"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 16
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Summer put her car in park and turned off the engine. She got out and checked her picnic basket in the back seat. Maybe a romantic surprise dinner would be just the ticket to get Atwood – Ryan, she corrected herself – to confess his feelings.
No matter what Seth said, Summer still didn't want to be the first one to fall, just in case he was wrong about what Atwood – Ryan – thought about her.
Summer looked toward the college. Who knew night classes -- and hence night class parking lots -- would be so full? Who knew all these people would want to know more about the exciting world of geometry?
It was a mystery to her. She started trudging toward the math building's doors, mentally going through her romance kit.
Tequila, mixer, glasses – check.
Fruit and cheese – check.
Knife and napkins – check.
Candles and matches – check.
Condoms – check, check, check.
Yes, she was ready, especially if she counted the brand-new peach lingerie she was wearing underneath. Now she just needed to find an appreciative Atwood – Ryan! – and a quiet corner. And a place to take off her shoes. As she traversed the parking lot, Summer calculated the distance traveled so far and the distance yet to travel and discovered she could do geometry, too. Summer's geometry theorem dictated that the distance yet to be traveled in a new pair of slinky sandals was way too far without a rest stop. That might not be the square of the hypotenuse, but it was true, nonetheless.
Summer stopped at the literature building doors and braced herself for the weight. These new shoes were definitely not meant for walking long distances or for opening doors or anything practical. They were meant for seducing At—Ryan! She looked down to admire them around her feet. Yeah, they should probably do the trick. If she didn't break an ankle first.
Summer made a hard right turn toward Luke's office, telling herself she was taking a rest stop and not procrastinating. Mike Roberts' daughter didn't procrastinate; she proactivate. Proactivated? Something inspirational like that. Summer decided she couldn't be bothered to think of the right word, especially since Luke's office was just ahead, a cheap brown nameplate glued to the door.
"You haven't killed your office-warming plant yet," she informed him, swinging around the corner into a book-crammed cubbyhole.
"No, I've killed it twice," Luke said, looking over his shoulder at her. "I just keep getting replacements, since you couldn't be bothered to pay more than $5 for it to begin with. What are you doing here?"
He circled around and casually pulled his loafers off the paper-strewn desk. Summer looked around. She hadn't been here much lately.
"Your office doesn't look much like Seth's dad's," she said. "But you have about the same amount of books."
"I wouldn't know," Luke said sourly. "I haven't been invited to the Cohen portal of wisdom."
Summer cocked her head to examine him. Besides not visiting lately, she'd been so caught up in her own romantic drama that she hadn't really been talking to Luke, either. Certainly not enough to notice the unhappy crow's feet lining his eyes.
She pushed paper piles aside and plunked herself onto the vacated area. If he didn't want her to do that, he should have stuck in a visitor chair somewhere. Oh, wait. There WAS a visitor chair. It was just hard to see with all the ungraded papers on it.
"What's wrong?" she said. "Tell Auntie Summer."
"I don't know exactly," Luke said. "It's nothing in particular. It's just …"
Summer waited for him to decide what to tell her.
"I think he's embarrassed to tell his dad about me," Luke said. "I mean, I know that first time they didn't really need an audience. And they didn't the second time either. But it's been four weeks, and as far as I can tell, Seth hasn't even told his dad he has a boyfriend."
"Really?"
"Really. And I don't know whether it's because he can't remember to tell him – I mean, they're catching up on about six years – or because he's embarrassed that he has a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend."
Summer thought about that for a minute, swinging her sandaled foot against the metal drawers of the desk, listening to the rhythmic thud, thud, thud it made.
"Seth dated girls," Summer finally said, "for about eight weeks at a time. You're the only person he's ever dated long-term. And he told me about you right away. He didn't mention Alex, even, until she was almost over, and she was the most serious relationship he was in before you. So I don't think he's embarrassed. Do you want to rub my feet?"
"What?"
"Rub my feet," Summer repeated. "Do you want to rub my feet? They're sore from these cheap shoes. When Atwood rubs them, I think better."
Luke looked at her. He didn't look as if he were even considering the idea. Well, it had been worth a try. Her feet really did hurt. And she really did think better when they were rubbed.
"I'll try to get by with just your usual thought process," he said, swirling his hand for her to continue.
Summer pondered Seth's behavior for the last month. He had definitely been different lately, Luke was right there, but she was pretty sure Seth wouldn't – couldn't – be embarrassed by Luke's presence in his life.
"He couldn't be embarrassed by you," Summer said, following that logic train to its terminal. "Ergo, he must be embarrassed by his mom and dad."
"Why?" Luke said. "I've always known his dad is a drunk and his mom is in jail."
"That, Mr. Sensitive, might be why he doesn't want to talk about it with you," Summer concluded.
She kicked off her peach sandals. Stupid shoes. Why had she ever bought them? Just because a shoe was on sale didn't mean she had to take it home with her, she lectured herself. Even if it did match her outfit perfectly. Oh, well. She pulled one foot up in her lap to rub it. Finally, all those yoga classes – well, both of those yoga classes – were paying off. The foot was a tight fit, but she made it work.
