Soon enough, what had felt like the longest summer of Sam's life was at its end. 4th of July decorations had been replaced with back to school decorations, soccer moms rushed to get last minute school supplies, and as the heat spell finally broke Kiwi Town came to life.
On the last day of summer vacation, Elliot dragged Sam and Dylan to the local flea market for new clothes and new school supplies. An hour away from Kiwi Town, the flea market was a safe enough place for them to go shopping without having to worry about causing a commotion.
Dylan loved the flea market. He loved the sounds, the noises and even the people. But Elliot hated it. He often said the flea market reminded him of a third world country. Old women in colorful outfits shoved animals, food and stolen watches at you, and everything was covered in a layer of dirt. Sam's irritation at the flea market drew mainly from the unfairness of it all. He hated shopping in general, but he felt that if he was going to do it, he should be able to go where he wanted.
Elliot handed his brothers some of the money their father had left them. "We're here for clothes and school supplies only," he warned. "Nothing else." He looked at Sam, because the last time they'd gone shopping Sam had spent all his money on candy.
But Sam wasn't interested in buying any candy. Nor was he interested in buying any clothes. He quickly found the stall he was looking for. A tall Middle Eastern man stood behind a makeshift stall. Tacked to the sides of the stalls were pictures of different cell phones. "I need something a girl would like," he said.
Elliot was livid when he found out Sam didn't buy clothes like he was supposed to. He was even more livid when Sam refused to show him what was in the bag he was carrying. Dylan hadn't bought any clothes either. Instead, he'd come away with two turtles and a new art case. Elliot griped the entire way home about responsibility and trust, but they ignored him. They didn't get many opportunities to buy things for themselves.
Nobody was home when Elliot, Sam and Dylan returned from their trip to the flea market. An envelope with the name Tavert was sticking out the side fo the door. Elliot frowned as he read it. "What is it?" Sam asked.
"They want to buy our house," Elliot said.
"Let me see that," Sam said. He took the letter away from Elliot and read it. "That's a lot of money. It can't be worth that much."
"It is when you throw in the orchard," Elliot said.
"But we don't own the orchard," Dylan said. "That's city property. ="
This was true. Michael and Denise had only been able to buy the Kiwi House because it was being sold at a discount. None of the other buys had liked the idea of living in front of an orchard. It would have meant keeping the fence maintained, warding off the bugs and constantly being bombarded by the smell of rotting kiwis.
"I don't know" Elliot said. "It's weird."
Sam sat down on the couch. "This is crazy. We can't sell our house."
Elliot sat down next to him. "I know."
Dylan took the letter from Sam. "We have to get rid of it."
They burned the letter in the bathroom sink. Sam felt as though he were now keeping another secret, one he wasn't sure he'd be able to hang on to for long.
The first day of school was every bit as chaotic as Sam expected. He hadn't realized he'd grown out of last years school clothes until that morning when he was trying them on. Sam pleaded with Elliot to let him borrow a pair of pants. "Come on, I'll look stupid if I go to school with my pants this far up my ankles."
"Absolutely not," Elliot said. "It's your own fault you don't have any clothes. Should have thought of that before you bought that phone."
Sam's face reddened. "How'd you know about that?"
"You left if in my car," he said. "Dylan showed me."
"Dylan knows too," Sam said.
Elliot rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Sam. It's a phone, not evidence of a crime. I'm just saying you should have gotten clothes instead. What do you need a phone for anyway? Yours works just fine."
"It's not for me," Sam said. "It's for....nevermind."
Sam was able to borrow a pair of Dylan's jeans, but the morning was already off to a bad start. And Sam knew, days that started bad tended to end that way.
Elliot drove them to school. Sam felt the familiar shift in his stomach at the prospect of seeing all the people he'd worked so hard to avoid over the summer. Dylan was feeling something along the same lines. His whole face looked green. Only Elliot seemed flush with confidence. A few moments later and it was clear why. Karen.
"I'll catch you guys later," Elliot said as soon as he saw her. Karen gave Elliot the kind of kiss Sam had previously only seen in movies, and he was both impressed and disgusted at the same time. "Let's go," Sam said to Dylan.
They were used to the stares and used to the way people would get quiet whenever they were near. Teachers stumbled over their names like they were surprised they'd showed up and there was always a nervous energy in the air, like people thought they were dangerous.
