Saving Hadley (Boys of Summer)

by Amy Sparling

  “First you failed chemistry, and now this.” I guess my dad is just going to ignore my pleas for a drug test. And while I’m thinking about it, how messed up is it that I’m begging for a drug test to prove my innocence? My dad should trust me more than this.

  “Just because your boyfriend dumped you doesn’t mean you can go off and get wasted,” Lucy says. Each word pierces through my heart.

  “How did you know about that?” I ask. The pain of this migraine almost made me forget about Lane’s humiliating video. Now my whole body floods with the heat of embarrassment at knowing my stepmom most definitely watched me get dumped online.

  Lucy rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows about it.”

  “You went viral.” The soft voice in the corner comes from my stepsister Kyndall. I didn’t even realize she was in the room until she spoke. I look over at her and she gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Hadley. That really sucks.”

  “You should be more like your sister,” Dad says. I cringe. Just like Lucy isn’t my parent, Kyndall isn’t my sister. Sure we live in the same house, but we are not even remotely close. She’s the uber-smart student with an overachieving high school itinerary. I’m a regular student with a regular, boring life.

  “I agree,” Lucy says, flashing a loving smile to her daughter. “This year Kyndall got into Harvard and you flunked school and started drinking. For two girls who grew up together, I wish you could be more alike.”

  “I didn’t drink!” I yell it even though it makes my head hurt worse. “I didn’t do anything! I just took a nap. Why won’t you believe me?”

  Dad frowns and heaves a sigh. “You need a change of scenery, Hadley. You’re going down the same path as Density… drugs… drinking… partying… I’m putting a stop to it now.”

  He looks over at my stepmom who nods at him. I get the feeling they’ve already talked about this before. Dad turns to me. “Go to bed. In the morning, you’ll pack up enough clothes for the summer. You’re going to stay with Grandad.”

  “What?” Maybe my headache is making me hallucinate things. My only living grandparent is a grumpy old man in Virginia who I’ve seen every other Christmas while I was growing up, since my dad and Lucy alternate which family we visit for the holidays. “I don’t even know Grandad.”

  “Now’s the perfect time to get to know him,” Dad says. “I think the change of scenery will be good for you.”

  When I wake up in the morning, my migraine is finally gone but my situation in life is still just as bleak as ever. I’d tried to beg my dad over breakfast to let me stay home this summer, but he didn’t budge. Apparently, my Grandad is looking forward to my visit, but I’m not sure I believe that. The man and I have hardly spoken any words to each other besides hello and goodbye. He’s not exactly mean, but he’s not friendly.

  I cry the whole time I pack up my suitcase. The heartbreak of Lane has settled in, and I’m not sure if I’m sad that we’re over, or sad that he filmed it, or both. What a jerk. I hate him so much, but ripping up the photo of him that’s on my wall doesn’t make me feel any better. Dad finally gives me my phone back since I’ll need it in Virginia, and I have so many notifications I don’t even want to read them all.

  Most of the messages are my friends freaking out about the YouTube video and offering their condolences. One message is from Destiny, sent this morning.

  So sorry about last night! I didn’t think the party would get that crazy and I’m sorry you got in trouble too! Love you!

  I roll my eyes and decide not to reply back to her just yet. I love her because she’s my cousin and friend, but her stupid party really ruined my life. Of course Lane ruined it first, and he hasn’t messaged me at all. I’m starting to wonder if he dated me just to break up with me online. Did he even really like me? Or was I just some stupid game to get more subscribers and likes?

  I wipe my tears away and keep my face stone cold while Dad drives me to the airport. I am all out of begging and pleading. There’s nothing left to say. My own dad won’t believe me when I tell him I didn’t do it. What else can I do but sit here and wallow in misery?

  Before long, my plane lands and I use Dad’s credit card to order an Uber driver to take me to Grandad’s house. The good news is that I haven’t cried since we left the house. The bad news is that all I want to do is burst into tears. Luckily, I hold them off for now.

