by Chase Connor
Just a Dumb Surfer Dude 3:
Summer Hearts
By: Chase Connor
© Copyright 2019 Chase Connor by Chase Connor
All characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are eighteen years of age or older. These stories are about fictional consenting adults. Nobody involved in the creation of this ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models' actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people.
Models are used for illustrative purposes only.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
AUTHORS’ NOTE:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Point Worth is a fictional Ohio town. None of this is real.
Cover Design by Allen T. St. Clair
Sonnet 27 is a work of poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay that is in the public domain and is featured in its entirety within this novel.
As always:
To my beta-readers and “feedback crew”: I am so glad you are all here. And I am so glad you are all so blunt with me—even if I do what I want most of the time.
To all of the readers: It has been quite a journey. I’ve loved every second of it. Let’s get to the end together, shall we?
Also by Chase Connor
Just a Dumb Surfer Dude: A Gay Coming-of-Age Tale
Just a Dumb Surfer Dude 2: For the Love of Logan
Gavin’s Big Gay Checklist
A Surplus of Light
The Guy Gets Teddy
GINJUH
A Tremendous Amount of Normal
The Gravity of Nothing
A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romances
Jacob Michaels Is Tired (Book 1)
Jacob Michaels Is Not Crazy (Book 2)
Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels (Book 3)
Jacob Michaels Is Not Here (Book 4)
Jacob Michaels Is Trouble (Book 5)
Erotica
Bully
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
A Note from Chase/About the Author
Chapter 1
Cooper
A tiny speck of mold was found in a coffee carafe on Monday, so the entire coffee and sandwich bar was closed for a thorough cleaning. When Tuesday came, and it still wasn’t reopened, I had to decide to be a good person and not completely flip out. On Wednesday, they were making sandwiches again, but there was still no coffee. By Thursday, I was prepared to make a sign ala Norma Rae and stand on top of one of the concrete and steel picnic tables in the courtyard proclaiming the situation completely unacceptable. Unionize, motherfuckers! Take down the man! The taco truck was getting old really quickly, and there were no other food stations that served coffee during lunch.
Sure, caffeinated bliss can be achieved through the consumption of soda—but I hate the stuff. Tea is another option, I suppose, but why would someone think that tea was an acceptable substitute for coffee? Tea is okay, but it’s not exactly the delicious nectar of the gods like coffee. It certainly doesn’t help me maintain my even disposition in the same way that coffee does, so I just relegated myself to drinking water with my lunches. Of course, this meant that on Thursday, when Alex suggested “maybe you have an addiction,” a long dream-sequence where I beat the crap out of him, set to 90s Gangsta Rap, played in my head. It wasn’t until Logan jabbed me in my arm that I realized that Alex was still alive, everyone was still carrying on with their conversations, and I still had no coffee with my lunch.
Look, don’t get me wrong, I love Alex with every fiber of my being. I’m a rational human being usually. However, there’s only so much a guy can take, especially when he has been forced to go without coffee for days before he totally flips his lid. I wanted to point out to Alex that if he didn’t get his sodas every day, he tended to be a little bit of a monster, too. Calling out his addiction to defend my own seemed to be counterproductive, though, so I just kept that to myself. Holding back made me feel gassy and bloated for the rest of the day, so it was a bad situation all around. The gathering storm before a full-blown meltdown that people in some circles like to refer to as a “hissy fit.”
On Thursday evening, Logan came over to the house, since he always came over to the house to study. But we only had one day left in our high school careers, so mostly we stared at each other and tried to think of what could possibly be said. It wasn’t like we were being assigned homework on the next to the last day of school, right? We made a few jokes, talked about memories, and regaled each other with our own versions of the story of our first meeting in AP Chemistry. It was funny—how the two of us behaved as though it would be the last time that we’d see each other.
The entire evening, Logan kept insisting that we had to see each other as much as possible during summer. His reasoning was that I was moving to California to go to UCLA after summer was over, and he still had no idea what he would be doing. The likelihood that we’d see each other with any frequency after summer was low, so of course, we had to get quality time in with each other. He also kept making me promise that we would text, FaceTime, and call each other often while I was in college and he was off doing whatever it was he decided to do. Of course, I promised that I would do everything he requested of me. He was my best friend, after all. Even when Alex and A.J. showed up later during our “study session,” we mostly ignored our boyfriends. The whole thing brought a smile to my face.
There’s something joyful about knowing that even if your family is gone, if your relationships fail—if everything in life is burning to the ground around you—you have a very best friend who will grab your hand and say:
“We got this.”
You can have the love of a parent, the love of a sibling, the love of a significant other…but there is nothing like the love between two friends. Best friends require nothing of you but your friendship. They want nothing and require very little besides attention, support, and affection. They choose to be in your life, to spend what little time they have in life by your side. They make that choice based on who you are, not what blood you might share. Best friends are probably the best kind of relationships.
