Summer Alone (Summer #1) (5 page)

I shrug and stare straight ahead. “You said it was dirty things. Dirty means bad.”

He shakes his head. “No…pretty much every nerdy BMX guy has a massive crush on you. That’s why I wouldn’t let you read the comments. You would have gotten a huge ego boost and then been a nightmare to work with.” When I glare at him he just smiles.

I’m not sure if I should believe him or not. But I drop the subject and let him order enough pizza to feed an army and then help him carry it all back to work. “You eat more food in one day than I eat all week,” I observe as we’re toting three large pizza boxes and a bag of cheese bread.

“I’m trying to gain back all that weight I lost when I was sick.” He pats his belly which is flat, but the way he rubs his hand over it, you’d think he was Humpty Dumpty.

I roll my eyes and stop long enough for the glass doors to slide open automatically, letting us back inside. Ollie hangs out near the front counter, talking on his phone. He points to the left and we both turn to see Ryan Phillips sitting in a chair, his head leaned back against the wall, asleep. Ryan is Braedon’s best friend and I know him a little as the guy who has home room with me, but it’s not like we’ve ever talked or anything. Probably because he’s also fairly high up on the popularity chain.

Braedon sneaks up to Ryan and leans down near his ear. “Police!” he yells in a deep voice, making Ryan bolt awake and fly out of the chair. I can’t help but laugh.

“Not cool!” Ryan says, stumbling a few steps forward as he wakes up. When he sees me, he gives me a little wave. “Hey, Becca.”

“Hi,” I say, taken aback. I didn’t know Ryan knew my name.

“How do you like working here?” he asks, ignoring Braedon’s warning not to touch his pizza. He opens a box anyway and grabs a slice. “Braedon said you picked up the job duties really quick.”

“Oh did he?” I say, narrowing my eyes in his direction. He winks and bites into a piece of pepperoni pizza that he’s folded in half. “What, did he think I would be too stupid to learn a silly software?” I stick out my tongue. Ryan glances back at our boss and he and Ollie exchange knowing looks.

“He totally likes her,” Ollie tells Ryan in what is probably the world’s loudest whisper voice ever. It’s right about now, with Ollie and Ryan nodding as if they have everything figured out, that I lose my composure. This is just embarrassing and stupid and it’s bordering on harassment.

“You guys are annoying and need to freaking stop.”

Ryan snorts. “Oh come on. Just admit that you two are crushing hard on one another and we can get this over with.”

I refuse to be embarrassed and I’m definitely not going to give Braedon the chance to reject me in front of my boss and our customers, so I stand a little straighter and become the person I’ve always wanted to be. “Sorry Ryan,” I say, hands on my hips. “You can try all you want but you won’t embarrass us. Braedon and I are professional coworkers and we’re also friends.” I glance at him and he jumps a little bit. Then he nods. “So I hate to break it to you and Ollie, but it’s just so not going to happen. Right, Brae?”

Braedon startles, shifting on his feet as if I just brought him out of an extensive daydream. “Right.” He looks me straight in the eyes, a slice of pizza hovering in the air next to his mouth. “Just friends.”

My bedroom is dark except for the faint glow of the single strand of Christmas lights above my bed. There are more strands decorating my room, but I only turned on one. It’s almost midnight and I don’t need my room to be lit up enough to see my reflection in the mirror. Because I definitely don’t need a mirror to tell me that I look pathetic tonight.

Tears flood into the corners of my eyes but I brush them off with the back of my hand. I am a big girl and I will not cry. It’s funny how strong I felt back when I was lying to myself about my “crush” on Braedon. I felt like as long as there was some small strand of hope that he might have liked me in return, then I could lie all I want about not liking him. I could pretend we were just friends. But after yesterday when he straight up admitted that all we are is friends, I haven’t been able to concentrate. I can’t refocus all of my energy away from him.

Turns out, I didn’t just have a playful small crush on my coworker. I had a massive crush. Why do these things happen to me? Why do I have to
pretend
to be the kind of girl who doesn’t fall easily? Why can’t I just
be
one of those girls? Why am I wallowing in self-pity, listening to sad music while I look up quotes online? It’s pathetic. Yet, I can’t stop doing it.

It’s been hours since I skipped dinner, telling Mom I didn’t feel well and hid out in my room, looking for the perfect quote to describe how I feel right now. The quote that’s currently drawn on my picture frame dry erase board is about the worst, most untrue quote in the world right now.

Make a move. It’s just fear.

Right. Because fear isn’t that big of a deal. I roll my eyes, think about climbing off the bed to erase the stupid quote, but decide not to because I’m much too comfortable all bundled up in my comforter. My laptop makes my legs warm. I sigh and grab another handful of candy corn from the almost empty bag on my nightstand and continue searching through pages and pages of quotes.

