Rumors and Lies at Evermore High Boxset: Three Sweet YA Romances

by Emily Lowry

  “You were supposed to be off all summer.”

  I carefully closed the door behind me. They were arguing in the kitchen, no doubt while prepping food for today’s shift. I imagined them carrying out their debate, sharp knives and heavy meat tenderizers in their hands. The last thing I wanted to do was go into the kitchen and step between them, but I knew I didn’t have a choice. Some things needed to be dealt with.

  I tied my apron around my neck and entered the kitchen.

  Dad immediately turned to me, an enormous smile on his face. “On time, as always. Now, tell your brother I’m ready to work.”

  I hesitated. Any hope I had at avoiding their argument had been dashed almost immediately.

  Dad looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

  I sighed. I knew exactly where this conversation was going. It was a train set on its tracks, barreling towards disaster. How long would Dad freeze Luis out this time?

  “You were supposed to take all summer off.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned. “You too, then?”

  “We want you to get better,” I said. “You need to rest. If you come back too soon—”

  Dad waved away my protests. “Rest, rest, rest. That’s all anyone wants. Beachbreak was not built on rest. It was built brick by brick with blood, sweat, and a side of mortar. If you want anything in life, you must seize it. I taught you both this.”

  Luis and I exchanged an uneasy glance. What were you supposed to say to the owner of the restaurant? How could we stop Dad from doing what he wanted to do — even if it meant he risked his own health? Mom could reign him in, but calling her would escalate the argument to nuclear proportions. Best to handle this ourselves.

  If we could.

  “We just want what’s best for you,” Luis said. He kept his voice soft, like a man approaching a growling dog. “That’s all.”

  “Don’t you think I know what’s best for me?” Dad snapped. “A Ramirez does not quit. They work until the work is done. And when there’s an opportunity on the horizon, they bear down until they are ready. Beachbreak must be ready. We must be ready.”

  “Opportunity?” Luis asked.

  “The movie,” Dad said, his voice growing louder. “Some action star is coming to Evermore. Acting and directing some big movie. They want local catering. It’ll be a big contract — biggest in Beachbreak’s history. We get this contract, we can make summer profits in the slow season. We do that, it’s the start of a franchise.”

  So that was why Dad returned. If the rumors were true, and the movie really was coming to Evermore, the contract would have a massive financial reward. Not to mention any bonus publicity that came with being a caterer for a major motion picture. Dad probably saw this as his best shot to get the financial push he needed to set up a second franchise. That had been his goal for as long as I could remember.

  It was a goal he’d sacrifice everything, even his health, for.

  We couldn’t let him do it.

  “We have it under control,” I said.

  Dad shook his head slowly. “You’ve made me proud. But something this big? I need to be here for this. I need to come up with something—”

  The office door swung open.

  Jordyn waltzed in wearing her Beachbreak uniform. Her hair was pulled through the back of a black Beachbreak baseball cap. How long had she been listening?

  “Family gathering?” She smiled and extended her hand to my dad. “Jordyn Jones.”

  Dad shook her hand. “The new waitress. Chase’s sister?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched.

  I wanted to bury my head in my palms. The Joneses had been visiting Beachbreak for years. Heck, Jordyn had been at our house countless times. But Dad couldn’t remember her? No wonder she got so angry. I would’ve been angry too if people I knew my entire life referred to me as ‘Luis’s brother.’

  “That’s me,” Jordyn said. She kept her voice pleasant, which was impressive, given how she must be feeling inside. “I take it you’re here to try Dylan’s new recipe? The one for the movie?”

  No, Jordyn, no! What was she doing?

  Dad raised his eyebrows. “A recipe for the movie?”

  “It’s not ready,” I blurted.

  Jordyn eyed me skeptically. “Tasted ready to me. And it’s incredible. It’s called the Midnight Meal. It’s what you eat after a long shift at work — or a long shift on set. It’ll be perfect.”

  “You’re inventing new recipes?” Dad asked. His voice was the calm of embers ready to flare into fire. He didn’t like it when we branched out.

  Jordyn either didn’t bother reading the room or didn’t care, because she continued on, undeterred. “It’s so, so good. You will try it, right?”

  Dad nodded slowly. “I just might.”

  Uh oh.

  This was bad.

  Nervous energy flooded through me as I worked in the kitchen. I fried a burger, melting two slices of pepper jack cheese on top. I prepped the toppings, then made my blend of sweet hot spice and powdered the fries. After putting everything together, I carried it to my dad’s booth.

  He rubbed his chin. “Does it taste as good as it looks?”

  “Better,” Jordyn said. She sat in the booth across from him. While I was preparing the Midnight Meal, she was chatting him up. I was too focused to hear much of what she said, but I heard them both laugh. That was a good sign. Jordyn looked at me, pouting playfully. “You didn’t make me one?”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “Never mind that,” Dad said. He popped a pair of fries into his mouth. Chewed, turning them over with his tongue. He washed it down with a drink. His expression was stoic, giving away nothing. “Intriguing blend. Cayenne?”

  “And a light touch of brown sugar and chili powder,” I said. “I’m still trying to find the balance between sweet and hot.”

