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    Amber's Summer
    Amber's Summer
    Amber's Summer
    Ebook178 pages2 hours

    Amber's Summer

    By Cameron Glenn

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Young teen Amber deals with the loss of her best friend over a summer.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCameron Glenn
    Release dateDec 29, 2015
    ISBN9781311789792
    Amber's Summer
    Author

    Cameron Glenn

    Cameron Glenn grew up the third of seven children in Oregon. As a child he dedicated hours to the pursuits of basketball and cartooning, as well as waking up way too early for his paper route in order to earn money to buy toys, candy and comic books. He also loved to read and write, which he continues to do voraciously. He currently lives in Salt Lake City after having earned a BA in literature from Boise State.

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      Book preview

      Amber's Summer - Cameron Glenn

      Amber’s Summer

      By Cameron Glenn

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2016 Cameron Glenn

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      AMBER’S SUMMER

      Preface

      I’m Amber, fifteen, and for my English project I decided to write about what I did for my summer vacation. I know it’s the most basic elementary school topic. But hopefully, Mrs. Mullins, you’ll find it better than elementary school quality? It ended up being just about book length anyways, and took a long time to type, so I think that alone deserves an A. Also, I know we’ve talked about how I’ll slip between present tense and past tense, and I need to stick to one. I personally think that criticism is pretty lame, because people are smart enough to know everything written in present tense has already happened, since you can’t literally write while actions are going on. You know, like if I write: then he puts his mouth over mine and I feel him slide his tongue against the bottom of my top teeth, I obviously don’t really have my pen out, writing all the action and my thoughts and feelings down as they’re happening. To add my own little criticism, readers are pretty stupid if they’re confused by that concept. Anyways I’m mostly going with present tense, to try and put myself in the moment, but it took place in the past, last summer 2008. Also I’m still trying to figure out my writing style, as, you know, us youngsters are trying to figure out ourselves. I don’t really have a hook to add here, like you said we should put at the beginning of our writings. Some foreshadowing life in peril scene, which would make readers want to find out how that point is reached. As if some werewolf’s claws poked at the jugular in my neck, seconds away from tearing my head off and some dashing destined lover of mine, a sensitive rebel type, troubled and misunderstood, needing my love to make him whole, needs to swoop down, with his super powers, and rescue me. Wouldn’t that be neat? Unfortunately, my life isn’t as interesting as that, nor am I that special. I will say that the summer of 08 changed me profoundly. And if you read on you’ll see how. Okay, so now that that little qualifier and introduction is out of the way, I’ll get to it.

      **

      One

      Angel

      Angel and I are brave new sexy warrior women. This summer, the best one yet, because every summer should be better than the one before we believed, life a rocket ride up, we’ll dare each other to do impossible tasks. Because we’ll be in high school next school year, and it’s time to start living for once. We’re chattering in the backseat headed to Gold Beach, where her parents just bought a new beach house, where I’ll stay for the summer. Angel and I talk how we’re going to party together, every night, and I’m giddy by that idea. I’m also going to escape my quarreling parents, as they work out their ugly divorce. I get to take a vacation from being their pawn or possession; I don’t have to listen to their yelling for awhile. I’ve been to Gold Beach a few times and it’s just this quaint little vacation town up north a little ways. Not really populated by flexing muscle men, which you first think when hearing the name.

      A lot of classmates scrawled Don’t change, in my 8th grade yearbook. Everything is right as it is, you’re cool just as you are, its’ been fun, love ya. But of course we change. Old skin cells flake off. Shoes get worn out. Childhood friendships sometimes dissolve despite bonds formed and pledges and promises made. We want to be on the right side of cool as we emerge in adolescence, aware of the invisible but very real coolness barometer existing among our peers. We’re always talking and thinking upgrade.

      But that won’t happen to Angel and me. We’ve talked about it. We need each other. We’d die without each other. We’ll survive high school together, and if one is an outcast, we’ll both be outcasts. We promised. And when I get married it will be with someone who I’ll love forever. Not just love long enough to have a few kids with, then move on, that love dimed, changed, with time, like what’s happening with my parents. Love somehow transforming into hate, as if love and hate are the same thing but just take different forms, like how water can be liquid ice or vapor.

      But they’re behind me. I’m in the car, engine humming, Angel’s dad is speeding, the air conditioner blasting, and Angel is now squinting in her sleep, the sun magnified through the car window making a stripe across her eyes. Her mouth is agape and sticky drool drips off her fat lower lip, onto her chin. I laugh, thinking how horrified she’d be if some cute boy saw her like that. But I think she’s pretty when she sleeps.

      Modern Love, by David Bowie plays out the radio speakers and I’m shocked this moms’ favorite light station would play something so cool. I nod and bop along to the beats and mouth along to the lyrics, pretending to put on a passionate performance. I want to shake Angel awake so we can perform backseat karaoke together, but I let her dream. Then I’m pricked by this sudden random happiness. I’m excited for the summer, to be speeding away, thinking of dreams and the future and the ocean waves coming to tickle our naked toes before we submerge our heads completely under the buoyant salt water. And will we meet cute boys and develop cute powerful summer romance adventures? We hope so. We’re filled and lifted by the hope, excited and empowered by the teasing possibilities. What dares and fears will we challenge ourselves with? The landscape becomes blurs behind us. I decide my worries and stress are behind me also, left with my ugly old bitter parents, fuming in their hatreds. I don’t have to be like them. I declare my independence from them. My life will not erode away. I am new, bright and free, able to conquer. In that moment, a brief bliss bite me, as if it could be bestowed by a kiss on the neck from some invisible bliss bug—just that simple, silly and haphazard. Angel will be with me. We’re like sisters, company commanders in this fight through life changes together: High School, College, Career, Marriage, kids. Best friends forever.

