"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 14

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"That's unexpected," Summer said. "What are you supposed to do to help? I mean, with the not-talking-to-her problem."

"It's not so much that I don't talk to her as that I don't go to the prison to talk to her," Seth said. "I write. I don't know why Dad isn't being more reasonable on the subject. I mean, he hasn't talked to her in several years himself. But there you have it. He wants to be her lawyer and get her out of the slammer in atonement or something. Or maybe something more personal that I don't want to think about or picture, because I would be scarred for life. More scarred."

"Why doesn't he just go talk to her himself?" Summer said, offering what she thought was a logical solution.

"Because he's not on her will-see list," Atwood said. OK. Atwood would know more about big-house rules than she did.

"And Seth is," Summer said.

"And I am," Seth said. "Which puts me in a bind. Because I still don't want to go see her there. She's going to be out soon anyway. And it's like Dad's trying to make up for eight years of not giving me things to feel guilty about."

"And when Seth feels guilty, he agitates," Luke put in. "And when Seth agitates, I want to kill him. So it's sort of a Luke emergency, too. If I don't want to join Mrs. Cohen in lockup, you need to give us some advice."

Summer looked from Seth to Luke to Atwood. When had the three of them become advice-giving-and-taking buddies? Had she been absent that day? Had there been beers and bonding?

More importantly, had there been beers and bonding without her?

Summer shook her head. She could get to the bottom of that problem later. For the moment, her goal was to get Seth to leave.

"That's too bad," Summer said. "I feel just terrible about that. Now leave."

Atwood reproached her with his blue eyes.

She looked at him defiantly.

He kept on looking at her, eyebrows raised expectantly. Her eyes dropped.

"Oh, all right," she told Luke and Seth sullenly. "You can stay."

"Thanks," Seth said. He turned to Atwood. "So you'll do it?"

"Do what?" Atwood said, turning his head away from Summer and back toward Seth.

"Go with me to visit my mom," Seth said, as if it were the most reasonable suggestion in the world. Probably he couldn't understand why everyone didn't instantly fall in line with his plan. Sometimes Seth could be self-centered. Summer knew. She had slight tendencies that way herself.

"Seth, your mom hates me," Atwood said.

"My mom doesn't know you," Seth said.

"Then the first time she meets me shouldn't be in prison," Atwood said firmly. "You'll do fine with Luke."

"Nuh-uh," Luke said. "No can do. Working. Can't ditch anymore when you're the professor."

Atwood sat for a moment, thinking.

"Dude, are you scared of my mother?" Seth said.

Atwood looked up from under his hair, a quizzical as-if expression quirking his eyebrows.

"Summer can go with you," he said finally.

"What?" Seth said incredulously.

"What?" Luke said unbelievingly.

"What?" Summer said in horror.

"Summer went to visit my brother in prison," Atwood said. "She knows the procedures. She knows your mom."

"And his mom hates me," Summer pointed out. It was true. Mrs. Cohen always looked at Summer as if Summer were a misplaced Las Vegas showgirl. A kewpie-sized showgirl. One with carnal intentions toward her baby boy. It had made Summer feel ooky, sort of like a child molester, even though she and Seth were the same age. Summer didn't like feeling ooky; ergo, she didn't like being around Mrs. Cohen. This plan sucked.

"But you're a woman," Atwood said. "She won't mind you as much as a strange man."

Summer immediately dropped her objections. Atwood thought of her as a woman, not a girl. This was definitely a step in the right direction, even if the footsie game had to be put on hold. Atwood was right. Summer was an adult. She could act like one for long enough to help her best friend visit his mom in the slammer. She squiggled her tiger's blood toes inside her rhinestone sandals.

The food had arrived, steaming. The waitress dropped off the hot platters and looked at Seth and Luke.

"What can I get for you?" she said.

"I'll have the lobster croquette," Seth said, before Summer could tell the woman that Seth and Luke wouldn't be staying.

"Yeah, that sounds good," Luke said. "With two waters."

The waitress put away her pad, turned on her heel and marched toward the kitchens. Well, that meant Seth and Luke would be staying at least through dessert. Seth never met a dessert he didn't like.

"Once again, Yard Man comes through," Seth said. "Thanks, buddy. Summer, when can you go?"

"Next week?"

"Yeah, let's get this over with," Seth said.

Summer could get behind that idea. She mentally scanned through her to-do list for the next week.

"I'll go," she said, "if you let Atwood try your lobster and drop your mom a note to let her know I'm coming."

Seth looked from Summer to Atwood and back.

"Deal," he said to Atwood. "But you can't have all of it. I'm a lobster-eater extraordinaire."

"You're a nerd extraordinaire," Luke said, twisting his knuckles into Seth's arm.

