(no subject)
Title: Two Intangibles Can't Be Had
Fandom: The Summer I Turned Pretty/It's Not Summer Without You by Jenny Han. Set before We'll Always Have Summer
Summary: She stops marking her life by summers and starts marking them by winters.
Recently in my efforts to have a real life, I have been reading more. IK, it makes little to no sense, but escapism is good for the soul. I love YA literature, and I picked up this book, 'The Summer I Turned Pretty' on an absolute whim and fell absolutely in love with it. I asked for the sequel, 'It's Not Summer Without You' (which I've uploaded the PDF of here-MERRY CHRISTMAS-if you for whatever reason feel like reading the angst behind the angst) for Christmas and read the entire thing this morning. It made me very sad and then I wrote this.
IDK how I feel about it. I used to write just like this and only like this, but then I started writing full length fic and I'm not sure I know how to write like this anymore. It's super choppy and has no point, and I don't even really know why I am posting it other than it's the first thing I've written that isn't related to Troy and Gabriella in two years and actually finished it and that has to mean something.
---
Two Intangibles Can't Be Had
---
It was strange the way that Steven and she had suddenly switched places. Growing up, it had always been Belly on the outside and now that she was older and beautiful, she was the one Conrad and Jeremiah wanted to hang out with. She was the one whose attention they clamored for.
But Steven was better at being the third Musketeer. He kept the dynamic peaceful, he balanced the two brothers out. He was a friend, not a love interest, and he didn’t keep jumbling everything that there ever was between them.
He was, of course, the first to notice the change. When she came back, stumbling in and dirty from the horrid weekend at the summer house, he knew at once. From the moment she walked in the front door and he greeted her from the staircase, he knew that three hearts had been broken and all of them were because his sister loved too much and yet not enough at all.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice concerned, but mostly confused and disappointed. As much as he loved his sister, he knew that she was the catalyst for everything. She was the reason things were shifting so dramatically. And Belly knew that he knew. The look on his face made her want to shout at him.
“Mr. Fisher was trying to sell the house,” she explains calmly, kicking one shoe off, and then the other. “Conrad went to Cousins to try to save it, and Jere and I ended up chasing after him to save him. Not that he needed saving, but-”
“No,” Steven interrupted, looking her square in the eye, “I know that, mom’s been home for two days, remember? I meant, what happened?”
She knows what he means; she knew it the first time. He means what happened between she and Jeremiah and Conrad. What had she done to fuck up their dynamic-the one that had been including and excluding Steven for over a year-yet again?
Looking down at the ground, she folded her arms. “It’s not my fault.”
Steven shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he answered finally, “but no one means to cause an accident.”
With that he wandered away and Belly felt her resolve crumble as she slid against the door and cried.
---
It’s December now, and Belly is calling Jeremiah. They haven’t spoken in a while, haven’t kissed in even longer, but she’s still not sure what they are. She’s not sure what at all, if she’s being honest; she doesn’t know if they’re friends or if they’re more than that. And she’s not even sure what more than that means; are they family or are they lovers?
The phone rings once, twice, and three times before a voice picks up on the other end. She stiffens immediately.
It’s not Jeremiah. It’s Conrad. He must have been home for winter break.
“Hello?” his voice sounds exactly the same. Deep, rough, and bored. Just like Conrad.
She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She sucks in a breath and she hears him let out a sigh.
“Belly?” he begins, “are you going to say anything?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head. She can’t talk to him, not now. Not after everything. Not after she vowed to let him go. Not after he took back the necklace and said he didn’t want her. Said he did want her.
Said all the things that keep running through her head months later.
“I know it’s you,” he practically spits, “we have caller ID.” She can tell that he’s still mad at her. That he still hasn’t forgiven her for trying to move on, for kissing Jeremiah. That he’s still angry at himself for pushing her away and no where near ready to let her in.
“No?” he says, annoyed. “You’re really not going to say anything, huh?” He lets mean, dark chuckle, condescending and cruel. “You’re such a child, Belly, even at eighteen. What is this, some game you’re playing? Calling to hear the sound of our voices or some shit?”
