Boys of Summer

by Jessica Brody

  Just then Mike comes running up the beach, shaking water from his hair. Behind him is a cute, bouncy brunette in a one-piece lifeguard bathing suit. They appear to be racing.

  “I win!” Mike throws his hands into the air.

  “You totally cheated!” she squeals.

  Mike grins. “I totally did.”

  The girl immediately notices that Whitney and I are not the people she left on this beach, and she does a double take at both of us. “Hi!” she says, beaming at me. “You must be Ian. I’m Julie.”

  As I watch her grab a towel from the sand and wring out her short dark hair, I’m immediately struck by how different she is from Harper. Harper, as pretty and free-spirited as she is, always has this kind of heaviness surrounding her. Like a gray cloud constantly threatening rain. While this girl is nothing but clear blue skies.

  “I’m Whitney,” Whitney introduces herself. “Grayson’s sister.”

  An expression that resembles comprehension quickly flashes over Julie’s face as she looks from me to Whitney, her mind putting some kind of puzzle pieces together. “Oh! Right!”

  Oh, right?

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  Mike drops into the sand next to me. “How you been, man? I haven’t seen you around the house lately.”

  “Yeah,” I say nervously, rubbing the back of my neck.

  The truth is, I’ve kind of been avoiding him. Ever since that day I saw Harper and Grayson in the street, I haven’t been able to look Mike in the eye. Whenever I’m around him, I feel incredibly guilty. Like I’m the one hooking up with his ex-girlfriend.

  “Sorry about that,” I go on. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

  Mike grins, eyeing Whitney. “I realize that now.”

  Wait, does Mike know about me and Whitney?

  I’m suddenly all kinds of confused.

  “Where did Grayson and Harper go?” Julie asks.

  I steal a peek at Mike, who seems to be noticing their absence for the first time. I drop my eyes to the sand and start digging a moat around my feet.

  “It was really weird,” Whitney says, leaning back in her chair. “They had, like, a fight or something.”

  “A fight?” Mike asks, and I don’t miss the suspicion lacing his tone.

  “Yeah.” Whitney is completely oblivious to his reaction. “He said something totally crass, and she stomped off and he went after her.”

  Mike immediately starts scanning the beach. “Should I go find them?”

  “No,” Julie and I both say at once, and for the first time I notice her reaction to all of this. Her bubbly demeanor seems to have fizzled just the slightest bit.

  “You’re right,” Mike says with a nervous stutter of a laugh.

  “So you work with Mike?” Whitney asks Julie, still apparently unaware of the palpable tension in the air.

  “Yeah,” Julie says, regaining a bit her of effervescence. “Well, sort of. He does ground maintenance at the club, while I work at the kids’ camp.”

  “Ground maintenance?” Whitney echoes, looking at Mike. “I thought you were doing roofing. Isn’t that why you’re always banging around on top of my house?”

  “I’m doing both this summer. I’m trying to make as much money as I can before I leave for . . .” His voice trails off as he catches himself.

  I know exactly what he was going to say. Because it’s the same thing he’s been saying for the past four summers. Ever since he and Harper came up with their big future life plan. They were going to move to New York together.

  But now what?

  Harper is having some dramatic fling with Grayson, and Mike seems pretty into this Julie chick.

  What’s he going to do when the summer is over in a few weeks?

  What are any of us going to do?

  We used to hang out on this very beach at night, talking about the future, thinking we had it all figured out. Grayson was going to play football. Mike was going to move to New York and live happily ever after with Harper. I was going to write songs and travel the country in a beat-up van.

  That was back when things made sense. When things seemed easy and simple. Before my world was ripped in half by a suicide bomber.

  Mike doesn’t finish the thought he started, even though Julie appears to be waiting for the rest. He just lets it hang. Then he clears his throat and sidesteps the whole thing. “That’s why I’m totally grateful that your dad has been sliding some extra cash my way,” he says to Whitney. “That’s really nice of him.”

