Been Here All Along

by Sandy Hall

  “The Swoon Reads Experience (Continues!)”

  HW: What has been your favorite thing about being a Swoon Reads author?

  SH: I love watching the process for the other authors. It’s sort of an interesting position, because sometimes I know things before they happen and sometimes I don’t. But I love keeping up with all of them on social media and seeing how things are going for them.

  HW: This is your third Swoon Reads novel. Have you got the process down now, or is it different every time?

  SH: It’s a funny thing, but my process has definitely been different for each book and it continues to change. Writing A Little Something Different felt completely different than Signs Point to Yes, which felt completely different than Been Here All Along. I keep finding new and better ways to plan and write. I do a little of this and a little of that these days. I don’t think I’ll ever find the magical formula to writing a book, and that’s probably a good thing. It keeps me guessing.

  HW: What question do you get asked the most by your fans?

  SH: Most of the questions I get are still A Little Something Different related because that’s the one more people have read. I love when people ask if it’s okay to like Victor. They’re always so ashamed of their love for him. But I totally understand. He’s the guy you love to hate.

  “The Writing Life (Goes Ever On)”

  HW: Where did you get the inspiration for Been Here All Along?

  SH: It 100 percent came from you. And I guess Taylor Swift, since she gave the world that catchy little tune “You Belong with Me.” I was totally into it once you laid out your idea, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it for a month or two before I got around to planning it. But without your suggestions, it wouldn’t exist.

  HW: Well, I’m SO glad that you took my idea and ran with it! What’s your favorite part of the writing process?

  SH: PLANNING. I could plan forever, just listening to the new characters roll around in my head and start talking to me and each other. I love imagining scenarios and figuring out where they should go in the book. I love the actual writing, too, but that’s more of a challenge and more about technique. The creative part for me really happens in the planning stages, and I love it.

  HW: Got any advice you want to share with other authors?

  SH: READ. I’m one of the worst offenders when it comes to keeping up with my TBR pile. I have a lot of trouble reading for pleasure while I’m in the middle of writing or editing. I end up going a month without picking up a book. And when I do, I remember how much I love reading. Authors really do need to make time for it.

  Discussion Questions

  Over the course of the story, Kyle learns that he has dyslexia and Gideon realizes he’s gay. How do you think these new discoveries change how they view themselves positively or negatively?

  If, like Ezra, you decided to skip college right after high school, where would you go and what would you do?

  Gideon decides to get drunk at Maddie’s party and come out to his friends. Do you think that’s a good idea? What advice would you give him?

  As best friends, Gideon knew a lot of good and bad things about Kyle. Do you think Gideon’s mean list about Kyle was fair? Why or why not?

  Who do you think is the most reliable point-of-view narrator and why?

  Why did Kyle wait so long to come out to Ruby? Was it fair of her to get so upset?

  After the list comes out, Ruby decides she wants to start taking more responsibility for her actions. In the end, who do you think was most responsible for the list getting published? How would you react if you were in this situation?

  Have you ever felt as jealous of someone as Ruby felt about Gideon? Did you sympathize with her in any way?

  When Kyle broke up with Ruby, she told him that she was going to tell everyone that she broke up with him instead. Why do you think image played such an important role in Ruby’s life?

  All of the point-of-view narrators in this story are hiding something at some point. (Gideon’s gay, Kyle’s failing English, Ruby’s family has financial problems, and Ezra ran out of money.) Why do you think it was so difficult for them to share their secrets?

  SWOONING FOR SANDY HALL?

  Don’t miss her other swoonworthy novels:

  A Little Something Different

  Fourteen viewpoints. One love story.

  The creative writing teacher, the delivery guy, the local Starbucks barista, his best friend, her roommate, and the squirrel in the park all have one thing in common—they believe that Gabe and Lea should get together.

  Signs Point to Yes

  The most adorkable romance ever!

  When a superstitious fangirl’s emergency babysitting job puts her in awkward proximity to her new crush, a nerdy-hot lifeguard with problems of his own, even her Magic 8 ball can’t predict the turn their summer will take.

  A romantic European vacation is the perfect excuse to let go.

  EVERYONE KNOWS THAT Nathan is in love with his best friend, Preston … everyone except Preston. Will Nathan find the courage to speak up, or will he lose his chance at love with the best friend he’s ever had?

  One

  NATHAN WAS RIGHT where he wanted to be—hands clasped and biting down on the tips of his thumbs in a futile attempt at settling the tendrils of nerves coiling in his stomach. Maybe at the moment it didn’t seem like he wanted to be where he was, considering his legs bobbed as he sat among the multitude of family and friends cheering on loved ones currently competing for a coveted spot in the Bennett Club. But yes, he was right where he needed to be—aging ten years in a matter of minutes. He wouldn’t be surprised if he walked out of that facility with gray at his temples. God forbid.