  “Welcome to Virginia!” my Uber driver says when I get in his car. He’s probably in his mid-twenties and is covered in colorful tattoos. “You here for business or pleasure?”

  “I’m here for punishment.”

  “Ah… okay.” He flashes me an uneasy smile in the rear-view mirror. The rest of the drive is silent.

  Sterling Beach, Virginia is a sleepy little tourist town on the east coast. Unlike our muddy brown beaches on the coast of Texas, Sterling Beach has bright white sand and beautiful water. I stare out the window as we drive past miles of beach houses. The Welcome to Sterling Beach sign said the population was five thousand, which is about a fifth of the population of my hometown. If your boyfriend broke up with you here, you wouldn’t have to be as embarrassed because fewer people would find out about it.

  I huff sarcastically to myself. Maybe making jokes about this breakup will be better than crying about it. But it still hurts. It’s been twenty-four hours since my boyfriend dumped me like so much useless garbage. On live freaking YouTube, no less.

  I close my eyes. I will not cry.

  My Uber slows down and turns onto a dusty single lane road that leads straight to the beach. We drive past rows and rows of beach houses, heading straight to the water where my Grandad’s house has a coveted location right on the beach.

  Every time we visit, Dad tries to convince Grandad to sell his home and reap the huge profits that are to be made since the area is getting more popular every year. He doesn’t live in the wealthy part of town where large mansions overlook the beach, but he could still make a pretty big profit if he sold his house, especially since his original mortgage has been paid off for decades.

  Grandad has lived in this beach house since my dad was a little kid. He always shakes his head, says he got married in this house and will die in this house, and that’s the end of the conversation.

  We pull up to the house, and like always, not much has changed. The pale blue exterior could use a new coat of paint. So could the whitewashed porch that extends all around the small three-bedroom home. The sound of the ocean is accented by the windchimes that hang from the porch, dancing in the breeze. Grandad’s old Chevy truck is parked under the house on the concrete slab. All the beach houses are up on stilts, just in case it ever floods.

  I get out and take my suitcase from the trunk. Grandad must have been watching for me because he walks down the staircase, meeting me at the bottom.

  “Hello, Hadley,” he says, offering me a small smile. My Grandad is a tall man in his seventies with tanned skin and solid white hair. Marine tattoos line his arms in a reminder of his younger years in the special forces. From the few stories I’ve heard, my Grandad was a total badass when he was in the military. A force to be reckoned with.

  He might be old and wrinkled now, but he’s still just as scary to me.

  “How was your trip?”

  I swallow. “It was fine. Thanks.”

  His wrinkled expression turns to a smile. “Let me show you to your room.”

  Three

  I never knew my grandmother since she died before I was born, but I get the feeling that Grandad didn’t change much about the house after she passed. There’s an antique beach theme going on, with jars filled with shells and nautical décor everywhere. They have white wicker furniture on the porch and in the kitchen dining area. It’s easy to imagine a sweet, loving grandma walking out from the kitchen and giving you a grandmotherly smile, just like in the movies. It’s too bad she’s gone. Maybe Grandad wouldn’t be so scary if his wife was here to make him smile more.

  I’m staying in my dad’s ch
ildhood bedroom. Even over the handful of times I’ve been here for holidays, it was always just a quick visit. Dinner, some socializing, and then back to the hotel or airport to head back home. I don’t think I’ve ever seen inside the bedroom at the end of the hallway until now. My dad was totally a cool surfer dude back in the nineties. His old surf posters are still taped to the wall, dusty and yellowing. His bright red surfboard stands tall in the corner. It’s all scuffed up and worn which tells me it wasn’t just a decoration. I bet my mom loved that he was a surfer guy. So much has changed since my dad grew up. He’s not the least bit laid back or fun now.

  The room has two French doors that open onto a small balcony. A small table and chairs are out there, even though you can only barely see the beach from this side of the house because there’s another house next door which takes up most of the view. Still, a room with a balcony is pretty cool. I try to open the door, but give up after a few minutes. I guess this room hasn’t been used in so long that the doors are stuck.

