Boys of Summer

by Jessica Brody

  I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe I just admitted all the things I promised I would never admit. And to Harper Jennings, of all people. I feel incredibly stupid as soon as I do. And yet, at the same time, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted.

  Plus, the look on her face is pretty priceless.

  She slowly puts the pieces together. “Your arm.”

  “It wasn’t a football injury. And yet I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to play football again. I’m not even sure I want to.”

  Harper is completely silent.

  But for some reason, I suddenly can’t stop talking. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not who anybody thinks I am. I mean, maybe I was at some point. Maybe I used to be. But that guy died in that car accident. And I’m his fucked-up replacement.”

  Then suddenly Harper’s lips are on mine. There’s no buildup, there’s no slow crawl to the center of the circle. It just happens. One minute I’m babbling incoherently, and the next she’s kissing me. And I’m kissing her back. And it feels amazing. And I hate myself for even thinking that.

  I pull away, and her hand instinctively goes to her mouth. Like she could possibly erase the last ten seconds from existence.

  My gaze lifts, and there she is. So close. Her eyes staring back into mine. Her expression mirroring the same conflict that’s ripping me apart inside.

  That shouldn’t have happened.

  That shouldn’t have felt so good.

  “I’m sorr—” she tries to say, but I cut her off. I kiss her so hard, we nearly tumble right into the pool.

  I don’t know why I do it. Maybe to stop her apology from coming out. Maybe to keep my mind from getting tangled up in the implications of the first kiss.

  Maybe to prove to her once and for all that I’m not the guy who’s incapable of making mistakes. Because this might be the biggest one I’ve ever made.

  She reaches up and tangles her fingers into my hair. I press one hand against her lower back, the other resting on her thigh. It’s just as smooth and soft and perfect as I always imagined.

  This time it’s Harper who pulls away. And this time her eyes don’t linger on mine, searching for something that will make it all okay. This time she stands up, grabs her sandals, and runs off without another word.

  I sit there, motionless and numb, for a good sixty seconds, trying to keep the enemy emotions at bay. Trying to ward off an army.

  But it’s no use. The fight has already begun. My thoughts are already at war. It’s going to be a bloody battle.

  I push myself off the edge of the pool and slide under the shallow water with all my clothes on. I lie on the bottom of the pool, counting the seconds until I run out of air and have to resurface.

  It’s the only place in the world where I can’t hear my mind screaming.

  CHAPTER 14

  MIKE

  The next morning I awake to a cacophony of suspicious sounds coming from the kitchen. When I burst in a few seconds later, I expect to find one of the twins dead in a pile of cereal. But instead I find a poorly constructed barricade of pots and pans on the floor, with Jake and Jasper positioned behind it. My mom, dressed in her work uniform with her dark hair pinned back, stands at the stove, stirring oatmeal with a familiar look of frustration on her face. It’s one we all wear far too often in this house.

  “What’s going on here?” I say, stepping forward to give my mom a kiss on the cheek. I can’t help noticing how tired she looks. There are lines on her face that I swear weren’t there last week.

  “We’re staging a coop!” Jasper yells like a battle cry. Jake raises a wooden spoon in the air and waves it wildly.

  I look to Mom.

  “They don’t want oatmeal,” she translates. “We were out of cereal, and I couldn’t make it to Coconut’s last night before they closed. My shift ran late.”

  “I’ll try to go tonight,” I tell her, then turn to Jasper. “Where did you even learn that phrase?”

  “Crusade of Kings,” Jasper says.

  Mom and I share a look, mutually calculating the level of childhood innocence that has just been flushed down the toilet.

  “I thought Dad was supposed to put a password on the DVR,” I say.

  “His leg’s been bothering him,” she explains. “He’s still asleep.”

  “I’ll wake him up,” I say. “I’m supposed to start the roofing job today. He’ll need to watch the boys.”