  Dad ate another fry. “You can taste too much brown sugar. Cut it down, bump up the chili powder. You want a hint of sweetness, but you don’t want to know what it’s coming from precisely. It needs to blend with the fire.”

  I made a mental note and tried not to let the disappointment show on my face. I knew it wasn’t perfect, I just wanted Dad to—

  “But it’s good,” Dad said.

  Good? That was obscenely high praise coming from Dad. I smiled.

  He took a bite of the burger. Closed his eyes. Swallowed. “And this… this is very good.”

  I beamed, miraculously resisting the urge to pump my fist and dance around the room. Very good? I don’t think he had ever called something very good before.

  “You call this…”

  “The Midnight Meal.”

  “The Midnight Meal. Adjust the spicing on the fries. But this… this is exceptional. A Ramirez works for their opportunities. You do well with this, and you can present it to the movie people.” Dad wiped his hands off on a napkin. He carried the tray to the counter and packed his food in a to-go box. “Your mother will want to try this.”

  “I can make—”

  “We can share,” Dad said. “If this is the work you’re doing when I’m not around, it is very impressive. Both of you. As such, I guess my back can rest a little longer.”

  “We won’t let you down,” I said.

  He smiled. “You never do.”

  30

  Dylan

  I sat in the back office at the end of a long shift. The place was packed, again. And once again, Jordyn and Sofia carried us over the finish line. They’d even started a friendly competition against each other to see who could get their customers laughing the most. Beachbreak had never felt so welcoming.

  I double-checked a ledger that listed the ingredients we used and completed the order for next week.

  Jordyn came into the office. We hadn’t talked all day.

  “Busy shift,” I said.

  “‘Tis the season. Sofia said you wanted to see me before I punched out? You’re not sick of me, are you?” She was joking, but there w
as an ever so slight hint of fear in her voice.

  “Not yet.” I took a drink of water. How was I supposed to thank the person who did the impossible? I didn’t know, but I had to try. “Dad’s a good man. But he’s difficult. He’s never — NEVER — taken a step back from Beachbreak. Then, in you come, getting through to him. I wanted to thank you. From me and Luis. We’ve agreed to give you our tips for the night.”

  With a flick of her wrist, Jordyn shooed the idea away. “So dramatic, Ramirez. You keep the tips. Your burger got the job done, not anything I did.”

  “He wouldn’t have tried it if you didn’t suggest it.”

  Jordyn shrugged. “Literally the least I can do.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Jordyn raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  “You want the honest answer?”

  “Always.”

  I drew a deep breath. “What if I present the Midnight Meal to the movie people and they hate it? What if they don’t give us the contract? What if everyone believes in me, and I fail?”

  Jordyn pursed her lips. She sat in the chair opposite me, reached across the desk, and squeezed my hand. “Then you fail. Happens to the best of us. Or at least, that’s what they tell me.”

  I laughed. “You don’t fail?”

  “I’m basically Superman.”

  “I knew it.”

  “Of course you did.” She gently squeezed my hand. “You made a good burger, Ramirez. As stupid cheesy as this sounds, I believe in you. And if you don’t believe in yourself, that’s fine. I’ll just believe in you enough for both of us. Sound good?”

  Warmth fell over me. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Jordyn let go of my hand… and flicked me in the forehead.

  “What was—”

  “Sorry,” she said. “We were getting too personal. We have to maintain a professional distance. You know how it is.” She winked, stood, and just like that, left me smiling like an idiot.

  There was nothing better than having someone like Jordyn Jones in your life.

  31

  Jordyn

  I left the restaurant with one thought echoing through my mind:

  What kind of idiot flicks the boy they might have feelings for in the forehead?

  Crank the volume loud enough, and rock music drowns out everything. Greta Van Fleet, Green Day, Foo Fighters. Find the right song, turn the volume as loud as it goes, and fade away into bliss while lying on your bed.

  At least, that was the idea.

  Unfortunately, even a killer guitar riff or an amazing drum solo couldn’t drown out the shouts of my parents. They were yelling at each other again. Someone slammed a door, and the house shook.

  I turned up the volume. My phone warned me that cranking the volume any louder risked doing permanent damage to my ears. Good. I’d take permanent damage to my ears if it meant I didn’t have to hear my parents yelling at each other. I closed my eyes and let Dave Grohl’s voice carry me away—

  The house shook again. A classic mom move — slamming the door twice to make a point.

  There were some problems rock music couldn’t solve.

  I needed to get out of the house.

  When my parents fought like this, there was only one place I could go: the Jones Family Drive-In. I tore the white sheet from my bed, folded it, and stuffed it in my knapsack. Headphones still blaring, I slipped down the hall to Chase’s room. In his closet, he had a ball of yellow rope, a Ziplock bag of clothespins, his laptop, and the projector. Everything I needed for a private movie night.

  I took off the headphones. My parents didn’t care where I went, not really, but they wouldn’t let me leave the house this late at night. They had to at least give off the illusion that they cared.

