Rumors and Lies at Evermore High Boxset: Three Sweet YA Romances

by Emily Lowry

  We sat in silence for a minute, each of us scrolling through our phones, trying to put together potential suspects.

  “So, Lauren’s the only realistic option,” I said.

  “She was at the carnival,” Jordyn said. “She’s come into Beachbreak. And she hates me. Why not her?”

  Before we could dive deeper into the conversation, the patio door slid open. It was Jordyn’s mom. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore a perfectly pressed, white linen sundress and matching cardigan. Her red-lipsticked mouth parted in a smile as she saw me. She was the epitome of polished. And though she and Jordyn shared the same navy eyes and angular, beautiful faces, Mrs. Jones was a precisely crafted oil painting while Jordyn was a rainbow of modern art splatters.

  “Dylan! Wonderful to see you here,” Mrs. Jones said. A panicked expression crossed her face. “Jordyn’s not in trouble, is she?”

  Jordyn sighed heavily. “You know it’s possible for people to want to visit me because they like me, right? Not just because I’m in trouble?”

  “Of course, dear,” Jordyn’s mom said. The panic didn’t leave her face, and she kept her eyes on me, waiting for me to confirm the worst in her daughter.

  “We’re just visiting,” I said, mustering my friendliest smile.

  “That’s good. It’s nice that Chase has someone who can check in on our Jordyn. Someone that he can trust. I’ll get some freshly squeezed lemonade.” She left, sliding the door closed behind her.

  Her words echoed in my mind. Chase has someone he can trust…

  But if he could trust me, then why was I working so hard to lie to him?

  38

  Dylan

  I stood in the kitchen at Beachbreak, my stomach twisting into a thousand nervous knots. My hands sweat, my fingers leaving prints on the order slip. It was supposed to be so easy. A Midnight Meal, a double-cheeseburger, garden style, and three buckets of fries, each with a different spice. Jordyn had already made the shakes.

  I double-checked all the ingredients, then carefully placed the burgers in their paper bags, trying to angle them in the most appetizing way possible. I grabbed the tray and carried it out to the three people sitting with Luis in the back booth. Luis was wearing his regular Beachbreak uniform. But the other three men were all in clean, pressed suits. Suits that looked way too hot — and way too expensive — to be in Beachbreak.

  I set the food on the table. “Here you go.”

  The men nodded their thanks and immediately appraised the food. The nearest, a tall, skinny man with a face so tan it was practically leather, took a bite of one burger. Chewed. Swallowed. “More than satisfactory.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. This entire time, I’d been terrified that they would hate the food. That my failure as a chef would single-handedly cost Beachbreak its opportunity to cater the movie.

  A woman — I think she was a location scout — popped a handful of fries in her mouth and chewed them greedily. “More than satisfactory, Mike? These are great!” To emphasize her point, she devoured another handful. “We’d be happy to have Beachbreak be the official caterer for Under Cove Productions’ next film.”

  I nearly leaped with joy.

  “But.”

  But? There was always a but, wasn’t there?

  “We’re not making that decision today,” the man — Mike — said. “We have a few more restaurants to trial. At least one of which is another burger place.”

  “Okay,” Luis said. He folded his hands in front of him, looking like a kid pretending to be a businessman. Originally, Dad planned to be here to meet the movie people. Then they showed up a day early for lunch without telling us who they were until they’d already ordered their meal. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  “The menu,” Mike said, offering a thin-lipped smile. “We need to know that you can cater to all dietary restrictions. While we wouldn’t be using Beachbreak every day, we like to have a selection of local options available for lunch, and we would likely use your restaurant as our official caterer at least once a week, if not twice.”

  Seemingly out of nowhere, Jordyn arrived with a menu in hand. She passed it to Mike, then gave me a wink as she walked away.

  “Can I get you anything else?” I asked.

  “Could use more of these fries,” the woman said.

  Mike rolled his eyes and waved me away, his Rolex glinting as it caught the sunlight. “That’ll be all.”

  I returned to the back. As I was walking past the office, I heard voices. Jordyn and Sofia.

  “I was hoping Noah would be here today,” Sofia said.

  Noah. So the awkward British boy and Sofia were on a first name basis, were they?

  “Better luck next time,” Jordyn said.

  I peeked through a crack in the door. Sofia was sitting on the edge of the desk, eating her lunch. She had a distinct look of disappointment on her face. She probably expected that awkward boy to come back with the movie people. That would explain why she’d been hogging the mirror all morning. But how would she have known?

  Unless they were texting.

  I didn’t like the idea. But I thought about what Jordyn said. Sofia should be able to date if she wanted to. And if I continued to act all over-protective, all I would do was push her away. I decided against bursting into the office and demanding she stay away from all boys until the end of time.

  “Do you want some advice?” Jordyn asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Make your move soon.”

  Sofia hesitated. “Why?”

  “Because the longer you wait to make your move, the more complicated it gets,” Jordyn said. “You get a crush on someone, and you bury it because you know you’re not supposed to have it, or because you’re afraid he doesn’t like you or whatever. And then you become friends. And in my experience, the closer you are as friends, the less likely the relationship is to work. I’ve honestly never seen close friends date and have the relationship end well.”

