The Summer I Left novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: One Day to Pack

Cold water wakes him and Brynn accuses him of hiding Nate's things. His father throws his suitcase and orders him out. Ends on the deadline.

I woke up to a basin of ice water dumped over my head.

I gasped and sat up, soaked to the collar, and Brynn had me by the arm.

"Don't push your luck, Drew! You know Nate's sick, and you still hid his things. Where are they?"

My phone was under my pillow with the recorder still running from the night before.

I left it there.

Behind her, Nate stood in the doorway with his face turned to the wall.

He did not look at me once.

It all clicked into place.

"I haven't touched anything of his," I said. "I've been in this closet the whole night."

Brynn didn't listen.

She grabbed my clothes off the windowsill and flung them across the floor.

Then she picked up the watch she'd given me for my sixteenth birthday and smashed it against the desk.

The noise brought Mom and Dad running.

"What is going on?"

Nate slipped behind Brynn and held the hem of her shirt, with his head down.

Brynn's eyes were red when she turned.

"Drew stole Nate's things. I got here this morning and Nate kept tugging my sleeve to tell me his stuff was gone. Who else would take it?"

I wiped the water out of my eyes.

"Look at him," I said. "Ask him. Nate, did you see me take anything?"

Nate didn't lift his head.

His fingers pulled tighter on Brynn's shirt, and he said nothing.

Mom's face fell, and she looked at me like I had let her down.

"Drew, it has only been a few months. We never said we'd throw you out. We have been more than fair to you. How could you pick on a boy who is sick?"

"Mom."

"If you're angry, come and talk to me. You don't take it out on him."

Every word landed on my chest, one on top of another.

"You keep saying you raised me for eighteen years," I said. "Did you ever trust me?"

Dad stepped in front of Mom.

"You aren't even my real son. Why should I trust you?"

My mind went white.

Nobody in that room said anything.

They all looked at me the way you look at something that has been spilled.

Dad shoved past me into the closet, dragged my suitcase out from under the bed, and hurled it at my head.

One of the wheels caught my forehead above the eye.

I staggered back into the desk, and the stitches in my arm tore open under the bandage.

Blood soaked through the gauze.

Dad pointed at the front door, his chest heaving.

"Pack your things and get out of my house. Eighteen years wasted on bad luck, raising an ungrateful brat."

Mom folded her arms and stood still, and Brynn stood still beside her.

Neither of them moved to help me up.

"Drew, you should go," Mom said. "There's no room for you in this family anymore."

She looked at the floor.

"As for your real parents, after everything you have meant to us, we will still help you look for them."

Her voice cracked.

"I'm begging you. Stop bringing trouble to our family."

I held my forehead and looked at her for a long moment.

She was the one who had sat on the edge of my bed the night I moved into this closet.

She had promised me.

"No," I said.

Her head came up.

"I don't need help finding anybody. I'll find my own way."

I got up on my own.

I pulled my suitcase upright and wiped the blood out of my eye with my sleeve.

"I'll take what is mine and nothing else," I said. "I'll be out of here today."

Dad snorted.

"You have until noon."

He turned to leave, and the others followed him out.

Brynn was the last one.

She hung back at my closet door with her hand on the knob, her eyes on the top shelf, until Mom called her name.

I figured she was making sure I hadn't hidden anything else of Nate's.

The door clicked shut.

I picked up my phone.

The recorder had caught all of it, from the water to the suitcase.

I saved the file and sent a copy to my email, in case this house took the phone next.

Then I stood in the cold, dripping room and put a dry shirt in the suitcase.

I did not cry. I had run out of people to cry in front of.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

It was an email from Cascade State University in Portland, Oregon.

*Congratulations, Drew. You have been admitted to the summer bridge program. Housing starts Friday.*

I read it twice.

Nobody in the house had asked where I was going.

I closed the suitcase and sat on it, with five hours until noon and a ticket to buy.

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