She shivers at his words and balls up her fist, bringing it to her mouth and biting down on her knuckles. She swallows her resolve and musters up the courage to speak. “Conrad, I-”
“I’ll tell Jeremiah you called,” he says roughly, “since he obviously is the one you’re looking for.” With that he hangs up and she feels the tears well in her throat. That was Conrad, bitter to the very end. Angry at the world and most of all at her.
She remembered a time when he said he was coldhearted to everyone but her. She bottles it up, but does not open it often. It hurts too much.
She shouldn’t have called, she thinks. But then again, she called to speak to Jeremiah not Conrad. She didn’t want to speak to him. He just happened.
Her phone rings and it’s Jeremiah, calling her back and she feels her stomach sink. She reaches over to answer it, but then she realizes: it’s Jeremiah. It’s not the same, it’s not Conrad, and it will never be the same. It will always be different, and as good and comfortable and right as things feel with Jeremiah; as calm as things are, she knows they will never be want she wants.
He will never be Conrad; he is his brother and he is his mother, but Conrad is all she has ever wanted. All she ever will want. That’s when she knows.
So she let’s the phone ring and she ignores his voicemail. She ignores the calls, and the texts, and she tells Steven not to bother delivering messages between the two of them anymore. She doesn’t mention that she’d be perfectly fine if it were Conrad trying to get a hold of her, but she doesn’t have to. Steven just knows. Steven, entirely flawed in his admiration of Conrad and his misunderstanding of Belly; he understands them better than anyone and he understands their situation better than they understand it.
Not one of them would admit that. Not ever.
So she cuts Jeremiah out of her life, and by extension, cuts out Conrad. The only way to heal, to forget about how she felt about Conrad and how much she loved him, would be to get rid of both of them. The years pass; she grows, and she meets other boys and she wears white dresses. She stops marking her life by summers and starts marking them by winters.
Nothing is the same and everything is cold.
Fandom: The Summer I Turned Pretty/It's Not Summer Without You by Jenny Han. Set before We'll Always Have Summer
Summary: She stops marking her life by summers and starts marking them by winters.
Recently in my efforts to have a real life, I have been reading more. IK, it makes little to no sense, but escapism is good for the soul. I love YA literature, and I picked up this book, 'The Summer I Turned Pretty' on an absolute whim and fell absolutely in love with it. I asked for the sequel, 'It's Not Summer Without You' (which I've uploaded the PDF of here-MERRY CHRISTMAS-if you for whatever reason feel like reading the angst behind the angst) for Christmas and read the entire thing this morning. It made me very sad and then I wrote this.
IDK how I feel about it. I used to write just like this and only like this, but then I started writing full length fic and I'm not sure I know how to write like this anymore. It's super choppy and has no point, and I don't even really know why I am posting it other than it's the first thing I've written that isn't related to Troy and Gabriella in two years and actually finished it and that has to mean something.
---
Two Intangibles Can't Be Had
---
It was strange the way that Steven and she had suddenly switched places. Growing up, it had always been Belly on the outside and now that she was older and beautiful, she was the one Conrad and Jeremiah wanted to hang out with. She was the one whose attention they clamored for.
But Steven was better at being the third Musketeer. He kept the dynamic peaceful, he balanced the two brothers out. He was a friend, not a love interest, and he didn’t keep jumbling everything that there ever was between them.
He was, of course, the first to notice the change. When she came back, stumbling in and dirty from the horrid weekend at the summer house, he knew at once. From the moment she walked in the front door and he greeted her from the staircase, he knew that three hearts had been broken and all of them were because his sister loved too much and yet not enough at all.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice concerned, but mostly confused and disappointed. As much as he loved his sister, he knew that she was the catalyst for everything. She was the reason things were shifting so dramatically. And Belly knew that he knew. The look on his face made her want to shout at him.