  I creeped to the top of the stairs and listened carefully. They were in the kitchen arguing over… it didn’t matter. I figured I was less likely to need therapy when I was older if I didn’t listen too closely. Quiet as a shadow, I slipped down the stairs and grabbed Dad’s keys from the bowl by the front door.

  A thick manila envelope sat beside the bowl. The return address mentioned Schwartz & Sterling. Sounded like a legal firm.

  Red light, Jordyn.

  I stood still, a deer frozen in the headlights. My fingers hovered over the edge of the envelope. It would be so easy to lift the top, to pull the document out and confirm my suspicions.

  I shook free of my trance.

  No.

  Not tonight.

  Not when I was by myself.

  My parents either didn’t notice or didn’t care when I started Dad’s car and pulled out of the driveway. My car was wedged in front of his, so I did what any sane person would do and jacked his. I ripped through the neighborhood, found the exit to the highway, then cranked my Spotify playlist as loud as it would go. The bass made the car shake, and I suspected the speakers would blow at any minute.

  I hoped they did.

  What was in that envelope?

  Schwartz & Sterling.

  I mean, what else could it be?

  Schwartz & Sterling.

  It had to be—

  JORDYN. RED. LIGHT.

  Ugh. I couldn’t think about that stupid manila envelope. Not right now. I settled into cruise control and drove down the highway. On the entire drive, I didn’t see a single car. Tonight, I truly was all alone.

  After a half-hour of driving, I took the car off cruise control, took a quick exit, and pulled into an empty field. I drove over a rough patch of grass to a spot where two trees stood, about fifteen feet apart. I strung the rope between the two trees, then attached the sheet using clothespins. I put my spare blanket on the hood of the car. The metal was still warm from driving.

  I plugged the projector into the laptop and angled the image onto the sheet. I didn’t have popcorn, but that was okay. I didn’t need popcorn. Or Chase.

  I was Jordyn Jones. I didn’t need anyone or anything.

  I put on an episode of Friends. It was the show I watched when I didn’t know what else to watch. It was the easy escape.

  But this time, the escape didn’t come.

  I’d never been at the Jones Family Drive-In alone. Only with Chase. And now, with no one by my side, parked in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the moon and stars for company, I felt completely alone. And cold.

  “Pull it together,” I said, hugging my knees to my chest. “You’re fine, Jordyn. You’re fine.”

  I breathed through my teeth, fighting back the tears that were threatening to come. “Don’t be a baby,” I said. “You’re fine. You knew this would happen. You. Are. Fine.”

  My voice was pathetically weak.

  I picked up my phone.

  I expected to call Chase, but my fingers had a mind of their own, and they scrolled right past his number, landing on a different one. I dialed.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Click. A voice on the other end. “J? What time is it?”

  “Midnight,” I said. I opened my mouth to say something else, but something was stuck in my throat, so instead, I stayed quiet.

  “You okay?” Dylan asked.

  Control yourself, Jordyn. You don’t want him to think you’re a crazy person.

  I breathed slowly. “I didn’t know who to call.”

  “What is it?”

  Oh, it’s so many things. “I’m going to send you my location.”

  “J?”

  I ended the call.

  The phone was a blur, but through my traitorous tears, I found Dylan’s contact and sent him a pin with my location.

  32

  Jordyn

  I was halfway through my third episode of Friends when I heard the low hum of an engine pulling off the highway. A few seconds later, a car’s suspension creaked as it bounced over divots in the field. A car door opened, closed.

  “Jones?” Dylan walked softly towards me.

  “Present.” I sat on the hood of my dad’s car. I
shifted to the side, leaving room for Dylan, and patted the blanket, inviting him to sit.

  “I’m wearing jeans,” Dylan said. “Might scratch it.”

  “It’s my dad’s.”

  “Okay.” Dylan climbed on the hood of the car. He said nothing. Instead, he subtly reached for my hand, interlocking his fingers with mine. His hands were rough, but they were warm. Comforting. The feel of his hands in mine was almost enough to break through the dam of emotions I’d been holding back.

  “I…”

  I, what? How was I even supposed to begin? I couldn’t, so instead, I swallowed my words.

  “It’s okay,” Dylan said. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

  I nodded, still not able to speak. I shifted closer to him, the blanket bunching up between us, and rested my head on his shoulder. He smelled like fresh rain.

  Dylan let go of my hand and looped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to him.

  It felt right, and being this close to him gave me the courage to voice the unspeakable.

  “I think my parents are going to do it this time,” I said. “Like they’re actually getting a divorce.”

  Dylan squeezed me closer, gently resting his head on mine.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said.

  “You don’t have to know what to do.”

  “Chase would know what to do.”

  “Chase would call me,” Dylan said.

  That was true. When Chase needed something and I wasn’t around, he always turned to Dylan, didn’t he? Or Abby. But I didn’t have an Abby to fall back on. I did have a Dylan. “Oh. Then maybe I did know what to do.”

  “What are friends for, if not midnight movies?”

  My throat was dry, my voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you. For coming.”

  “Always.”

  I cuddled into Dylan, and we watched the rest of the episode in silence. When it was done, my tears were dry, and for the first time since I saw the envelope, I wasn’t thinking about my family’s impending destruction.