It Had to be Mason: A Sweet YA Romance (Beachbreak High Book 1)

by Emily Lowry

  Sad or not, lying on the couch with no plans, I understood what she meant. Being alone sucked. Being alone with no noise was worse.

  I dug between the cushions until I found the remote, then I searched for a show on Netflix. Somehow, there were a hundred TV shows and a thousand movies, and yet there was nothing I wanted to watch. I settled on a reality show about a baking competition in Australia. It was called “Cakes Don’t Rise Down Under,” and the host was a chipper Australian who bounced around like he injected caffeine.

  “No plans?” Mom stood in the doorway. While Tyler had inherited dad’s height and tan complexion, I shared my petite frame, unruly dark hair and pale skin with my mother. “It’s Saturday. You should do something.”

  I winced inwardly. As a general rule, I preferred when people didn’t point out my lack of social life. I shrugged. “Everyone’s busy.”

  “You didn’t want to go with Tyler?”

  “I don’t think Ty wants to drag his little sister on a date.”

  Mom frowned. “He didn’t tell me it was a date.”

  “And that… surprises you?”

  “I like to know things.” Mom shrugged. “But, if it’s just the two of us tonight, how about we do something together?”

  I must’ve been the lamest sixteen-year-old girl in the world. It was the last Saturday night before school started, and the only person who wanted to hang out with me was my mom. I loved my mom, but hanging out with her wasn’t quite the same as going on a date with a cute boy. At least, I assumed it wasn’t. Still, better Mom than no one. I turned off the TV. “I will do literally anything.”

  “Cinnamon buns?”

  “Done.” I followed Mom into the kitchen. If I was being honest, she wasn’t a good baker. Mom was forgetful, so when she made cookies, she inevitably forgot to put the chocolate chips in, or left them in the oven an extra five minutes, so the outer edges were burnt black.

  Cinnamon buns were an exception to the rule. Why? Because when we made cinnamon buns, we cheated. We didn’t make the dough from scratch. Instead, we found out that you could use a tube of pre-made pizza dough and no one would know the difference. It was a thousand times easier.

  I grabbed a tube of pizza dough from the fridge, then set the oven to 400F. “Mom, do you think I’m, you know, kind of lame?”

  In a small bowl, Mom mixed a tablespoon of cinnamon with three tablespoons of brown sugar. “Of course you’re not lame, honey. You’re wonderful. Whatever gave you that silly idea?”

  Life. I lightly floured the surface of the counter. “You have to say that.”

  “Even if I wasn’t your mom, I wouldn’t think you were lame.”

  I doubted that very much. “Did you date when you were in high school?”

  “Ah, so this is what brought all this on.” Mom scooped two tablespoons of butter into a dish, shoved it in the microwave, and watched it melt. “I... had a handful of gentlemen callers, if you know what I mean.”

  I blinked. Did I know what she meant? More importantly, did I want to know? Perhaps, I decided, I should skip this avenue of inquiry. I finished flouring the counter, then I peeled the label off the pizza dough tube and pressed my thumbs to the seam. There was a loud pop, then I pulled out the dough and flattened it.

  The microwave beeped. Mom mixed the melted butter with the cinnamon sugar and handed it to me. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s on your mind?”

  “I don’t understand boys,” I said simply, smearing the cinnamon mixture onto the dough. “Whenever I talk to one, I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

  Mom rubbed my back. “Your feminine urges are nothing to be ashamed—”

  “Ew, MOM! That is so, so not what I mean,” I said. “And please don’t say feminine urges.”

  Mom looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Sorry, honey. Go on.”

  “It’s just, whenever I talk to someone, or there’s a boy I like, I feel like there’s this code. Or that there are these rules I don’t understand, but everyone else does. What you’re supposed to say, how you’re supposed to act, what you’re supposed to do. Everyone else has these instincts that guide them through. And I don’t have those instincts. My instinct is like, to blink at him awkwardly, laugh too loudly, then drool on my shirt. I’m very lady-like.”