Elliot and Sam could handle the way people treated them, but Dylan wasn't like them. Over the last year, he'd grown nervous and withdrawn. Elliot had recommended that Dylan be homeschooled, but their father wasn't for the idea. No son of mine is gonna be homeschooled because he's too wimpy to handle school, he'd said when Elliot proposed the idea.
"Just be cool," Sam said to Dylan before they separated to go their first period class. "It'll be alright."
Everything went fine for Sam until lunch, the moment he'd been dreading the most. He scanned the room for his brothers and spotted them in the corner near the trashcans. Karen was with them and so was Martha. He debated going over there, but then Dylan caught sight of him and waved him over.
Sam sat down across from Martha, who kept her head down and avoided looking at him. "Any problems?" Elliot asked him.
"Aside from school is just as boring as it was when we left? Afraid not. You?"
It was Karen that answered. "There are some people who aren't happy about us dating, but they'll get over it."
"You're dating?" said Dylan.
Everyone with the exception of Martha laughed. "Of course they're dating," Sam said. "What'd you think that was this morning?" Sam cuffed Dylan over the back of the head. "Dude, where is your head?"
Dylan shrugged, looking embarrassed. "You don't have to be so rude about it," Martha said in the first words she'd spoken to Sam since that night in the bathroom.
Sam was annoyed. "I'm not being rude. I'm just saying it was kind of obvious."
"Not to Dylan," Martha said.
Sam glared at her, and she glared back. The rest of the table exchanged uneasy glances with each other. "Hey, guys. It's not big deal," Dylan said.
"It is a big deal," Martha said. "He has to learn that he can't just go treating people however he feels. Actions have consequences."
"Do they? Sam said.
"Yeah, they do," Martha said. She stood up. "I think I've lost my appetite."
Sam stood up too, grabbing her arm to stop her from leaving.
Sam stood up too. "Hey, you don't have to leave. I'll go."
Martha ignored him. He grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving. "Did you hear me? I said-"
"Don't touch me." Martha yanked her arm back from him. Her shout was loud enough to be heard over the noisy cafeteria and she looked around, horror on her face. She aimed her now watery eyes at Sam. "This is your fault." She ran from the cafeteria.
"What the hell was that?" Elliot said.
Sam was furious, but at himself or at Martha he wasn't sure. "Nothing," he said. And he found that he too had lost his appetite.
He was still fuming when lunch ended. During the passing period he slammed his locker door shut so hard that it bounced back open. As he slammed it closed a second time, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
He turned around, expecting to come face to face with a teacher, not the group of boys from the restaurant. They'd cornered him and Sam felt stupid for letting his guard down.
"I'm not doing this with you," Sam said, and he tried to push past them.
He was pushed back. "Do you hear that, Brock?" said the one with the rat face. "He's not doing this."
There was laughter from the group. People in the hall had stopped to watch, but nobody made any moves to call for help.
"What is your problem?" Sam asked. "I don't even know you."
"No, but you knew my cousin. She was six," Brock shoved Sam backwards into a row of lockers. "I had to transfer over to this dipshit school because of you." He grabbed Sam by the shirt collar and pulled him closer. "First I'm going to fuck you up, then I'm going to get your older brother and then I'm going to get the retard."
Sam struggled to get free. "Don't talk about him like that," he said.
Brock laughed, and then out of nowhere chose to sink his fist into Sam's stomach. Sam felt like throwing up and passing out at the same time. "Now, you know my problem," Brock said as Sam sunk to his knees.
The bell rang and everyone began to drift to their classes. Sam stayed where he was. He didn't think he could walk. "That looked like it hurt." He looked up Lara was standing over him. She held out her hand to him. "Come on."
They shared a cigarette behind the school trash cans. Sam laid his head in Lara's lap and watched the smoke from his cigarette unfurl and disappear into the air. He'd never liked smoking. He hated the taste and the way they made his teeth feel. He only smoked when he was stressed out. Between Martha, Brock and having to go back to school again to face them both the next day, right then seemed like an appropriate moment.
Lara touched her hand to his face. "You alright?" she asked.
"Not really," Sam answered.
Lara smoothed back his hair and looked down at him. Her face blocked out the sky. "Wanna talk about it?"
Sam closed his eyes and finished the last of his cigarette. "No."