  After two days, I settle into a bit of a routine with Grandad. He wakes up earlier than anyone should ever wake up—like six in the morning—and takes a long walk on the beach. Then he comes back home and makes coffee and breakfast. I really want to stay in bed, sleeping as late as possible, but I also don’t feel comfortable helping myself to food in his kitchen, so I go out there and eat whenever he’s eating.

  Grandad is an amazing cook. He’s also a lot different from my own dad. Scary and old, yes, but there are some good qualities here too. Whenever we eat together at my house, my dad likes to sit next to Lucy and pull some of his “united front” crap where they both lecture me on whatever it is that I’m not doing right. Usually, it’s something Lucy doesn’t like and my dad will just side with her because she’s his wife.

  My dad is also a big talker. He will talk and talk and talk until I’ve forgotten what we started talking about in the first place. He doesn’t talk about fun stuff, either. It’s always, always, a lecture. My grades suck. My study habits suck. My friends suck. I should apply myself. I should work harder. I should figure out my college plans even though I still have a whole year left of high school next year.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  Grandad doesn’t do any of that. He tells me good morning when I walk into the kitchen and then hands me a plate and a coffee cup. I fill up my plate with some of everything he’s cooked—bacon, eggs, toast and jam are the usual offerings.

  And then we eat in silence.

  As much as I don’t want to be here this summer, I enjoy the silence. It’s nice not being constantly told how much you suck. It’s also nice being out of my house and away from all the stupid Harvard talk. I don’t even know how Kyndall did it. There’s nothing special about her besides excellent grades. When we were in fourth grade, I didn’t think it was possible to have a 100% average in a class on your report card. Kyndall had five of them. And then in English class, her average was 101 since she always got the extra credit spelling questions correct.

  Ugh.

  I swallow hard and wish the pain in my chest would go away. Every time I think of Kyndall and how annoying it is to be compared to her, I’ll also start to think about Lane and how he ripped my heart out. Then I’ll think about my grades. Destiny’s party that got me in trouble. Everything that makes me sad will come rising up in my thoughts as if by magic. I don’t want to think about any of it, but I can’t help it. My brain likes to torture me.

  While it’s nice to be free from my dad’s constant lectures, I’m still here alone, surrounded by the silence. After breakfast, I always go back to my room and work on my summer school assignments until I smell Grandad cooking lunch when I emerge again for another meal. I do the same thing for dinner. It’s a good plan. I figure I can spend the whole summer like this—eating Grandad’s cooking and then sitting in my dad’s old bedroom thinking about everything that’s gone wrong with my life.

  I keep my phone charged, but after a few days I stop looking at it. The only notifications I get are about that stupid viral video. I can’t bring myself to watch it, because who wants to replay their breakup on YouTube? And every one of my so-called friends who dares to text me about it does not get a reply. They don’t deserve a reply.

  Maybe I’ll just sit here in dad’s old room forever and never talk to anyone ever again.

  About a week goes by—I’m not sure how long because the days are blending together and I’m not counting them—and there’s knock on my bedroom door about an hour after dinner.

  Deep down I hope it’s my dad coming to take me home but I know that’s just wishful thinking.

  “Come in,” I call out.

  Grandad slowly opens my door. He’s wearing jeans and a black and red plaid shirt. He seems more put together than usual. I give him a small smile while he stands in the doorway.

  “How you feeling?” he asks, his voice gruff and to the point.

  “Fine.”

  His dark eyes study me. “You’re not sick or anything?”

  I shrug. “No.” Not sick. Just heartbroken.

  He nods once. “I’ve let you mope around in your room all week, but I think it’s time we lay down some ground rules.”

  I stiffen. I guess I knew this was too good to be true. Of course he has rules. This is punishment, after all. Not a vacation. “Okay.” My voice is meek and pathetic.

  “Your dad says you have school work to do?”