  Mom laughed. She greased a pan. “You want to know what the big secret is?”

  Hope fluttered in my stomach. Was there a big secret? Some little thing I could do, or correct? I looked at mom, waiting for the answer to all of my woes.

  She set the pan down and hugged me. “You just need to be yourself.”

  My fragile balloon of hope popped. That was definitely not the answer I was looking for. Somehow, I suspected boys weren’t interested in the weird girl that gawked at them from afar, then dove behind park benches when they looked her way. I hugged mom back anyway. “I’ll try.”

  “Good,” Mom said. “Now, if it’s ok with you, I’m going to go squeeze in another few minutes of work here, if you can finish up?”

  Mom worked long, hard, antisocial hours on her real estate business. I knew that everything she did, she did it for Tyler and I. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Thanks, honey. We can watch a movie after. Your pick. As long as Channing Tatum’s in it.”

  “Deal.” I rolled the dough, then cut it into small cinnamon buns, then arranged them on the pan and shoved them in the oven. My mom was great at two things: loving me unconditionally and giving me platitudes. She saw me in the best possible light. To her, all of my many, many flaws, were just adorable little quirks. They were what made me, me.

  I set a timer on my cell phone, then went back to watching Cakes Don’t Rise Down Under. The host poked a brownie with a toothpick and the toothpick came out covered in chocolate goop. Unbaked. Which was how I felt. I needed more time to figure things out, I needed someone to help me. Someone who knew how to date.

  A girl like that wouldn’t be easy to find in my small circle. Nina was eternally single. Kenzie had been in one relationship that failed spectacularly. Callie spent a lot of time surfing with her very cute neighbor Jace, but whenever we pressed her about him, she claimed she wasn’t interested. And there weren’t any other girls I was close enough to ask for advice from.

  Though, now that I thought about it, why did I need the advice to come from a girl? Tyler was currently on a date. Maybe he could help me.

  Ha. No. Ty was my big brother, and as much as he teased me, he would have the same problem Mom did: he wouldn’t ever acknowledge my real flaws.

  I needed someone who I trusted enough not to hurt me with their criticism, but who was willing to be honest about whatever it was that I was doing wrong.

  An idea hit me and I practically leaped from the couch.

  I knew who I needed.

  I needed the boy that would dunk me in the ocean, but then buy me ice cream after.

  10

  Mason

  The sights and sounds of pre-season football filled the kitchen. Helmets and pads crashed together, announcers diagramed plays, and the crowd booed whenever the refs threw a flag.

  I stood at the kitchen island, my eyes fixed on my laptop, which was streaming a game between the 49ers and the Broncos. My dad hated preseason football. Pointless, he called it. The starters only played for a quarter, so you were stuck watching backups the rest of the game.

  That’s what I liked. Players, only a few years older than me, thrown into the lion’s den. There were mistakes, miscommunications. How did you adjust when the player beside you missed their assignment? Football was the ultimate team sport. If you didn’t work together, you lost. And there was something cool about learning to work together with someone you barely knew.

  The game cut to a commercial.

  I found a bottle of Ranch dressing in the refrigerator door, uncapped it, and sprayed it liberally over two chicken and bacon wraps. I tucked my laptop under my arm, then carried two plates upstairs and kicked my sister�
�s bedroom door. She didn’t answer immediately, so I kicked it again.

  I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

  The door swung open.

  “Oh-em-gee, what?” Chelsey looked at me like I was the single biggest imposition on her life. Then she saw the wraps and her eyes went wide.

  “Is this a bribe? So early in the year? What did you do this time? Tell me EVERYTHING.”

  “Nothing,” I said, handing her the wrap. Chelsey was always suspicious of me. And, to be fair, with the amount of times I’d broken curfew — or the other rules I didn’t see the point in — she was right to be suspicious. “Think of it as a preemptive bribe. Just in case.”

  Chelsey took the chicken wrap. “Extra Ranch?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Hmmm.” She examined the wrap suspiciously. “You never make me food unless you’ve done something wrong. You must be expecting a lot of trouble. Did you get kicked off the team or something?”