  The prestigious, privately owned swimming club in Colorado that Preston was trying out for boasted of producing the best of the best. Any kid who dreamed of being a champion swimmer dreamed of being coached by Bobby Bennett. Banners suspended along the walls of the gigantic state-of-the-art facility featured twenty-foot pictures of past Olympians—medals and fists raised in triumph. They were undeniable proof of results.

  His gaze slipped to the empty seat next to him, where his sister Natasha would have sat had she not made some lame excuse for not coming along. In fact, they all should have been there cheering Preston on. But Caleb had classes at Loyola he couldn’t miss.

  Nathan sighed. He could still remember the absolute determination on Preston’s face when the invite had been delivered via special courier. The envelope came a couple of days after his cousin canceled their European adventure to sweep Didi—now his girlfriend—off her feet. Only about a hundred were given out every year. And only a handful of swimmers were actually chosen. It was akin to finding the golden ticket wrapped around a chocolate bar. Preston hadn’t even finished reading the letter before he had dropped everything and started packing.

  For years one of Nathan’s favorite things to do—besides planning magnificent parties—was watch Preston swim. It was like watching performance art. The way his arms sliced through the water, each stroke pulling him forward with speed and precision. The way his back muscles flexed took Nathan’s breath away every time. It must be the closest someone could get to the perfect balance between physicality, endurance, and concentration.

  Well, maybe not right this instant, since the swimming god was completely botching things.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Nathan yelled, jumping to his feet and shoving his fingers through his dark brown hair—a Parker trait he shared with his twin sister and cousin. If strands happened to separate from his scalp from pulling too hard, he didn’t care.

  His shoulders tensed when Preston finished third in the hundred-meter freestyle. He removed his goggles and swimming cap in one smooth pull. Panting, he looked up at the digital board displaying lap times.

  Even from afar Nathan could feel the frustration radiating off his friend. To qualify for Team USA, a swimmer had to finish at least second in his respective event. Anything l
ess was unacceptable.

  Time for an ass-kicking.

  * * *

  To say Preston ate, slept, and breathed swimming was an understatement. It wasn’t even a stretch to say he devoted every waking moment to the sport. As soon as he was old enough to figure out how to hold his breath underwater, he’d been a swimmer. He knew nothing else. Didn’t want to do anything else. Watching Michael Phelps bring home seven gold medals in a single Olympics set his benchmark. His ultimate goal.

  And what a complete loser he’d been all day.

  Beyond frustrated, Preston slapped his hands on the pool’s edge and heaved himself up. He hadn’t always been this wobbly in the water. Coming in third? He couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened. He should have been kicking their asses. There were only a few heats left. If he didn’t make something happen soon, he could kiss joining Coach Bennett’s team good-bye.

  Sure, he might still be able to train elsewhere in preparation for the Olympic Trials in June next year, but it wouldn’t be the same. Being part of the Bennett Club would give him the edge he needed. It was already the end of August. Many of the other private clubs were full, and he’d said no to all the collegiate team coaches for this, his best chance at becoming an Olympian—and he was sucking spectacularly. Maybe he should have kept his options open.

  Fuck.

  He snorted into the towel thrown at him by one of the staff. As far as he was concerned, Coach Bennett was it. The dream coach. If he couldn’t make it into the Bennett Club, then what else was there for him?

  Nothing.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He lifted his face from the towel to stare into the blazing blue eyes of the one person unafraid to call him out on his shit. At five foot ten, Nathan was in full battle mode.

  “I just can’t seem to gain my stride,” Preston said, irritation at himself leaking into his words.

  “Of course not,” Nathan said. “You’re too in your head about this.”

  Preston slanted a glance over to the silver-haired man in a blue jacket watching the swimmers with a keen eye and a stern expression. “I thought maybe…”

  The slap on his chest forced him to return his gaze to Nathan. In a lime-green sweater and white slacks, he stood out among the men and women strutting around in tight Speedos. Yet something about the confidence in his stance made him fit in anywhere.

  “Don’t think about Bennett. No one cares about him.”

  Um, maybe I do? Preston thought.

  But maybe that was it? That he cared way too much?

  “Nate—”

  “No!” Nathan interrupted, wagging his finger. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses from you. I’m fed up seeing you lose.”

  “But—”

  Nathan crossed his arms and cocked his hip to the side, displaying his best I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-other-people-think stare. “We did not fly all the way to Colorado just so you could choke at the very last second. Third? Seriously? When was the last time you placed third in any race?”

  “Then what do you think I should do?” Preston asked, heat creeping into his tone.

  Nathan rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. “Maybe calm the fuck down?”

  It dawned on Preston all at once. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

  “Exactly! Stop thinking too much about Bennett and focus all your energy on swimming.” This time the slap against his chest was one of reassurance. “It’s what you’re best at. Stick with the butterfly for now.”

  “But those aren’t until later.”

  The butterfly was the most challenging stroke, so the fly heats were always slated for last. Competitive swimmers had to be proficient in all styles, but everyone had a favorite stroke. Preston just so happened to possess the shoulder strength and the arm span that made him lethal at the one he enjoyed most.

  Nathan tilted his head. “Better for you to rest up. How many heats are there?”