  “Yes sir,” I say, nodding toward my laptop at the foot of the bed. “I’ve been working on it every day.”

  He nods again. “Good. So here’s the deal. You can sit in here and hate the world six days a week. But on Friday, you have to come out of this room. You will join us for Friday night poker.”

  “I don’t really know how to play poker,” I admit.

  “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to, but you will join us every Friday night at seven.” He takes a step back into the hallway and checks his watch. “That’s in ten minutes. Meet us outside.”

  I don’t know what he means by “us” but he walks away before I can ask for clarification. Also, that’s not at all how I thought this talk would go. His only rule is for me to hang out at poker night once a week? Despite being related, my dad and grandfather are totally different people.

  I’m wearing black spandex workout pants and an old T-shirt I plan on sleeping in. It’s from my freshman year when Destiny and I thought it would be fun to run a half marathon. Spoiler alert – it was not fun. All I got from it was blistered feet, a sunburn, and this boring oversized T-shirt. But I guess it’s a good enough outfit for sitting outside and watching old people play poker, so I drag myself outside of my room.

  The beach house’s wraparound porch is twice as wide on the front of the house so there’s lots of room to sit out here and watch the beach. In addition to the wicker furniture that’s always out here, my Grandad has set up a fold out poker table. It’s the kind with cupholders and green felt on top. My Grandad sits at the table along with two old men and one old woman. The three old men are busy talking about property taxes, but the woman sees me the moment I step out on the porch.

  “Well hello there,” she says warmly as a wrinkled smile lights up her face. She’s really tan, with light blue eyes and long white hair that’s pulled into a high bun. As far as being old goes, she’s not that old. Maybe in her late sixties? She pulls out the folding chair next to her and pats it. “You are very beautiful for being related to this cranky old man.”

  I chuckle and realize it’s the first time I’ve so much as smiled in a week. “I’m Hadley,” I say, sitting next to her.

  “I’m Jan. I live three houses to the east,” she says with a nod of her head toward that direction. She winks at me. “And I always take old Clint for all he’s worth.”

  “I’m gonna get my ten dollars back,” Grandad says, stopping mid conversation to glare at her. “Every dollar of it and then some.”

  Jan waves away his words with her hand. “K
eep talking, old man. You all know I’m the best poker player.”

  Grandad smiles at her. “It was all luck.”

  Jan shrugs. “Luck or talent? Who cares if the end result is me taking all your money?”

  “Look at them,” one of the men says. “Bickering like an old married couple.”

  It could be my imagination but both Jan and Grandad look chagrined at this comment. Grandad clears his throat. “As soon as the boy gets here, we’ll start.”

  The boy?

  “Sorry I’m late!”

  As if on cue, a voice sounds from around the corner and then a guy carrying a plastic container emerges. He is definitely not a boy. He’s more like my age, but he’s cuter than any of the guys who go to my school. He’s tall, with dark hair that looks recently cut. Like all the beach locals, he’s got an amazing tan. He’s wearing black board shorts and a light blue T-shirt that hugs his chest in all the right ways. He sets the plastic food container on the table. “But I brought cookies.”

  One of the old guys pops the lid off and they all reach in and take a cookie. Jan takes two and hands one to me.

  Grandad looks at me and I can’t quite make out what he’s thinking. Then again, I never can. “Jeremy, this is my granddaughter.”

  The guy turns toward me, and I see a long, jagged scar that cuts across his cheek. Luckily, I don’t flinch or grimace or do anything stupid to express my shock at seeing that awful scar.

  “Hi, there.” Jeremy smiles and takes a seat across the table from me. He reaches for the deck of cards and begins shuffling it, and I notice another scar trailing down his forearm. It ends at the base of a beautiful tattoo of a dog paw that looks like a watercolor painting. I suddenly understand that old cliché about guys with scars being sexy. This guy is totally hot. Of course, he’d be hot without the scars too.

  He looks at me and a shiver runs down my spine. “Are you the sweet granddaughter or the know-it-all stuck up one?”