Page 7 of A Summer to Save Us

Chester sighs theatrically, as if he’s terribly sorry about it all. “Not my fault, Montgomery... Turn it up, Zach!”

I try to break free again, but Chester’s grip is too tight, almost snapping my bones. I watch helplessly as Zachery opens the faucet, and within seconds, my cloth bag is soaked. My pads, my books, my notebook with the beautiful words. My photo of Mom.

“All you had to do was say, ‘ Stop’ . Or, ‘ Leave it!’ ” The next moment, Chester grabs my jaw and presses me hard against the tiles.

“You simply had to say something , Silent Girl!” Now, he sounds angry.

But only the two of us know why he’s truly so angry.

He bends down, and his moist breath brushes my face. “Do you know what Hunter says?”

I stare past him at the brick wall.

Because I can’t sleep, I make music at night . That was written on the wall back when I was hiding from him in his parents’ palace, in his brother’s gigantic, multi-wing suite—a line from Rumi’s love poems.

“Look at me, Montgomery!”

I do as he says because he increases the pressure of his fingers on my cheeks.

“He says all you need is to be fucked properly, and you’ll scream.

” My thoughts go nowhere. “Well? Is that correct? Are you eager to be fucked? Will you finally scream then?” He smells sour, like undiluted vinegar, like back then.

.. Disgust churns in my stomach. His face is so close to mine.

“Maybe I made a bet with him.” Suddenly, he presses his lips to my mouth and pushes his tongue inside.

For a few seconds, I’m paralyzed by shock.

I can’t do anything, don’t even feel anything.

“What a slut! She doesn’t defend herself at all. She likes it, Ches!” I hear Hunter scoff, but I’m still in shock.

I tug at my hands with all my might and try to turn my head, but it’s useless. Panic swirls through me. I kick out blindly, hitting something, and I’m suddenly released.

“Bitch!” Chester grabs my hair and yanks it hard, as if he’s trying to scalp me. “Hold her, Hunter!”

Sometimes things happen so quickly and unexpectedly that there’s nothing you can do. Hunter grabs my hands, twists my arms behind my back, and pulls them upward. Red pain flashes before my eyes, but even now, no sound comes from my mouth.

“You want it, Montgomery, admit it!” Chester grabs my jaw a second time while Hunter holds me.

This time, I surrender, as always. From this point on, I wait until they’re finished with me and it’s over.

My mind dives inward. Each night, the moon.

.. Despite my practice fading out, I can’t do it this time.

The lover who counts... My fear of what else they might do is too great.

The words spin wildly through my mind as I feel something disgusting and slimy in my mouth, scratchy stubble on my skin, and something acidic choking me.

Fingers under my shirt. I’m stunned by my helplessness.

Everything flickers and then goes black for a moment or two.

“This is your fault, Montgomery. You could have said no. You can speak, so you can say no, can’t you?

” Chester breathes raggedly into my mouth as his hand slips under my bra, the white one with the childish pink hearts.

His face hovers in front of mine, so close—so close—that I can’t breathe because of the fear.

He squeezes my breast with wet, hot fingers.

“And now, Montgomery, what now? Don’t you want to stop me?

” His eyes blaze, and I want to die. I don’t think about anything else anymore.

As if from another dimension, I hear suggestive smacking and whispers—things Chester wants to do to me.

Everything blurs. I don’t even remember if Chester stuck his tongue down my throat again when I hear voices from outside.

Shortly afterward, there’s a knock. “Get ready, boys!” Evan says outside the door.

I don’t know what’s going on, but it saves me.

Hunter lets go of me, and Chester backs away, pointedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Drop the innocent act; I’m not buying it!

We all know you need it. Besides, you should be grateful to us for teaching you something. You kiss like a dead fish, Montgomery!”

“Guess she’ll need a few more lessons!” Hunter laughs.

I want to spit on them, but my mouth is as dry as the desert from panic. Shame and fear burn in my chest. For a few seconds, they all stand there, staring at me. What if Evan blocks whoever wants to get in here? What if it’s ninth graders who can be intimidated?

I press my nails into my palm when there’s another knock. “Abigail is distracting Mrs. Elliott. Hurry up!”

Chester and Hunter exchange a look. “Zach!” Chester nods to his henchman, who immediately understands what he has to do. With a jerk, he yanks my bag out of the overflowing sink and empties the contents. Soggy workbooks, my notebook, and books plop onto the floor.

Instinctively, I lunge for the photo of Mom when Chester grabs me by the back of the neck, drags me to the washbasin, and holds my head over the overflowing sink.

“You asked for it,” he says so quietly only I can hear it.

Moist air reaches my nose, and my heart is pounding in my chest. Please don’t!

The next moment, he plunges me underwater.

I thrash around, trying to get free, but it’s in vain.

My forehead hits the porcelain sink, and the edge of the sink presses against my throat.

Water enters my nose. For seconds, I don’t know whether I’m breathing, choking, or screaming.

I swallow water and try to step backward in a panic. Bubbles gush around me.

It’s not the first time he’s done this—only, it’s never been a sink in a restroom, always a bucket in a closet.

I would like to forget or erase the many times from my memory, but the feeling of panic, the fear of not being able to breathe, is etched in my mind.

Of all the things that have happened to me at school, that was always the worst—until today.

When Chester grabs me by the neck and pulls me up, it’s dead quiet.

Nobody laughs anymore.

“You tell no one, understand, toad? No one. Ever.”

Water runs down from my hair, and my body shakes.

I nod because I’m afraid he’ll dunk me under again. The next second, there’s another knock.

Hunter and Zach immediately head toward the exit as Chester continues to hold me, leaning close as I gasp for breath almost silently.

“Don’t think it can’t get any worse,” he whispers.

