Ruining His Summer

Chapter Nine: The Discomfort of Secrets

“Sweet,” Rex said when Erin found a free space to park her car in the yard. “Thanks for the ride.”

While he was scrambling to get out, Peyton turned in her seat, smiling. “Anytime, Rex,” she said sweetly. He nodded to her, tossing his cigarette butt on the grass, stubbing it, and walking off.

Peyton was practically breaming, sighing wistfully. “Isn’t he just . . . you know?”

I looked at the smushed cigarette butt by the toe of my boot. “Yeah,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

“Peyton’s in love with him,” Erin filled me in as she hopped out of the driver’s seat. She popped some gum in her mouth. “He wants something casual . . . with a D-cup.”

I looked over at Peyton, whose face had fallen. “I’m only a C,” she told me sadly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Erin said, hitching her purse up her shoulder and carefully walking through the grass in her three inch heels. “So she’s screwed until she gets implants.”

Peyton pouted her shiny, red lips. “My dad won’t pay for them,” she moaned. She rolled her eyes like all dads paid for their daughters’ implants. “He basically said ‘natural is the way to go’.” She frowned in disgust. “My dad is such a loser.”

I almost flinched when Erin popped her gum. I hated that sound. “He’s a moron,” she said shaking her blonde hair.

When I turned to Peyton, I swear her eyes were getting glassy. “Doesn’t he want to be happy?” she asked. She was huffing breaths in and out when she looked up at the sky.

Erin reached over me to rub her forearm. “It’ll be okay, sweetie,” she said. “You can pay for your own implants. Isn’t that why you got that job at Good Greens?”

Peyton nodded, touching a thumb to each eye.  

“See?” Erin smiled. “Everything will work out with you and Rex! He’ll wait.”

“But what if he finds an E-cup or a bigger D-cup while I’m working at Good Greens, asking people if they want paper or plastic?!”

Erin shrugged. “Then you steal him back,” she replied breezily.

Peyton nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” she said, smiling tightly. Peyton turned to me. “Haven’t you ever been unhappy with your breasts?”

“I wouldn’t be,” a guy passing by us said. With his hands, he made a boob-honking gesture and laughed.

After flipping him off, I turned to Peyton. “I’m a C too,” I told her and she glanced down at my breasts. “Big boobs mean you’re a hooker or a striper.”

She looked down at her own chest. “They do?”

“Totally,” I said, nodding. “You know, there was this woman who had N-cups. Seriously. I saw it on Google.”

Her brown eyes went wide. “N-cups?” she asked meekly.

I held my hands far out from my chest. “She couldn’t even get out of bed.”

“Wow.”

When someone bumped his shoulder into mine in passing, I whirled around to face the back of the guy who had the nerve, but my eyes wandered past him and found Rick.

Leaning against the garage, he smoked with one hand and held a red plastic cup, probably filled with beer, in the other. His black hoodie was pulled over his head and it covered his eyes, which meant he couldn’t see me.