The Last Summer of Us by Maggie Harcourt

Becca – and everyone like her, with their small-mind, small-town whispers and their sideways glances.
    It’s not fair that I’ve had to watch my family fall apart while I stand there and do nothing, because what else could I do?
    It’s not fair that the summer – the time when I’m supposed to be on the beach or in the park or just staying up all night for the hell of going to bed as the sun comes up, when I’m supposed to be thinking about the future, my future – has been turned into my own private hell where I leaf through coffin catalogues like I’m picking out curtains or colleges.
    It’s not fair that it couldn’t be in six years. Six months.
    It’s not fair that it’s now.
    And it’s not fair that this is how I think, that I resent something so sad, that on top of everything else I feel guilty – and it makes me feel even worse.
    Somewhere, there’s a little cloud of it’s-not-fairs, just waiting to rain on me. Which isn’t fair either. So it goes.
    My it’s-not-fair approach seems to have worked though, because finally, finally, Steffan’s shoulders droop a little and he sags back against the wall. “We’re moving. How’s that for not fair?”
    â€œ What? ” He gets it in stereo as we both say it at the same time.
    â€œDad’s been headhunted. Something about an advisory role in a blah-blah-blah. I wasn’t really listening.”
    â€œYou’re moving ? When?”
    There’s a studied silence. He won’t look at either of us.
    â€œWhen, Steffan?”
    â€œThree weeks.”
    â€œ Three weeks? ” I’ve gone shrill. I hate being shrill. Jared’s doing that half-smile-that-isn’t-really-a-smile thing, shaking his head. Now he’s picking at the grass. Right now, though, it’s Steffan I’m interested in. “And when were you going to bring this up?”
    â€œDunno.” He flicks a ladybird off his knee. “First there was his dad” – he jerks his head towards Jared – “and all his family shit, and then there was…”
    â€œMy family shit.”
    â€œWell, yeah.” He shrugs. He’s worried he’s offended me with that, but I’m not offended. I’m shocked, if anything. Shocked that he’s kept this to himself; that he didn’t feel he could tell either of us. It’s huge. The kind of thing you tell people. The kind of thing you tell your friends. Mind you…thinking back over the last couple of weeks it’s all pretty huge, and none of it in a good way. I can’t help but wonder whether we’ve upset some great cosmic balance – and that’s even before I punched Becca.
    â€œThree weeks. But you’ve not been packing or anything.”
    Cardboard boxes in the garage…
    â€œIt’s part of the deal; they send people to do it all for you.”
    â€œSteff…” Jared looks thoughtful. “That’s a relocation package. One of Mum’s lot got offered that a few years ago, and that was the end of them.” He peers over his sunglasses. “Where exactly are you moving to?”
    â€œYeah. About that.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œLA.”
    There’s always Steffan. Always has been, always will be.
    Or maybe not.
    I’d been expecting him to say Cardiff. Bristol. London. Somewhere that wasn’t the other side of the world. I mean, even in London we could still see him sometimes; catch a train maybe. Get the coach. But America? That’s crazy.
    â€œBut…what about school?” My voice is shaky.
    â€œIt’s all taken care of. They’ve got me a school place…somewhere, and then Dad wants me to apply to music college. Thornton, or something.”
    â€œIs that what you want, though?”
    â€œDoes it matter?” He scowls and bites his lip.
    â€œOf course it matters! Why are you letting him do this? He