Summer Love (Senior Year (Vol. 1))

by Marysue Hobika

  SUMMER LOVE

  MARYSUE G HOBIKA

  SUMMER LOVE COPYRIGHT 2013 by MARYSUE G HOBIKA

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it or win it in a contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one its distributors.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, events or circumstances, is coincidental. The characters and story lines are created by the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  The cover art was created by Lee Rowland. For more information please visit her website at www.peartreespace.com

  Editing services provided by Jenn Sommersby Young. Contact her at www.somberbee.wix.com/jennsommersbyediting

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books at www.onehiplitchick.com

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book to my beta readers, Sasha Kinsler, Callie Coffey, Abbie Hobika, Lisa Azzara, and Kelly Mooney. I would especially like to extend a great big thank you to Brian Pullyblank for his time and energy in helping me make this book sound legit, giving it the edge that real teens possess. This book would not have been possible without all of you.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter One

  Carly

  “Glad that’s over,” Becca said. We walked across the school parking lot to her car, having just finished our last final. We had plans to spend the day together.

  “Yeah. The stress was getting to me. Waiting on test results is gonna suck,” I said. Good grades were a priority, so I put a lot of pressure on myself to do well.

  Becca rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you did great, like always. You worry too damn much.” Becca never worried about anything. We were opposites, which was one of the reasons we were perfect best friends. We balanced each other.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to be seniors in the fall.” It would soon be our last year of high school.

  “I know, but that’s months away. Right now it’s time to get our summer on! From this moment on, I’m making a rule: no more talking about school. It’s summer! Time to relax. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Becca always knew how to lighten my mood. I had a tendency to take things too seriously. She had a certain aura about her that, to be honest, I wish I had more of. I wish I had the courage to go beyond my comfort zone and break the goody-two-shoes stigma that had plagued me for too long.

  We climbed into her car, and within seconds she pulled out of the school parking lot, tires squealing against the black pavement. We cruised down the road, windows down, the blaring rap music drawing unneeded attention to Becca and me by default, and headed for the country club pool.

  “Mark my words,” Becca said, pulling into an empty parking spot. “This is going to be the best summer to date. What did Mr. Johnson talk about in social studies—Custer’s Last Stand? This is our last stand—our last true summer of freedom before we have to start planning the rest of our lives.” I could feel the determination in her voice, see the flash of excitement in her eyes. Becca was ready to drop a nuclear bomb on summer. She continued, “This summer can be summarized in two words: tans and cans.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Tans and cans,” she explained as we made our way to the pool area. “We’re going to bronze, hence the tan, while checking out the asses of all the boys who walk by. Tans and cans. You know what they say about summer love? It’s right around the corner and in our case, right here at the pool.” I laughed. I had no idea where Becca came up with this stuff. Before we knew it, schools were going to be offering Spanish, French, and Becca. I swore she had her own language.

  I doubted I’d be able to land any “cans,” let alone find the courage to talk to any of the boys we encountered. I was more like the audience at a play. I paid my money to see the show rather than star in it. Becca, however, was the lead. I liked to admire the hotties from the safe distance of my lounge chair, hiding behind my oversized, ten-dollar sunglasses. I didn’t have the gift of gab. Whenever I spoke to the opposite sex, my body went rigid and I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. I became a tongue-twisted idiot. However, I wouldn’t put it past Becca to seek out a man-can and work her magic.

  I had to admit, I kind of liked the idea of making these two months we wouldn’t forget. “You’re on, sister. Let’s make this one for the history books, starting right now.”

  “That’s my girl,” Becca exclaimed. She looped her arm through mine, scanned the pool deck for the best possible views and rays, and headed in the direction of two open lounge chairs.

  We found our epicenter just as Gillian and her clone, Marlena, staked their claims. “Sorry, bitches, these chairs belong to us,” Gillian said.

  “Oh, really? Says who? Because it looks like we’re sitting here,” Becca said, throwing her bag onto one chair while simultaneously plopping down on the other. She pushed her sunglasses down and glared over the top, daring Gillian to make a move.

  “Actually, we,” she pointed a perfectly manicured finger between her and Marlena, “were going to sit here, so get your ass up.” Gillian thought being the richest girl at school entitled her to get whatever she wanted.

  “Well, that’s too bad, because we’re not moving,” said Becca, refusing to be bullied. She stared at me, willing me to claim the other chair. Whenever I was faced with conflict, I failed to come through. I tried to make my feet move, but they were frozen to the spot. I hated confrontation. What did I do? Nothing, as usual.

  Then, as quickly as a swirling Gulf Coast hurricane, I was seated next to Becca. I yelped as she pulled me down onto the lounge chair that her bag had been reserving. I could tell by the way her fingernails dug into my arm that she was pissed at me for having no backbone.

  Becca plastered on a condescending smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, you’re blocking my sun.” Dismissing Gillian and her sidekick, Becca pulled a magazine from her bag.

