Page 6 of The Summer We Lie

"Well, both are great, truly amazing, but this is my favorite. There's something about it that just feels... peaceful." The word catches in my throat a little.

"Thanks," he says, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, I came to show you one I've been working on," I tell him as I open my book, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. I flip to my latest piece. "It's like a double exposure on film but a drawing."

"That's awesome," he says, leaning closer to examine it. His eyes trace the lines where the forest merges with the girl's profile, trees becoming veins, leaves becoming eyelashes. "It's like a large forest inside of a girl's face. You're really creative. The way you've made the trees part of her... it's like she's made of the forest."

"Aww, thanks little bro," I say and rub his hair in the way I know annoys him, messing up the careful way he's styled it today.

"Bro," he groans, ducking away from my hand and smoothing his hair back down.

I just laugh and get up, the bed springs releasing with a squeak. "Oh, Mom said to come down for dinner. It smells amazing, and Harper's helping, so you know it'll be good."

"Be down in a minute," he says, already turning back to his work, fingers hovering over his headphones.

"Alrighty," I say and head out of his room and back to the kitchen to find Harper helping Mom bring dinner to the table, the two of them moving around each other with practiced ease.

"What were you showing him?" Mom asks, setting down a steaming casserole dish.

"This piece I've been working on," I say, sliding my sketchbook onto the counter. "And his landscapes are amazing. Like, seriously professional-level amazing."

"Oh, I know right? Like, I wish I had a sliver of his talent. Yours too. I don't know where you guys got it from—your father and I are not creative or artsy in the least," she says, sitting down with a glass of wine, the red liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

The word "father" hangs in the air like a bad smell, toxic and lingering. Mom takes a big sip of her wine, and I can almost see her mentally kicking herself, the slight wince that crosses her features. We don't talk about him. Not since he walked out on us for his secretary—such a cliché it would be funny if it hadn't completely destroyed our lives, leaving us scrambling for financial survival.

I look down at my plate, tracing the floral pattern with my eyes as Harper seamlessly changes the subject, chattering animatedly about some complicated French pastry she's planning to try. I'm grateful for her ability to navigate these awkward moments when words fail me. My mind drifts back to the auction I just set up online. Would I actually go through with it? The thought makes my stomach twist into a tight, painful knot, but then I glance at Mom, noticing the new lines around her eyes, the way her clothes hang a little looser than they used to, how the roots of her hair need touching up but we can't afford the salon.

Justin comes down and slides into his chair, immediately launching into a detailed explanation of color theory he's applying to his landscapes. His hands move expressively as he talks about complementary colors and atmospheric perspective. The way his eyes light up when he talks about art—that pure, unfiltered passion—that's what I'm doing this for. That's what makes this whole terrifying prospect worth it. He deserves a chance, deserves better than what we can give him right now.

"Earth to Skye," Harper says, nudging me under the table, her foot tapping mine. "Your mom asked if you're feeling okay. You're totally zoning out."

"Oh, sorry," I say, forcing a smile that I hope looks convincing. "Just tired. End of semester stuff, you know how it is." I push my food around my plate, trying to look normal.

"You're working too hard," Mom says, reaching over to touch my hand, her fingers cool against mine. "Between school and your online job and helping with Justin... I worry about you, sweetheart."

If she only knew about my "online job." My cheeks burn with shame, but I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "I'm fine, Mom. Really." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

“Speaking of vacation” Harper says.

"Nobody said vacation," I say and look at Harper, suspicion creeping in. Her eyes have that familiar gleam that always means she's planning something. "What are you up to?"

"Well," Harper says, setting down her fork, "you know how I go to Cali every summer and spend it with my dad?"

"Yesss," I say, dragging it out, instantly wary of wherever this is going.

"Well I asked if I could bring a friend and he said yes, and before you say no everything is paid for and you can still work online there so you won't miss out on money and please please please!" She rushes out a whole mouthful of words without taking a breath, her hair bouncing with excitement as she speaks.

I sit there blinking, trying to comprehend all she just said. My brain feels like it's buffering, unable to process the sudden information dump. The idea of California—of actually leaving Pennsylvania—seems so foreign it might as well be another planet.

"Huh?" Justin says, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth, his expression mirroring my confusion.

"Exactly," I say and look at him, grateful I'm not the only one overwhelmed. My mind is already calculating the logistics—the impossibility of it all. Who would make sure Justin and mom are okay?

"Oh that sounds like so much fun!" Mom chimes in, betraying me with unexpected enthusiasm, a genuine smile lighting up her tired face. I can't remember the last time I saw her eyes crinkle like that.

"But I can't leave them," I say to Harper, gesturing toward Mom and Justin. The very idea seems impossible. Who would keep everything from falling apart? I'm the glue—I can't just dissolve for a summer.

"Yes you can," Mom says firmly, reaching across to squeeze my hand. "We'll be fine. Plus, you really need a little break before you start your second year of college."