  Preston did the mental count. “There’s the hundred-meter and the two-hundred-meter.”

  Nathan’s eyes grew saucer wide, as if he suddenly understood something he might not have at the beginning. “The freestyle has six heats, while the butterfly usually only has two. Somehow you got it in your head that being in the water more will show Coach Bennett what you’re made of.”

  The last part sounded more like a question, but Preston knew it wasn’t. “Maybe.”

  “Pres, you are one of the best swimmers I know.”

  “I’m the only swimmer you know.”

  “You can’t afford to suck any more than you already have,” Nathan said. “You’re making me look bad.”

  Preston kept his expression blank, but inside he was wincing. Maybe even dying a little. But not from the obvious joke at the end of Nathan’s words. He knew just how much he was sucking. The truth hurt like a punch in the gut.

  Showboating. That was what he had been doing. Sure, he could deny it all he wanted, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth. He wanted to be top dog. Unfortunately, he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Damn it all to hell.

  “Switch gears,” Nathan continued. “Show Bennett and everyone in this building why I flew a thousand miles just to watch you swim.”

  The corner of Preston’s eye twitched. “Of course you’re making this about you.”

  “Hell yes, this is about me.” Nathan shot him one of his better grins. The kind that hid nothing from the world. “Don’t embarrass me out there, Pres. Show them what you’re really made of.”

  Preston snorted.

  Nathan’s features softened. “You’re too stiff. Remember, just have fun. I know this is your dream. I know it might feel like the world is over if you don’t get onto this team, but if you don’t have fun, then it wouldn’t be worth it either way. Trust your training. Breathe and loosen up.”

  And just like that, Nathan turned Preston’s humiliation into renewed purpose. His fingers closed tightly around the towel he’d been holding. He faced the fifty-meter pool currently filled with his competitors. Somewhere along the way he’d let his nerves get the better of him when he should have been concentrating on what he did best.

  “The bastards won’t know what hit them,” he said, meaning every word.

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Nathan turned on his heel. As a parting shot, while walking away with a strut like only he knew how, he said over his shoulder, “Give them hell, Pres. Give them hell.”

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  SEPTEMBER

  Maribel (Lea’s roommate)

  “I’m going to get us fake IDs,” I say to Lea as we walk to class on the first day of school.

  “What? That’s illegal!” she says.

  Even though we’ve only been roommates for four days, I’m not surprised by her reaction. I think there must be something about the first few days of college that really make people bond together, because I feel like I’ve known Lea my entire life.

  And I can already say unequivocally that she is a great roommate. She’s neat, polite, and quiet without being boring.

  “Don’t think of it as illegal,” I say. “Think of it as helping out local business owners.”

  “You have a skewed perspective of the world, Maribel.”

  “Drinking is fun!” I say, throwing up my hands. I’ve only actually been drunk twice in my entire life, once at my sister’s wedding and then prom weekend. But still, I know it’s fun.

  “I don’t even really drink!” she says, also throwing up her hands. She’s laughing now though.

  “Do you want to?” I ask.

  “Maybe.”

  “I mean …” I trail off. We’re walking onto an enormous green where about half of the academic buildings are located, and I want to take a moment to appreciate the fact that I am actually starting college.

  “We’re really here,” I say, looking around.

  “We are,” she agrees,
smiling. “We should embrace the moment.”

  “What class are you on your way to?” she asks after a sufficient amount of “embracing the moment” has happened.

  “Development of Europe part two.” I make sure that my voice is as unenthusiastic as humanly possible.

  “I assume that there will be a lot of spoilers if you ever decide to take part one.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. What are you on your way to?”

  “Creative writing.”

  “How did you get into an awesome upper-level course like creative writing?” I ask as we approach the steps to the English building.

  She turns to walk backward for a second and swings right into a very cute guy.

  “Oh my gosh,” Lea squeaks as she kneels down to help him with his belongings. “I’m so sorry.”

  “S’okay,” he says. He’s cute, but super awkward as he tries like four different ways to pick up the books he dropped.

  “You’re sure?” Lea asks.

  He nods but doesn’t look at her.

  “I just don’t want to be late for class on the first day,” she says, glancing at me and then back at him.

  He settles on the ground and scoops things into his backpack.

  He finally looks at her and sort of smiles. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay, as long as you’re okay,” Lea says. “See you later, Mar.”

  I nod and walk toward my own classroom. I think I just got to witness my first collegiate meet cute. I’m sort of assuming meet cutes happen a lot here.

  Inga (creative writing professor)

  People always expect the first day of school to be crisp and autumnal when the reality is that it’s all too often on the hottest freaking day of the year, and the sun burns with the heat of a thousand George Foreman grills.

  I stand in front of my latest bunch of creative writing students and look around, trying not to sweat through my thinnest blouse. When I left the house this morning I asked Pam what she thought of my outfit and she said it was like “slutty Little House on the Prairie.” I didn’t know that was a thing, but I felt proud that I had achieved such a look without even trying.