The Summer Before Forever Read online

  I take a step back from her. “Sorry. I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  She tucks a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, and the wind catches a second one, blowing it right up to her pink cheek.

  “No problem,” she says.

  She walks past me toward the beach, and I take a beat to pull it together. I repeat the mantra. Sister. Sister. Sister.

  Chapter Seven

  Chloe

  I’m awake, but I don’t want to leave this bed. It feels too good. This morning is the first time I’ve woken up in weeks without a gross feeling in the pit of my stomach. Even yesterday morning when the world held promise of a new town and a summer at the beach, I still couldn’t shake the thought of Trevor.

  But this morning, I feel a world away from Cliff Ridge. I have a new family, strange as those words are. I’m gaining a mom and a brother. Of course, this mom could never come close to replacing my own mom, but I don’t know my own mom anymore. The mom who raised me is not the same mom who makes googily eyes with guys named Brad. The other day, I caught her in an ill-fitting bikini top in the backyard pulling weeds. It was clearly one she had pulled from the archives, and the worn straps kept creeping off her shoulder, making it even weirder.

  I never thought my stepbrother would be the person I could talk to about these things. He’s just as weirded out by Dad and Cynthia as I am. Of course he is.

  But then, he really doesn’t feel like a brother. There were moments last night when I thought he wanted to kiss me. And…I wouldn’t have minded if he did. I don’t need a shrink to tell me that’s not normal. And then when he pulled me up off the dock and onto his chest, I was afraid he’d feel my pounding heart against his.

  But it wasn’t a scary pounding like I expected. It was more of an exhilarating pounding. In those few seconds, my body came alive in a way I never knew possible. In the two years of ridiculous crushing on Trevor, I never came close to feeling anything like that.

  But I’m not interested in Landon. I can’t be. So I’m chalking it up to being crushed up against a guy I don’t really know. Of course it’s going to make my heartbeat speed up. It’s a weird situation, period.

  Jenna turns over and faces me, and I think we’re getting ready to recap the evening, but her chin falls down and after a bit, drool starts to puddle on her pillow. I grab my sketchbook from the side of my bed, and pull out my pencil.

  A light knock sounds at our door, and I imagine my dad on the other side.

  “Come in,” I say in a loud whisper.

  The door creaks open, and it’s Landon. His dark chocolate locks lay disheveled around his sleepy blue eyes. He meets my gaze, and the corner of his full top lip inches up. “Morning.”

  Something that feels suspiciously like my heart flutters, and I want to groan at my own stupidity. The last guy I crushed on ruined everything. I am not interested in guys yet, least of all an off-limits one.

  He grips the door handle, causing the muscles in his forearm to work a bit. He’s a big guy, all toned muscle and ripped abs. Strong guys are scary, I remind myself. Except I don’t really believe Landon would do anything to hurt me. Especially not after last night. But really, I never would have imagined in my whole life a situation where it would be acceptable for a boy to knock on my bedroom door with my dad two doors down the hallway.

  I need to remember why it’s acceptable. Not crush on my future stepbrother.

  I point with my pencil to the sleeping Jenna. His gaze lands on her, then slides back to me. He nods and closes the door behind him, but not before my heart gives another flutter.

  I need to take a shower. Preferably a cold one.

  When I emerge from the bathroom half an hour later, I find Jenna sitting up in her bed. She’s got on her hot pink tank top with no bra, and shorts that can barely be seen from the position she is sitting in. Good thing Landon didn’t walk in on this.

  “What time is it?” she asks, ignoring the clock radio that sits right by her bed on the nightstand.

  I make a point of looking at it. “8:42.”

  “Too early.” She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

  I dress in shorts and a t-shirt. She comes out of the bathroom and looks at me like I’ve got three heads.

  “Why don’t you have on your bathing suit?”

  “Are we going to the beach?”

  “Duh.” She gets back in the bed and pulls the covers up to her chin.

  Another knock sounds at the door. “Girls!”

