SUMMER

"How was it? Tell me everything!"

My mom whisks me into my new room and pulls me down to sit on the bed with her. She drove up with me on Saturday, wanting to look at the town herself and help me settle into the Villa's house.

Dad, of course, was more than happy to stay at home and pretend nothing important was happening. You'd think I was flushing my life down the toilet by coming to culinary school.

"It was great, but it was mostly orientation stuff today," I say, watching her bright eyes. "The campus is beautiful, though. And I met these girls in my class, Lola and Fawn. They were really nice."

"Any cute guys?"

"No one that stood out," I lie, hoping she didn't catch my hesitation. I can still taste that cherry lollipop on my tongue. 

No matter how much he got on my nerves in a single day, Ashton's devilish smile will be seared into my brain for eternity.

"Boys are the last thing on my mind, anyway. I just can't wait to get into the kitchen tomorrow... start proving Dad wrong."

"And you will." She twirls a lock of my hair. "But I want you to enjoy yourself. Try not to think about the whole trial year thing, okay? It wouldn't exist at all if it were up to me."

"I know." But it's impossible not to think about it. If I screw up this chance, then it's an uphill battle from there.

"I walked around town and got you some last-minute things before I go back," Mom says, getting up and fetching a plastic bag on the desk.

This room is pretty simple. As a guest room in the house, the décor is neutral and minimalistic. Beige carpeting, one closet, a window overlooking the street, and a bathroom next door in the hall. The rest of the house, on the other hand, is full of tasteful designer décor and hardwood floors.

I'm staying with Denise and Mark Villa, a housewife and businessman. I haven't met him yet, but Mrs. Villa comes across as highly strung and sickly sweet. The rules I got at school aren't the only rules I've received since I arrived in Cloverbrook. Taking out the trash is the tip of the iceberg.

Mom unpacks the bag next to me on the bed. "Some chamomile tea, an extra pair of gloves. Seems like it'll get cold here. A few extra pens, aspirin, hand sanitizer, condoms—"

The water I'm sipping from my bottle goes down the wrong way, and I cough myself into a tomato as she stares at me.

"Mom, oh my gosh, I don't need—"

"Oh, please. Give it a rest." She impatiently flaps her hand at me. "How clueless do you think I am? You really think I believed you went on the pill at sixteen to help with acne? You never even had acne, but you did have Aaron. I'd have to be an idiot not to know what you two were up to."

I could skip the staircase and jump right out the window for the two-story drop that would get me out of this conversation. But she's not wrong.

Aaron was my only serious boyfriend in high school. We broke up five months after he took my virginity, and two weeks later he was dating Tara Moore. I'm not going to pretend I wasn't satisfied when Tara dumped him at prom after she found the texts he'd been sending me begging to get back together.

That night he left alone, and I left with a crown.

"Now it's not like I want you burning through these," Mom says, tapping the box of condoms. "But it's better to be prepared."

"Okay, Mother. Let's change the subject, please. And I told you, boys are the last thing on my mind."

She subtly smiles as she continues taking things out of the packet. "Maybe not right now, but life is unpredictable."

❖❖❖

I drive my mom to the bus station at six. It's amazing how a change of environment can influence someone differently. The whole time she's been here, she's ditched the business from her usual business-casual outfits, trading it in for jeans and a tee instead. And the bus? If my father was here, they'd never take the bus.

I've seen the old photos, I've heard the stories from my aunt. Before Mom settled down, she was wild and creative down to her core. A street-smart city girl. Then she met my dad, the academic scholar, fell in love and slowly changed over time. Left the pipe dreams behind and became a successful real estate agent, securing a traditional job and a traditional husband. She was even engaged before him. To another creative type, but she broke it off because she felt too young to commit.

I've wondered if she ever regrets it. If she daydreams about what her life would have been like had she married the other guy. I don't think she's unhappy, I just think it must be one of those things that crosses her mind now and then. The road not taken.

She's always been more supportive with me because Ella already had all of Dad's support. Mom tried to get him to ease off me with all the college prep in school, encouraged me to take art, helped me through recovery from bulimia, and pushed for culinary school. Among many other things. Championing my dream... maybe because she never followed hers.

And as content as she is, I don't want a sliver of regret when I'm her age. I don't want to change my plans for anyone.

Mom lugs her suitcase out of the trunk. "Remember, you're having dinner with the Villas tonight. They're looking forward to getting to know you better."

"Right. I'm sure they say that to all the students who stay with them." I put on a sing-song voice. "You know, it's not too late to rent an apartment or something."

She shoots me a 'really' look. I'll sprout wings before Dad lets me live alone here.

"Actually it is, we've paid for the whole year, so you better behave yourself."