  I scurry down the hall to my parents’ bedroom. My dad is completely passed out, one arm hanging off the bed, the other flung over his face. I notice a bottle of prescription painkillers on the nightstand. He must have been in a lot of pain. I can barely convince him to take Advil when he has a headache.

  That means his leg is not healing the way he keeps insisting it is.

  That means it’s going to be even longer before he’s back at work.

  And that also means I can’t leave the boys here. My dad is dead to the world, and the villains are in rare form this morning. They’re already staging coups over oatmeal. It can only go downhill from here.

  I close my eyes, pushing down a swell of frustration that threatens to rise up. How much longer can we keep going like this?

  “I want Apple Jacks!” I hear Jasper scream from the kitchen.

  “No!” Jake screams back. “I want the Apple Jacks!”

  Great. Now they’re arguing over phantom cereal.

  I hurry back to the scene of the crime. My mom is pouring oatmeal into bowls. She sets them on the table. I pick Jasper up from the floor and deposit him into a chair, then do the same with Jake.

  They cross their arms simultaneously, glaring stubbornly at the oatmeal. They really are a unified front.

  Mom sighs. “I can’t do this today,” she whispers under her breath, her voice breaking.

  I put my arm around her. “Mom. Go to work. I’ll handle this. And don’t worry. I’m sure it’s just a phase.”

  Her face breaks into a grateful smile. She gently touches my cheek, then slips out the front door without putting up a fight.

  “Okay,” I say, clapping my hands. “How about I buy a big box of Apple Jacks tonight and for now everyone eats oatmeal?” I glance around the kitchen. “Wait, where’s the dog?”

  “We locked him in the pantry,” Jasper explains. “He was being naughty.”

  Shit.

  I yank open the pantry door, already knowing what I’ll find. And yup, there he is, covered head to toe in flour, chocolate syrup, and about a thousand other random ingredients. The pantry is trashed. The mutt has gotten into just about everything within reach.

  The dog runs into the kitchen, flour following in his wake like a storm cloud. Jake and Jasper think this is the funniest thing ever. They squeal in delight.

  “Walter!” I call after the dog as he makes a bee line for the sofa.

  “His name is Phil now!” Jasper calls after me.

  “I don’t give a crap what his name is!” I yell back, trapping the dog just before he dusts the couch with a layer of flour.

  “Ooh!” Jake scolds. “You said the C word.”

  “Trust me,” I grumble as I grab the dog by the collar and guide him out the back door. “That’s not the C word.”

  “Yeah,” Jasper says knowingly. “Everyone knows the C word is ‘cow plop.’ ”

  This cracks both of them up. “Cow plop! Cow plop! Cow plop!”

  I tie Phil to the long line, turn on the hose, and give him a quick rinse. He shakes violently, drenching me with water. I suck in a deep breath. I’m about this close to losing it.

  “All right!” I say sternly as I step back into the kitchen. “I want everyone to get dressed and meet me back in this kitchen in ten minutes.”

  “But we didn’t get breakfast,” Jasper protests.

  “This is not a negotiation. Either you do it or I give the dog away.”

  They both look to each other, silently deliberating whether or not my threat is credible. And you know what? A
t this point it is.

  Fortunately, they believe me. After a chorus of grunting and grousing, the twins begrudgingly rise out of their seats and shuffle to their bedroom.

  “Ten minutes!” I call after them.

  I dress in my work clothes, run some cold water over my face, brush my teeth, and grab my cell phone from the charging cable. I look at the screen. The text I’ve been waiting for hasn’t arrived yet. Dave is supposed to send me the address for the roofing job.

  Fortunately, I was able to convince my boss at the beach club to let me set my own hours. “As long as that grass doesn’t cover my toes and I don’t spot a single weed, you can come at two in the morning, for all I care,” were his exact words to me.

  I promised him I wouldn’t let him down.

  With a little luck I just might be able to pull this off.

