Summer took in Ashlyn’s wide-eyed expression, her wet clothes, and the way she was holding the cup out the window. And burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, I know you’re soaking and uncomfortable, but it’s…” Another wave of laughter hit her, and she couldn’t finish.
Ashlyn started giggling, too. “I think you better take me back home to change my clothes, because guy boycott or not, I can’t show my face in public like this.”
Summer checked her mirrors, made a frowned-upon U-turn, and headed back the way they’d come. Every few seconds she’d glance over at Ashlyn, and they’d both erupt in laughter. By the time they made it back to Ashlyn’s, Summer had chugged her soda and given the empty cup to Ashlyn, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
Ashlyn flung open the door and stepped onto the curb. She turned around to close the door and her jaw dropped. “Um…”
Summer walked around to see what she was staring at. A sticky, brown stream ran across the right side of her silver Civic, all the way back to the gas tank.
“I’m so sorry,” Ashlyn said, wiping at the mess with the already soaked napkin. “I’ll clean it up. The inside, too.”
“I kind of like it. Ghetto racing stripes without the fuss of paying someone.” Ashlyn still looked worried, and Summer wanted to assure her she didn’t care. “Don’t worry about it. I laughed harder than I have in months, so it was totally worth it.”
“Come on in.” Ashlyn lifted her damp shirt away from her body. “I’ll change, and then we’ll see when the next movie is.”
Summer followed Ashlyn inside. They walked through the living room and into the kitchen. A woman with impeccable hair and makeup sat on one of the barstools, reading a magazine. She looked like an older, thinner version of Ashlyn.
The woman frowned when she saw them. “Ashlyn, you got fast food?”
“Just a soda, Mother.”
“Soda is all empty calories.”
“Well, it was diet, and it actually spilled all over before I got any of it down, so don’t worry; it was no calories.”
The woman’s gaze moved from Ashlyn to Summer. “Hi, I’m Pamela.”
“I’m Summer.”
“Summer, you don’t eat fast food do you? It’s horrible on your body, and I can tell that you like to keep in shape.”
“Mother’s a personal trainer,” Ashlyn said, like that explained everything. It kind of did, she supposed.
“Well, I just downed a large order of fries and a soda. My dad and I aren’t what you’d call”—Summer made air quotes—“culinary, so we eat out quite a bit. I don’t think I could survive without fast food.”
Pamela looked Summer up and down. “Hmm. I guess some people can get away with it. It’ll catch up when you’re older, though. I hope you’re at least exercising.”
“Summer’s on the dance team.” Ashlyn tossed her cup in the trash and turned to her mom. “Now, if you’re done with all your important questions, I’ve got to go change my clothes. They’re feeling more disgusting by the second.”
Summer followed Ashlyn down a long blue hall.
“Most parents would worry if you were a safe driver,” Ashlyn muttered. “Or simply be glad their daughter has a friend. But my mother has to talk eating and exercising habits. She’s trained a few of the lesser known celebrities, so she thinks she’s really fancy.”
Ashlyn ducked into a door on the left, headed for the dresser, and pulled open one of the drawers. “I bet your mother isn’t like that.”
“My mom…” Summer always expected it to be easier to say. No matter how many times she said it, though, it hit her as hard. “My mom died a little over a year ago. But no, she wasn’t like that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. I’m dealing.” Not always the best, but what else do you say when someone says they’re sorry for something they couldn’t do anything about? Summer might’ve been able to, but it was too late now.
One of Summer’s darkest periods was a couple months ago, around the anniversary of Mom’s death. It was when she’d been mean to Cody and fought constantly with Dad. Mostly because she hated herself so much she couldn’t even deal with life and wanted everyone to just leave her alone.
Not wanting to think about that, Summer turned her focus to Ashlyn’s room. The purple mini lights strung along the top of the walls gave off a soft glow; curtains made from vinyl records hung over the window; and the shelves and dressers were covered in knickknacks, including bright-colored candles and vases.
Ashlyn draped the clothes she’d picked out over her arm. “So, do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Nope. Just me and my dad. We get along pretty well most of the time. I’m kind of annoyed with his new girlfriend, though. She tries so hard, and even though she is nice, I want to yell at her to get away from me. I’ll never be close to her, I’ll never consider her my mom, and I don’t know why she doesn’t just leave me alone.” Summer let out a long breath. It felt good to get that out, though guilt immediately soured her insides.
“Funny. That’s how I feel about my mother.” Ashlyn moved into the adjoining bathroom. She stepped out of view, but kept the door open.
Summer shook her problems out of her head. She needed to help Ashlyn and her mom, not make it worse. “Your mom loves you, though. She probably just has a funny way of showing it.”
“I’m a disappointment. The woman who whips people into shape can’t even get her own daughter to be skinny.” Ashlyn sighed. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. It’s hard for me to go to the gym, but I surf, skate, walk—I even eat healthy for the most part. And I still can’t lose weight.” She came out of the bathroom, wearing a blue top and dark jeans. “You wolf down fries and you’re still crazy skinny. Life’s so unfair.”
Summer wasn’t sure to say to that. “I got my dad’s metabolism. He eats horrible but never gains a pound. I guess I’m lucky.”
“No guessing about it. I would kill for your thighs. But I’ve got these” —Ashlyn squeezed her legs—“and that’s just the way it is.”
“You’re really pretty, you know. And your hair is so shiny and straight. Mine doubles in size when I’m near the beach, blond frizz sticking out all over the place.”
Ashlyn glanced in the mirror and ran a hand down her hair. “Mother doesn’t seem to care about hair, though. She cares about pants size, that kind of thing.”
“What about your dad?” Summer thought maybe he could somehow help her.
“Oh, my sperm donor?”
“He’s not around much, then?”
“No. He literally was a sperm donor.”
Summer laughed. “Sorry, it’s not funny.”
“No, it is. And Mother’s disappointed I somehow got the fat gene. When she chose a donor, his profile specifically said he was in shape. So either he lied, or I’m dysfunctional.” Ashlyn pulled out her phone and glanced at the display. “You want to see when the next show is, or you wanna hang out here? I do have an awesome music collection, if I do say so myself.”
Hanging out here would definitely be the way to get to know Ashlyn better. “Let’s kick it here then.”
With any luck, Summer might also be able to get a better read on Ashlyn’s mom. After seeing how they interacted, she started to think this job was going to be more difficult than she expected. Open communication already existed—a little too open.
She and Ashlyn listened to music, laughed and talked, and had way more fun than they would’ve in a movie theater where they would’ve had to be quiet.
At the end of the night when Summer drove home, one thought kept running through her head: How in the world am I going to repair a relationship when my first instinct is to yell at Pamela for being so mean to her awesome daughter?