[Chapter 9]

[The Perfect Summer]

UnreachableRomance

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Drew called me a lot during these few days and I felt like I was floating on seventh heaven. Even my aunt questioned why I was so happy lately. I just smiled back and said that life was dandy. It turned out that my streak of good luck wasn't ending anytime soon. Drew had informed me on one of our phone calls that there was going to be a steak bake at his high school in two weeks time to celebrate the end of summer. He also said that he would be better by then and asked me to go with him! Of course, I complied.

However; after I turned to the calendar to mark down the day of the steak bake – I felt my heart drop. Summer really was ending. I would be going back to Petalburg just a day after the date with Drew. The steak bake would be our last time to spend together. . .

The next two weeks passed by quickly for me. It did not take long for the story of my walk behind the screen of gladiolas and delphiniums to spread through Sea City. Everyone laughed at the story – but the laughter was friendly. And all because I kept my head up during the whole awful thing. If I had walked down the street cringing with embarrassment, everyone would be making fun of me now. Instead, boys I didn't even know would grin as if they recognized me as they passed me by the boardwalk and called out, "Hi there! Picked any petunias lately?" or "How are things in Birnam wood?" Girls said, "How did you ever do it? Didn't you just die of embarrassment?" I would just smile as if amused.

And the best thing was that Drew called every day at four o'clock and I spend a happy hour on the telephone saying nothing in particular, just talking. I longed for the day that I could see him again, free from the listening ears of my aunt and his little sister. Of course, I had reminded him that I was leaving just after the steak bake – but he told me not to keep that in mind. Just enjoy the time here. Yeah, that sure is easy to say.

It seemed in no time at all until the evening arrived and I was actually alone with Drew, riding toward Woodmont Prep School with him in his blue car. He was even better-looking than I remembered. His profile was clean-cut and his skin a scrubbed golden tan. The evening was warm, and he was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his identification bracelet on his strong right wrist – a bracelet that he might some day ask me to wear. I felt a rush of butterflies flutter through my stomach, just thinking about it. I glanced down at his shoes. Even by the dim light of the dashboard, I could see that they had been polished until they gleamed. I smiled to myself and felt some of my old shyness return. I had been at ease talking with Drew on the telephone, but now that I was beside him, I couldn't think of nothing to say.

Drew took his eyes off the road long enough to glance down at me. "This beats walking, doesn't it?" he remarked.

I laughed. "Sure does."

"You know something?" said Drew. "The first time Steve and I took you out, Dad said I had to be in by ten-thirty. And because it was in such a short notice, I didn't take the car to my post. I was worried about how I was going to get you home and still get home myself before ten-thirty. I knew Dad wouldn't care if I came in five or ten minutes late, but it was cutting things pretty close. So I took a chance and seeing a bicycle parked behind your shrubbery, I took it and rode it home. Steve's house was pretty close by so he didn't have to worry about anything. But I was scared that anyone would see me. I didn't want you to think that I was just a kid, stealing people's bicycles and riding around."

I blinked and laughed to myself as something came into my mind. "Oh! So that's why Uncle Bryan was complaining about losing his old bicycle!" I answered and laughed again. "But don't sweat – Aunt Vicki was happy about that. She thought the old rusty thing made her garden look ugly."

Drew laughed in surprise. "I can return it, if you want."

"I think we're all better off without it," I replied with a smile. "It's funny about bicycles. I never ride mine anymore. For some reason, when you're in high school it won't do to be seen riding a bicycle because you need it to get someplace, but it's all right to ride one for fun if you don't really need to. Like going on a picnic or something."

"That's right," agreed Drew. The first time he ever agreed to anything I say. "That's exactly how it is." Then we smiled at each other, pleased to have shared this understanding. I felt sorry that we were going to the steak beak. It was so wonderful to be with Drew once more. I wanted to ride on and on through the warm summer evening.

Drew parked his car at the space in front of the high school, where most cars were already there and went around to help me out. A noisy crowd was gathered under the lights around the barbecue pits, and the smell of cooking steak mingled with the fragrance of the bay and redwood trees.

"I'm starved," said Drew. "Come on, let's join the others."

I felt a bit strange because I was a new face in this school but then, it was also quite pleasing to have Drew by my side as my date. In case you were wondering, the school was huge. I can tell that it was a Prep school without looking at its name. The field where the steak bake was held in was enormous and there were rich people all around, laughing and enjoying their time. They were all gorgeous people! I wonder what Drew saw in me.

