That Summer

The sun was bright in the sky. It glinted off Paul's lip ring and reflected on Bryan's sunglasses. It was so humid that their hair rested flat on their foreheads, skin covered in a thin film of perspiration from the heat.

No one else was really around; the two boys sat alone at an outside table with small cups of ice cream in front of them and their cell phones lying on the table between them.

"So," Paul cleared his throat and sat back. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Bryan shrugged. "You haven't been around lately."
"What are you talking about? I see you everyday," he laughed.
"Yeah, for band stuff or out but you never come over to my house anymore," the blonde continued stirring his ice cream, eyes not focusing on his friend. Paul remained silent, so Bryan sighed. "You haven't seen Evangeline in a while."

Paul's face screwed up like he'd just bitten a lemon and his uncovered brown eyes flashed, but remained on the table where his fingers were drawing patterns.

"She doesn't need me to see her."

Bryan scoffed, turning his eyes to his friend, whose vision remained on the table, refusing to meet the sunglass clad face before him.

"Well that's bullshit," Bryan informed.
"Fuck you," the taller one shot up, throwing his cup of half eaten Cookies N Cream in the trash can as he went. "Evangeline never needed me. Isn't that what you guys have been trying to tell me for like seven years?"
Bryan jumped up and followed close on Paul's heels. "Paul, everything's so different now. She's sick. She needs everyone she can get and only three people know about what's going on," Bryan insisted.
"Well then tell more people," he sneered.
"I can't do that, you know I can't! My parents are coming home in three days. What am I supposed to tell them when Evangeline is home all the time and not at dance anymore? She can't go to England in October, she can't dance anymore. Ballet is the reason she's killing herself."
"Bryan," the brunette stopped and turned around, placing his hands on the other's shoulders. "You need to calm down. Look, I don't want to talk about Evangeline-"
"I don't care! You never want to talk about her, you don't even know how she's doing. She's eating a bagel a day now, you know. It's all she can keep down but she's just as depressed as ever-"
"Please, Bry," Paul sighed, his forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really don't want to do this."

Bryan huffed and pushed his blonde hair from his eyes, not caring that it now stood oddly on his head, half saturated by sweat. Paul stared back at him tiredly, emotionlessly - an attempt to hide his reactions to everything.

"Evangeline needs you right now and you need her."
"I don't need-"
"You're hopelessly in love with my sister. Get over it," Bryan rolled his eyes. "The point is that she's in a shitty place, she needs us and you aren't there."
"She doesn't need me," Paul insisted.
"Okay, fine, whatever," his friend relented. His eyes fell to his wrist and he sighed at his watch. "I've got to get going. So you go be in denial and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"I'm not in denial!" he exclaimed.
Bryan looked at him pointedly, "Sure."

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"So we're leaving the eleventh and meeting the other bands at some Wal-Mart somewhere. The CD release is going to be sometime after that. I already told Paul and John so-" Martin stopped talking abruptly, looking up from the notebook in his lap where all important information was written.

Bryan was sitting across the kitchen table in the Johnson's home, eyes unfocused and lingering on the table. He wasn't really listening to anything Martin was saying and it was painfully obvious.

"Seriously, dude," he threw the notebook onto the table. "What's up?"
"Huh?" Bryan started, eyes refocusing on the table.
"You keep zoning. What's wrong?" his voice fell to a deep falsetto, "Girl problems?"
Bryan rolled his eyes at his friend's rapidly wiggling eyebrows, "I guess you could call it that."
"One night stand gone wrong?" Martin smiled, the ultimate of a shameless gossip.
"More like my sister wreaking havoc on my life."

Martin let out a scoff subconsciously and ran a hand threw his hair. He didn't want to hear about Evangeline the bitch; not when he was in the middle of telling Bryan about tour, about their CD release - about their future.

"Oh, the bitch," he rolled his eyes.
"Martin," Bryan warned.
"What's up, dude? Why are you so protective of her all the sudden? I mean, I haven't even seen her in forever," Martin exclaimed, his hands tossing in the air and landing with thuds back on the table.
"I know you're not a complete asshole," he began slowly. "And that somewhere deep down you have a soul, so what I'm about to tell you is of the strictest confidence, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it."
"No, Martin," Bryan shook his head. "I'm being serious."
"Okay, man," his friend shrugged. "I understand."

The two sat in the Johnson's kitchen for twenty minutes as Bryan explained, in detail, what had been happening. He started with Evangeline falling in ballet class, such a freak accident that seemed to inconsequential but really started everything. He told him how Paul found her in the bath, how she can't dance anymore. He told him how Bailey had come into their lives just as Paul was giving up. He told him that, yes, Evangeline could keep down a bagel a day now, but she had no real will to keep living. She was going through the motions but Bryan knew it meant nothing.

"Holy shit," Martin whispered after having sat in silence for a few seconds.
"Yeah," Bryan groaned, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
"I'm sorry, dude. I didn't know..."he trailed off.
"It's alright. It's not so bad, we'll figure it out."
"But, what are you going to tell your parents?" Martin questioned to which Bryan only shrugged. He didn't have anymore of an idea than any one else.

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Evangeline was sitting on the couch in her living room. Bailey wasn't going to be over for another few hours, Bryan had left early that morning to meet with some friends and Paul, well, Paul didn't come over anymore.

She was on her third hour of a chronologically incorrect Dawson's Creek marathon when the doorbell rang. Evangeline muted her TV and groaned, not wanting to go near the front door when she felt so tired.

But the bell rang again and she cursed under her breath, pushing blonde locks behind her ears and standing slowly. Her sweatpants pooled around her feet, her tank top hung off her body loosely but she still clutched to it as she shuffled towards the door.

Evangeline's hand grasped the brass knob and turned it slowly, shivering as the cold metal touched her skin despite the fact that it was 97 degrees out, and swung the door open. When she saw who was standing there, she scowled.

"What do you want, Martin?"