Cruel Summer

by Lisa Cardwell

  But now…

  My life might never be the same again.

  “So?”

  “You don’t get it. You’re from a Hollywood family. They’d expect this from you.”

  “Your dad’s—”

  I knew she was going to say Hollywood. Yes, he was. I wasn’t. I was still wearing my ‘hello, my name is’ nametag. Or at least, it sure as heck felt like it. What did it say when Milo fit better into this world than I did? I still didn’t totally feel I belonged, and I was supposed to be the next ‘it girl.’

  “If I didn’t know that one of these days it’s all going to come crashing down around me.”

  “Now you’re being paranoid.”

  “I’m not. If—when—my mom finds out about all of this…” I tapped the tabloid. “She’ll go off the deep end.”

  “Well, then I don’t know what to say, except for enjoy it while it lasts?”

  If only I knew how long that would be. I closed my eyes and wished I could figure things out. I thought things were supposed to get easier as I got older, not even more pathetically complicated.

  Sor left a couple hours later, leaving me the remains of the cake and the tabloid cover. Two, actually. The one she’d used for the cake and the second one, which proved almost as worrying since I knew it was one magazine Mom picked up regularly.

  This wasn’t good.

  Any way you looked at it, the fact our—or more important, my—photo was splashed across the cover of a tabloid did not in any way, shape, or form, to quote Martha, constitute “a good thing.” Not like this was a photo of Dad and me somewhere lunching with celebs, hinting I was about to meet the newest version of mommy dearest.

  I wasn’t even sure that would have been as bad. I mean, I could have easily gone into the ‘evil stepdaughter-to-be’ mode and banished her to a kingdom far, far away. (Okay, so I’d spent last night re-watching Dad’s Disney collection that he’d amassed over the years for me). But the headline of JT finds love with the ‘Face of House of Vanetti’ just spelled disaster. With a capital D.

  Just wait ’til Mom caught wind of this.

  And she would.

  This wasn’t a little local paper anymore, or the local news reporting on the latest gossip that she could pick up on the satellite by accident.

  Nope.

  This was one even my grandmother would find in the 7-11 when she stopped to buy gas.

  This so didn’t bode well. My life as I knew it was over.

  But I had a couple reason to think—hope—this wouldn’t be as bad as it seemed. Mom was on the other side of the country. However, planes existed, and she could be here in under twelve hours from the moment she found out about this.

  Let’s not think that way, Chey, I told myself as I got tired of pacing my bedroom and moved onto my Romeo balcony, as Sor liked to call it.

  It’s just one measly photograph.

  Not like we were getting engaged, or had eloped in some drive-thru Vegas chapel. Or that some random celeb-stalker-paparazzi had caught us hooking up in the back of some other celeb’s car.

  There was time for damage control.

  Dad could help.

  Trish.

  They’d know what to do. Or what to say to Mom.

  I hoped.

  ***

  “Glad someone finds this amusing.”

  Dad looked at the extra copies of the tabloid in his hand.

  And when I say extra, I don’t mean one or two. It looked like a good dozen or more. He must have cleaned out the entire stock wherever he’d picked them up. He wanted me to sign them, for goodness sake. What was wrong with these people? Was there something in the water in California?

  “You’ve got to look at the bright side in all this.”

  “Yes, every cloud has a sterling silver, or is it platinum, lining here in Los Angeles?”

  I think I earned the right to impersonate Oscar the Grouch. I mean, hello—I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want half this attention in the first place. This was supposed to be my low-key summer, just hanging out with Dad. I was, however, starting to doubt low-key even existed in L.A.

  He sighed, setting the issues down on one of the chairs, and I caught sight of one folded and tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

  “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”

  Wasn’t it obvious?

  He lifted the knife and cut himself a slab of cake, taking it to the table where I sat.

  “Oh, I get it. He hasn’t called, has he?”

  Was I that transparent?

  “No call. No text. Not even a damn e-mail.”

  I examined my metallic blue nails. Sorche had even decorated them with little happy face emojis in an effort to cheer me up. Didn’t work then; wasn’t working now. I mean, shouldn’t he have called? Or done something? I knew this wasn’t the ‘send flowers-type’ of event or anything like that, but my best friend had brought a cake.

  I stole a forkful’s worth of icing from Dad’s plate. I just wish it’d held JT’s head instead of more of the lettering. I would have gotten a bit of satisfaction of smashing his head in, even if it was just an icing version.

  “You know, you could call him.”

  My head shot up. “Me? He’s the reason why I’m on that tabloid in the first place.”