"Hey Drew!" "Yo, Drew! My man!" "Drew! You lookin' great, dude!" "Who's that chick beside you?" The crowd welcomed 'us'. I can so tell that Drew was famous around here.

"Hey everyone," said-boy casually replied and flicked his hair as if he was bored with all the attention. I just smiled awkwardly beside him. At least not many girls had dates for the senior class steak bake.

A man with short brown hair and khaki pants (whom I was later told was Mr. Degenkalb, a history teacher who was the harried class advisor) was herding the crowd into a line beside the barbecue pits where the steaks were sizzling on grates over open fires. The muscle-bound meathead from the other day, together with another boy, was turning the steaks with pitchforks. Drew and I took our place in line and picked up knives and forks and paper plates.

"Hey, you two," said Steve, who was serving salad. "I'm on garbage detail."

"It seems to me like you're serving salad," Drew answered dryly as I held out my plate. I was starving and the aroma of the steaks wasn't helping.

"You know how salad turns into garbage when it's been sitting around a couple of hours," Steve answered. "That's why I'm on garbage detail." He ladled some limp greens onto Drew's plate. "Have some tossed green salad. Take it and chuck it into the trash can," he then bowed his head. "Thank you and come again."

"Steve, you're awful," I laughed.

"Come on, May," whispered Drew. "Let's not go sit at the tables with the others. I know a place."

My smile was the answer. Now I knew that he wanted to be alone with me as much as I wanted to be alone with him. Carrying the paper plates of food, we walked through the football field and to a small, reserved area with an artificial stream of water. There were two big rocks near the trickle of water. It was a perfect spot to be with Drew. There was even a full moon rising through the bay trees. I sat down on my rock with a sigh of pleasure. It was a beautiful, romantic moonlit night. It's a shame that I was leaving tomorrow. I felt a lump arise at the back of my throat and I pushed the subject out of my head.

"I guess Jason, the janitor forgot to turn on the water," Drew observed, settling himself on his rock. "But at least it's wet."

"It's pretty," I assured him as I eyed my steak. It was large and thin and overhung the edges of the paper plate. It did not look like any cut of meat Mom had ever ordered from Jake's Market. I set my plate on my knees and took a bite of cold scalloped potato. Maybe if I ate my potatoes first there would be more room for the steak on my plate. I sampled the salad and swallowed it slowly. Steve was right.

Here goes, I thought, and sawed at the steak with the cafeteria knife. Nothing happened to the steak but the pressure of the knife bent the paper plate. Gingerly, I tried another side of the steak. This time I was succeeding in separating a morsel of meat, which I put into my mouth. That was my mistake. I chewed and chewed and chewed. From the tables by the barbecue pits I could hear laughter and chatter from the crowd, snatches of song, cries of "Speech!" We were missing the fun, but I didn't care. I was alone with Drew. Alone and chewing.

Drew smirked at me but he, too, was occupied with chewing. He gulped and turned to me. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" he asked, changing his tone and looking into my eyes.

I stopped chewing. I hadn't expected this from Drew so soon, before he had finished his steak.

"Isn't it, May?" he persisted, as if my answer were important to him.

I gulped and swallowed my meat whole. "Yeah, it is," I said nervously. The moment was so terribly important. "It's a good cat-fight night."

Drew looked so startled that I immediately regretted the words that had slipped out. "I mean – that's something we always say at home when there's a full moon," I said and wished I hadn't. Now I had to go on and explain why the Maples said a moonlit night was a good cat-fight night. "When Toby – uh, our cat – was younger, he always got into fights when there was a full moon. Now he goes out and hunts mostly. You know how it is. A good cat-fight night is sort of a family phrase." I was babbling and I knew it. Drew was looking into my eyes and I've ruined everything.

"Sure, I know," Drew replied, applying his knife to his steak. "At our house, we always call a clear windy day a good drying day. Sometimes there would be so much fog that Mom always had a hard time getting the washing dry, and almost every morning she would look out the window and say hopefully, 'Maybe today will be a good drying day.'"

I guess that ought to take care of the weather for a while; I thought and attacked the steak once more. As I sawed away, I glanced at Drew to see how he was managing and found him watching to see how I was cutting my meat. All at once, the humor of the situation struck me and I began to giggle. Drew relaxed and cracked a smile.