I need a quote that says:
I suck at keeping my emotions in check and so what if guys don’t like me and who cares that I’ll be a dork forever.

But, you know, something that’s worded all poetically and inspirational. I type the word “heartbroken” into the search bar and sit back while dozens of images load. I’ve missed Bayleigh all summer, but I’ve never missed her more than I do at this very moment. Although I know it will go straight to voicemail, I call her phone anyway. When I get a robot voice telling me to leave a message, I hang up, feeling somehow even more defeated.

A single black square with simple font catches my attention. The words say:
You are one heartbreak closer to being with the person you are meant to be with.

I jot that one down in my notebook, but don’t put it on the board on my wall. Those words are inspiring for sure, but I’m not heartbroken. I’m just hurting over losing the possibility of being heartbroken by Braedon. The next quote is better, but still not perfect:
I keep myself busy with the things I do. But every time I pause, I still think of you.

My phone vibrates from its place on the nightstand. For a second, I think I imagined the sound because it’s just after midnight and no one texts me that late unless it’s Bayleigh. Bayleigh! I dive across the bed, grabbing my phone and hoping to God that she just texted me and that I hadn’t just imagined the sound of my phone vibrating. The tightness in my chest loosens when I see the icon for one new text message.

Only, it isn’t from Bayleigh. It’s from a number I don’t know. I sigh because it’s probably some spam robot or a wrong number. Before I check it, I look at the next quote in my search. It’s from Shakespeare and I think it might be perfect:
Expectation is the root of all heartache.

How freaking true is that? Here I was expecting Braedon to like me and then he didn’t. And just now I expected Bayleigh to text me and she didn’t. And I’m hurt because of both of those stupid expectations. It really makes me question why I think that changing myself this summer should have any kind of good recourse. It will probably just be another one of my failed expectations and senior year will go on just like all the years before it, a massive disappointment.

I write the Shakespeare quote in my notebook, underlining it twice. As soon as I get my lazy butt out of bed, I’ll be replacing my quote board with this gem. My phone vibrates again, reminding me that I have a spam message to delete. When I click the message, all of those bad feelings from earlier come diving right back into my heart.

Hey Becca. It’s Braedon. Are you awake?

Sorry this is so late.

Holy crap. Why is Braedon texting me? How did he even get my number? Oh my god oh my god. Deep breaths. I draw in a slow breath, trying to calm my shaking hands. I really hope he’s not some kind of crazy psychic mind reader or I’ll be really embarrassed that he knows what I’ve been thinking all this time.

I’m awake. What’s up?

He takes forever to reply. And by forever, I mean exactly five minutes. Five agonizing minutes of me lying in bed wondering if I had fallen asleep earlier and had dreamed this entire thing. When he replies, my heart skips a beat.

I can’t sleep…I feel bad about earlier.

The events at work earlier today replay in my mind, as if I hadn’t already done that a thousand times tonight. What could
he
possibly feel bad about? Ryan was the one saying stupid comments, so it’s not Braedon’s fault. I don’t know why I do this, but I type a reply and wait a few minutes before I send it. No reason to look too eager to text someone who just wants to be my friend.

You mean Ryan? Don’t worry about him. I knew he was just messing around.

He must be a fast texter because I get the reply almost instantly.
That’s not it. I should have actually said something else.

Huh? I shake my head, thinking that boys make absolutely no sense. Then I reply,
What were you going to say?

Nothing. Sorry to bother you. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

Okay… I think about telling him that he wasn’t a bother. That he can text me any time he wants. But instead, I drop the phone like it’s an addiction from which I should break free and close my laptop. This day has been stressful enough and I think it’s time to go to bed. Hopefully tomorrow won’t be as weird.

Although no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending. – Carl Bard

I stand back and admire my artwork on the clear piece of glass on my quote board. I wrote the entire quote in swirly cursive letters with a dark purple marker. It looks beautiful, and I feel powerful. Like my new start has already happened simply because I wrote the words. Of course, that could just be the fumes from the dry erase marker making me feel this way.

After a short, fitful night’s sleep, I had taken out my laptop again and searched for the perfect quote. Something to get me back on my feet. It was as if the Quote Gods opened the sky and blessed me with exactly what I needed to hear. That Carl Bard quote was the top one in my search results. I was so tired, I don’t even remember what words I had used.

The quote really spoke to me. So what if I sucked at my summer transformation? The summer is only a few weeks in, and there’s plenty of time to change how things are going to end for me. As long as I’m breathing, I can change things.

With a yellow C&C BMX shirt that could blind someone with its brightness, I put on a little makeup, smack my lip-glossed lips in the mirror and smile. Today will be a good day, no matter what. I am restarting my life and my happiness. Braedon will now and forever be, just a coworker.

