Summer of Love by Emily Franklin Read Free Book Online

Does he want to take care of me? Am I that in need of rescuing? Granted, Henry was there at Mass General — he saw Aunt Mable as she withered away — he’s been pretty sensitive about everything, which heightens his appeal. But then again, we’re talking about an improve conversation with my hiking pack.
    “Jim’s seen me through some good times,” I say.
    “I bet — he seems quiet but able to hold a lot,” Henry says. Then he grins. “I was trying to come up with some metaphor like he’s got deep pockets or something, but…” It’s no surprise that Henry would choose that expression — I get the feeling that despite his relaxed way of being, the fact that his own pockets (or, um, Daddy’s) are way deep is a big deal.
    I put my hand on the window of the driver’s side and check my watch. “Shit — I have to go. My first shift starts in an hour and I’m about to win the award for least-showered person on the island.”
    “Runner up, maybe,” Henry says and scratches his neck. “But not first place.” He scratches again. “Damn I’ve got so many mosquito bites already and it’s only June.”
    “Tell me about it,” I say and give in to my many itches on my legs.
    Henry gives my right calf a look. “Jeez what have you been doing? Camping?”
    Without pausing I answer, “No — more like crashing outside for no good reason…” It sounds more daring and cool that it was in reality, but I’m kind of rushing to get out of here and also have the sneaking suspicion that even though I pride myself on not being super-chameleon like (e.g. I stay myself no matter where I am or who I’m around), Henry and his heavy-hitting money people make me feel like I should be more adventurous than I naturally am. Or maybe that’s my psyche telling me I really want to be more adventurous. Whatever — I could make myself nuts thinking about all this.
    But Henry raises his eyebrows and does that guy cough-chuckle thing that shows he’s half-jealous and half-shrugging so make it seem like he doesn’t care. “Ever heard of bug spray?” He says bug spray like he means to say condom — if that’s possible. Then he adds, “If you went — camping — with me — I’d make sure to bring some Off! Spray — it’s the best.”
    I don’t know what he’s picturing — me rolling in the woods with some summer hottie — can you say fat chance? How about me lusting lamely at a high school party. With a sinking feeling, I remember that part of my whole friendship with Henry is built on the pretense that I am closer to his age than I really am. I should just blurt out that I’m still at Hadley — that I’m not a Brown student like Lila. But those are the kinds of corrections that are best made right away. Once you let time go by it’s so much harder trying to tell the truth — like if you don’t know someone’s name and then you hang out — you feel like an idiot asking later. So I keep my mouth shut.
    “I haven’t done a lot of camping,” I say, wondering if this whole conversation has a double-meaning. Haven’t gone camping, haven’t had sex. Does he know? Or am I nudging myself?
    “So sleeping outside doesn’t constitute camping?” Henry asks.
    I shake my head and open the car door. “It wasn’t camping — it was just…nothing.” Nothing is how I explain my continually confusing interactions with Jacob.
    Henry takes a couple of steps backward, his sneakers scratching on the sand. “Usually when people insist something’s nothing, it’s something.”
    I smile without showing my teeth and sigh. “You’re probably right,” I say and drop it. If he wants to think I’m Miss Camping Expert — or whatever we now think camping means — that’s his deal. “Thanks again for helping me get my car back. I couldn’t have waited until Monday.”
    “It’s no problem.” Henry gets into his car and closes the door. “Any time!” He waits for me to drive through the gate so he can lock up and then