  Whitney cocks an eyebrow. “What extra cash?”

  “For the roofing job,” Mike says. “He’s been paying me extra on top of my invoices. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “Huh,” Whitney says.

  Mike’s eyes dart suspiciously to her. “What?”

  “Nothing. My dad just hasn’t been around much this summer. Does he write you checks?”

  “Yeah,” Mike replies cautiously. “He tapes them to the front door.”

  Whitney shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can tell Mike is still turning this over in his mind.

  Then I see Whitney’s expression change. It’s a dramatic shift. Her mouth falls open and she lowers her sunglasses to stare at something behind me.

  Mike must see it too, because his shoulders stiffen. I react to his reaction before I even know what I’m reacting to. Whatever it is, I instinctively know it’s not good.

  “Isn’t that your mom?” Whitney asks.

  And just as she asks this, I hear the yelling. I hear her voice. The surrounding area has grown eerily quiet. And I realize that it’s not just Whitney and Mike who are staring at the lifeguard tower behind me. It’s half the beach.

  I slowly turn around, and that’s when the hottest day of the summer suddenly freezes over.

  CHAPTER 40

  GRAYSON

  I finally catch up with Harper near the beach club snack stand. That girl is in way better shape than I am. Even if I could throw a spiral without doubling over in pain, I would never survive Vanderbilt training camp in this state.

  “Don’t touch me!” she yells as I try to grab her arm to stop her.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  She only gets louder. “You’re a pig.”

  People are turning to look now. Check out Grayson Cartwright, the island playboy, finally being put in his place.

  “Harper,” I try, keeping my voice low. “Please. Just talk to me.”

  “No.”

  She keeps walking down the beach. I groan and follow after her again. It isn’t until we’re halfway to the secret alcove that she seems to tire and slows.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she says without turning around.

  “I’m following after you. I’m chasing you. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that why you run?”

  This seems to get her attention. She stops but continues to face away from me.

  I take a moment to catch my breath. “I’m sorry for what I said back there. I was mad. It was an asshole move.”

  She spins around angrily. “You were mad? What the hell did you have to be mad about?”

  “Um, how about you standing me up, for starters? And then when I finally find you, who are you with? Oh right! Your ex-boyfriend! Reminiscing about the past and hanging all over him. You think I don’t know how you operate, Harper? You think I haven’t paid attention all these years when you’ve kept my best friend hooked on your line like a damn fish? I know exactly what was happening back there. You were trying to get back together with him, weren’t you?”

  She looks positively livid. Her nostrils are flaring, and her arms are crossed over her chest, like she’s trying to hold herself together.

  “Is that really what you think?” she finally roars. “That I was trying to seduce him back?”

  I cross my arms too, mirroring her stance. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

  “You’re an idiot.” She turns again and starts walking. This time I use ever
y last ounce of wind power left in my lungs to run in front of her, cutting her off, making her look at me.

  “I was saving you!” she screams into my face.

  “What?”

  “I was saving your ass. And mine.”

  Confusion washes over me. Is she crazy? Has she totally lost her mind?

  “He. Was. Following. Me.” She enunciates every word like I’m hard of hearing. “I was on my way to meet you, and I sensed he was watching me. And then he actually started following me. He thought he was being so clever, ducking behind poles and buildings like an amateur spy. But I knew he was there from the start. So I had to pretend I was just going shopping. I hoped he’d eventually give up, but he didn’t. So I pretended to run into him to try to throw him off the scent. Grayson, he knows something. Or at the very least he suspects something. If I had gone to your father’s boat like we’d planned, it would have been all over.”

  I fall silent, completely stunned.

  He was following her?

  That means he didn’t buy my little story about the phone. At least not entirely. He didn’t believe me. He doesn’t trust me.

  The realization hits me like a punch in the gut.

  What has happened to us? When did we get to be these people? These strangers? When did we stop being friends?