      Angel moans and repositions her head to get her eyes out of the sunlight, as she slouches further down in her seat. A strand of her long sun bleached bangs falls over her face and tickles her nose; she then rubs with the back of her hand.

      I wonder if in heaven we’re allowed to go back to moments in life as they were before anything after happened and just sit in them; before friendships and love fades, or depressions swell. I hope so. I’d go back to that moment, that feeling, and just ride it out, into eternity, oblivious to future reality, mistakes, confusions, consequences ahead and the price of the loss of some faith and innocence.

      **

      We arrive at around 8:30pm, walk in and turn on the lights. I’m awed and amazed looking at the high ceilings with fans and wall sized windows with ocean views, and a balcony, like I’m some poor rags girl whisked to some princess palace. I give Angel a look which tells her I knew you were rich but not this rich, and she gives me a shrug as if to reply, the place isn’t really so big, you’ll see. I never realized when I looked at Angel’s dad I was looking at a freaking millionaire. He makes his money with banks or investments or markets or something, stuff I’m as clueless about as black hole dark matter physics. This was before the economic crisis shook the country. Simpler times.

      Angel and I share a room upstairs. It has white carpet, a computer and an air mattress for me. After exploring all the rooms Angel’s dad takes us to Dream Pizza in town. Angel and I scope the place for cute teenagers, and find a few, and we make ourselves laugh by winking at some boys only when we’re certain they can’t see us; then we giggle harder when maybe one boy did catch us. You girls are a giggle factory Angel’s dad says.

      We come back and Angel is tired so she falls asleep quickly. I drank Coke instead of Sprite so I’m not as lucky. I had hoped coming here would solve the sleeping problem I developed since my parents decided to become wrecking balls to their marriage. But after I manage to enter dreamland I wake up before sunrise only five hours later. I prepare hot chocolate and go to the balcony to watch the sunrise over the Pacific Ocean, expecting this profound massively beautiful soul stirring experience. Maybe at sunrise the whales breach in flips in an ecological celebration of themselves. As it gets light I realize the sun is rising behind me, in front of the house. And I feel like a dunce. I should have known that. And that independent puffed ego I got on the car ride here is deflated a bit. Sometimes I feel like I know nothing about how the world works, and other times I feel like I know all I need to know, which is more than a lot of adults know, such as the importance of appearance, I’ll never become as hateful at someone I once loved as my parents are, and music and dancing can cure and lift the dense morose fog which sometimes hovers around me during my blah funk moods, and all you need in life to love it is a best friend like Angel.

      At 9:30am Angel and I go running along the beach, which, in our minds, it being summer, is the same as if we had gotten up at 6:30am to go running, which proves our dedication to exercise, to our health and bodies, which we’re trying to get firm. So we’re pretty proud of ourselves, scattering the seagulls as we run, listening to our i-pod runners’ mix. Except we must be out of shape because we’re huffing. But sand is hard to run in. It’s easier to put a foot into sand than drag it out. We stop to walk and we take the i-pod speakers out our ears. The sky is solid blue.

      Sexy, Angel says, through panting.

      I laugh. What?

      Angel smiles and lifts up her shirt, patting her stomach. I smile back and shake my head at her. She points to the outdoor basketball courts ahead of us. Water she says.

      Water, I say, trying to sound like a cave girl. We can be weird with each other like that. She smiles then runs sideways into me, trying, but failing, to knock me over.

      "Oops,’ she says. I laugh.

      I thought you said there would be cute surfers out, I say.

      There usually are, she says.

      Maybe they’ve all drowned.

      And will come back as zombies.

      The surfer zombies of Gold Beach, I say.

      We take turns slurping from the drinking fountain, then lay on some benches by the courts. Angel lifts up her shirt again, exposing her stomach to the sun, and I act like I’m going to whack at her abs, and she flinches then laughs. A pickup truck with boys in the flatbed pulls up, rap music blaring. Some are cute and shirtless and cradling basketballs. They’re our age. Teenagers. Well maybe a little bit older. Sixteen. Obviously the driver has his license. Angel and I are both almost fifteen. But we both think we can pass as older. Angel definitely can, body wise, and I’m smart and mature for my age. I’ve been in advanced math and reading since third grade. We sit up and watch the boys pile out and dribble onto the court and start randomly shooting and doing impromptu one-on-ones, preparing for a game. In our minds they’re aware of us and trying to show off for us a little bit.

      I dare you, Angel says slowly, looking at the boys, and before she finishes I say I’ll do it. Angel gasps then says

      To catch a seagulls droppings in your mouth.

      I stand up and stretch, shake my legs and arms, trying to get my nerves out. I’m nervous, but determined I’m just going to do it, ask if I can play with them.

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