughed at him? They laughed at him all the time; he didn't need to drag her down with him. She couldn't expect for someone like him to possibly understand — how could he when he didn't have any friends? — but she couldn't risk her friendships right now. She couldn't risk Emily's disdain. Not when Emily held power over the weekly sleep overs.
And so she laughed as well. It wasn't even that hard to pretend.
The doorbell rang as Summer finished stuffing her pajamas into her suitcase. It was probably for Cori. Ever since she had moved in last spring, all doorbells and phone calls were for her. Friends dropping by, deliveries of beer or take-out food. Slurred, yelling voices in the middle of the night.
Cori's takeover of the house would have been bad enough, given Summer's lingering dislike of her, but Cori hadn't been alone. As it turned out, wherever Cori went, her friends went too. Now there were always strangers in the house. Summer often longed for the days when she'd had the house to herself; she'd been lonely but it had been quiet. And clean.
She hurried to the top of the stairs, peering over so she could the front door below. Cori was consulting with a nervous looking man who was wearing dark sunglasses. He was one of the regulars who never came inside, but often arrived at their doorstep at all hours of the day. Summer knew this scene well: Cori and he would talk for a few minutes, then he'd hand her plastic bags of powder or pills and walk away counting his hundred dollar bills. After her fifth grade health class, Summer knew exactly what was in those bags: drugs.
The whole exchange usually took a few minutes. Summer pushed herself back, away from the bannister and hurried down the hall to Daddy and Cori's bedroom. She had promised the girls that she'd bring fancy clothing for them to play dress-up, and she had just enough time to sneak in and out unnoticed.
The door was half open, revealing a space that was almost comically asymmetrical. Daddy was never home these days; he left early in the morning and sometimes didn't return at night. His side of the room was pristine, untouched. Cold and immaculate. Whereas Cori's was a scattered mess of clothing, magazines, shoes, and dishes. Summer picked her way carefully through the mess, pulling out a few sparkly dresses, a slinky skirt. She grabbed at a brightly colored scarf that she'd admired when Cori had worn it last week. It was heavier than she expected, and when she shook it loose it unraveled, spilling a few syringes onto the floor.
Crouching, clothes clutched to her chest, Summer paused to examine the small needles. Her health teacher had explained all about what they were for, and how dangerous it was to use and share them. The information hadn't scared Summer then, but she'd never found any in the house before.
The front door slammed and she dropped the needles, replacing the scarf over them and running all the way back to her room. Her hand felt like it was burning; she rubbed it against her jeans, trying to erase the feel of the narrow needles. Did Daddy know about them? He provided Cori with the money for her other drugs, but Summer thought he'd probably object to those syringes. Then again, he was home too infrequently to ever notice. She was pretty sure he had a new girlfriend.
A car honked outside. Cori shouted up the stairs, sounding annoyed. Your ride's here!
Summer stuffed the dresses into a bag and hurried down the stairs, easily avoiding the open bottle of alcohol on the landing. She was always tripping over stuff Cori's friends left lying around. She hated the smell of alcohol in the carpet.
Cori had already returned to the living room, where she and a bunch of her friends were sitting amongst a cloud of cloying smoke, listening to music. Summer had learned long ago that she was not allowed in there. Not that she wanted to be a part of their dazed laughter. But it would be nice if, once in awhile, Cori would ditch her dumb friends and spend time with Summer like she used to.
Then again, she didn't like Cori now, so it didn't matter. Plus, the sight of Holly's mom's car outside, waiting to whisk her away to a friend's house for the weekend, never failed to lift her spirits. She hated the idea of spending one more night with Cori's friends taking over her home, filling the rooms with smoke and alcohol and loud voices. Sometimes people passed out in the bathroom. The occasional weekends home were unbearable.
Summer slammed the front door shut without saying goodbye. It wasn't like anyone would even notice if she was gone.
You have to hold your head still, Summer insisted, holding onto Emily's with both hands. Otherwise it's gonna get all messed up.
Emily settled back between Summer's legs and Summer returned to the half finished french-braid. Emily's dark hair had a mind of its own, always wanting to jump free from braids and ponytails.
Oh my God, he's so cute! Ashley pretended to swoon onto the pillow beside her, fanning at her face.
The girls were spread out in Emily's fully furnished basement, halfway through watching The five sleeping bags lay in a line in front of the couch, with pillows, teen magazines, and beauty supplies flung everywhere. A half-empty bowl of popcorn was being passed around. It was a small group that evening, just two guests. Ashley had been coming regularly for a few months, but this was Marissa's first time.
Summer didn't know Marissa very well. She had always been really quiet. In fact, she'd probably never have been invited, except her social status had changed since Luke Ward had kissed her on the bus two weeks ago. Holly and Emily had invited her because the kiss was the big gossip of the fifth grade and they wanted to hear all about it.
It was funny, Summer thought. Marissa Cooper didn't exactly look like someone Luke would like. She was tiny and shy and tended to blend into the background, her straight brown hair always pulled back in a ponytail. The only thing remarkable about her was her huge blue eyes, long-lashed and innocent. She'd been sitting silently on the floor all night, knees hugged to her chest.
Have you ever kissed Luke like that? Holly asked, pointing to Jack and Rose as they kissed passionately. Marissa smiled shyly and shook her head, clearly embarrassed. Summer decided that she liked Marissa. Most other girls probably would have lied, just to sound like they knew more than everyone else.
I would die if Leo kissed me like that, Ashley said emphatically. Kate Winslet is so lucky.
Emily instructed. This is it.
All the girls fell silent as Jack and Rose kissed inside the car, each wishing and pretending that she was Kate Winslet. The music swelled as Rose's sweaty hand pressed against the car window, then there was an appreciative sigh as the camera cut inside, to naked, sweaty Leo.
