by Emily Lowry
When I returned from Denver, I’d even spoken to my mom and step dad about the pressure I was feeling from them, and they had been remarkably understanding. Mom had even agreed to lay off bothering me about a strict diet regime.
I finally understood that boxes and labels, whispers in the hallways — none of them mattered. I was just going to be the Hailey I wanted to be.
Trey strummed his guitar and sang. He sang as though he was Heathcliff, making clumsy, brash attempts to woo me. Meanwhile, I made witty remarks rejecting each advance — all referencing different bits of the novel. It was brilliant.
We really did make the perfect team.
Our project had the desired effect. The class was fully engaged and laughing at every joke. Even Adam, who was sitting in the corner trying hard to look grumpy, stifled a giggle.
We finished our performance, clasped hands, and bowed. After we returned to our seats, Mr. Adebayo took his place at the front of the class, wiping a tear from his eye, still shaking with laughter. “Well done, you two,” he said. “That might be the first time Mr. Carter gets an A.”
“Probably the last time, too,” Trey said.
Everyone laughed.
The bell rang and students filed out.
Someone nearby cleared their throat.
I looked up to see Adam.
“Good show,” he said. He was trying to smile. He even sounded… sincere?
“Thanks?” I said cautiously. For the past few weeks he had left us alone.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said. “For, you know, everything.”
Well this was a twist.
Trey and I exchanged glances.
“Thanks.”
“And I was wondering…” He pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Trey. It was a copy of the concert bill from Prohibition. From Trey’s first-ever concert. Word had quickly gotten out about how amazing it had been, and how he had signed with Mountain Cat records. Since then, it seemed like everyone at Evermore was trying to get him to sign something. It wasn’t every day Evermore had a celebrity in its midst. Copies of the concert bill were the most popular, but there were also a handful of pencil drawings, and a desperate attempt from Madison to get him to sign her décolletage.
That one hadn’t gone well. Much to my own delight, I have to admit.
Trey looked at me.
I nodded.
He signed it and handed it back to Adam.
“Thanks,” Adam said. “Looking forward to your music.”
And with that, he was gone.
“That was weird, right?” Trey asked, his voice low.
“Wonders never cease,” I said.
He stretched and yawned. “This whole fame thing is weird.”
I laughed. “Oh, sweetie, you’re not famous yet. I promise — it’s only going to get weirder from here.”
“As long as you’re willing to be weird with me.”
“Always.”
We finished our school day and met at his van. This was our new routine. Trey picked me up every morning, then instead of going back to my empty house — my stepdad still hadn’t met Trey — we went to his place and enjoyed a home-cooked meal with his mom and little brother.
Tonight, Rayna was serving lasagna. She set a slice down in front of me, the cheese perfectly melted and golden.
“I have to ask, did my son ever apologize?”
“Apologize for what?” I asked.
“For stereotyping you?”
I grinned. “I honestly can’t remember.”
Trey rolled his eyes, exasperated. “I’ve made this apology like a hundred times.”
“Yeah, but what’s a hundred and one?” I said, smirking.
“Whatever — I’m sorry for stereotyping you. For thinking you’re just some rich cheerleader.”
I scoffed, pretending to be offended. “But I am some rich cheerleader.”
Trey threw up his hands. “What am I even supposed to—”
I kissed his cheek. “But I’m more than that, too.”
Rayna laughed and retreated to the kitchen.
Trey looked at me seriously. “Hailey Danielson, you’re more than you could even imagine. And I don’t care what you become; I’ll be thrilled as long as you’ll have me.”
I smiled, slung my arm around his shoulder, and pulled him in close.
“MOM! THEY’RE KISSING AGAIN!”
Dylan Ramirez is My Forbidden Boyfriend
Rumors and Lies at Evermore High #3
1
Jordyn
Glass shattered.
The sound was punctuated by a brief silence, then mom started yelling again. When she got really riled up, she loved to throw things. What was it this time?
“Come one, come all, and place your bets!” I put on my best sideshow booth hustler voice and mimed sticking a microphone in my brother’s face. “Tell me, young man — what is it that mom just trashed? A vase? The ‘good’ china that we never use? A photo frame?”
I expected my twin brother, Chase, to laugh. Instead, he paced across his bedroom, looking concerned. It was one of the rare nights he wasn’t with his girlfriend Abby, and truthfully, I was thankful to have him by my side. Even if it meant being trapped in his room, which smelled like someone accidentally punctured a can of cheap body spray.
“Going once.” I shoved my imaginary microphone closer to his mouth.
He pushed my hand away. “I don’t feel like it, J.”
“This game is not optional, young man,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “You can either play the game or you can face reality. Of those two options, which would you like?”
He sighed, resigned. “A photo.”
“Bold prediction.”
“There was a clunk after the glass broke.” Chase slouched and rubbed his eyes. “And there wasn’t that scattering sound that comes with the vase.”
We knew way too much about the sound household objects made when they hit the wall. “I’ll accept photo,” I said. “But — for the bonus prize — which one?”