"At least tonight we know that we're eating meat," I remarked. "That night we had dinner in Chinatown, I didn't know what anything was. We had just walked past one of those herb shops that had all those weird-looking things in the window and a grocery store that had a tub full of snails and my imagination went to work. And I wanted to be so sophisticated too."

That earned a smirk from Drew. "I knew you weren't having a good time, but I didn't know it was that bad."

I smiled and chewed my potatoes thoughtfully. I really had changed since that night in Chinatown. Tonight, only a month instead of ten years later, I could look back on that dinner at Cheng Wee Lang's and not only laugh but admit to Drew that I had tried to be sophisticated. And the first time I had a date with Drew, I had been so nervous that I could scarcely eat a dish of ice-cream, and now look at me. Here I was, sitting on a rock holding a tough piece of meat in my hands and gnawing it – and laughing about it.

"Look at the lovebirds over there by the stream," I heard someone on the nearby path say. I winced and hoped that Drew hadn't heard. He appeared to concentrating on chewing. I considered the size of the meat and the time it took to chew each bite. At this rate, if we were going to finish our steaks, we would have to take them along to the movie.

"I give up," Drew said, at last, setting his plate on a rock and wiping his hands on his paper napkin. "This is too tough for human consumption."

"I know," I agreed, as I searched for my paper napkin. I couldn't find it, so I set my plate aside and surreptitiously wiped my fingers on the edge of the paper plate. When I looked at Drew, he was rubbing one finger back and forth over the name plate on his identification bracelet.

"May . . ." he looked into my eyes.

I felt my heart pound. Nervously I moistened my lips.

"There you are!" shouted a voice behind us. It was Steve, with Chelsea beside him. "What are you trying to do? Hide? We've looked all over for you."

"Hi," Drew said, with no enthusiasm at all.

I flashed my best friend a 'Chelsea-how-could-you look', which Chelsea returned with an 'I-know-but-what-could-I-do' expression.

Steve sprang onto a rock and with a sweeping gesture of his right hand, proclaimed, "What is this atomic age we live in? May we by simply touching a button or turning a knob—"

"This isn't your public-speaking class," interrupted Drew with his hands across his chest.

Steve grinned. "No, but it's a good place to practice," he said in his ordinary voice, before he continued eloquently, "How can we prepare ourselves for what lies ahead?"

"Come on, Steve," said Chelsea. "We can prepare ourselves for the movie by finding seats."

The blonde ignored her. "Today's generation can be the salvation of tomorrow," he announced, with a sweep of his hand.

Darn Steve; I thought. He's doing this on purpose because he knows Drew and I want to be alone.

Drew glowered at Steve. "Come on, May, let's find a trash can for the remains."

"Four score and seven years ago—" Steve continued but stopped. "What's the matter, dude? Don't you like my public speaking?"

"No, I don't," Drew answered wryly.

"I'm cut to the quick," Steve said cheerfully. "Mr. Chairman, members of the faculty, and fellow students. I stand here before you today to ask you to consider the merits of adopting a twelve-month school year for Woodmont Prep School."

I flashed Chelsea a 'do-something-quick' look.

Chelsea flashed me an 'I'll-do-the-best-I-can' look. "Come on, Steve," she said. "The movie is about to start. Let's go and find good seats before they're all taken."

"Let it start," replied Steve, nonchalantly. "I found out what it's going to be."

"What's it going to be?" Chelsea asked.

"The John Quincy Adams Story," Steve said as he rolled his eyes.

I groaned. "Not really! Why did they have to go and choose something like that?"

"Probably because it is pure, high-minded and educational," replied Steve.

"Come on, May," Drew whispered. "Let's ditch the movie and go for a ride."

"Okay." My answer was eager. I couldn't bear the thought of sitting through a movie, any movie, on such a beautiful night. Not on my last day at Sea City. Not when I could be riding under the stars with Drew.

"Great idea, Drew," Steve said heartily. "Chels and I were wondering when you were going to ask us to go for a ride in that car."

"I didn't," Drew said flatly. "Come on, May. Let's go."

I clambered up the bank beside Drew and dropped my paper plate into a trash can. Steve and Chelsea followed close behind, and I hoped that Drew and I would be able to shake them. The senior class, unaware that they were about to see The John Quincy Adams Story, was assembling on the benches in front of a motion picture screen.

Mr. Degenkalb, still looking harried, was rounding up the stray members of the class. "Well, Drew, you're not trying to run out on us, are you?" he asked jovially.