Why does she do that? Holly asked, once the scene was over. With her hand?
It's an orgasm, Summer said automatically. The word brought to mind faint thumps against the walls, audible moans and screams from the other bedrooms. Unsettling noises that woke her in the middle of the night. It wasn't a nice word.
What's that? Ashley wondered, sounding curious.
Summer shrugged, snapping a hair band around Emily's braid. It's when the woman feels good during sex. Holly still looked confused. Sometimes she'll scream, or yell at the guy.
Emily turned around. Why would she yell at the guy if it feels good?
I don't know.
What does she yell? Holly asked, looking fascinated.
Summer tried to push from her mind a shuffle of images: women panting, bodies twined together on beds, squeals of or Don't stop! A lot of Cori's friends took full advantage of the spare bedrooms in the house, and some of them were bad at closing doors. The idea of repeating the things she heard them say made Summer feel dirty. Besides, she knew that any answer she gave would only provoke a dozen other questions that she didn't feel like answering. As much as the other girls pretended to be mature, she knew their grasp of how sex worked was still pretty hazy.
She wished she could say the same for herself.
Instead, she ignored the question, sitting back and crossing her arms. Let's just watch the movie.
But the others wouldn't let the subject go. Do you think Ms. Diaz has sex? Emily asked. This was met with wild giggles all around.
Summer said matter-of-factly. All grown-ups do it.
Ashley made a face. But she's, like, a teacher!
So what? Summer reached for a handful of popcorn. She's really pretty. She probably has sex a lot.
She wouldn't scream though, Emily said with authority. She's always telling us to use indoor voices. More giggles followed this remark.
Summer shrugged again and let the subject drop. Emily had no idea what she was talking about, but Summer was completely sick of being the authority on such things. Conversely, she was also annoyed by the others' perpetual naiveté.
At least Marissa hadn't asked any questions. She'd lowered her nose to her knees, her eyes fixed on the television screen in a way that suggested she wasn't really watching. Summer felt a sympathetic pang as she studied Marissa's bony shoulder blades, hunched as if to protect herself from the conversation. She was too sweet for this group, Summer decided, too innocent for their complex games.
Summer said softly. Marissa whipped around, startled. You want me to braid your hair? A slow smile lit up Marissa's face and she scooted over on her hands to sit in front of Summer.
Two braids or one? Summer asked, undoing Marissa's ponytail.
Marissa said softly, shifting so she was sitting cross-legged. Summer nodded and drew a part down the back of Marissa's head with her thumbs. Marissa's hair was very fine, almost like a baby's, soft and amazingly easy to braid. Summer could smell her shampoo, a familiar nostalgic scent she remembered from baths under Zoë's supervision: Johnson & Johnson's Baby Shampoo, No More Tears. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe in the scent of lost childhood.
Unlike Emily and Holly, Marissa sat perfectly still while Summer worked, her back ramrod straight. Summer felt another wave of warmth for her, an urge to protect this fragile girl from anything mean or ugly. The world was a cruel place. Summer knew she could take it, she'd been doing fine for years, but she also sensed that Marissa wasn't cut out to be resilient.
A loud, melodramatic sob from Holly startled Summer from her reverie. She focused on the TV in time to see Kate Winslet pry Leo's icy fingers from the wood, letting him sink beneath the waves. The whole scene had always struck Summer as stupid; the wood Rose was on was more than big enough for the two of them. Plus, Leo looked kind of like an alien, all blue and shivering and stiff. Death made his forehead look really large. But she kept that thought to herself. It would not be appreciated.
She had to marvel at the difference between the ocean of Leo's early demise and the friendly, inviting pictures of the book in the library. These icy blue Atlantic waters, cold and harsh and foreboding, didn't attract her the same way the warm gentle ripples of the Pacific did. She knew that the divisions between bodies of water were mostly imaginary, that they all touched and intermingled, but in her mind they were different worlds.
The music swelled, violins sweeping over the final scenes. Ashley flopped over the pillows and whispered in Emily's ear, sneaking an obvious glance at Marissa. Emily laughed, eyes narrowed, head thrown back with the haughty grace of a queen. Marissa didn't look in their direction, but her shoulders tensed slightly. Summer tried to catch Emily's eye, to glare and stop her, but Emily was whispering in Holly's ear, eyes sparkling.
Summer loved Holly and Emily, she really did. They were her best friends, and they did everything together, but she still remembered how it felt to be on the receiving end of those whispers. Marissa turned around, her large eyes hurt and worried, and Summer tried to smile in a way that conveyed warmth and friendship. Marissa managed a half smile in return. The other girls giggled again and her smile faded; she drew her knees up to her chin again. Summer nudged Emily with her foot, hard, but Emily glared back, daring her to say anything.
When Emily looked at her like that, it was like she was reminding Summer that she wasn't equal to them. She was there because she brought bribes like dress-up clothes, because she could explain sex to them. Because they liked having a third person to admire them and pick sides when they fought. If they lost interest in her, she would be cut loose into the social maelstrom of the fifth grade.
Summer knew better than to pick a fight with Emily.
She drew her feet up under her on the couch, sinking back into the soft cushions. The image of the Titanic's lonely skeleton sitting on the bottom of the sea lingered on the screen, immersed in cold blue water and haunting silence.
Sometimes the calculating atmosphere among her friends was too similar to the icy ocean for Summer's comfort.
Whew, that one took me awhile. So much is going on in the fifth grade! (Sorry about the Seth abuse. There's always one hygienically-challenged kid, isn't there?)
Thanks for being patient while waiting for this chapter. I'm hoping to get the next chapter — starting 6th grade, ooh! — up before the end of this hellish hiatus. In the meantime, I'd love it if you took a minute or two to let me know what you thought, what pieces stood out or lines you liked.