  “And if he didn’t matter to you, you wouldn’t be that upset over it.”

  Here we go. Dad was going to go all Dr. Phil on me and ask what my payoff was. Well, there was none. I wasn’t wallowing in my self-pity just to feel good. Besides, this wasn’t feeling good. This was misery, plain and simple.

  “Why don’t you go body-boarding with Milo?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why should I?”

  “Get out of the house for a while. I doubt the paparazzi would care much. It’s just Milo.” He smiled, obviously teasing me. “C’mon. Where’s my girl who said life in L.A. wasn’t going to change her one bit?”

  That foolish-minded individual had gone by the wayside the minute a naked teenager had streaked by her at her first Hollywood party—the same naked teenager she was waiting to hear from. It’s not like L.A. was in the midst of a blackout and he’d have to resort to smoke signals to get my attention.

  What I needed was to forget all about him as fast as possible.

  “Body boarding, huh?”

  Dad smiled. “I’ll go give him a call.”

  ***

  “You ever done this before?” Milo asked me.

  I looked at the mini boards in the backseat. “Not a lot of chances to go boarding at home, unless it’s snowboarding.”

  “Gotcha.” He tapped his hands on the steering wheel as we sat in traffic.

  So much for getting anywhere any time soon; seemed like everyone had decided today was the ideal day to hang out at the beach.

  “You know, if you don’t want to do this, you can drop me off somewhere. I can call Sorche. I know my dad sorta shoved me off on you,” I said, feeling a little uneasy.

  I’m sure Milo had better plans than chaperoning me, or babysitting, whichever way Dad had called it during their little ‘men’ talk while I’d loaded the cooler full of drinks and snacks into the back of Milo’s car.

  “It’s cool, really.”

  “You’re nearly nineteen. Why would you want to hang out with a seventeen-year-old?” Like me, I wanted to ask. I didn’t exactly see him doing this out of the goodness of his heart. I’m sure Dad had had to convince him to take on a little overtime work.

  “You don’t act like a seventeen-year-old,” he said.

  I kinda took that as a compliment. “Then what do I act like?”

  “Well, when you’re not freaking out over JT or something else pretty stupid, you could pass for a semi-normal twenty-something.”

  “Thank you.” My voice rang with sarcasm as I rolled my eyes, and I slouched down in my seat a little, glancing at the cars around us.

  “You’re more mature than half the girls around here, and that probably includ
es Sorche.”

  That ticked me off. I thought Sor was pretty damn mature. She just had a fun side she let loose a lot more than I did. Hers was all nice and sun-kissed, and mine leaned more towards the never quite seen daylight pale look.

  “You’re just jaded,” I threw back.

  “I’m jaded? You’re the one who throws a tantrum anytime someone gets close to your father.”

  “You just called me mature five seconds ago.”

  “Semi-mature. And that’s only in some areas.” He shot me a smile. “I’m teasing. But I know what it’s like. I’m the same way with my mom. It’s been her and me for as long as I can remember. And honestly, ’til she finds the right guy, I’d rather it stay that way.”

  I smiled, happy he understood where I was coming from. “So who do you think would be the right guy?”

  “I’m not getting mixed up in some crazy soap opera scheme that you’ve got going on in that little blonde head of yours.”

  “Hey, it’s not a scheme. I was just seriously wondering what you thought. I think they’d make a pretty cool pair, you know.”

  He focused his attention straight ahead, at the puff of exhaust coming out of the Ford pick-up ahead of us. “Right.”

  “Okay, fine, then.” I shrugged. “Keep our parents from being happy.”

  “Do you want a wetsuit?”

  I looked behind me where Milo was stepping into a black wetsuit with a bright blue chest.

  “Do I really need one?” I’d grabbed a pair of board shorts I’d worn to the beach and my tankini. I thought that would be good enough. I wasn’t planning on spending that much time in the water—so I hoped. Plus I planned on staying on top of the board as much as possible.

  He shrugged.

  “Do you have one for me?” I headed to the back of his car.

  “As a matter of fact, Mom grabbed you one when we went to the board store to get your board.”

  Yeah, I felt the love in that statement. People were running my errands; ‘people’ being him and Trish. Nothing more endearing to him, I was sure.

  “I could have done that,” I offered.

  “It was one of your dad’s surprises,” he said, holding out a shopping bag to me.

  I looked inside and found a matching suit to Milo’s. “Great, thanks.”

  “Just slip it on over your swimsuit and grab your board. We can leave your shorts with the cooler on the beach.”