I can’t actually talk to Bayleigh right now, but I did finally figure out what sort of advice she’d give me if she were here. She’d put her hands on her hips, lift her eyebrows until her forehead got all wrinkly and give me this look like I’m an idiot.
“You see a bazillion hot guys at work all day,” she’d say. “Forget the one guy who doesn’t like you and go find someone who does.”

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

C&C BMX Park has a line of customers that reaches out the door and around the sidewalk when I arrive at work. I walk uneasily to the front door, wondering why there are so many people here. BMX riders don’t usually hop out of bed at nine in the morning to go ride. A few guys step out of the way so I can get past them, and it definitely doesn’t escape my attention that the guys in line aren’t little punk kids. They’re super hot. And just out of high school by the looks of their tattoos.

I smile politely and stare at the floor when I pass by two particularly gorgeous guys. Bayleigh would be tripping over herself right now. But me? I’m still terrified. My brain can’t help but think of a million ways I could embarrass myself in front of these guys, and the fear of doing something stupid becomes so overwhelming that all I can do is get to the front desk as soon as possible. That’s the only place I feel comfortable.

“Ollie,” I call out when I see him duck into his office. “What’s the deal with all these people?”

He lifts up one finger as he finishes chewing a massive bite of the donut in his hand. Before he can speak, the screeching of a guitar that’s badly out of tune fills the room, making me jump. “What the?” I spin around, noticing for the first time, the massive addition to the BMX park: a stage.

Right there in the middle of the park, where the metal bars that people grind over used to be, is a black stage with metal framing. A drum set sits in pieces in the middle, along with two guitar stands and some guy with his butt crack hanging out of the back of his jeans as he messes with an amplifier.

The scent of boy shampoo fills the air seconds before Braedon appears next to me. “This is going to be a crazy day.” I glance over at him, trying my best to ignore how cute he looks today. “What exactly is going on here?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the stage.

Braedon waves to a man in a fedora, a white tank top and skinny jeans. The man waves back while chatting on his phone. “Zombie Radio is shooting a music video here today. They invited all of their friends to come and be the crowd for the video. How did you not know this? It was on the Facebook page.”

I shrug. “You know I never check that thing.” Truth is, I barely check my own Facebook page now that Bayleigh is gone. It’s not like anyone besides my best friend ever posts anything worthwhile. He chuckles and shakes his head. “You are ridiculous.”

I put a fist on my hip. “How so? Because I’m so cool I don’t spend all my time on the internet?”

“Ouch,” Braedon says, gripping his chest. “That was mean, Sosa. Not everyone has some kind of amazing social life like you do.”

I want to burst out laughing at how his assumption is so completely wrong, but instead I just smile. No need in giving away all my embarrassing secrets. So I change the subject instead. “Who is Zombie Radio? I haven’t heard of them.”

“I don’t even think they’re a real band,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Beaux
Brite is the lead singer and his dad owns TS Optics so he’s crazy rich. They’ve been a band for like three months and they already have a self-produced album but they haven’t played any gigs or anything. I think their plan is to spend money as if they’re already famous and then hope that somehow makes them famous.”

“And they chose a BMX park for their big music video debut? I would have chosen like, Vegas or something.”

Braedon nods. He starts up the work computer and logs in. He’s acting exactly like normal, which is a good thing I guess. Even when we officially open for the day and Ollie allows all of the band’s friends to come in without paying a cover fee, Braedon just does his job as if this is a normal day. As if he didn’t text me in the middle of the night last night. As if he didn’t say cryptic weird things that will leave a girl hanging, wondering what the hell he meant.

I draw in a deep breath and tell myself to chill out because thinking about how Braedon is acting today is not the way to get over him.
Soon, the band’s sound check fills the entire facility and I wouldn’t be able to talk to Braedon if I wanted to. C&C is essentially a massive metal building so the acoustics of having a rock band play in the middle of the park are far from ideal. It’s so loud, I fear my ear drums will burst and after a few minutes of some truly terrible music, I grab a piece of paper and write the words:
going outside for a minute
. I hold it up to Ollie, and he nods, giving me permission to get the heck out of there.

The awful music permeates the outdoors too, but luckily it’s just a dull roar. I lean against the outside wall and stare up at the puffy clouds in the sky. Working alongside Braedon will be harder than I had hoped. Exactly how is a girl supposed to get over a crush when she has to see him every day at work? Maybe if he would stop being so cute…

The doors slide open for the tenth time since I’ve stepped outside. A burst of music pumps into the open air before slowly being drowned out as the doors close. I don’t bother looking over this time because it’s probably just another smoker taking a quick break.

Then someone speaks and I feel all the blood rush to my face. “Skipping out on work is a terribly mean thing to do to your coworker.”

I bite my lip and refuse to look at him. “I just needed a break from what is probably the worst music I’ve ever heard.”