"Seasons Change"

By Sister Rose

Rated R

The characters of "The O.C." belong to Fox, and no infringement of those rights is intended in this fictional work.

Chapter Six

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"Fine, thank you, sir," Atwood said in his usual controlled way.

Luke was less restrained.

"Dude, how's it hanging?"

Trust Luke to always know the crude thing to say. Now Atwood was going to think her friends had no couth.

"Luke!" Summer said, giving him a little kick. Her flip-flops didn't do much damage. But her plum bisque toes hurt from hard contact with hairy shins.

"Ryan," Seth said.

"Mr. Cohen," Atwood said, nodding.

"Atwood!" Summer said, turning to kick him. She stopped herself, remembering just in time that flip-flops were still not potent weapons.

"Dude, I'm still Seth," Seth pointed out.

"It's nice to see you again, Seth," Atwood said. Still controlled. Summer's urge to scream at all of them was growing by the minute. She had thought they would all be friends, but apparently the three men in the room had to do the male dog tail-sniffing thing first.

"I wish Summer had let us know it was you," Seth said, rubbing his chin. "I would have shaved."

"I think I'm supposed to be a surprise," Atwood said.

"It's definitely a surprise," Luke said. "Atwood, dude, how do you know these guys?"

"I work for Ms. Stevens," Ryan said.

Summer refrained from screaming at him. She was doing an awful lot of refraining, and it was wearing on her.

"We were friends a long time ago," Seth said. "Then we lost touch."

Well, that was a polite way of putting it. Good thing she didn't worry much about polite.

"Atwood was my lover," she confronted Luke. "Then he left me. Now he's doing my yard maintenance, and we're all going to be friends."

She pointed to Luke and Seth.

"If either of you doesn't like it, get out."

She pointed to Atwood.

"And if you call me 'Ms. Stevens' or 'ma'am' again, to me or to someone else, in my hearing or out of it, you will not know the end of pain until the end of your days. Am I clear? Am I?"

There.

That cut through the B.S.

The men traded glances. She glared equally at all three of them during the long silence that followed.

Luke put his sack on the table.

"Atwood, do you want a marg?" he said.

"Sure," Atwood said, turning to his cutting board and bowl. "This needs a pepper."

Luke dug in his sack and pulled out a six-pack of Sprite, tequila, margarita mix, limes and salt. Seth put his sack down.

"Where's your bread knife?" he said to Summer. He looked at her face. "Never mind. I'll find it."

Summer nodded to herself in satisfaction. There. Things were working out just as she wanted. She walked to her pine cabinets for some margarita glasses. Those, she could find.

"So," she heard Seth say. "Yard work. You know, there are no superheroes who do yard work. I've been thinking about working on a comic. How does 'Yard Man' sound? I don't know. Too minty? Yard Man could wield Leaf Blower Hands for his superpower."

"Yard Man would need a sidekick," Luke said.

"How about 'Pool Boy?'" Atwood suggested. "He could have scrubbing bubbles and a giant brush."

"Yes, yes," Seth said excitedly. "And then Yard Man's Leaf Blower Hands could push their archenemies away on a sea of Pool Boy's scrubbing bubbles. Wow, those would look great in a comic, all whooshing and bubbly."

"If they didn't look totally lame," Luke said, stirring up a pitcher. "I mean, too many scrubbing bubbles, and you're talking about a toilet commercial."

"Not if Pool Boy's bubbles are a manly gray instead of a girly green," Seth said. "Like he's slightly tainted by the Dark Side of the Force, but he fights on the side of good."

"How did Pool Boy get tainted?" Atwood said.

"He fell prey to the wiles of Slut Girl in the Gazebo of Doom," Summer said, straight-faced.

"Yeah, yeah, that would totally work," Seth said, still excited. "What would that gazebo look like?"

"Probably like the one that used to live in my back yard," Summer said, bemused. She couldn't believe Seth had forgotten the gazebo after all the drama it had caused.

"Oh," Seth said, chastened, turning to Luke. "Sorry about that. I forgot."

"Whoa," Luke said, smacking Seth on the shoulder. "Not cool."

"That's OK," Summer said, still annoyed but beginning to laugh. "Maybe a comic would be the best way to handle the Gazebo of Doom, psychologically speaking."

"I don't even want to think about it," Luke said, shuddering. "Ugh."

Summer laughed. Atwood was standing there, lost, in the middle of their extended friendship and mutual memories. She didn't want him to feel like he wasn't a part of the group.