  Minutes later, I was all zipped in, my pretty blue and silver board under my arm as we headed down the path to the beach. This wasn’t the same beach Sor and I had been hanging out at. We’d hit Huntington Beach a couple of times, and I still couldn’t remember the name of the one where we’d gone for the bonfire, but it had been further south.

  I was a little more relaxed as we moved out of the water a couple hours later, my hair dripping wet from the knot I’d piled it in on top of my head after the first time I’d flipped into the ocean. I wiped the water off my face, smiling to myself. So maybe Dad did have a good idea, for once. And Milo really wasn’t the worst male I’d ever encountered. He almost made me forget JT for the moment.

  I dropped my board on the sand as he pulled out a couple canned drinks, holding one out to me.

  “You look a million times better.”

  “Feel it.” I took the chilled can from him. “He who won’t be named is the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

  Milo actually smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

  I knew I should thank Milo for the great escape, and as Mom always said, the way to any man’s heart was through his stomach. As we loaded the dry gear into the back of his car, I checked to make sure I had some cash in my wallet.

  “You hungry?” I asked as he slammed the trunk.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, gee, just thought that rumble I heard was your stomach and not the next great earthquake meant to wipe out California.”

  He chuckled, running his fingers through his still damp hair. He’d gone back into the water one more time than I had. “I could eat a little something.”

  “Good, then I’ll buy—on one condition.”

  I swear he muttered something about women under his breath as he unlocked my door and held it open for me. “Fine. What is it?”

  “We go to Pink’s. I’m craving a good milkshake.”

  Milo gave me the biggest grin I think I’d ever seen from him. “You’re on.”

  We sat at one of the plastic tables, framed photos covering the wall beside us. My chili fries in front of me, his hot dog and fries in front of him. It felt different being there with Milo. No one knew who we were. No one cared. Just two normal, everyday teenagers out for something to eat.

  “Why film?” he asked.

  We’d spent the drive back talking about ourselves more than we really ever had before, and I’d casually mentioned that I thought about maybe going into it in college.

  I shrugged. “It interests me.”

  I dragged a fry through a river of chili before popping it in my mouth.

  “Enough to make a career out of it?”

  Wow, when did he turn all guidance counselor? “Why do you fill in for Trish with my dad?”

  “For the money.” He smiled easily. “Why?”

  “I doubt it’s your life’s ambition.”

  “It’s not. I haven’t really decided on anything concrete yet, but this lets me make good contacts going places with your dad.”

  Now that surprised me. Milo didn’t have his whole life planned out? I figured he was the sort of guy who had everything down to the minute.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” He stole a chili-soaked fry and pointed it at me. “Other than film, what interests you?”

  “I really don’t know. I like film. Dad’s in film. I could make some decent contacts that way.”

  “Ah, using your daddy’s name.” He smirked, as if he knew everything.

  I straightened up in my chair, mentally picturing him covered in the chili cheese fries and milkshake. Waste of good food. “I don’t use my dad’s name, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I forgot. Sorry.” He ducked his head a little, concentrating on taking a mouthful of his soda. “Must have been a nasty divorce,” he said finally.

  “It was.”

  At least, I’m pretty sure it was. They’d had everything sealed. I don’t remember much. I probably blocked it all out. I’m sure I’ll have horrible nightmares about it when I’m thirty and be forced into lifelong therapy.

  “How serious are you about UCLA?” he asked, and I wondered if he really didn’t want to be an investigative reporter with the way he was questioning me.

  I glanced at him as I added more ketchup to the side of my fries. “I guess it’s in my top five. Why?”

  Okay, honestly, top two. Mom had her own choices for me, all of which were nowhere near California.

  He shrugged, checking his cell phone. “Curious, that’s all.”

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  “What?” He dropped his cell phone on the table.

  He looked surprised I’d said it, let alone thought it.

  “There’s a distinct coolness you have towards me. Why don’t you like me?”

  That had been bubbling inside me the last few weeks. So my Dad did ask him to check on me when he was away and take me out body-boarding on the beach, but it wasn’t like I required a babysitter. The last time I’d had one, I’d been in the single digits, thank you very much.

  So I couldn’t figure this out.

  Milo sighed, shook his head, checked to make sure his phone was okay, then turned back to me. “I don’t dislike you, Chey.”

  “Oh, really.”

  “Yes, really. I was about to offer to take you on a tour of the campus, if you want. I took some classes there last semester.”

  “Oh,” came my soft and deflated answer. I took a long, long sip of my milkshake. Yeah, Chey steps in it again. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m
used to hormonal—”