  Miraculously, when I get back to the kitchen, the twins are waiting there fully dressed and ready to go. They’ve even eaten some of the oatmeal. They’re wearing mismatched socks and their hair is a mess, but you pick your battles.

  “Where are we going?” Jasper asks as I hustle them out the door and into my dad’s truck.

  “I’m dropping you off somewhere for the day. You’ll have fun.”

  They give me identical suspicious looks as they buckle themselves into the cab. “Where?” Jake asks.

  I sigh. “You’ll see.”

  When we arrive at the outdoor playground of the beach club’s kids’ camp a few minutes later, Julie greets me with a huge smile. She’s wearing the same khaki shorts and white polo—this time minus the paint—and I can’t help but notice how good she looks. Obviously, she’s a gorgeous girl. That was obvious from the moment I met her. But today, I don’t know, something is different. Seeing her just immediately puts me in a good mood. Which is a welcome change from the shitty morning I’ve been having.

  “And who are these handsome gentlemen?” she asks, bending down to make eye contact with the boys before glancing up at me through her dark eyelashes.

  Jasper, normally the bold and courageous one, turns beet red and hides behind my leg.

  “Jasper and Jake, my brothers. I’m really sorry to ask this, but I’m in a bit of a jam. I’m starting a new job today and, well . . . Do you think I might be able to leave them here for a few hours?”

  “Of course!” She stands up. “I’d be delighted to have them.”

  I cringe. “I wouldn’t speak too soon. They’re a bit of a handful.”

  She laughs like I’m joking.

  “I’m not joking,” I assure her.

  “You forget I’m a professional.”

  “That you might be, but they’re professional monsters, so . . .”

  Before I can finish, she squats down, and Jasper retreats further behind my leg. “I bet you can’t guess what number I’m thinking of,” she says to him.

  Jasper contemplates this challenge for a minute. “What do I get if I do?”

  I chuckle. “Always the negotiator.”

  Julie pretends to think long and hard. “You get to play with the very special toys.”

  He twists his mouth in deep concentration.

  “What are the special toys?” Jake butts in.

  She shrugs. “I can’t tell you until you guess the number. But unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll get to play with them. No one has ever guessed the right number.”

  “Seven!” Jasper blurts out, taking a brave step out from behind the safety of my leg.

  Julie’s jaw drops open. “What! How did you do that?”

  Jasper takes another step forward, smiling broadly at his victory. “Mom says we’re psychic ’cause we’re twins.”

  “Hmm,” Julie says thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I think that was just a fluke.” She turns to Jake. “If you two really are psychic, then you’ll be able to guess the next number.”

  “Nine!” Jake shouts without delay.

  Julie giggles. “Hold on. I haven’t even thought of it yet!”

  I watch this whole spectacle with great fascination. Within seconds she’s got the two of them practically eating out of her hand.

  “Okay,” she prompts Jake. “I’m ready.”

  Jasper watches him, biting his lip in anticipation. Julie has a smug look on her face, certain that she’ll win this time.

  “Um . . .” Jake hesitates.

  “Think hard,” Jasper commands him.

  Jake closes his eyes tight and scrunches up his face. Julie looks up at me again, and we share a smile.

  Jake’s eyes flash open decisively. “Eighteen!”

  The reaction on Julie’s face is priceless. Her eyes spread wide, and she falls back onto her butt in the sand. “W-w-what?” she stammers. “H-h-how? I don’t understand! That’s impossible!”

  Jake and Jasper squeal in delight and jump up and down.

  “How did you do that?” she asks them in shock.

  They’re giggling so hard, they can’t even respond. Even I find myself chuckling a little at the charade.

  “That’s Mike’s age!” Jake gives away his secret. “Eighteen!”

  Julie slaps her head. “It is? That’s my age too! I guess I shouldn’t have picked such an easy number, huh?”

  “Now we get to play with the special toys?” Jasper confirms.

  Julie pushes herself to her feet, wiping sand from the back of her khaki shorts. “I guess I have no choice but to let you.”