“I can let them loose on you or protect you from them. Kids these days will do anything for a little coke, pills, and hot parties. It’s your choice. ”

Apparently, Abigail was successful in distracting Mrs. Elliott because she didn’t show up at all.

I don’t know how many times I’ve washed my mouth out now, even with soap, but the disgusting, sour taste of Chester just won’t wash away.

Now I sit in a daze on the cold, wet floor between my sodden school supplies, unable to control my shaking body. This is all a horrible nightmare that I can’t wake up from. I want to melt, just stop being.

I know I should get help; I should tell Arizona, James, or Dad, but I can’t.

They would say it was my fault. Maybe they’d tell me that all I had to do was say no and speak up.

Maybe—but that would be even worse. They wouldn’t believe me at all, claiming I was making up tales again or just trying to get attention.

Chester made sure no one believed me, no matter what I said.

I grab the completely soggy photo of Mom and smooth it out.

The edges are wavy and puffy. Mom . I would definitely have told Mom if she were still here.

At least, that’s what I think. There’s something strange about the situation with Mom.

Even though I know she left us, in my imagination, she’s always the only one who understands me, comforts me, and hugs me.

Discouraged, I shake my head. The bad thing is that no one will ever believe anything I say.

Chester’s grandfather is a well-known politician from Minneapolis, and his father is a renowned doctor.

In the microcosm of our city, everything revolves around a few important families who have connections to the judicial system and senators.

They would have no problem finding witnesses to say I was lying and destroy me.

It would also be a disaster for the school’s reputation.

Principal Thompson is friends with Chester’s and Hunter’s fathers.

They golf together and are members of the Rotary Club, organizing charity events.

Principal Thompson would never do anything that could harm Chester or Hunter.

Plus, their parents are the main contributors to Kensington.

They basically own the school, and all the teachers dance to their tune.

Chester’s father is not only the Chief at Rose Garden, but as Medical Director, he’s also responsible for my dad’s career and future.

Dad’s merely a junior cardiologist on the cardiology team, so I could never tell Dad what’s happening at this school.

And even if I did, he wouldn’t believe me.

He was on Arizona’s side back then, too.

As if on autopilot, I collect my school supplies and my notebook with the beautiful words, stuff everything into my dripping bag, and unsteadily stand up.

We’ll get you. All of us . I’m ice cold. My hair is soaking my shirt, and my jeans are damp from the floor.

I glare angrily at the mirror over the sink. I hate myself—for everything I am, but above all, for being incapable of defending myself.

I can never go to Kensington again, not after what happened today. I would rather die.

My eyes start to burn, but they stay dry. I won’t cry. I don’t deserve to cry. I’m pathetic—no, worse—I’m embarrassing. My life is embarrassing.

NIRVANA means freedom from pain, suffering, and the outside world.

But I am as free as the wind .

As if from a great distance, I realize I’m walking through the high brick hall. The others are gone, and silence hangs in the air—a silence that crushes me and suddenly seems impenetrable. As if there was an invisible barrier between me and the world that I could never break through.

With my wet bag, I leave the school building through the old English courtyard. I walk blindly through the streets of Cottage Grove, passing the corner of Cottage and Lincoln, the signs for Rose Garden Clinic, and Dan Applebee’s Burger & Grill.

I turn at Flint Oil Industry and continue to follow the signs.

At some point, the tank farms, high distillation towers, and pipelines appear in front of me.

In the daylight, there’s nothing mysterious, nothing magical about them.

Without thinking, I walk past the oil refinery to the old quarry and the disused train line to Inver Grove Heights.

In my mind, I see James, Arizona, and me as children, chasing the rails as if they were moving.

It’s May, and the snow in Minnesota has finally melted.

Ari and I hide from James behind the raspberry bushes, snacking on unripe fruit and getting pink fingers.

We laugh. Little do we know that the next morning will change everything.

Later, we sit on the tracks that are no longer in use.

“I want to be a painter, like Mom,” Arizona says at one point as she inspects her delicate pink fingers.

“Me too,” I say, because Arizona’s ideas are always the best.

“I’m going to be an animal trainer,” James announces cockily, standing up and grinning down at us as he casually swings an invisible whip.

“Oh yes, let’s play circus!” Arizona squeals with delight, jumping up and rushing forward with me in pursuit. We both roar like wild lions, but, of course, Ari is even wilder and harder to tame than me.

Later, as the sun sets and bathes Willow River in a coppery red light, Ari and I sit on the tracks of the old railroad bridge while James puzzles together pieces of splintered wood.

“You don’t really want to be a painter, do you?” she asks me quietly so that James can’t hear.

I shake my head.

“Then why did you say that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kans! Everyone has to want something for themselves, right? Otherwise, you’ll always be in my shadow, just like Grandma says.”

I think for a moment, and the words shadow magic flutter through my head, words from a poem written by Grandma herself.

“I want to write books like Granny,” I whisper, and suddenly a strange excitement burns in my heart, like when you truly want something for Christmas but don’t know if you’ll get it.

Ari sighs deeply, relieved. “Phew! Thank goodness, Kans.” She wraps her arms tightly around me and presses her forehead against my cheek.

I’m afraid she’s about to say, It’s not like you know how to paint .

Instead, she says, “You have to write. I loooove your stories. Nobody does it better than you. And I can always brag later that my sister is a famous author.”

Warmth floods my heart, filling me with happiness and pride.

“You may be quiet, but you have this gift... or something. People just can’t see it. But I... I see it, Little A.”

The “A” stands for Alligator, her personal pet name for me.

I haven’t heard it in a year.

I swallow as I suddenly find myself back in reality. She can be like that too, my sister. My dear, sweet Ari. At least, she was like that once.

I realize that the last time I felt happy and complete was at the Old Sheriff.

It would be a good place, I think. High enough.