Baker's words sit me even after we present our projects. He leaves me alone once the final grades come in, and I don't dare admit how disappointed I am. We haven't known each other very long, and I don't trust him all that much. And yet, for some unexplainable reason, I trust him more than anyone else in my life. It's such a strange conflict of emotions. He's my rival. He stole my spot at the top of the class. But he knows about my dad. He knows about my fear of seeing my grandparents again. And he figured out why before I did. Which, I'm not going to lie, is a little bit unsettling.

My mom only ever talks about my dad when she's trying to psychoanalyze me. When she thinks I need to talk about him. And the truth is, I don't need to talk about him. Ever. I've done a really good job pretending like he never existed in my life, because really, he never did. But a part of me, one that I've buried so far down that I didn't even know it was there, worries. Am I like him? I know I look a little like him, and that's bad enough. But how much alike are we really?

Ever since Baker asked the question, I've stayed up all hours of the night pondering the answer. Worrying that I might not like it. Knowing that the only people who can really answer it are the ones I've been planning on avoiding. As the trip gets closer, my mom keeps bringing it up. Telling me I should reach out to them while I'm there. But Baker was right. I am scared of what they'll see when they look at me. How much of him they'll find if they have a chance to look.

I don't tell anyone else about this, because I don't want anyone else to know. Which makes it increasingly irritating when my mother brings it up at dinner a few weeks later. We're having a nice dinner at the dining room table for the first time in a while. I've been avoiding these family get togethers since the night of the party, mainly because I don't want anyone asking me if I'm okay. Part of me will never be okay again, while the other part is thankful that Ollie didn't go any further than he did. But I don't want to talk about it. Most days, I try to pretend it never happened at all.

I'm good at that. When I was little, I used to love to play pretend. I was an only child, and I was a bit of an odd duck. Before I met Beth, I was very lonely. So I would make up people... stories... games. Anything to keep myself preoccupied. Until school became my number one focus. Then the games stopped. But the pretending never did. Even after I met Beth, my first and only real friend, I would keep things from her. Hold things back. It wasn't that I didn't trust her. I did. I still do. But I just didn't want anyone to think I was weak. So even when things weren't okay, I would pretend that they were. And eventually, I just forgot that I was pretending.

There are only a few weeks left until my trip, and I still haven't made the decision about my grandparents. Which is why, when my mom announces at dinner that she told them I was going to be in the country for the semester, I get really, really upset.

"Honey," she says as I stare down at my plate of Stauffer's lasagna, refusing to look up at her so she won't see the tears welling up in my eyes. "Summer, it's a good thing. Really. They were very excited when—"

"You had no right to make that decision for me," I mutter in an angry whisper, and she falls silent immediately. My stepdad clears his throat, and I know, I know he's on my side here. He hates when my mother meddles like this.

"You're my daughter," she says like it's a reason. An excuse. "And I feel like it's important for you to see them. Especially since he passed." She says it so carefully that I cringe like she's just slapped me.

"You mean since he overdosed on pills and died?" I ask as I look up at her at last, feeling my blood pulsing in my ears with how angry I am. She winces at my words, and I feel somewhat vindicated. "Because that's what happened. That's the story of his life right there. He popped in your life long enough to impregnate you, then he ditched you. And then he died. That's it. There's nothing else."

She shakes her head. "Sweetie, no. There's so much more—"

"No, there's not," I reply, cutting her off. "Not to me. And you had no right to contact them. You need to stop this. Stop interfering with my shit. I'm not a little girl asking when daddy's coming home. And to be honest, mom, I never was. So you can stop trying to push that man and his life on me, okay?"

"Summer," she says softly, and that's it. I've had enough.

"May I be excused?" I ask my stepdad, who is sitting at the table with his head in his hands. He doesn't look up as he nods his head. I push my plate away and storm up the stairs to my room, leaving what I know is going to be an argument behind.

When I get to my room, I slam my door shut and throw myself on my bed. I can't believe she reached out to them. Now, if I don't see them, they'll think I'm an asshole. I'll feel like an asshole. All because my mother couldn't let me make the decision for myself. She never even bothered to ask me why I didn't want to see them. Ironic, seeing as she asks me a million questions about everything else.

I reach for my Chemistry book and attempt to study for my final exam that's a few weeks away. But no matter how hard I try, I can't focus. Downstairs, I can hear my mom and stepdad arguing. It's very muffled, so I can't quite catch everything that they're saying. But I do hear the words "gone too far" and "overstepped" out of my stepdad's mouth. Which tells me he's one hundred percent on Team Summer here.