  I slipped away from the door before they realized I was listening. Now my stomach was twisting into knots for a whole new reason. Was that what Jordyn thought? Was that how she felt?

  Did she think this relationship — whatever it was — was ultimately doomed?

  39

  Jordyn

  I flicked off Beachbreak’s neon ‘Open’ sign, turned the deadbolt, and rested my forehead against the warm glass door. It was another long shift and my feet were aching, my head pounding. In the summer, it didn’t matter if it was a weekend or a weeknight, Beachbreak was busy. The customers were friendly but loud, and just before closing, an entire youth soccer team had stopped in, their coach carrying a giant trophy.

  In the back, Dylan was cleaning the kitchen. He seemed off tonight, a strange and uncomfortable distance growing between us. Something was bothering him. Every time I tried to ask him if he was okay, he blew me off. Which contributed to my admittedly foul mood.

  But now, there was nowhere for him to escape.

  When I saw Dylan scrubbing down the grill, every frustration evaporated. He was so tired, he looked like a zombie. His eyes were half-closed, his head barely propped up. He hunched over the grill and rubbed his back, looking for the briefest of moments like his father. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with me attacking him.

  I slid up beside him and bumped my hip into his. “Dead man walking.”

  He grunted in response, not taking his eyes from the grill.

  I checked to make sure no one was watching. “Need a kiss to bring you back to life, Sleeping Beauty?”

  The words felt awkward as soon as they left my mouth. I was trying to be cute and flirty, but I felt more like a kid playing pretend. And doing a poor job of it.

  “Just a nap,” Dylan said, in no mood to engage in any banter. Or kissing.

  Was he pulling away from me?

  I didn’t know what to say, so instead of breaking the silence, I let awkwardness fill the space betwee
n us. It was tremendously uncomfortable. Worse, I couldn’t tell if he was being honest that he was just tired or if he was mad at me. Or both. Maybe he needed some space. Maybe having me around all the time was too much Jordyn for him to deal with. I could be a handful. I think the only person who could have me around constantly was Chase.

  “I think I know how we can find out who’s following you,” Dylan said. He still didn’t look up to meet my eyes.

  My ears perked up. “How?”

  “We’ll go on a fake date.” Dylan finished scrubbing the grill and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Lure them out into the open.”

  “You want to go on a fake date to hide our real relationship?” I asked. Oh, the irony. I thought going on a fake date was a silly idea. But going on a fake date pretending to be in a relationship to hide your real relationship? Trying to understand it immediately made my headache worse.

  “Yes.” Dylan said simply.

  “And where would we go on this fake date?”

  “Somewhere cheesy. Romano’s?”

  “And if we don’t see whoever’s following me?”

  “Sofia,” Dylan called.

  His sister stumbled into the kitchen. Normally she was a ball of energy, but the long shift and the endless number of customers had even worn her out. “What’s up?”

  “We need your help.” Dylan explained the plan. He would take me on a fake date to Romano’s, reserve a table on the Riverwalk patio. Sofia would watch from afar to see if anyone was taking pictures of us. She would film everything. Then we’d review the film to see if we noticed anyone.

  When he was finished explaining, Sofia gave him the type of eye-roll that only a little sister could pull off. “I’ll do it, but this is stupid. Why do people care if you’re dating? And are you even dating?”

  “We’re not,” Dylan said tiredly.

  “Too bad,” Sofia replied. She shot me a wink. “You couldn’t do any better than Jordyn.”

  I grinned. “You hear that, Ramirez? Your sister is a certified genius.”

  I examined my outfit in the mirror and wondered what Dylan would think.

  It was pretty, yes, but it didn’t feel like me. The navy floral sundress was flouncy and girly. The shoes — beige espadrilles my mom had bought me that still had the tags on — felt pinched and uncomfortable. My hair fell in loose waves around my shoulders, but I longed to yank it back in its usual messy ponytail.

  When was the last time I cared this much about what a boy would think about how I looked? It was never like this with Pete. With Pete, I did what I wanted, when I wanted, and let him suffer the consequences. I probably wasn’t the best person for him to date.

  And now I was going on a fake date with the guy I wanted to be my real boyfriend.

  Boyfriend.

  Was that what I wanted?

  I ripped the price tag off my shoe with a snap. It was pointless to deny any of my feelings. They were definitely there, and they were making my life way more confusing than it should’ve been. I wanted to be with Dylan, but Chase would be back soon. And with Chase came reality. And we’d agreed — when he came back, our fling needed to end.

  Didn’t it?

  I knew this in my head, but yet, in my heart—

  WHOA. Red light, Jordyn.

  The doorbell rang, the sound echoing through our empty house.

  My heart fluttered. I checked my outfit one last time.

  “Okay. Here I go.” Trying to steady my breathing, I slowly made my way to the front door. I rested my hand on the doorknob, took one more deep breath, then pulled it open.

  Dylan flashed me a bashful grin that was entirely different from his usual cocky smirk. Why did he have to look so ridiculously hot in dress clothes? He wore a white shirt, khakis, and a navy blazer. His hair was neater than usual, curling at the nape of his neck, above his collar.

