“I don’t like being laughed at. Easier if I just don’t ask.”
”Then don’t ask. Just take his arm and pull him onto the dance floor,” Isaac replied with a shrug.
”They’d be crazy to turn you down, you know.”
“Then nearly every boy I’ve ever met is crazy. I don’t care to be shaken off or ignored, either.”
Is he nuts? I’m not going to court rejection.
“It is if you’re afraid to ask.”
”Why would you be afraid to ask?”
“I don’t like being laughed at. Easier if I just don’t ask.”
“I don’t know. I’m a little sensitive to noise, and I just — don’t want to spend the whole time standing by the wall, you know?”
”…”
”Well I can’t help with the whole noise thing but it’s really not difficult to get a guy to dance with you.”
“It is if you’re afraid to ask.”
She dug her fingers into her skull as if that would somehow block out the emotional babble of a thousand people pouring through her mind. Someone was there, close, too close, there was a shadow between her and the light—
Issac. Issac was speaking, frowning, blue eyes dark; Issac was worried. Breathe he said.
“Can’t.” It was almost a sob. “Hurts.” And that was a sob. “Too many, too much, make it stop, please make it stop.” She kept her eyes open, kept them on his, because it would hurt less if she just fell into him, right? One person, that had to be easier than the crowd of thousands roaring in a hot-light jumble, overwhelming all her senses.
But if she just looked at him, just at those eyes, those hands arms shoulders chest heartbeat he was afraid of her why was he afraid of her a ribbon of grey leading back and back and back fear and control and helplessness what was that in his past why was it so cold—
Something sizzled against her skin — why was she crying? A spark rose lazily off her skin and drifted up between them. Summer became aware that her hands were shaking. That her whole body was trembling, great long shudders that jolted her teeth together and wormed pain through every muscle.
“Please,” she managed, through clenched jaws, “get me out of here.”
“Try. Just breathe.” He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to touch her in case she lashed out. Not because he was afraid of getting hurt but because of all the people around that would see the demonstration of her power.
It pained him to see her like this, crying, overwhelmed by everything around her. Everyone reacted to it differently. Some needed to be held, others needed to be alone — though having the ability to control fire was definitely a game changer. He took a deep breath of his own before moving closer, desperately hoping she didn’t expose herself.
”Come on, the car is right over there,” he whispered soothingly into her ear as he tried to get her to walk in its direction, his hands grasping hers — perhaps the warmth of his fingers would be calming.
They were maybe a five minute drive from the auto shop to the nearest part of the forest. It might not be the best idea because she could start a forest fire but he was out of options and could only hope if she started one, she’d be able to put it out.
He touched her, took her hands; it increased the sensation of falling down a deep well. She wasn’t sure which was worse — his fear or the half-distinct emotions of the people all around. She could almost feel his pulse.
A breath. A step. A breath, a step. A breath a step. Breath step.
Her hand hit the door of the car, and she groped for the handle, almost fell into the seat. The shaking didn’t stop, but the sparks didn’t appear, either, and she knew that was a good thing. She couldn’t completely control the fire yet. It worked, but she couldn’t control it. Better to convulse.
So she curled herself in the seat as small as possible, trying to lock her bones in place, trying not to shake out of her skin.
”—you going to the rave too?”
“I don’t know. I’m a little sensitive to noise, and I just — don’t want to spend the whole time standing by the wall, you know?”
[text to: gazelle boy] that’s a lot of work. I sort of want to do this without using my powers.
[text: Summer] Tell him you’re a lesbian
[text to: gazelle boy] he’s not trying to get me to sleep with him, he’s trying to get me to drink. wth
[ text ] how do I convince a guy I don’t want to drink without setting him on fire?
[text: Summer] Set his drink on fire to scare him and then convince him he imagined it
[text: Summer] That should freak him out enough to get him to leave you alone
[text to: gazelle boy] that’s a lot of work. I sort of want to do this without using my powers.
[ text ] how do I convince a guy I don’t want to drink without setting him on fire?
Summer shook her head, slowly. “No. I go to the college. I’m a sophomore.” A little smile, secretive, curved her mouth. “You’ve never seen me before. Not to notice.”
He tasted of nerves, now, and confusion, still sweetened with that hope underneath. She thought maybe he wasn’t sure what to do with her. “Ask me anything,” she said, turning her hands palm up to him. “I know you don’t trust me yet.”
”Oh, cool.” Now she was hot and older — what did he do and how can he repeat it? “Um,” it went against his better judgement but he could tell she wasn’t lying else her heart would’ve skipped. She seemed genuine which worried him a bit. There had to be a catch.
”Did you want to come in? To talk, I mean,” he stepped aside to allow room for her to walk across the threshold of the house. “Do you want something to drink or—?” He trailed off and shoved his hands into his jean pockets to keep them from fidgeting. He had never actually had a girl over before because of whatever reason so he wasn’t entirely sure how it was supposed to work.
Summer slipped into the house, stepping carefully so she didn’t brush him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what she would sense if they touched. Not yet. “Thank you.” She wanted a little of the mystery she’d created for him to remain for both of them, right now.
It was hard not to know certain things, though, now that she had opened up. Hard not to sense his unease, and understand that it wasn’t her specifically.
“A soda would be really nice.” It would give her hands something to do, so she didn’t fidget. Maybe. Already one hand was behind her back, fingers sliding through her hair. Summer put the other hand back there, too, and stepped into the living room. A couch beckoned, and she perched on the edge.
Summer wanted to cheat. She wanted to cheat so badly. What was he feeling? Was he nervous too? Was that why he held himself so still, why he kept swallowing?
(don’t watch his throat, don’t watch his neck)
Or was he just giving her time to dig herself in deeper before cutting her to shreds with words?
(no one can love you, ma chère, no one can ever love you)
How did other girls do this? How did they open themselves up, cracked open like a geode, and deliberately show someone what was inside, knowing how easily you could be shattered? A breeze kicked up, and she shivered. She had to know, couldn’t stand not knowing —
the bitterness of chopped onion (fear) / lemon and sugar (hope)
Summer found herself smiling. Gently, so gently, she said, “You said that already. Issac. I’m Summer.”
He spotted the shiver and debated letting her inside but for the moment, they’d have to talk outside. At least until he knew she wasn’t crazy or worse — lying. With all that had been happening in Beacon Hills as of late, he wasn’t really quick to trust. Besides, she had to be at least a little unhinged if she liked him. Surely a girl that good looking would go for someone more her league.
”Right, yeah, nice to meet you, Summer.” He paused, being a little lost for words. He hadn’t really expected her to just turn up at his doorstep. “Do you,” he cleared his throat, “do you go to Beacon Hills?” He meant the high school of course. If she did, she wasn’t in any of his classes — he’d remember a face like hers.
Summer shook her head, slowly. “No. I go to the college. I’m a sophomore.” A little smile, secretive, curved her mouth. “You’ve never seen me before. Not to notice.”
He tasted of nerves, now, and confusion, still sweetened with that hope underneath. She thought maybe he wasn’t sure what to do with her. “Ask me anything,” she said, turning her hands palm up to him. “I know you don’t trust me yet.”