Finally, after spending an hour reading the same page of my textbook, I decide to do something I've never done before. I grab my textbook and jam it into my bookbag before sliding the strap onto my shoulder and opening my bedroom window. If my mom isn't going to give me the space I deserve, then I'm going to take the space I need. I toss my bag down to the ground, then climb down the trellis until my feet hit the grass.

I pull my keys out of my bag and hop in my car. I have no idea where I'm going, but I just need to get the hell out of here. I turn the ignition and start the car, pulling it out of my driveway before making my way to anywhere else but my house. It's dark and kind of cloudy. My breath is coming out foggy, which means it's getting chilly. Earlier, I read that there was a possibility of snow in the forecast, and it definitely looks like it's going to start soon. So I drive carefully, turning corners slowly as I try to think of where to go.

The library would be a good spot if it was open. But hardly anything in Coeur d'Alene is open past eight o'clock, and it's closing in on nine. My heart is pounding in my chest with barely suppressed rage. I need to go somewhere to get this out of me. Somewhere remote. Somewhere no one else will see or hear me. So I turn another corner and start making my way to the lake. It's dark and cold, so it should be pretty quiet. Which is exactly what I need.

I pull into a parking lot, pleased to see that there are no other cars nearby. Then I put my car in park and hop out, running toward the lake. The water is still, like a large black mirror reflecting the moon and stars. The air is crisp and cool, almost burning my face and lungs as I try to take deep, soothing breaths. Then I close my eyes, ball my hands into fists, and scream into the nothingness. I scream so loud that it feels like I have a terrible monster scratching it's way out of my throat.

When I have nothing left to give, I take another few deep breaths. Then I do it again. Scream so loud I think I'm going to burst my own eardrums. More deep breaths. More screaming. Again and again, until I start to worry that someone is going to hear me and call the police. My heart is still racing, and as sore as my throat now feels, the rest of me is still raging. No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to keep my life under control. It's infuriating. It's maddening. It's—

"Summer?" a voice says in the dark, and I jump about a foot in the air as I swing myself around to look for the source of the voice. A boy wearing a dark hoodie is standing just a few feet away, and it takes me several moments before I recognize him in the dark.

"Jesus, Baker," I stammer out as I try to steady my racing heart, which is now going crazy for an entirely different reason. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Ditto," he replies, and I see his blue eyes are filled with concern. He approaches me carefully, like I'm a feral cat that's going to attack him if he comes too close. "What's going on? I heard screaming, and I...." His voice trails off as I suck in another breath, this time shaky and full of suppressed emotions. "Summer. What's going on?"

I wipe the back of my eyes angrily as I turn away and stare at the black sheet of glass that is the lake. "Nothing," I grumble, hearing the sound of my own hoarse voice from screaming.

I hear him take another tentative step toward me. "Summer, it's okay. You can talk to me."

I scoff and roll my teary eyes. "Yeah, okay." Another step. "I haven't heard a word from you since we finished our projects together, Baker. We aren't friends. We barely know each other. What makes you think I would even want to talk to you?"

His hand rests gently on my shoulder, and as angry and hurt as I am, I don't pull myself away. "I know you, Summer," he whispers as a tear slides down my cheek, and it's so cold that I think it's going to freeze to my face. "And we are friends. Tell me. What's wrong?"

I don't know what it is about this guy that makes me want to divulge all my feelings to him. But I tell him everything. I spill myself to him, telling him about the awful dinner I had, and how my mother overstepped her bounds in a huge way. How the rest of my night was spent listening to my parents argue as I tried and failed to study, until I finally just snuck out of my house to get some space.

"And if I didn't scream, I think I would've exploded," I say tearfully as I rest my cheek against his chest. I don't know when he wrapped his arms around me, but this feels nice. He's so warm, like a sunbeam in the middle of winter. "I didn't know anyone was here. There were no cars."

"It's okay," he soothes as he slides his hand down my back comfortingly. "You're okay." And he doesn't tell me how wrong my mom was. He doesn't really have to. It's not what I need anyway. Turns out, what I needed was exactly what he's giving me. Someone to hold me and tell me that it's all going to be okay.

Author's Note:
This story has been on hold for a while, because I'm working on a few different projects at the moment, and I haven't had a whole lot of time. But tonight I just felt so inspired. So here is a new chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it!

I'm close to finishing up A Taste of Cinnamon, and NaNoWriMo is coming to a close here very soon. This story will become my main focus again before you know it. Thank you all for your patience and support! Be back soon with a new chapter of something. Stay safe and healthy until then, my dears!

XOXO,
~Aly