  I laughed. “They’d never kick me off the team. I just want you to stay out of my way for the afternoon. And don’t come to my room.”

  “Okay, weirdo.” Chelsey took a bite of her wrap, closed her eyes, and smiled. “Mmm… Ranch. Toodles.”

  She kicked the door shut.

  Chelsey was two years younger than me and even more strong-willed. As a result, we used to butt heads constantly. If I said the sky was blue, she’d insist it was actually royal blue, which was a completely different kind of blue, so I was obviously wrong. However, although we made natural enemies, there was one thing that united us: Dad.

  As a single parent, he wasn’t strict, but he was horribly inconsistent. Monday, you take the car out for a spin and back into a light post and he laughs it off. Tuesday, you get a C+ on a test and he grounds you for two weeks. It was easier for Chelsey and me to police ourselves using a complicated system of bribes.

  But that’s not why I was bribing her today.

  I was bribing her today because if she came into my room and saw what was happening, it would’ve destroyed my reputation.

  My bedroom was at the end of the hall. Everything inside was one size too small for me. It was a downside to being 6’2”. When I laid on my bed, I couldn’t straighten out or my feet would hang off the end. Part of the ceiling was on an angle, so I had to duck if I wanted to use that side of my room. And glue and duct tape held together my desk and chair.

  I flipped open my laptop and made my first search: How to Two-Step. I clicked on the first video that appeared. It was an older woman wearing blue jeans, a blouse with a stitched flower, and a white cowboy hat. She tipped her hat as the video started, then explained how to two-step.

  I devoured my wrap as I watched, trying to mirror the footwork with what I was seeing on screen. Meredith had better appreciate all of this effort.

  Left, right, quick step. Left, right, quick step. Easy enough.

  The woman introduced her partner. He was practically made of denim. The woman tipped her hat to the camera. “Y’all, I can’t stress enough how important it is for y’all to have a partner when you’re learning. You need to learn to feel your partner and read their body, and every partner’s different.”

  Maybe the average person needed a partner, but I didn’t. I didn’t want one, either. Imagine if word got out that the starting quarterback was trolling Beachbreak looking for dance partners. I couldn’t let that happen — I had a reputation to protect. And I wasn’t interested in dealing with the boys taking shots at me every time I stepped on the field. They’d probably call me “Twinkle Toes” or something stupid.

  I mirrored the dance steps in time with the music. Left, right, quick-step. Left, right, quick-step.

  “This next one’s a bit of a trick,” the woman said. She danced with the man, he lifted his hand, she spun, then when he pulled her back, he lifted his hand and she spun the other way.

  I circled my room, practicing the move. But without a partner, I was just an idiot raising my hand in the air. Maybe the video lady was right. Maybe I did need a partner.

  I sat at my desk and looked up dance classes. There were a handful, but all of them were in the evenings when I had football practice.

  Well, I would just have to beat the odds and learn to dance without a partner.

  Rejection was not an option.

  11

  Zoe

  By every account, Beachbreak High was beautiful. Most of the campus was outdoors, with lockers lining the brick pathways that connected the classrooms. The cafeteria was also outside, with stone benches and tables resting beneath a pergola. And, best of all, it was close to the ocean. So close, in fact, that no matter where you were on campus, you could hear the crash of the tide, the squawk of seagulls, and occasionally the honk of a large ship.

  Near shore, there was a grassy knoll where people liked to hang out between classes. Currently, the knoll was occupied by Kevin, who was engaged in a game of chess with one of his friends.

  I curled my fingers around the strap on my backpack, and I watched from afar. I’d carefully put together my “First Day of School” outfit, selecting a jean skirt and white top I hoped would simultaneously make me blend in and look cute. I’d flat ironed my hair. Worn lip gloss. I’d even prepared a few things to say. But at the sight of Kevin, blood rushed to my ears, my mouth went dry, and talking became impossible.

  So instead, I stared.