  His hand was behind his back.

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Got something planned, Ramirez?”

  “Nothing you can’t handle.” He presented me with a bouquet of lilies in an array of vibrant pinks and purples. They were the color of clouds during a beautiful sunset.

  Oh. Oh wow. My cheeks flamed red.

  I took the lilies from him, and, because I didn’t know what else to do, I smelled them, then held them against my chest. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t the type of girl to have a favorite flower, or to even tell the difference between different flowers, but the gesture almost overwhelmed me. Would this have felt different if we were going on a real date?

  Dylan looked at me cautiously. “They’re not too girly for you, are they?”

  “They’re lovely,” I said, my voice soft.

  “Do you know how to take care of them?”

  “Shove them in water?”

  Dylan laughed. “Kind of. Here.”

  He took the flowers from my hand, the foil crinkling in his grip. We went to the kitchen and found an empty vase in one of the cupboards. Dylan unwrapped the flowers, cut the stems at an angle, then plunked them in the water.

  “Does it matter if you cut them at an angle?” I asked.

  “Gives them more surface area, makes it easier to drink,” Dylan said. “At least that’s what my mom said.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Do you only know how to do this because you asked your mom?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Told her I had a big date.”

  “And she told you to get flowers?” I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  “Flowers were my idea. Thought they were pretty. According to the florist person, lilies symbolize purity, commitment, and… uh…”

  “And what?”

  Dylan cleared his throat. “Fertility.”

  I burst out laughing, resting my arm on his shoulder as I bent over, gasping for breath. Touching his shoulder felt so natural, so normal, that I didn’t even think about it. My nerves for the date melted away as I choked with laughter.

  “Fertility? You want me to be fertile?”

  “That’s not what—”

  Tears in my eyes, I took the vase from him. “Can’t wait to tell my dad you bought me fertility flowers.”

  “They’re not fertility flowers! They’re just pretty!”

  “Uh huh, sure.” Still laughing, I took the vase up to my room. I cleared a spot on my desk and set the vase there. He was right, the flowers were pretty. Beautiful, even. Pete said a lot of nice things, but this was the first time a boy had given me flowers. As much as I wanted to tease him endlessly that he’d given me ‘fertility flowers,’ the gesture meant a lot.

  It may have been a fake date, but nobody was here to see him give me those flowers.

  It was one more thing he did for me that he didn’t have to do.

  One more thing he did for me just to make me happy.

  I sighed, smiling.

  Stupid Ramirez.

  40

  Jordyn

  In Evermore, Romano’s was the cliché place to go for a cliché date. It was exactly as cheesy as the name implied. The tables were draped with white cloth. The napkins had pink hearts etched around the edges. On each table, there were flickering candles for ambience, but the candles used LEDs instead of open flames. If you sat inside, there was a large glass room with a grill so you could watch your steak being prepared. Italian love songs played through the speakers.

  And, if you asked, they would shape your meal so it looked like a heart.

  It was like love had puked all over the place.

  I hooked my arm in Dylan’s as the waiter — who I suspected was faking an Italian accent — led us to our table, which was on the Riverwalk patio. We were right near the edge, in plain sight for the entire world — and for whoever was trying to blast me all over Click.

  It was strange to be sitting in plain sight, clearly on a date with Dylan Ramirez. I felt like I was being torn in half. Part of me wished that this could be a real date, that we didn’t have to hide our relationship from anyone. And the other p
art of me didn’t want to get my hopes up. If you kept your hopes low, it hurt a lot less when everything came crashing down around you.

  And everything always came crashing down. Just look at my parents.

  Dylan cleared his throat. “So… how are you?”

  “Good. You?”

  “Good.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah.”

  On the drive over, we listened to the radio. Probably because neither of us knew what to talk about. The invisible distance seemed to grow between us. It was so strange how you could be right beside someone but feel so far apart. Was this what love did to friendships? Made conversation super awkward?

  “I, uh, I don’t know what to talk about,” I said. “Do you… come here often?”

  Dylan examined the menu. “First time. Always walked past it, never been inside. My dad doesn’t like it. Says the food is overpriced fancy bull—”

  Our waiter cleared his throat, a thin-lipped smile on his face. “Have you decided?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Dylan said awkwardly. “I was just talking about this other restaurant.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  We ordered our food. Dylan opted for a steak, medium-rare, side of Caesar salad. I ordered the carbonara. This wasn’t a real date, so I could shove my face full of pasta, right?

  While we waited for our food, neither of us tried to make conversation. Instead, we both stared at the river as it gently flowed. I had hoped I was imagining the distance between Dylan and myself, but the more time we spent together, the more obvious it was: something was wrong. For the first time in my life, I legitimately felt awkward around Dylan. For the first time ever, we had nothing to talk about, laugh about.

  And I hated it.

  Was it because Chase would be back soon?

  Was it because of something I did?

  Was it because of something Dylan felt?

  I glanced at him, trying to read his mind, but his expression was stoic. Our fake date had started so promisingly with the flowers, but now, it didn’t feel romantic at all. It didn’t even feel like friends having dinner.