  Maybe about the time when I kissed the love of his life.

  I suppose he’s right not to trust me. Because that’s what I’ve become. An untrustworthy person. Someone who fools around with my best friend’s ex behind his back. Someone who lies to his face about it and then pads his paychecks to ease my own guilt.

  Who is this person? I came to Winlock Harbor to find myself again. To escape the stranger I’d become over the past few months. And all I managed to do was get even farther away. To become less recognizable.

  Harper is watching me closely, waiting for my response.

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say. And yet I feel like I’m speaking it to more than just her.

  Harper is always surprising me. Always keeping me on my toes. She never does or says what I’m expecting her to do. But the thing that she does next surprises me most of all.

  She steps toward me and throws her arms around me. She pulls me into a hug. She rests her head against my chest.

  “What are we doing?” she whispers. I can feel her slender body shaking, but I don’t dare pull away to see if she’s crying. I don’t think I could handle it if she were.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “You could lose him, you know?” she says. “You could lose your best friend. I could lose mine, too. Is it really worth it? Is this really worth it?”

  I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent, her warmth, the way she makes me feel when she’s this close to me—like no one else has ever made me feel. But that’s the thing about inhales. They don’t last. You can’t keep that air trapped inside you forever. Eventually you have to breathe out. Eventually you have to let it all go.

  “I don’t know,” I say again, and somehow it’s the most truthful thing I’ve said all summer.

  CHAPTER 41

  MIKE

  Ian launches out of his chair and stomps toward the lifeguard stand, where a small crowd of people has already gathered to watch the commotion. I immediately follow after him. He shouldn’t have to do this alone. No one should.

  It’s not until we’re much closer that I can actually hear what’s being said, or rather screamed, by Mrs. Handler.

  “I’m a grown woman! You can’t tell me when I can or can’t swim! And if you try to stop me, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for assault.”

  Oh no. This isn’t good.

  This is the drunkest I’ve seen her all summer. She’s stumbling around, sloshing a plastic cup of red wine all over the sand. The tiny droplets at her feet look like blood.

  Ian pushes through the onlookers and grabs his mom brusquely by the wrist. “C’mon, Mom. Time to go home and sleep it off.”

  She shoves Ian away. “No! I won’t! You can’t make me! Why is everyone trying to make me do things I don’t want to do?”

  “Mom,” Ian says gently but urgently, “you need to calm down. You’ve had too much to drink. I’m just going to take you back to the house.”

  “You’re not my son!” she spits, and I can see Ian’s face redden with either anger or humiliation. Maybe a little of both. “I haven’t seen you all summer. You just left me alone in that house. You’re a horrible son. Your father would be ashamed of you, abandoning your mother in her time of grief.”

  Ian’s entire body has gone stone still. He looks like he’s about to cry. I push through the crowd and try to take Mrs. Handler’s hand. “Jackie,” I say in my most soothing voice. “It’s me. Mike. We’re going to take you home now, okay?”

  She glares at me for a good ten seconds, as though she’s trying to figure out where she knows me from. It’s the longest ten seconds of my life because I know it can only end one of two ways.

  It ends the bad way.

  She yanks her hand free so hard, I stumble backward. “Get away from me. All of you! Just leave me alone!”

  “All right. What’s going on here?” A large, booming voice comes from behind me. I turn to find Officer Walton making his way into the circle.

  Even though I know this will only further humiliate Ian, I can’t help but feel relieved at Officer Walton’s arrival. He has been friends with my dad since high school. He’s almost like a second father to me.

  “She’s just had too much to drink,” I tell him. “We need help getting her home. She’s harmless but she’s resisting us.”

  Officer Walton nods, giving me a sad but understanding look. Then he turns to Ian and his mom. “Okay, Mrs. Handler. Looks like the party is going to have to end early for you. Let’s get you home.”

  I cringe, praying that she’ll cooperate. That she won’t try to shove him, too. That could get messy.