“Mr. Fisher was trying to sell the house,” she explains calmly, kicking one shoe off, and then the other. “Conrad went to Cousins to try to save it, and Jere and I ended up chasing after him to save him. Not that he needed saving, but-”
“No,” Steven interrupted, looking her square in the eye, “I know that, mom’s been home for two days, remember? I meant, what happened?”
She knows what he means; she knew it the first time. He means what happened between she and Jeremiah and Conrad. What had she done to fuck up their dynamic-the one that had been including and excluding Steven for over a year-yet again?
Looking down at the ground, she folded her arms. “It’s not my fault.”
Steven shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he answered finally, “but no one means to cause an accident.”
With that he wandered away and Belly felt her resolve crumble as she slid against the door and cried.
---
It’s December now, and Belly is calling Jeremiah. They haven’t spoken in a while, haven’t kissed in even longer, but she’s still not sure what they are. She’s not sure what at all, if she’s being honest; she doesn’t know if they’re friends or if they’re more than that. And she’s not even sure what more than that means; are they family or are they lovers?
The phone rings once, twice, and three times before a voice picks up on the other end. She stiffens immediately.
It’s not Jeremiah. It’s Conrad. He must have been home for winter break.
“Hello?” his voice sounds exactly the same. Deep, rough, and bored. Just like Conrad.
She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She sucks in a breath and she hears him let out a sigh.
“Belly?” he begins, “are you going to say anything?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head. She can’t talk to him, not now. Not after everything. Not after she vowed to let him go. Not after he took back the necklace and said he didn’t want her. Said he did want her.
Said all the things that keep running through her head months later.
“I know it’s you,” he practically spits, “we have caller ID.” She can tell that he’s still mad at her. That he still hasn’t forgiven her for trying to move on, for kissing Jeremiah. That he’s still angry at himself for pushing her away and no where near ready to let her in.
“No?” he says, annoyed. “You’re really not going to say anything, huh?” He lets mean, dark chuckle, condescending and cruel. “You’re such a child, Belly, even at eighteen. What is this, some game you’re playing? Calling to hear the sound of our voices or some shit?”
She shivers at his words and balls up her fist, bringing it to her mouth and biting down on her knuckles. She swallows her resolve and musters up the courage to speak. “Conrad, I-”
“I’ll tell Jeremiah you called,” he says roughly, “since he obviously is the one you’re looking for.” With that he hangs up and she feels the tears well in her throat. That was Conrad, bitter to the very end. Angry at the world and most of all at her.
She remembered a time when he said he was coldhearted to everyone but her. She bottles it up, but does not open it often. It hurts too much.
She shouldn’t have called, she thinks. But then again, she called to speak to Jeremiah not Conrad. She didn’t want to speak to him. He just happened.
Her phone rings and it’s Jeremiah, calling her back and she feels her stomach sink. She reaches over to answer it, but then she realizes: it’s Jeremiah. It’s not the same, it’s not Conrad, and it will never be the same. It will always be different, and as good and comfortable and right as things feel with Jeremiah; as calm as things are, she knows they will never be want she wants.
He will never be Conrad; he is his brother and he is his mother, but Conrad is all she has ever wanted. All she ever will want. That’s when she knows.
So she let’s the phone ring and she ignores his voicemail. She ignores the calls, and the texts, and she tells Steven not to bother delivering messages between the two of them anymore. She doesn’t mention that she’d be perfectly fine if it were Conrad trying to get a hold of her, but she doesn’t have to. Steven just knows. Steven, entirely flawed in his admiration of Conrad and his misunderstanding of Belly; he understands them better than anyone and he understands their situation better than they understand it.
Not one of them would admit that. Not ever.
So she cuts Jeremiah out of her life, and by extension, cuts out Conrad. The only way to heal, to forget about how she felt about Conrad and how much she loved him, would be to get rid of both of them. The years pass; she grows, and she meets other boys and she wears white dresses. She stops marking her life by summers and starts marking them by winters.
Nothing is the same and everything is cold.