Thursday evening, after Logan had left and I had spent some quality time with Alex, which only ended when Dad forced him to go home, I mostly sat on the couch. I stared at the T.V., though I didn’t turn it on, and Dad just sat in the living room with me, comfortably quiet. People can say what they want about high school, whether their experience is good or bad, but it is an experience that is unlike any other. It is the last step in childhood before a new adult goes off into the world to make their own place in it. It’s a profound moment for a kid, no matter what memories are attached to it. There is not much one can do except give themselves over to it and just…feel it.
On Friday, when I got to Dextrus, the mood was anything but somber and introspective. Most of the other students could barely contain their
excitement for leaving high school forever. Well, at least, that was how the seniors seem to feel. The underclassmen seemed to just be excited for the school year to end so that they could start their summers. They still had the luxury of knowing they had at least one more year at home, at Dextrus, with their friends, just being kids. There were no major choices for them, no stepping out into the world. Things were still exciting for them, but with the undertone of restraint that comfort provides.
I felt myself feeling somewhat envious of the underclassmen, even though I was equally excited to see what life held for me, too.
At lunchtime, when I made my way into the courtyard, I nearly avoided even glancing in the direction of the sandwich and coffee bar. My heart couldn’t take being broken once again. Even thinking about completing my last day at Dextrus without an iced coffee from the spot I’d eaten lunch at nearly every day of my high school career made my heart hurt. Over at the coffee and sandwich bar, an arm was in the air, seemingly waving me over, so I decided to swallow my sense of disappointment, and sauntered over to the coffee bar, hoping for the best. Mrs. Robinson’s arm lowered as I approached, but her smile broadened as I stepped up to the counter to see what was going on. Students milled about around me, going to one food spot or another as I raised an eyebrow, assessing the lady behind the counter who had been serving me lunch for four years.
“The headmaster said to not bother trying to get everything back into working order since this is the last week of school.” Mrs. Robinson explained slowly, drawing out her proclamation. “So, we aren’t serving coffee today. By the beginning of next school year we will be, though.”
I sighed. “Well…you’ve been good to me for four years, I guess I can suck it up.”
Chuckling, I knew that finishing my last day at Dextrus without coffee was not ideal, but Mrs. Robinson didn’t deserve my ire over it, either. However, she gave me a wink and reached under the counter. When her hand came back into view, a thermos—a real, honest to goodness thermos, complete with a lid that did dual-duty as a cup, like the ones they sold in the Dextrus admin shop—was held out to me. Gently, I reached out and took the thermos from Mrs. Robinson, slightly confused as to what was going on with my favorite courtyard employee.
“I couldn’t let you spend your last day at Dextrus without coffee. So, I made this at home for you this morning. It should be about room temperature by now. So, it should be a decent substitute for cold brew.” She said. “It just wouldn’t be right if you didn’t have coffee on your last day. Why don’t you take that with you? I’d hate to think you were in college without something to carry your favorite drink around in.”
I looked down at the thermos in my hand, touched by the gesture.
“Thank you. Very much.”
“Do you want a turkey, bacon, and avocado panini, Cooper?” She asked, all smiles once more. “It’ll be your last chance, after all.”
“Yes, please.” I looked up at her. “I’ll miss seeing you every day, Mrs. Robinson. It won’t be the same, not seeing your smile at lunch.”
Mrs. Robinson produced the amazing smile in question, then shouted my order over her shoulder to another one of the ladies who worked in the shop. I lowered the thermos so that it wasn’t a distraction between us any longer, and Mrs. Robinson leaned against the counter, bringing herself closer.
“I hear that you’re going to UCLA?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“To be a teacher?”
I smiled and looked down briefly. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, that’s the plan anyway. A teacher like my dad.”
She was all smiles. “He must be very proud.”
“He is.” I shrugged. “Even if he acts like he isn’t.”
“Well, I’m proud to know that someone like you will be teaching future generations, Cooper.”
“Someone…like me?”
Mrs. Robinson looked around the courtyard with a sigh.
“Do you pay attention to your classmates, Cooper?” She asked, her eyes scanning the courtyard. “Do you ever really take notice of them?”
I shrugged with a chuckle. “I try not to.”
“They’re always different with you around.”
Swallowing hard, I tried not to jump to being immediately offended.
“They know their manners when you’re around, Cooper.” Her eyes finally landed on me once again. “They’re kinder. Gentler. You inspire kindness and mindfulness in others, Cooper. It warms my heart to see how you’ve inspired the other kids here to be kinder and gentler.”
My eyes were down again, unable to meet Mrs. Robinson’s.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I spoke lowly, evenly, trying to control my voice.