  Jenna gives me a look, her eyebrows raised.

  “Come in, Cynthia,” I say.

  “Well, how was it?” She sits on the edge of my bed and pulls the comforter over her legs. It’s a little familiar, but I realize I’m at her house, and it is her bed.

  I lean against the dresser. “Good.”

  “Freaking awesome,” Jenna says. “What are you talking about, Chloe?”

  Cynthia looks pleased with Jenna’s enthusiasm. “Did you meet some other kids your age down at the beach?”

  “Landon’s friends,” Jenna says.

  Cynthia leans in toward Jenna. “They’re cute, aren’t they?”

  Jenna giggles in response. Cynthia giggles with her.

  Great. They’ve bonded.

  “Anyone in particular you like?” Cynthia asks.

  “Nope, I have a boyfriend.” Jenna produces her phone from under the covers and shoves a picture of Mason toward Cynthia.

  I suppose at some point during the night Jenna and Mason became exclusive…for now.

  “Very nice, Jenna. He’s a cutie,” Cynthia says.

  “I know.” Jenna beams at her phone. “Chloe was dating his best friend.”

  My stomach plummets. I’d rather think about this ridiculous crush on my stepbrother than relive any part of that night with Trevor.

  “Oh, what happened there?” Cynthia asks.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “We didn’t date. We just…met…one night.”

  “Oh,” Cynthia says. “Well, as long as you girls stay safe while you’re here.”

  I realize she thinks I’m saying we hooked up that one night—like, just casually, I decided to screw him. As much as I don’t want that to be her impression of me, I really don’t want to prolong this conversation about the worst night of my life.

  Jenna eyes me. Crap.

  “So, when are we going dress shopping?” Cynthia asks.

  “Dress shopping?” I ask a little too brightly, thrilled for the change of topic.

  She throws back the covers and stands, facing me. She takes both of my hands, and stares into my eyes. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it.

  “I know we’ve only just met, Chloe, but I’d like for you to be my maid of honor. What do you say?”

  I hesitate, but I’m not sure there’s a choice of answer here. “Okay.”

  She squeezes my hands so tightly they turn white. “Oh, that makes me so happy. I always wanted a daughter, and now I have one!”

  The pressure.

  Jenna claps. “Dress shopping! Chloe can give us our very own fashion show!”

  Cynthia looks at Jenna like this is the best idea she’s heard all year. “Yes, a fashion show!”

  The two of them giggle and start strategizing on color and style. I definitely feel like the wrong one to be wearing this dress.

  After the two of them have exhausted their conversation topic, Cynthia pats her legs in finality. “Well, there’s fruit and oatmeal downstairs when the two of you are ready to come down. I’ll let you head to the beach today, but we’ll schedule the shopping trip for Saturday. Does that work?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Jenna says.

  Cynthia turns to her with a scowl and a pointer finger. “Cynthia.”

  “Sorry,” Jenna says with a grin. “Cynthia.”

 
Cynthia gives her a satisfied smile and heads out.

  Jenna turns to me with a wicked grin. “I hope you and Trevor were safe.”

  She’s teasing me, but she has no idea how gross it makes me feel. I roll my eyes and begin organizing my closet, keeping my hands occupied.

  She settles back in her bed. “Mason says Trevor’s been talking about you.”

  I snap around. “What? What has he been saying?”

  “He asked where we went. Mason thinks he likes you.”

  Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I go to her. “Did he tell him? Does Trevor know where we are? Like that we’re at this resort?”

  She frowns. “Relax. I thought you were over him.”

  I sit across from her on my bed, ready to extract info from her one grain at a time if I have to. “Did you tell Mason what city we were going to?”

  “Yes, he knows we’re in Destin.”

  “Did you tell him the name of our resort?”

  Her frown deepens. “I can’t remember.”

  I clench my fists. “Think, Jenna.”

  “I don’t know, maybe.”

  I wrap my arms around my torso.

  She edges off the bed and reaches over to me. She puts both hands on my knees. “Chloe, what’s going on?”