  Officer Walton approaches her cautiously. She watches him like she’s a trapped animal. When he tries to take her gently by the arm, she loses it again.

  “Don’t you dare touch me! My husband is a command sergeant major of the United States Army! He’ll eat your face for breakfast!”

  “C’mon now.” Officer Walton tries to be nice. “Don’t be like that. We’re all trying to handle this like grown-ups. So why don’t you let these nice boys walk you home?”

  Mrs. Handler turns her angry glare back to Ian. “Nice boys,” she repeats spitefully. “My son is an ingrate. He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about anything but himself.”

  I can’t bear to look at Ian. The pain on his face is too much. I look to the sand. Fortunately, Office Walton decides that enough is enough.

  “Okay,” he says, resigned. “I tried to do this the easy way.” He walks up to Mrs. Handler, roughly pins her hands behind her back, and secures zip ties around her wrists. She fights him at first, trying to wiggle out of his reach. He has no choice but to wrestle her to the ground until she’s facedown on the sand.

  The crowd gasps. This is probably the most action Winlock Harbor has seen . . . well, maybe ever. Ian covers his eyes, unable to watch. My stomach wrenches for him.

  “Are you ready to go home now?” Officer Walton asks her.

  She nods, spitting sand out of her mouth. Officer Walton helps her up and turns to Ian. “Help me walk her down the beach, will you?”

  He nods and scrambles forward to take hold of her other elbow. I run to his side. “I’ll come,” I tell him.

  But he shakes his head. “Don’t. Stay here.”

  “I can help.”

  “Mike,” he says sternly. There is no room for argument. “Please. Don’t come.”

  He looks at me then, and I can see the shame and hurt swirling in his eyes like thunderclouds. I know the last thing he wants is for anyone to witness the rest of this debacle, and I can’t say I blame him.

  He rips his gaze from mine and, with the help of Off
icer Walton on her other elbow, starts marching his mother down the beach.

  I watch them until they’ve almost completely disappeared around the bend and the crowd has dispersed, returning to their beach chairs and towels. But I can’t just sit back down and go on with my afternoon like nothing has happened. My body and mind are too riled up. I need to do something. I need to get away from here.

  Julie comes running up to me, but before she can say anything, I blurt out, “Do you want to get something to eat? I’m starving.”

  She looks concerned for a moment but eventually nods. As we walk toward the clubhouse, I search the beach for Whitney, but she’s nowhere to be found.

  In the beach club kitchen, Mamma V cooks us up a feast. She even packs it into a picnic basket for us, and we take it to a deserted lawn in the back. When I unpack the basket, I can immediately tell how much Mamma V likes Julie. She would never have gone through so much effort for Harper.

  “Are you okay?” Julie finally asks after I’ve nearly finished off half a rotisserie chicken without muttering a single word.

  I’m still completely shaken by the incident on the beach, and the look that I saw in Ian’s eyes as he told me not to go with him.

  It was like he had lost. Lost at being a son. Lost at grieving his father. Lost at life. That look has been flashing through my mind ever since, and I can’t help shake the feeling that I could have done something. I could have helped. Even though he didn’t want me to. Even though he pushed me away.

  “I’m okay,” I say, gazing off in the direction of the beach. The sun is already starting to set, making for another magnificent Winlock Harbor sunset. “But I’m worried about Ian. He’s not doing well. I . . . I feel bad for him, you know? He’s been through so much. He doesn’t deserve this. I want to help, but . . .”

  “But you can’t help someone who doesn’t want it,” she finishes the thought for me, as if she’s living right inside my head. As if she can see my thoughts as clearly as she sees her own.

  “Yeah,” I agree miserably.

  She scoots closer and puts an arm around me. I rest my head against her shoulder, and she gently runs a hand through my hair. It feels nice, but it also feels off somehow. Almost foreign. Like it’s not the right hand. Not the right shoulder.