  Gillian’s face was as red as a ripe cherry and a whole lot of pissed-off energy radiated from her. She stood there for several seconds, tapping her foot. Realizing we weren’t going to move, she gave in. “You might have won this round, Rebecca, but this is far from over,” she huffed. Becca hated when people called her by her full name and Gillian knew it. “I’m going to make your summer hell, bitches. Mark my words.” She spun on her heel and walked off, Marlena trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

  I trembled. Gillian would somehow, someway, make good on her threat. She always did. Last year Sarah Newcomer was dating John Hanson, a boy Gillian liked. Gillian demanded Sarah break up with him, but she refused to acquiesce. Soon a vicious rumor s
pread around school that Sarah had herpes. Kids whispered behind Sarah’s back and vandalized her locker. We all knew it was a lie and that Gillian was behind it, but Sarah’s reputation was ruined. John dumped her a few days later. Gillian was powerful, mean, and ruthless. I had managed to escape her wrath so far, but it didn’t look good for my future. I glanced at Becca to see if she was worried. She sat reading her magazine, looking like she couldn’t care less.

  Once they were out of earshot, Becca turned to me and said, “Really, Car? How could you just stand there while I was saving these two chairs for us? Some of us don’t have the luxury of spaghetti sauce coursing through our veins; some of us actually need prime tanning space to make our skin shimmer.” I was part Italian with dark features, while Becca was fair-skinned with blue eyes and platinum hair. “And besides, you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to move for those whores.”

  I sputtered an excuse. “Sorry. I froze. Gillian scares me. She reminds me of Regina George from Mean Girls, ready to socially obliterate her next victims: us.”

  Becca softened. “She always looks like that. Nasty bitch.”

  “Yeah, but I wish I were able to stand up for myself. I want to speak my mind, like you do. Tell them where they can stick it. The words always get caught in my throat. I wish I could be more outgoing. You never worry what anyone else thinks. You say exactly what’s on your mind. And you don’t let girls like Gillian and Marlena intimidate you.”

  “You’re perfect just the way you are. And that’s why you’ve got me. I’ve got your back.” She reached over and patted my arm.

  “I know. But if I’m going to have your back, I’ve got to grow some thicker skin.” Was this me, Carly, saying all of this?

  Becca laughed. “I think you mean balls. You’ve got to grow some balls.”

  “What?” I laughed.

  “B … A … L … L … S! Not thicker skin—you need BALLS!”

  I laughed harder.

  Becca wouldn’t let it go. “Say it, Carly. Say that you need to grow a set.”

  I blushed. There was no way I could ever talk like that. Looking over at Becca, I saw that she was serious.

  “Come on, Car, say it.”

  Now was as good a chance as any to break the mold. I wanted to stop worrying about what everyone else thought of me and speak my mind.

  “If you don’t hurry up, summer will be over. Just fucking say it, Car!”

  Gathering my courage, I took a deep breath. “I’m ready to grow some balls,” I said, just above a whisper.

  “What? I couldn’t hear you? Speak up.” Becca cupped her ear.

  “I said, I’m ready to grow some balls!” As luck would have it, the moment I uttered those words, a mother and her two young boys walked by. She threw me a disgusted look, causing Becca and I to crack up.

  “You just passed your first test on how to speak your mind,” Becca declared.

  “I did?”

  “Yes,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning upwards encouragingly. “But don’t worry, we’ll keep working on it. I’m sure that before summer is over, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to test your new skill set.” Becca’s head whipped around to where Gillian and Marlena were making themselves comfortable on two lounge chairs previously occupied by a couple of younger girls, whom they must’ve scared off. “Because I’m sure those sluts will be back sooner or later,” she said.

  “Those bitches are going to be trouble.” Practice makes perfect. Maybe speaking my mind would be more fun than I ever thought possible.

  Becca beamed triumphantly. “Now you’re catching on.” She pulled out her phone and began typing.

  “What are you doing?” I glanced over Becca’s shoulder.

  “I’m marking my calendar. You cursed, you bad girl, you,” she said.

  We settled into our chairs. Closing my eyes, I relaxed as the sun soaked into my skin, pushing all thoughts of Gillian out of my mind. The only sounds were kids splashing and Becca flipping the pages of her magazine. Summer was my favorite season.

  “Hey, let’s take this quiz. It’s called ‘Which type of guy is for you?’” Becca loved her magazines and would spend hours poring over the latest fashion trends, hairstyles, and makeup tips. The quiz section was her absolute favorite. She pulled a pen out of her bag.

  “Sure.” I twisted around on the chair. Quizzes were fun, and sometimes educational.

  “Okay. Number one: Which personality trait is the most important to you that your guy possesses? The choices are A. Intelligence—no dumb-ass will do for you. You want someone who is smart and going places. B. Kindness—duh? You’ve already dated jerks. You’re ready for a guy who opens the car door for you and treats you with the respect you deserve. C. Humor—you love to crack jokes and you’re the life of the party. You need someone who likes to laugh as much as you do. D. Honesty—you like a straight shooter. You want to know that what comes out of his mouth is the truth. Honesty leads to trust and that means everything to you.” She looked up from the magazine, biting the end of the pen. “So … which do you think is the most important?”