"What am I gonna do? The town is tiny."

"Summer, we both know you can be a little... reckless. Need I remind you, the white—"

"Rug, jeez I know. How many times do I have to apologize for that one?"

So I got wasted at a graduation afterparty, threw up on the rug when I got home, and almost started a fire when I drunkenly put leftover fettuccine in the microwave, which happened to have aluminium foil in the container. And she hasn't let me forget it.

"I loved that rug." She wistfully sighs.

"There was barely a stain!"

"Summer." She puts on her serious-mom voice, smoothing my hair down and holding me in place to nail her eyes on mine. "Just be good. Mrs. Villa has rules, and I don't want problems."

"I'll be good."

She smiles, dragging me into a tight hug. "I wish your sister could have driven here with us. She would've loved to see where you're going to be studying."

A sharp jab twists in my gut. Mom has no idea that Ella hasn't spoken to me in three weeks. Her staying in New York and not making this trip with us was very much intentional.

"Yeah, too bad she couldn't make it."

❖❖❖

Mrs. Villa had explained that her husband has been on one of his business trips for the last two weeks, and now she'll be back from picking him up from the airport at any second. I check out the groceries that Mom bought for me while I wait.

One of Mrs. Villa's rules is that I have to keep any food I buy separate from hers. I thought she might've been exaggerating until she showed me the sectioned off cabinet space and a shelf in the fridge. That rule basically goes for everything. Laundry detergent, even toilet paper. She'd implied that if I ran out then I couldn't borrow a roll from another bathroom. My car has to stay parked on the street instead of in the garage too.

It's a little weird. Like, why rent out to students if it seems like you don't want to share any of the house at all? Sticking me in my designated areas so I don't get in the way.

One thing I was beyond pleased about when she'd given a tour of the house was the kitchen. It's immaculate. Top of the range appliances, wide counters and loads of floor space. It's too nice. Too polished, as if they hardly spend time in it. No wonky dials on the oven, or cut marks on the chopping boards, or so much as a spot on a dish towel.

In a way, the whole house sort of resembles one of Mom's open houses she stages for potential buyers. There's no mess or personal touches, like everything is for show.

I hear the garage door opening, and I slide a box of Cheerios back into the cabinet. When the couple walk through the backdoor leading into the kitchen, I have to tell myself not to visibly react to the unexpected sight in front of me.

With Mrs. Villa being in her forties or fifties—I'm not entirely sure because it's clear she's had some work done—I assumed her husband would be in the same category. That he'd be one of those short, stuffy businessmen with a balding head. Not that she's unattractive, but with her spindly figure, sharp nose, and a brown, fluffed-out pixie haircut, she sort of resembles a Botoxed bird.

That's why it's jarring when a tall man who looks like he's only in his mid-thirties walks through the door, and I can't help but stare in bewilderment. Not only younger, but he's significantly better looking than what I had imagined. Neatly trimmed stubble covering a chiseled jaw, magnetizing crystals for eyes, tanned skin, and slick black hair. Donned in a sleek suit and leather shoes to top off the image of sophistication.

If this man told me he spent his free time being photographed as an Armani model, I wouldn't second guess it one bit.

He flashes a million-dollar smile, stretching his hand out to me. "You must be Summer. It's great to finally meet you."

He gives my hand a firm shake, and I try to ignore the electric current buzzing up my arm in response. Mrs. Villa beams up at him like a prized possession.

"I'm sure you're hankering for a big meal after your trip." She turns to me, bony hand on his chest. "Is it ready?"

"Is what ready?"

"Dinner, of course."

"Dinner?"

Mrs. Villa trills a laugh. "Are you a broken record? Yes, dinner. Is it ready? I told Mark there would be a hot dinner waiting for him." She looks at me expectantly.

"Oh, um, you didn't ask me to make it." When she'd told me we were all having dinner together, I honestly didn't get the message that I'd be in charge of it.

"No need to get snippy," she says, the edges of her tight lips dropping.

She suddenly looks like a bull on the verge of charging, and I'm the red cape.

Mr. Villa places a hand on the small of her back. "It's fine, Denise. I ate on the flight earlier."

That one touch from him has soothed the bull.

She tugs at her salmon cardigan. "Okay, I suppose I can whip something up, even though I'm tired. You'll just have to wait awhile. But, Summer, we should make some kind of cooking schedule for the future. You're studying to be a chef after all."

She marches to the freezer and yanks the door open.

"I hope you like microwave-defrosted chicken."

A/N: thanks for reading, remember to tap the star and vote!

Also if you're wondering why Summer and her sister Ella aren't close anymore - something bad happened between them in the summer which is why they haven't spoken for three weeks. It's all going to be explained later on :)