Page 7 of The Summer We Lie

I glare at Harper, suspecting a conspiracy. They've clearly discussed this behind my back. The traitorous planning session must have happened when I was upstairs.

"I want you to come this time," Harper says, leaning forward earnestly, her green eyes practically begging. "I miss you every summer, and my dad is really nice. You two will get along—he spent his youth in the 90s so he likes the movies and music you're into. It's so weird you like that old stuff."

"Hey, you like some of it too," I defend, thinking of how she's always stealing my playlists. The Pixies shirt she "borrowed" three weeks ago has mysteriously disappeared into her wardrobe rotation.

"Yeah, only because you make me," she throws back with a playful eye roll, her lips curving into that confident smile that makes everything seem possible.

"Hun," Mom interrupts, her voice softer than I've heard it in weeks, her hand still warm over mine, "just go and have fun. We will be fine, and if I need something, I'll tell you."

"Yeah, I'll take care of the house for Mom," Justin says confidently, forking another bite into his mouth. He sits up straighter, his shoulders squared, obviously pleased at the prospect of having more responsibility.

I look between them, these people I've been holding together with sheer willpower and love, and for the first time notice they're looking at me with concern rather than need. The realization makes my chest tighten. Have I been so obviously exhausted? So transparently worn down that they're conspiring to give me a break?

"Are you sure?" I ask Mom, searching her face for any hint of doubt, any flicker of fear that I might read as a reason to stay.

"Positive," she says, the certainty in her voice unwavering. The slight tremor in her hand contradicts her, but the determination in her eyes doesn't.

A small part of me—a part I usually ignore because it wants things I can't afford to want—whispers that maybe I could have this. Maybe I could leave for just a little while without everything collapsing. Maybe I could be nineteen for a few weeks instead of being the backup adult. Maybe I could breathe without feeling like I'm stealing someone else's air.

"Ahhh, okay," I say, the words feeling foreign as they leave my mouth, like I'm speaking a language I barely understand.

Harper lets out a squeal so high-pitched it could probably shatter glass, launching from her chair with the exuberance that makes her so magnetic.

"Can we not?" Justin groans, covering his ears dramatically, wincing at the sonic assault.

"Sorry," she says, not looking sorry at all as she bounces over to hug me, her familiar scent of vanilla enveloping me. "We are going to have so much fun!"

The warmth of her embrace feels nice, and despite my lingering anxiety, I find myself smiling. California. Sun, ocean, and temporary escape from the weight on my shoulders. The beach from Justin's drawing flashes in my mind—peaceful, open, full of light. Maybe I could find a moment like that for myself.

And if I'm being completely honest, the thought of seeing Harper's father, who she talks about constantly but who I've only met once in all our years of friendship, makes me more curious than I want to admit. I don't even remember what he looks like. What kind of man could raise someone as confident and vibrant as Harper? What kind of house would they stay in? What would it be like to see the other half of her life?

Chapter Four

Skye

"See you later, bud," I tell Justin while ruffling his hair again, watching his typical teenage reaction with affection.

"Ugh." He groans dramatically and immediately fixes his hair, smoothing it back to its original position. "Bye." He stands up, already mentally moving on to his next activity. "I'm going to finish my drawing," he tells Mom as he leaves the room, his mind clearly already back with his art supplies.

Mom comes over and hugs me tight, her arms wrapping around me with that perfect maternal pressure that somehow still makes everything feel temporarily fixable. I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her familiar scent of perfume – the same one she's worn since I was little, a comforting constant in our constantly changing life.

"Are you sure about this?" I whisper in her ear, still worried about leaving her and Justin for the entire summer.

"Positive," she says, pulling back to look me in the eyes. There's a certainty there I haven't seen in a while, a spark of the mom who existed before Dad left us. "It's not your job to take care of us. I'm thankful for all your help after..." She doesn't have to finish that sentence. We both know what came after.

"Well, it's too late anyway. You already said yes," Harper says as she walks back into the room from using the bathroom, her confident stride making even this simple action look like she's walking a runway. Her red hair always so beautiful, and I feel that familiar twinge of envy at how effortlessly beautiful my best friend is.

Mom smiles at her with genuine warmth. "You just take care of her," she tells Harper and pulls her into a hug. Mom has always loved Harper, probably because Harper has been my rock since sixth grade when her parents divorced and she moved down the street.

"I will," Harper promises with that easy confidence that makes everything seem possible. The same confidence that got me to try camming in the first place, though I'm still nowhere near as comfortable with it as she is.

"We're going to head home," I say and walk to the back door to put my shoes back on.

When we're in the car on the way home, Harper talks non-stop about how much fun we're going to have this summer. The ocean, the shopping, the exclusive restaurants her dad likes to take her to. She describes beaches with golden sand and boutiques filled with clothes I could never afford. My mind wanders as she paints a picture of California that seems almost too perfect to be real, like something from one of those teen dramas where everyone mysteriously has unlimited money and free time.

After a while, I get my chance when she pauses to take a breath, so I just go for it. I've been dying to tell her since I made the decision last night.

"I signed up for the auction," I say, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess myself again. My heart hammers against my ribs.