"Do you want to tell Atwood, or should I?" she said.

"You do it," he said. "I'm all skeeved."

"Holly, Luke's ex …"

"My very former ex," Luke interrupted, looking at Seth.

"Holly, Luke's very former ex, was … well, you may have noticed that this house is right next to the country club?" Summer said. Atwood nodded as he mixed cheeses and other ingredients in a new glass bowl.

"Where's the salsa?" Summer said, losing track of her story.

"It's in the fridge chilling for 20 minutes," Atwood said.

"What's that?" Summer said, pointing to the new bowl.

"It's for the quesadillas," he said.

"Do we have to wait a whole 20 minutes for the salsa?" Summer said.

"Do we have to wait a whole 20 minutes for you to finish this story?" Seth said.

Summer stuck her tongue out at him. Atwood opened the refrigerator and pulled out the salsa, setting it in front of her before popping open a big bag of chips and offering it to her. Now she just needed one more thing.

"Where's my marg?" she said.

"That's right, just drink in front of the lonely alcoholic," Seth said, thumping the lid of a Sprite before thumbing it open. "Can I have a lime wedge for this?"

"As I was saying," Summer continued as Luke sliced a lime for Seth, "this house is close to the country club. And it used to have a gazebo that was picturesque and added nada to the value of the house. What it did add was a place where gigolo waiters from the country club could rendezvous with skanky bleach blonde very former exes of Luke so that I could walk in on them. Eww. Doing things that I never thought about doing with latticework. Double ew.

"It's not a happy memory," she said. "That's when I called Martinez Landscaping to rip the tainted Gazebo of Doom out and put a pool in. The country club paid for it when I casually mentioned possible liability."

"Gross, yes," Luke put in as he poured Summer a glass, "but it totally proved I wasn't doing the bedroom boogie with that nasty piece of history, as certain people in the room implied upon occasion."

Seth looked guilty. Luke grabbed a chip and scooped it high with bright red salsa, stuffing it in his mouth and chasing it with a big swallow of margarita.

"Speaking of ancient history, why didn't you sign up for my class this semester?" he said to Atwood around crunches.

"I'm taking math this semester," Atwood said, hesitantly.

"Have you picked a major yet?" Luke said. "I can't believe you're just now starting college. You're a natural."

Summer stared at Atwood. He had enrolled in college? Without telling her? What was he taking? What was he thinking? Why didn't she know this? What else didn't she know?

"Not really," Atwood said, quietly. He turned his attention to his bowl and stirred vigorously. He obviously didn't want to talk about it, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. But Luke didn't pick up those cues.

"You really ought to think about majoring in history," he said, downing another loaded chip. "You were doing so well. You played sports in high school, right? Public schools are always looking for coaches who can teach history."

"It was just a couple of classes," Atwood muttered. "Excuse me, please."

He looked at Summer.

"Oh," she said, realizing what he needed. "Down the hall and to the right."

As he left, Summer turned and fixed her eyes on Luke and Seth. They were shoving chips and salsa at each other, threatening to spill it down shirts, laughing. She moved within inches of them.

"Listen up," she hissed, startling them. "Do not pry. Do not scold. Do not lecture. I didn't think I would have to say this or I would have said it before you got here: I have waited four years for this chance. Do not frighten him off and ruin it for me. Do not make him uncomfortable. Do not act as if you were raised by wolves. Capisce?"

Luke and Seth nodded.

Seth opened his mouth to ask a question.

"Not a word," Summer said, holding up one finger.

"Can I just ask …"

"No," she said. "No. No. Also, no. You may not. You may sit there quietly and drink your Sprite without commentary or I will remove your lime wedge and give you a new kind of wedgie."

"Hey, Atwood, want another marg?" Luke offered, raising his voice and an example glass.

"Sure," Atwood said, re-entering the kitchen. "A little one."

He moved back to the stove and got a pan down. As he cooked, Summer could see the tension in his back. He thanked Luke for the drink but barely touched it. She was afraid he would leave and not come back. Ever. She had no idea why Atwood didn't want to be questioned about college, but somehow it had been the wrong thing to say – even worse than "how's it hanging."

She had wanted the evening to be perfect. She had wanted all of her friends to be friends. Was that so wrong? Summer was afraid that somehow she had ruined her chances with Atwood. He was going to walk out the door and never come back. And it would be all her fault. Again.