“Sixth grade school photo.”
“Mine or yours?”
Chase didn’t need to answer that. He was the all-star quarterback. He was going places. I was… his sister. As far as my mom was concerned, I’d be lucky to make it to the corner store without doing something that would embarrass the family for generations.
“Shame it’ll be mine,” I said. “Your sixth-grade picture is horrible.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It was so bad that, upon seeing your gap-toothed smile, dad sent you to the best orthodontist in the state. You had braces forever. You probably still have them.”
Chase glared. As confident and popular as he was, his childhood teeth were still a sore spot — the kind of spot that only an annoying sister could aggravate. He sat next to me on the edge of his unmade bed. His hands gripped his thighs, turning his knuckles white. “Should I go down there?”
“And do what? Put yourself between them and tell them to stop fighting? Puh-lease. You’re not an after-school special.” We had this debate every time. Chase, who saw himself as my protector, wanted to step in. I wanted to step out. If my parents couldn’t figure out how to be civilized after twenty years together, they’d never figure it out.
Plus, stepping in just made things worse. Mom got madder. Dad got more distant. They never laid a hand on each other, so nobody was in physical danger. They just loved a good ol’ screaming session.
“Why don’t they just get a divorce already?” Chase asked.
Another question nobody needed to answer. We both knew why.
My parents took the phrase ‘Keeping up with the Joneses’ literally. When we went out together, it wasn’t a family night, it was a presentation. A way to show the world that we were shiny, untarnished. We were the flag-bearer, the standard by which every family should be measured. Divorce meant admitting their marriage was a pretty lie.
I rested my head on my brother’s shou
lder. He was seven minutes older than me, seven inches taller and seventy pounds heavier, which made him think he was responsible for me. And for everything I did.
I pretended to hate this, but deep down — like, deep, deep, past the confines of time and space — it was nice to have someone looking out for me. Plus, Chase was the only family member I enjoyed being around. Most of the time. He was still a brother, after all.
Chase’s shoulders dropped and he rubbed his eyes again. The gesture made him look more like an overworked office drone than a seventeen-year-old football star. “I shouldn’t be leaving you this summer.”
So that’s why he was so stone-faced about this particular parental bust-up.
The family traits for compassion and sensitivity had all gone to Chase. He probably inherited them from our abuela, our wonderful grandmother back in Puerto Rico. Sweetest woman alive. I still wasn’t sure how my mom could be her daughter. Maybe empathy skipped a generation.
“We’re seventeen,” I said. “Practically adults. Well, I am. You have some serious maturing to do.”
Chase rolled his eyes.
I persisted. “Fine. Don’t laugh at my hilarious joke. Or was it a joke? You are pretty immature.”
He shoved me playfully.
“See! SO childish.”
He laughed and casually whacked me with a pillow.
But I’d made him laugh.
Good. That was what mattered.
Losing Chase for the summer would suck. But I could never, ever tell him that. Mr. All Star Quarterback needed to focus on the future, not his annoying sister who devoured a box of cereal a day.
Chase was more than Evermore High’s star quarterback. He was the best high school QB in the state. He had a bright, shiny scholarship ahead of him, and this summer’s football camp would be the perfect kick off to his senior year season.
Six weeks alone with mom and dad? I could handle that.
Downstairs, the front door slammed so hard the house shook. An engine revved and tires squealed out of the driveway.
“Storm’s over,” I said. It was time to get out of Dodge. “Hailey’s party?”
Chase nodded. “Hailey’s party.”
“We need to grab Dylan on the way?”
“I’ll text him.”
Dylan Ramirez was my first crush. Past-tense. He was the grade-A hottie all the girls crushed on, and back then, and I was the idiot who momentarily became one of those girls. He was tall, dark and handsome, and came complete with a smirk that said he knew he was gorgeous.
Puh-lease. Soooo predictable. Dylan Ramirez was a total player.
He was also my brother’s best friend. They started playing football together before they were potty trained, and by the time they reached high school, they were the perfect quarterback and running back combination. The standout football stars at Evermore High.
And my crush on Dylan? It happened when I was twelve. It was nothing, a stupid schoolgirl fantasy about a boy I’d been friends with since I was a toddler. I was so embarrassed that I reverted to teasing Dylan about everything — and I do mean everything. Once, to justify why I was staring at him during a family dinner, I started making fun of how he held his fork. Later, I tried to tease Chase and Dylan about our moms bathing them together as babies. My mom overheard and corrected me — apparently they bathed all three of us together. She even fished out a photo for evidence.
That was a fun day. Note the sarcasm.
Staring down at the photo of three babies lined up in the bath together, I vowed to lock my silly little crush into the deepest, darkest pit of my existence. Dylan and I were lifelong friends, our fate sealed for us when we were just infants. Dylan Ramirez would never like me like that. So, I shouldn’t like him that way. I pushed my crush far out of my mind, and since that day, Dylan had just been like a second, equally annoying brother to me.
