Page 55 of That Last Summer

When he first moved from London, when he was only eight, he’d thought living in this little town would change that situation—that his parents would spend more time with him—but he soon saw how mistaken he’d been. They just changed the London parties and events for other social gatherings, and here they had plenty of those too. And if not, they just spent their time at the office. Some parents decide—because they can, or even if they can’t—to devote themselves to their children. Others make the choice to give their lives to work. Alex’s parents were in this second group. They could have afforded to focus on their boys. They decided not to. Alex didn’t blame them—who knew what he would do in the same situation? But he did think about how it had affected him.

The next morning, when Priscila left her house with her bike to meet her girlfriends at the beach, her neighbor was waiting for her, leaning against the garden fence.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as soon as she saw him.

Alex turned to face her. “Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“I want to show you something. Will you come?”

She barely hesitated two seconds. “Sure.”

They pedaled together all the way down the green tiles to town. That was the easy part of riding a bike around here: going down. The wind whipped their faces and filled their lungs with summer breeze. With the smell of summer.

“Woohoo! I’m the king of the world!” Alex yelled with his arms outstretched, like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic.

“You fool! Hold on to the handlebars or you’ll fall!” Priscila laughed, catching up.

She pedaled faster to overtake him and then spread her arms too, just as they passed a group of pedestrians.

“I am the goddess Gaia! The Earth belongs to me!” she yelled.

Alex laughed, shaking his head, in awe of Priscila’s ease and artlessness. And, at that very moment, something intense went through his chest, straight into his heart.

When they reached downtown and turned onto one of the roads that led out of town, Alex stopped to make sure Priscila was okay.

“Are you tired?

“No,” she answered breathlessly.

And she wasn’t. She wanted so badly to get to wherever Alex wanted to take her that she pedaled tirelessly, enthusiastic and happy. “What about you? Do you need to rest?”

“I’m good,” he said in a fit of laughter. “I think I can hold out.”

“That cocky, huh?”

“I can handle it, trust me. I don’t like to brag, but I’m an Olympian. A bike trip isn’t going to kill me.”

“You don’t like to brag, you say? I think you do, and I’m sure the reason you stopped us here was that you needed to breathe. Face the truth, pretty-boy.”

“Come on, Queen of the Desert,” he said then, ignoring the pleasure of hearing her call him pretty. Alex knew girls found his face and body attractive, but the thought that Priscila did, in particular... He liked that, a lot.

“Don’t call me that, Alejandro St. Claire.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“Priscila, I guess.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I mean, that’s your name.”

“Wow. Now I understand why they say jocks are all muscle and no brain.”

“You’re so funny. What I mean is, Priscila’s too formal. I like Queen of the Desert better.”