  The blood is leaving my face. It drains into my chest as my reality comes crashing down around me. “What else did Trevor say to Mason?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Nothing. He just said that he was asking about you…where you and I went, when we would be back home, that sort of thing.”

  A twinge of relief settles my stomach. He doesn’t care where I am. He just wants me back home. I can’t believe he’s not done with me…moved on to the next victim.

  She takes her hands off my legs. “What is happening? Why are you so upset? Do you like him?”

  “God, no!”

  She jumps back and holds up both hands. “Okay. I got it. Then what is this? What’s going on here?”

  I start to bite on my nails. She eases my hand out of my mouth, and I cross my legs.

  “Chloe, did Trevor do something?”

  I meet her gaze. Her concern is comforting. Carrying around this secret has been miserable. The thought of giving it to someone else to help me bear it is not only relieving, but necessary. I just hope she can keep it to herself. “I told you he took me to his parents’ pontoon boat.”

  She nods.

  I take a deep breath. “He tried to have sex with me.”

  She sits up straight. “What?”

  I close my eyes. “I told him no, but he wouldn’t stop.”

  “Ohmygod, Chloe. Did he rape you?”

  I shake my head and open my eyes. “No, but he was all over me, Jenna. Like forceful and demanding. Saying all this crap about how I was a tease and he knew I wanted to.” My throat tightens at the grossness of this memory. “Thank God one of his dad’s friends was a few boats down and saw us.” I smooth the hair back from my face. “I screamed and ran for help. Trevor ran to his car. If that man hadn’t been there…”

  Jenna blinks hard. “Oh my gosh. I am so sorry. Why are you just now telling me this?”

  “Because you were so excited about me getting my first kiss. I didn’t want to ruin it with all this mess,” I lie. I can’t tell her she’s a Mack truck of indiscretion and would possibly have ruined my life at school with her good intentions.

  She drops her shoulders, staring off at the wall. “I can’t believe this. I don’t understand why Mason hasn’t said anything.” She meets my gaze. “Like seriously, I don’t think he knows about this. He’s made several comments about how he thinks you’re cute and would be good for Trevor. I think he just wants us to double-date when we get back.”

  Goose bumps on my arms rise like an army of ants coming to attention. “No.”

  Jenna’s face turns red, and she grabs for her phone. “I’m calling Mason right now.”

  I lunge for the phone and grab it from her. “No, Jenna. Absolutely not. This is why I didn’t say anything. You cannot tell Mason. God, please, don’t tell Mason. You have to promise.”

  “He needs to know what a dick his friend is.”

  Only now do the tears form, because I know I have to be drastically dramatic in order to get through to her. “No, Jenna, you can’t. He can’t know this. It will make things worse.”

  “How?”

  “Because Trevor said he’s going to be my first. He said he knows I want it—that I have for two years, and he knows it.”

  Jenna’s eyes grow to the size of bicycle tires. “What? When?” She grabs two tissues from the nightstand and dabs my eyes with them, and then hands them to me.

  “The last week of school. You had just left, and he caught me by myself next to our lockers. He called me a bitch for leading him on, and he said I was going to make it up to him.”

  She clenches her bony fists. “That fucking bastard.”

  We sit in silence for a moment while she processes all of it.

  “Well, what happened?” she finally asks. “How did you end that conversation?”

  “We got interrupted, thank God. Honestly, I have no idea why Mason doesn’t know…or anyone really. At least it doesn’t seem like they do.” I eye her. “Have you heard any rumors about Trevor and me…hooking up or anything?” The words are like bile on my tongue.

  “No, absolutely not.” She stabs a finger at me. “And don’t even worry about any kind of rumors that asshole might spread. If I hear so much as a peep of anything I will defend you to the death. I’ll tell everyone I come in contact with that he’s a liar. I’ll get on the mic at a pep rally if I have to.”