  “That’s a tough one. I’d like a smart guy who is kind, fun, and honest.”

  Becca laughed. “You can only pick one.”

  “Okay. Let’s see. If I have to choose only one, then I’ll pick D, honesty. I need a guy I can trust.” I didn’t have any real experience in the relationship department, but I couldn’t see myself with a liar or cheater. I’d seen the hurt way too many times when other girls talked about how their boyfriends cheated on them, and I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Becca marked my answer in the magazine. “What about you?”

  “This is an easy one for me. I pick humor. I need a guy who is fun and likes to have a good time.” A typical Becca answer.

  “Okay, number two. What would be your ideal outfit for him to wear? A. Jeans and a T-shirt—a casual yet traditional sexy look. B. Board shorts—you like the beach look and showing skin is never a bad thing. C. A polo shirt and khakis—you like the Ivy League, prep-school look. D. Ripped baggy jeans, a hoodie, and tattoo—you’re down with the fresh, hip-hop/skater look.”

  Becca and I answered at the same time. “Board shorts.” We laughed because we don’t see eye to eye on many things, but visually undressing the boys at the pool had always been one of our favorite pastimes. That said, I could go for a guy with tattoos.

  She continued reading the questions, keeping track of our answers. Sometimes we agreed, but other times, we had very different opinions. Becca was more of a risk-taker, while I was quiet and reserved. For some reason, though, I felt different today. Liberated. Maybe it was due to making a vow to challenge myself to attack life with an out-of-the-box approach.

  Finally, we were down to the last question. “Number ten: When he kisses you for the first time, you hope he: A. Doesn’t slobber all over you—you don’t want to feel as if you’re being licked to death by a dog.”

  “That’s nasty.” I grimaced.

  She laughed and continued. “B. Holds you close—you want to feel his heart beating next to yours, inhale his scent, and fall slowly into the depths of his eyes. C. Brushed his teeth—personal hygiene is a top priority for you. D. Doesn’t forget to tease you with his tongue—you love it when a guy knows how to French kiss.”

  “I choose B. I want him to hold me tight in his arms.” I sighed as I pictured my dream guy crushing me against his muscled chest.

  Becca giggled. “You are such a romantic. Still holding out hope for Mr. Perfect, huh, Car?”

  “Yes, yes, I am. What about you?” I asked, but before Becca could even open her mouth to respond, I answered for her. “Let me guess … D. You want a guy who is a good kisser!”

  We laughed. We knew each other so well. She scribbled down our answers and tallied our points. “You scored 24. I got 30.” She flipped to the page with the explanations. “Ironically, that puts us in the same category. Our type is ‘A Modern Guy.’ A guy who isn’t overly sappy or indiffere
nt, but is honest and true. He likes to do fun things—movies and concerts every weekend. He’s confident and his body language and clothes say so. He’ll like you for who you are and not what you look like.”

  “Does it say where we can find this guy?” I laughed, pointing at the magazine. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen this type around here.”

  Becca made a big deal out of scanning the next several pages, “No, unfortunately, it doesn’t say anything about that. This is the last time I buy this shitty magazine,” she teased.

  “I wonder if he,” I nodded at a guy who looked to be around our age, “is a modern guy?”

  We watched in awe as a tall muscular figure with sandy-blond hair walked over to the lifeguard chair and replaced the girl who’d been keeping watch. He must be one of the new lifeguards hired for summer. Even with his eyes and his face partially hidden behind sunglasses, it was obvious he was extremely good-looking. He was clean-cut and lightly bronzed.

  “One can hope,” Becca said with a devilish grin. “Time for your next lesson in being assertive, Carly.”

  “Oh no. Let’s not go overboard.”

  But Becca rarely listened. She stood and ran her fingers through her long blond hair. “I’m not going to make you do anything, silly. Just sit back and enjoy. Watch and learn, my little disciple.”

  Becca walked with a purpose over to the lifeguard and struck up a conversation. I never understood how she could do that—I didn’t have the guts. I pretended to read the magazine she’d left behind, not wanting to look like a loser sitting here by myself. Lifting my eyes over the top of the magazine, I watched Becca turn on the charm. Once I even saw her reach her hand out and playfully hit him. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I didn’t need to. I could tell they were hitting it off. Their facial expressions and body language said it all. Most guys found Becca’s beauty irresistible. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’d scored a date with him, just like she’d set out to do.

  It felt like an eternity before she came back. “Wow. If you thought he looked good from all the way over here, you should see him up close. He’s gorgeous—totally could be a model. And he has the most amazing blue eyes,” she gushed. “The things I would like to do to him.” She smacked her lips like she’d just taken a bite of birthday cake.