Summer stuck her own thumbs in her arch and rolled her head around, listening to the crackle of the vertebrae. Why was it that the neck bone was connected to the foot bone? Why didn't the song about the bones talk about that particular connection?
"Yoo hoo," Luke said. "Earth to Summer."
Summer opened her eyes and looked at Luke. He might have wanted her to look at his face, but all she could see was his ugly jacket.
"Did you buy that tweed because that's what professors wear, or did you become a professor so you could wear tweed?" Summer said. "I mean, elbow patches are so retro."
"I like it," Luke said impatiently. "Now let's talk about Seth some more. If that's all right with you."
"Oh, sure," Summer said. "You go ahead and talk."
"But will you listen?"
A harder question. Summer thought about it for a minute and then dropped her foot out of her lap, swinging it back against Luke's desk.
"All right," she said. "I'm paying attention. Talk."
"What did you mean when you said 'that might be why he doesn't want to talk about it,'" Luke said.
Summer hadn't noticed before, but Luke's eyes were almost as blue as At – Ryan's! – eyes. He was sort of cute, in fact. Except for being Seth's boyfriend, of course.
"I mean," Summer said, "that Seth has always been the rich kid. Now he's not. He's always been the kid of the most influential woman in Newport and a successful lawyer and the grandkid of the most influential man in Newport. He worked for the most high-profile company in Newport. Even though he didn't really like being that guy, he was used to being that guy and now he isn't that guy any more.
"He's the guy who manages the Bait Shop whose boyfriend makes lots more money than he does and he might be ever so slightly embarrassed to introduce his parents – who are now losers – to that successful boyfriend. But you'd have to ask him to be certain. Are you sure you don't want to rub my foot?"
She stuck her tender foot in Luke's lap. He scowled at her and took the foot in his hands. He rubbed enthusiastically but without skill.
"You know," Summer advised him, "if you could rub feet as well as Atwood does, you would never have to worry about your boyfriend leaving you."
"That's not what I hear," Luke said. "Atwood worries about it all the time."
"So a little birdie told me," Summer said, "but I'm here to make things better. I brought a surprise picnic. And we're going to have a talk."
"Oh," Luke said. "Does he know you're coming?"
"No, that's why it's a surprise," Summer said tartly. "I'm going to show up as soon as his class is over and kidnap him. Hand me my shoes, would you?"
Luke bent over to gather up the sandals. He looked at the label.
"How much did you pay for these?"
"Just never you mind," Summer said. She stuffed her toes back inside the shoes and jumped down off the desk. "Do I look OK? Seductive? Sexy? Not too slutty?"
"Cute," Luke assessed her peach mini ensemble. "Not too slutty. If you don't fall out of that top."
Summer checked her cleavage. Oh, he was just teasing. She shook her head at him as he walked her to the door.
"I'll think about what you said," Luke said.
Summer tromped down the hall and back out the door toward the math building. She checked the building key against the class schedule she had filched from Ryan's – Ryan's! – pickup floor.
Summer started walking in the right direction. She squirmed a bit then straightened herself. Her new peach lingerie had some itchy lace on it, but at least she knew she looked good. Confidence in clothing leads to confidence in demeanor; confidence in demeanor leads to confidence in carriage, she recited to herself, just in time to feel a heel snap.
Summer barely caught herself against the wall and barely refrained from cursing out loud. So much for smooth, confident carriage. She leaned instead against the smooth, broad bricks and calculated the damage to her cute outfit, listening without thinking to the voices inside the room.
"When are you coming to visit?" a woman's voice said.
"Soon, I promise," a man's voice said.
Summer looked up from the broken shoe in her hand. That voice sounded familiar.
"Tu nina te quiere," the woman said.
"Your daughter misses you," Summer translated in her head.
"I miss her," Ryan's voice said.
At least, Summer thought it was Ryan's voice. She didn't know why he'd be talking about a daughter, though. She limped around the corner.
It was Ryan all right. And Theresa. They were alone in the room, no other students. Her hand was on his cheek. Their bodies were only inches apart. Suddenly, everything made dreadful sense.
"Your daughter?" Summer said. "You have a daughter? With her?"
Atwood stared at her in horror, then turned his blue eyes to Theresa for help, which didn't make Summer any happier.
Summer waited for Atwood to come up with something to say in his defense, anything. She wanted him to deny it, and her waiting fell into a long, long silence. Atwood's blond head dropped as he looked at the ground in guilt. She wanted to hear him say she was wrong or to scream at her or to laugh but all she heard was her own harsh breath. She gulped in air and opened her mouth.
"Summer, it's not like that," Theresa said.
"I'm not speaking to you," Summer said. "I'm talking to my boyfriend."
She thought a second about maintaining her dignity, but then abandoned the effort.
"My ex-boyfriend, you sleazy, man-stealing biddy."
"Who are you calling a biddy, you slumming tramp?" Theresa said aggressively.
Summer started to scream back again, but she realized that the tears were blocking her throat. She couldn't get words out. She snuffled once. Atwood still hadn't spoken.
Summer turned and limped away on her broken heel.
