Summer Mist

Summer has always lived with her grandparents, but has never felt at home there. Her whole life seems to have been a lie, and she has never been able to open up to anyone. That is, until she meets Cameron, and all of her secrets begin to unravel.

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2. The Strawberry Field

I always travel home on the public bus - the school don't provide one between my village and the school because hardly anyone lives near me. So guess what? I'm a loner on the bus too. When I get home, I leave my bag indoors and head straight to my room to get changed. Gran hears me come in.

"Ah, hello, Summer. Good day at school?"

"Yes thanks." I smile, tight lipped. I just feel as though I'm being polite to an aunt who I hardly know, not a close relative who I live with. "I'm just going to the strawberry field for a bit."

"Ok, dear. Don't be too long."

I smile again and open my wardrobe. How unfair on Gran and Grandad, being dumped with me in their retirement. It was as though as soon as Dad left home, they were left with me... and although they would never admit it, this was never what they planned to do once their own children had left home.

I throw on my gypsy skirt, a strappy top and a floaty scarf, grab my watercolour paints set and sketchbook, and flounce out of the door. The air is warm on this midsummer evening and the sun is just beginning to set over the rolling Cornish hills. I smile to myself. It's not often that I feel blissfully happy, but when I do, it's when I'm outside on a lovely Summer's evening. I arrive at my little haven: The strawberry field. I settle down in my favourite spot and open up my pad to the picture I had started the day before. It was of the field, with the scarlet red of the fruits glimmering in the sunlight.

"Alright?"

I look up. It's our 'next door neighbour', who actually lives 100 metres up the road, Andy, who's 17. He's the only boy roughly my age that I speak to and I've known him forever. Dating him would be like dating my brother! He's picking strawberries and tossing each one into a cardboard punnet.

"Hi, Andy." I reply, and continue to study my work from the day before. I select a fine brush, wet it, and dip it in the bright red section of my palette.

He peers over my shoulder. "Wow, I never knew you were so good!"

I squint up at him, the sun too bright for my eyes. "Thanks. But really, I'm not that great." I push a strand of my wavy blond hair behind my ear and gaze at the landscape before me.

Andy shrugs and nods, then carries on down the field. I watch him disappear from sight and sigh. That was sure to be the extent of my human contact for the evening, except for with Gran and Grandad of course. I wish that I could be loved by someone... and by that I mean parents or indeed a boy. It just seems so unfair that my past has entirely and uncontrollably shaped who I am today.

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