  She looks at me. “What time will you be back to get them?”

  I wince. “Is five o’clock too late?”

  She waves her hand. “Of course not. I’ll be here until six, so that’s fine.”

  I shift nervously from foot to foot, feeling super-uncomfortable for even asking, but I know I have to. “About the tuition,” I begin, scratching at the stubble on my face. With all the commotion this morning, I totally forgot to shave.

  She holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” Then she leans in close to me, and I can smell her citrusy shampoo. “No one has to know.”

  I still feel weird about the whole thing. I hate asking people for charity. But I admit that I’m totally relieved to hear her say that. Even with the discount for locals, the kids’ camp tuition is pretty ridiculous this year. And there’s no way we could leave these two with Mamma V like my parents used to do with me. Every guest in the restaurant would end up with earthworms in their spaghetti.

  “Thanks,” I say appreciatively. “I owe you big-time.”

  Jasper tugs at Julie’s shirt. “Special toys. Special toys.”

  Julie laughs and takes each of them by the hand. “Go,” she tells me as she begins to lead them away. “I’ve got this.”

  “If you have any trouble,” I call after her, “I’ve found that threats work really well.”

  I watch in utter disbelief as Julie brings Jasper and Jake over to a group of kids their age and whispers something into each of their ears. They both nod and start playing quietly with the other children.

  I’m beginning to think the girl is pure magic.

  I wave good bye to Julie and start to walk back to the parking lot, just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen. It’s a text from Dave. He’s finally sent me the address for the roofing job.

  321 Sea Star Lane. Be there by 9.

  I stop dead in my tracks. I know that house. I practically grew up at that house. But I’ve never had to actually work in that house. In all the summers the guys and I have been friends, money has never divided us. It’s never even been an issue. At least not for me, and I’m the poorest of the group.

  But we’ve also never been in a situation like this.

  There’s no way I can turn the job down now, though. Not after Dave pulled so many strings to get it for me, and we really need the money.

  Nope, this is happening.

  I’m just going to have to find a way to come to terms with the fact that for the next two months I will be fixing the roof over Grayson Cartwright�
��s head.

  CHAPTER 15

  IAN

  I wake up with a fog around my head. My vision is swimming and my temples throb.

  It feels like the University of Pennsylvania marching band is practicing right inside my brain.

  Emotional hangovers. That’s what my therapist calls them. It feels like you’ve consumed all the booze in a twenty-mile radius even if you haven’t had a drop to drink.

  I’ve had one every single morning since my dad died.

  “Grief can be just as intoxicating as alcohol,” my therapist told me.

  I made a joke that I’d rather just have beer. At least then you have a fun night to blame the headache on. He did not appreciate my humor.

  It also doesn’t help that I got my face smashed in last night and then I barely got any sleep. I spent nearly the whole night working on my song, tweaking some of the lyrics and chord progressions and practicing it over and over again. For the first time in months, I felt inspired by something, felt like I was actually creating something worthwhile. It might just be the best thing I’ve ever written.

  Too bad it’s about someone I can’t stand.

  Never in a million years did I ever think Whitney Cartwright would serve as my muse. But apparently the girl infuriated me to the point where I became a decent songwriter.

  I push myself out of bed and pad into the bathroom, my usual morning queasiness following me like a shadow. I check my reflection in the mirror, cringing when I see the aftermath of my one-sided fight with douche pants. I admit it’s bad, but it’s not that bad. It could have been way worse. If Whitney hadn’t stepped in. Or rather, kicked in. My lip is busted, my cheek is bruised, and my left eye looks like it’s been crying red food coloring all night, but hopefully my face will be healed in a few days.

  I pull on swim trunks and a T-shirt and wander to the kitchen, passing Whitney’s door on the way. I consider knocking to see if she’s awake, but then I think better of it. She’ll come out of there soon enough. And then maybe I can actually talk some sense into her and convince her to call the police about what happened.