"Well, uh—"

"Come on, there are plenty of good seats left," said Mr. Degenkalb, and herded Drew and I toward the benches. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Steve seize Chelsea by her arm and hurry her out of the field. From the sidewalk, he grinned and waved at us. That wolf! I thought bitterly.

"Let's sit in the last row," whispered Drew. "Then we can slip out as soon as they turn the park lights and the movie starts." We found seats on the end of a bench in the very last row, back under the redwood trees, and sat down, confident that we could get away soon. One by one, the lights blinked out and I sat poised on the edge of the bench, ready to flee with Drew to the privacy of his car.

"Say, Drew," whispered Mr. Degenkalb. "Would you mind moving over?"

Drew and I exchanged one stricken look. Silently, we moved over, and Mr. Degenkalb sat down beside Drew. I leaned back on the bench. There was no chance of getting away now. We were trapped. Trapped for all six or eight or maybe ten reels of The John Quincy Adams Story. I can't stand it; I thought. I simply cannot stand it. An entire evening wasted, an evening that I wanted to spend riding through the moonlight with Drew, the evening that I had waited for so long. For days I had dreamt of this date . . . Well, here they were. Trapped with Mr. Degenkalb and John Quincy Adams.

The title of the movie flashed on the screen and the senior class groaned. John Quincy Adams, secretary of state, and John Quincy Adams, sixth president of the United States, moved before my eyes, but all I noticed were the magnified shadows of moths that flew between the projection machine and the screen. The senior class applauded widely for the moths. The bench grew harder by the minute. Even the rocks by the stream had seemed softer. Two by two, the members of the class slipped off the benches and, crouching low beneath the light of the projector, fled from the field.

I looked wistfully after these people, there fortunate escapees, who were dispersing to Wonder Ice or the Sea City Cinema, where a good movie was playing, or to their cars, and thought longingly of the front seat of Drew's car. If we could only get away we could drive up in the hills, where the night would be aromatic with the scent of eucalyptus trees. I would feel the wind in my hair, and when we came to Lookout Point . . .

I stole a glance at Drew. He was looking straight ahead and his expression was serious, as if he were absorbed in the activities of John Quincy Adams, as secretary of state.

And when we came to Lookout Point, my thoughts ran on. Drew would park the car so it faced the view of the bay and the city, and he would turn off the ignition and turn to me in the moonlight and say . . .

There was no point thinking about it, I told myself. Not when we were practically surrounded by Mr. Degenkalb. But I didn't know what else I could think about. Certainly not John Quincy Adams, not on a night like this. Everything had looked so hopeful when Drew and I were sitting on the rocks by the stream, but life never turned out the way I planned. And the worst thing was . . . There were no other dates left.

I felt Drew's hand brush mine, but when I looked up at him in the flickering light, he was staring straight ahead. I was surprised to feel his hand on my arm and more surprised – almost unbelieving – to see his fingers unclasp his identification bracelet and remove it from his arm. Silently he fumbled with the bracelet and slipped it around my right wrist. With a tiny click, he snapped the clasp shut. I gave a gasp of astonishment and turned questioningly to Drew. I was wearing his identification bracelet! The silver links on my wrist were still warm from his arm.

Drew leaned towards me. "Okay?" he whispered.

I only had the courage to nod and after my shock diminished, to smile radiantly at Drew, at John Quincy Adams, at the backs of the rapidly disappearing senior class. I really was wearing Drew's bracelet on my arm, something I had scarcely allowed myself to think about – at least, not often. It would be so far in the future, if it happened at all. And now it had happened, months before I had dreamed it could. My wrist felt small and feminine in the circle on the heavy silver links. Tenderly I caressed the letters of Drew's name with my finger tips.

Andrew Hayden.

The most egoistical but perfect boy in the whole world.

…………………………………

Haha, yay! =] I think it's gonna drag on to TWO more chapters before the ending. M'kay? ;] I'm so sorry I haven't updated in such a long time. I was just checking this story today and thought; Dang, I need to update that. And so I did. :] Took me like 4 hours, but I kept my promise to myself!


Random Facts:

1. I do not hate John Quincy Adams.

2. John Quincy Adams share the same birthday as yours truly ;]

3. I went to John Quincy Adams Elementary School. :D

4. There may be a lot of errors so you put on your know-it-all caps and criticize me. Don't really care.

And number 5…

R E V I E W!

- Suzie x