  From a distance.

  Like a normal person.

  Ugh, get it together, Zoe.

  “If you want him to notice you, you’re going to have to talk to him.” The voice belonged to Nina, who had snuck up behind me while I was lost in my daydreams.

  “You don’t know that,” I said. “Maybe he’ll notice me from a distance. Or maybe we’ll have some classes together this semester. Then I can sit beside him. And eventually, he’ll ask me for a pencil. Or I’ll ask him for a pencil. Whichever.”

  “Or you could not wait for fate and just talk to him?”

  I snorted. “Like that would ever work. Remember the last boy I liked and tried to talk to?”

  “Chris Stewart?” Nina frowned. “What happened to him?”

  “He said meeting me was so awkward that he convinced his family to move to Florida.” Okay. That was a slight exaggeration. But the one conversation we ever had involved me stumbling into him, not knowing where to look, and somehow directly addressing the pimple on his nose for the entire chat — cut short by Chris putting a hand over his face and leaving. For good. It was probably the least graceful moment of my existence — and that’s a high bar.

  The bell rang.

  Nina grabbed my elbow. “Come on. Let’s start our junior year with a bang.”

  12

  Mason

  I waited for the bell to stop ringing. I was supposed to be in chemistry, snagging one of two science classes I still needed to graduate. Instead, I was standing in the administrator’s office, holding a tablet, and swiping through class options. There was one dance class that still had openings this semester. Introduction to Dance. Unlike the advanced classes, it didn’t require an audition or a teacher’s recommendation, only enthusiasm.

  “What do you think?” I asked, eyeing the tablet.

  “I think you’re taking this too seriously, dude.” Tyler stood behind me, casually holding his backpack so it was dragging on the ground.

  “Meredith won’t go to Homecoming with me unless I learn to dance,” I said. “And a girl like that — she’s got options. College boys. College boys that can dance. You remember her ex?”

  Ty thought for a moment, then shrugged and shook his head. “Dude, just go to Homecoming with someone else. Lots of girls would be stoked to snag an invite.”

  “It’s not about that,” I said. I knew Tyler was right — if I wanted to, I’d have no trouble finding a date for Homecoming. But I didn’t want just any date. I wanted the right date. I wanted one that was a challenge. I wanted one that didn’t think I’d ever be able to dance. Someone
I could prove wrong. And when I proved her wrong, she would see a whole new side of me. And be my date.

  I gave Tyler the side eye. “You don’t think I can do it, do you? You don’t think I can dance.”

  Ty yawned and leaned against the wall; his arms crossed. Somehow every move he made was so casual, so relaxed. No wonder he could get a date with Parker Vanderpost. He was probably the only guy in school not impressed with her status. “Dance if you want. But when the boys find out—”

  “I know, I know.” If you were on the football team, and anyone found out you did something classified as “girly,” you’d get roasted. If they found out I was interested in dance, they’d call me “Twinkle Toes,” hide a tutu in my locker, and play ballet music during pep rallies. I was a confident guy, but I wasn’t about to hang myself up like a pinata.

  I checked the dance class schedule again. If I wanted to take Introduction to Dance, I’d have to push back Life Skills — another course I needed to graduate. And if I moved Life Skills to next semester, I’d end up missing the math credit I needed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “There’s no way I can make my schedule work.”

  “Here.” Tyler took the tablet from me and swiped through the options. Ty was laid back — some would say lazy — but, like his sister, he was smart. Top of his class when he tried — which was almost never. If anyone ever figured out how to unlock his potential, they’d have a gem on their hands. He shrugged and handed the tablet back. “Who cares about the class? You don’t need the class to learn to dance.”

  We exited the admin building. The cafeteria, which sat at the center of Beachbreak, was empty. That made sense — no one wanted to be late on the first day. I was lucky. As the starting quarterback, no one cared if I was late on the first day. Teachers were usually thrilled when I showed up, for some reason. I headed towards the chemistry labs. “How else am I going to learn? I tried online videos, man. It’s a bust.”