  And this is why Jenna is my best friend. As high-maintenance as she is to deal with most of the time, she’s as loyal as a guard dog. I know without a doubt she would absolutely get on the mic at a pep rally to defend me. But, if I’m being honest, she’d probably enjoy that kind of spotlight while she was at it.

  I let out an exhaustive sigh. “Thank you.”

  She hops over to my bed and squeezes me. “He will not hurt you. And if he does I will take pleasure in ripping his balls off.”

  “Thank you. I feel much better now.” And I actually do.

  She gives me a big smooch on the cheek.

  Knowing Jenna has my back is comforting. But she can’t be there to protect me all the time. Nobody can. I need to learn to protect myself.

  Landon

  I toss my football in the air and catch it for probably the five hundredth time this morning. I’m not a worrier, but as the days move further away from high school and closer to college, my worry builds.

  In high school, so many people accommodated my dyscalculia—Monica with her tutoring, Coach Bledsoe and all the guys on the football field. My guidance counselor, Mrs. Keeley, practically held my hand all three years I was at Hilldale. I’ve already been warned not to expect the same at North Florida State.

  I hate that my dyscalculia is always on public display. I don’t want to take it to college with me. I want a clean slate—a group of people who don’t know I have trouble making change and I need a chart to figure out how much tip to leave. With Monica helping me with the required math—which I plan to knock out as soon as possible—there’s no need for anyone to know I’m special needs, atypical…slow.

  I glance up at my poster of OBJ making an impossible catch. This is the choice I’ve made—wrestling over football. I can get away with wrestling without accommodations. It’s not like I could ask a team full of college football players to call out players’ names rather than jersey numbers. Or that the coach for a Division 1 team would be willing to create an alternate version of the playbook without numbers and spend his open lunch making sure I understood it. I know I’ve been living in a bubble at my privileged private school. It’s time for me to hit the
real world now, and if football can’t be a part of that, I’ll have to deal.

  My diploma hangs on my wall, but it feels like a fake. I won’t have earned it until I finally pass senior math—remedial level, of course. Not even fucking algebra.

  It shouldn’t bother me by now. I should be used to it. At least I don’t have dyslexia, too, like half the kids in my online support group. Books and my ability to ace English have been the only things to keep me sane since middle school.

  I sit at my desk and fire up my laptop. I sign on to chat and see a few familiar names. This online support group, as do-gooder and corny as it sounds, really does help me. These are kids I would otherwise never know. We’re all from such diverse backgrounds and social situations, but all of us can come here and breathe easier. There’s no judgment here. Nobody thinks anybody is stupid or isn’t trying hard enough. We get each other. We’re kind of like our own little family of defective brains.

  Brandon is pissed because he’s got to do summer school, and it’s cutting into his lifeguarding job. Ashton is bitching again about how hard college math is and how he’s still not made any progress with the disability services department at his school. The guy he’s dealing with there had to ask him what exactly dyscalculia was. It’s when I read stuff like this that I know I’ve made the right decision in giving up on Division 1 football and hanging here close to home.

  Ah, man. Lori just got the results of her evaluation, and she’s tested out of the services her school district spends money on. Apparently dyscalculia isn’t a popular enough learning disability. She’s no longer eligible for her IEP, which means she’s losing her one-on-one sessions. She’s going to a 504 plan, which is moderately helpful but doesn’t serve you nearly as well as an IEP. I know, I moved to one years ago when I was in public school. But I’m lucky—my dad’s rich. Lori’s family isn’t, so no private tutoring for her.

  My text alert dings. Speaking of tutors, it’s Monica.

  Are we working today?

  I respond.

  I have to work until 6:00. Can we do it tonight?

  Even better. :)

  I run my hand through my hair. I’ve got to figure out what to do about her. She’s becoming less subtle every time I see her. I don’t understand what’s changed with her. I’ve known her since we were kids, but she’s never shown any romantic interest in me until now. Well, there was that one time during the summer after seventh grade. Our relationship lasted exactly seven timed minutes in a closet while our friends cracked up and shouted jokes at us through the door.