And I was determined: that was all he ever would be.
As an equally annoying brother, he was entitled to certain privileges, such as getting a ride to the year-end bash. Today was the last day of junior year at Evermore High. My best friend, Hailey Danielson, was throwing an epic end-of-year party at her mansion before she jetted off to Europe for the summer.
Ugh.
With Chase and Hailey both gone, who would I have to hang out with this summer?
And more importantly — how was I going to get out of this nightmare of a house?
My phone vibrated, distracting me from my thoughts.
It was a blast from Click, Evermore’s anonymous gossip app. Through Click, anyone could write anything about anyone, regardless of whether it was true or not. So, what was on the docket today?
School’s out for summer, but gossip is forever. Word on the street is that our fave couples, Chase and Abby, and Trey and Hailey, will be out of town for most of the summer. Sounds like a golden opportunity to dish the dirt on someone new… so come on, Evermore, cast your vote - who is your new favorite?
I rolled my eyes, feeling a deep surge of pity for whoever Click decided to follow this summer.
2
Dylan
The kitchen of Beachbreak Burgers was hotter than a summer afternoon in the Arizona desert. Beef, bacon, and onions sizzled on the griddle, and my t-shirt clung to my body, damp with sweat. At the smell of the food, my stomach grumbled.
It was almost 7pm and I hadn’t eaten since noon. My dad, the owner of Beachbreak, had a strict rule: no eating while working. Apparently, it was a huge food safety violation. I didn’t argue. There was no point in arguing with dad; he was stubborn as an ox.
The service bell rang.
“Order up!” My older brother, Luis, yelled.
“Order up,” I repeated, turning my attention back to funneling fries into baskets.
Luis rang the bell again. “Ashley? Dylan — where is she?”
“Take a wild guess.”
Ashley was SUPPOSED to be one of Beachbreak’s waitresses. But when the dinner rush hit, she disappeared. She claimed her slow service was because she was chatting with the customers, which was an important part of the Beachbreak experience. However, the only customers she chatted with were her friends from Evermore.
Where was she this time?
I scanned the restaurant, peering through the cheerful families celebrating the first day of summer vacation.
Ashley was plunked at a booth in the back corner, yapping away to her friends. She looked more customer than waitress, and when a balding man asked her for something, she lifted one finger to say ‘just a minute,’ then turned back to her friends.
Anger boiled in my stomach. I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth hurt. I was a patient guy, but I had no time for people who weren’t willing to put in an effort. Especially when my family was paying them to work.
I slung my dishcloth over my shoulder and balanced plates of burgers and fries precariously on my arms. I wasn’t the most graceful waiter in the world, but at least when I was serving, your food actually arrived at your table. I whisked the overflowing plates off to table 26, then ducked behind the bar to whip up a waiting order of milk shakes.
As I added vanilla ice cream and caramel syrup to the blender, I peeked into the kitchen.
Dad was on duty at the griddle, wielding a flipper in one hand. He hunched forward, his other hand resting on his lower back. Dad worked harder than anyone I knew. His hunched back was a permanent reminder of the long hours spent slaving at Beachbreak to provide for his wife and three kids. We joked that Beachbreak, the restaurant he’d opened after moving to the USA to start a new life, was like his fourth kid.
Still grinding my teeth, I set the milkshakes on the counter.
Ashley returned and glared at me like I’d done something wrong. “Table 26 didn’t order milkshakes. I know they didn’t. If you’re going to ring the bell and tell me that the order is ready, at least make sure it’s the right order, mmkay?”
Keep calm, Dylan. Keep calm.
“They’re for table 27.�
�
“Table 27 wasn’t ready to order.”
“Oh. I wonder why they came up to the till to place their order, then?”
“Well maybe if they’d been ready when I was, they wouldn’t have had to do that.” Ashley sniffed. “So, let me know when there’s another order, mmkay? My friends really need me to be there for them.”
I looked past her to her friends. They were all smiling and laughing with each other.
“I need you to take over the till so I can get through the backlog of shakes,” I struggled to keep my voice calm and in control.
Ashley scrunched her face like the cash register was the most disgusting thing on the planet. “I’m a waitress, not a cashier. It’s not really in my job description.”
She wasn’t joking, but I laughed anyway. How could I not? Taking orders and collecting payment was literally her entire job description.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
Shaking my head, I said, “You’re fired.”
Her eyes darkened. “Are you kidding? If you fire me, you’ll be completely understaffed.”
“So literally nothing would change?”
“Ugh. Whatever. You know, I liked you Dylan. I thought you were cool.” She untied her apron and threw it at me.
I caught it deftly in one hand and watched as Ashley spun on her heel and marched out of Beachbreak, not even bothering to collect her friends on her way out.
She would not be missed.
I hated firing people. I believed that everyone deserved a chance to show the world what they could do. But if you had that chance and you weren’t even willing to put in an effort? That was completely unacceptable. Dad raised me and my siblings to believe that effort was everything. It was the Ramirez way, he said.