"Ow," Seth said, wincing. "Delicately, please. I'm in a fragile emotional state."

"Speaking of your fragile emotions," Summer said, taking a knife to her chicken, "what exactly does your dad plan to do about your mom?"

"Dad said he thinks Grandpa was paying someone off to keep a secret," Seth said. "If that someone comes forward, Mom might be off the hook. Grandpa would have to stay in the crowbar hotel though."

"Crowbar hotel?" Luke said. "Where do you read this stuff?"

"It's slammer talk," Seth said defensively. "If I'm going to be associating with prison denizens, I need to talk the language, sling the lingo, parlez the vous, rap like my homies, know what I mean?"

"Tell me again," Summer said slowly, fork in the air, chicken bite still stuck on it. She looked around. Apparently, she was the only person able to muster speech in the wake of that idiotic announcement. "How exactly is sounding like a big dork going to help you with your mom?"

"I have to be able to blend," Seth said. "I'm practicing."

He turned to Atwood.

"Back me up, dude," Seth said. "Isn't that the way you talk in the big house?"

Summer watched Atwood put down his fork and knife, considering his response before answering.

"I have to say," Atwood said, carefully, "that I've never heard the words 'crowbar hotel' in common use among the crowbar hotel crowd. I could be wrong, though. I haven't visited every prison for a survey."

"See," Luke said, turning to Seth. "You're a big dork."

"See," Seth said, turning to Luke. "I was right."

"See," Summer mocked. "You're both big dorks. And I'm not sure I want to attend a festive gathering at the local lockup, no matter what you call it."

"Come on, Summer," Seth whined. "I need someone to go with me. I promise I'll lay off the street language."

"Street!" Luke hooted.

Summer glared at Luke. He had picked on Seth enough for being stupid. And in Seth's defense, he was actually in a fragile emotional state from dealing with his mom and his dad and the financial disarray that Dear Grandpa Nichol had precipitated.

Luke looked a little shamefaced and a little defiant, but he obediently shut up. And that was really all that Summer could ask for.

"So," Summer said, turning back to Seth, "does your dad think he can find the Mystery Man?"

"Well, he thinks if he talks to Mom, she might give him some pointers on where to start the search," Seth said. "Also, I think he just wants to look at her. Ew."

"Hello, Summer," came a voice beside the table. It was a warm baritone, rich and trust-inspiring. Exactly the sort of voice that would make constituents swoon someday. Summer hated the voice.

"Hey, Zach," Seth said.

"Seth," Zach said.

Ugh. Just the sound of Zach saying Seth's name made Summer think horrible thoughts. Thoughts about pinstripes and sensible suits and boring pumps and French manicures and helmet head hairstyles for the rest of her life. She shuddered once before turning to look at his perfectly suited body. Hugo Boss, tsk tsk. What a … traditional sartorial choice.

"Zach," she said politely. OK, she didn't really say it politely, but it probably passed for politely.

"Hey," he said again. "Having dinner?"

"Yes," Summer said, her tone indicating she thought him the king of the suit-wearing eggheads for identifying the obvious and commenting on it. "Later, we'll be driving home. In a car. With an automatic transmission. Using gasoline."

"Hey, Zach," Seth interrupted, trying to break the poisonous moment. "Have you met my friends Ryan and Luke?"

"No," Zach said.

Luke stood up and offered his hand.

"Luke," he said in self-introduction.

Atwood copied him.

"Ryan Atwood," he said.

"Zach Stevens," Zach said, shaking their hands in turn. "Pleased to meet you."

He stood there waiting for Summer to say something, so she did.

"I'm still Summer."

"Well, it was nice to see you again," Zach said. "Mom sends her best."

He smiled to them all impartially.

"It was nice to meet you, Ryan, Luke," he said.

He left, and Luke and Atwood sat down.

"You should be nicer to him," Seth said, snagging a piece of bread from the basket and buttering it.

"You're nice enough to him for both of us," she told him, retrieving the slice. Traitorous friends shouldn't get bread. "Did you hear that dig about his mom?"

"It sounded like polite conversation to me," Luke said.

"Well, when you've been married, things that sound polite aren't always," she said, chopping the piece in half with her teeth. "Let's talk about something else."

But no other conversational topics offered themselves. They sat in silence until their waitress returned with two more hot dinners and dropped them off in front of Seth and Luke.

Seth divided a croquette.

"Push your plate over here, buddy," he said to Atwood. "It's time to study the master's technique."

"Thanks," Atwood said cautiously. Their plate edges bumped and Seth forked a third of a steaming croquette over to Atwood. Seth pulled his plate back to himself and squished off a healthy bite, smiling as he did so.

"Once again," Seth said victoriously and a little smugly, "I win. The Super Samurai always triumphs."