“I hope this isn’t inappropriate,” Mrs. Robinson began, reaching into her pocket, “but, me and the rest of the folks here put this together for you.”
“The rest of the folks” meant the rest of the people who worked in the courtyard serving up lunches to often unappreciative students.
“What is it?” I asked as Mrs. Robinson withdrew an envelope from her smock pocket and held it out to me.
“Just a little something from all of us.” She smiled at me, urging me to take the envelope. “It’s not much…but we wanted you to know what you’ve meant to everyone here, Cooper.”
Again, I felt overwhelmed as I took the envelope. I didn’t know if I should open it in front of her or what the proper protocol was when given a gift that hundreds of other students were denied. Grateful as I was, I didn’t want to make a big deal about any of the staff at Dextrus treating me differently than they did the other students.
Mrs. Robinson leaned in closer across the counter.
“All these other kids have things worked out for them.” She stated lowly. “We wanted to make sure you could get anything you needed for school that you and your father might not be able to afford. There’s five-hundred dollars in there. Again, it’s not much, especially for UCLA…but maybe it will help some.”
Clearing my throat and looking down was all I could manage since I couldn’t trust myself to speak immediately.
“We all know how special you are, Cooper.” She said. “We wanted you to know that we all expect you to do the best in whatever it is you do, Cooper.”
“But my tuition and everything is paid for, Mrs. Robinson.” I finally found my voice as I looked up into those warm eyes. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it—this is…I don’t know what to say—but—”
Mrs. Robinson reached over and grabbed my hand that was trying to shove the envelope back at her.
“You do whatever with that money that you think is best, Cooper Weissman.” She gave me a firm nod. “We trust that you’ll put it to use in a way that will make us proud.”
Slowly, she let go of my hand, and I retracted it until I could stuff the envelope in my blazer pocket.
“Thank you.” I managed. “I really will miss seeing your smile every day.”
Mrs. Robinson didn’t respond verbally, but when I looked up, she was holding out the wrapped sandwich to me, a bag of chips balanced on top of it. Reaching out, I took the sandwich from her as she gave me a wink. Still, I didn’t trust my voice, so I simply raised the thermos to her in a type of salute, to which she gave me a smile and a nod. I walked away from the coffee and sandwich bar, a smile on my face, and a hot coal of determination in my gut. Whatever I did in the future, I would be the best Cooper I could be. But first, I’d eat lunch with my best friend, our boyfriends, and our stupid friends, one last time under the sugar maple tree.
Dad was giving a lecture—a very professorial thing to do on the last day of school—as his students did their best to look enthralled with his speech. In all fairness, my dad’s Comparative Literature classes were among the most popular at Dextrus Academy. With summer mere minutes away, though, even his students were itching to get out of class and start their vacations. Students on the verge of ending their freshman year were not the best listeners, n
o matter how enthusiastic and starry-eyed. As my dad talked to his students about the optional—yet strongly encouraged—Summer Reading List, I sat on the tabletop at the back of the room and listened quietly.
As dad listed the books: The Absolutely True Story of a Part-Time Indian, The Complete Persepolis, Beloved, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Go Tell It On The Mountain, The House on Mango Street, Every Falling Star, First They Killed My Father, A Thousand Splendid Suns, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, Dear Martin, The Hate U Give…I smiled to myself. It was bittersweet, seeing the way my father had managed to get more diverse books into his curriculum. The school board had fought against him when he demanded to have more books written by and about people of color, LGBTQ+ people, women, and other marginalized groups. While they “saw the importance of diversity,” they “didn’t think their alumni would be happy about shoving it down the students’ throats.” So, a compromise was made, and “the Summer Reading List could be as diverse as Mr. Weissman wished” since it was a voluntary program.
Dextrus Academy: Where Diversity Is Fine – As Long As You Do It On Your Own Time.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m incredibly proud of my father for fighting the good fight and picking a decent list of diverse books for the Summer Reading List. But it didn’t make the “Dextrus Academy hates diversity” pill any less jagged or easier to swallow. My alma mater was still going to be a rich white men’s club after I left—the first and probably last black valedictorian they’d ever have walk through their halls. Of course, the knowledge that I was a scholarship student due to my dad being employed there, and the fact that I had such high grades made me smile. Having me as valedictorian really had to rub a lot of the old white guys raw. That was the “sweet” part of my bittersweet feelings about Dextrus Academy.
When I had walked into Dextrus Academy, a scrawny biracial kid with different hair and skin tone than all of the other kids, much less affluent than any of them, I had felt out of place. As I was on the precipice of walking out of Dextrus Academy, a slightly less scrawny biracial kid with different hair and skin tone than all of the other kids, no more affluent than before—but as the valedictorian—I was going to do it with my head held high. With a smile on my face. Because nothing says: “I am not lesser” like a smile and the refusal to be labeled as something as demeaning as “other.”
