Watermelon Summer by Anna Hess Page A

getting awfully engrossed in
this community-building project," Mom said one day while I sat on a
bench outside the courthouse.  Jacob was inside figuring out tax
maps and neighbor names, while Kat had walked down the street in search
of the perfect ice-cream cone.  I could hear meat sizzling in the
background through the phone, and I guessed that Mom was making a family

favorite—spaghetti with homemade sauce.  The scent of bay leaves
was nearly palpable and I could almost see the twinkle in Dad's eyes as
he poured in the
"secret ingredient"—a quarter cup of brown sugar.
     
    But I was glad I wasn't going to be sitting down to
dinner with the family because Mom was in a nit-picking mood. 
"Don't forget you're starting college in less than six weeks.  I
don't want this Greensun thing to stand in the way of your future," she warned.
     
   "Mom!"  I hated my own tone of voice, like a whiny
child, and struggled to sound more mature (with little success).  "This Greensun ' thing ' is important!  Maybe it is my future."
     
    The phone line went silent, and I cringed as I
thought back over what I'd said.  Mom had been forced to drop out
of college
multiple times, only finishing up as an adult after marrying Dad. 
As a result, a post-high-school education had always been a
non-negotiable part of my
brother's and my future, something we hadn't minded looking forward to
since we both enjoyed learning and knew our parents would foot the
bill.  Realizing my statement would have struck a nerve, I hastened
to soften my words.  "The community doesn't have to
stand in the way of college, Mom.  Only two people need to be
living at Greensun full time, and Kat and Jacob both seem
interested."  Well, except for the part where they couldn't stand
being in the same room with each other half the time, let alone in the
same house, but I didn't think Mom needed that much information.
     
    "So Jacob's still helping you?" Mom asked.  I'd
been hoping she'd change the subject, but now I heard a lecture
coming on worse than I would have gotten by insinuating I might skip
college.  And it seemed patently unfair given that Jacob and I had
never so much as held hands, let alone done anything more.  I thought he liked me, but there often wasn't room in our conversations for Jacob
to get a word in edgewise when Kat was talking.  For all I knew,
he had two or three girlfriends on the side.
     
    "Yes," I answered her.  Then, not wanting to
sound curt, I elaborated a bit.  "He generally does at least 60% of
the work.  Kat's great with big-picture stuff, but she tends to
get bogged down in the details."
     
    "Well, I'm glad she's there, anyway," Mom said. 
She sighed, and I could tell she wanted to say something else but was
holding her tongue.  Finally, unable to entirely let the subject
go, she finished.  "Just promise me you won't make any big
decisions because of a boy, okay, Forsythia?"
     
    I almost wanted to tell my mother that I was going by Thia now,
but I knew that wasn't what Mom wanted to hear.  "Okay," I replied, but I wasn't sure I was ready to stand by my promise.
     
     

     
    What I didn't tell Mom is that I was starting to
wonder if college was the right next step for me.  Living at
Greensun was turning into a fascinating adventure, and I was pretty sure
I was learning just as much by browsing Dad's library as I would have
in English 101.  Plus, as weird as I found parts of the Appalachian
culture—kids toting guns, for example—I felt more grounded here
than I'd ever been before.  I was literally growing my future when
I transplanted raspberries out of the impenetrable patch and lined them
up in easy-harvest rows.  And the power of working together in a
team was inspiring.  For the first time in my life, I felt like I
was really living, rather than observing the lives of people around me.
     
    On the other