It Could Only Be Tyler : A Sweet YA Romance

by Emily Lowry

  “Just friends,” I repeated. Before launching this plan, Nina and I had had a long text conversation about the best way to trick Parker into thinking we were in a relationship. She smartly pointed out that, since I knew that Parker was trying to sabotage my next relationship, I should do my best to pretend that I wasn’t in one. Which meant, ironically, that the best way to convince Parker that I was in a relationship was to convince her that I wasn’t in one. Even if all of my actions said that I was.

  “And how long have you two been ‘just friends’ for?” Parker asked.

  Nina sighed, ruffling her dark curls casually. “Years? I don’t know, we don’t keep track. It’s not like it’s a relationship.”

  For a second, I thought she had gone too far. I thought that Parker would figure it out and our whole plan would fall apart. Truthfully, part of me wanted that to happen. As much as Nina insisted that she could handle Parker, I still didn’t want to put her in that position.

  Parker narrowed her eyes. “No, obviously it’s not like a relationship. You two could never work.”

  My stomach did a strange thing then. Parker was trying to get a rise out of us, but I felt angry. I looked at Parker — tall, willowy and beautiful, dressed in skintight jeans and a cropped shirt that left little to the imagination. Nina was much shorter than Parker, and dressed in a boxy band uniform that hid every curve. But, if I was being honest, she was much, much more attractive. Parker was nice to look at, but she was a cold fish. Everything about her was icy and uninviting. Nina was warm, appealing. You looked at Nina and you saw fun, friendliness, bubbly enthusiasm, and shiny eyes.

  She was beautiful in her own special way, but more than that — she was smart, kind, and a good person. Everything anyone would want in a girlfriend.

  So what did Parker mean that we could never work? Before I could ask, Nina did the honors.

  “What you mean, never?” Nina fingered the buttons on her trumpet. She held Parker’s gaze with a matching stare. “We could be in a relationship if we wanted to be. I mean, we’re not, but we could be.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” Parker said dismissively. “Tyler, for all his faults, is still a hot football player. And you? You’re a band geek. And look at your makeup. You look like you belong in a circus.”

  I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling something inappropriate. I’d learned from experience that, after a game, there were cameras and cell phones recording everything that happened on the field. If someone had a recording of me, a football player, getting in a confrontation with a spectator, there was a very real chance I could get kicked off the team.

  Nina smiled venomously. Then, without a word, she lifted her trumpet to her lips. She pointed it towards Parker’s face.

  I expected her to play one loud blast to knock the hair off Parker’s head. That’s what I would’ve done.

  But when she played, it wasn’t a single loud blast.

  It was a song.

  And it was a song that I recognized —

  It was the theme song of popcorn and peanuts, of ringmasters and trapeze artists. The song of juggling unicyclists, human cannon balls, and yes, clowns. It was a trumpet version of the circus song.

  When Parker realized what was happening, what Nina was playing, she rolled her eyes, gasped exasperatedly, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and turned on one designer boot heel.

  Nina kept playing. Only now, when she played, she crossed her eyes and did a fake circus march along to the beat.

  It was absolutely hysterical.

  I was a pretty reserved guy. Usually when I laughed, it was a short, low chuckle. But seeing Nina play the circus song while marching in a circle, performing small squats, and kicking her leg out, made me laugh so hard that I had tears in my eyes. Now and then, Parker would look over her shoulder and Nina would pretend to tip her cap before doing another awkward squat.

  I fell to the ground, gasping for air.

  When Parker left the field, Nina finally removed the trumpet from her lips. She grinned mischievously. “I’m not sure she believes that we’re in a relationship. But she definitely believes that I’m annoying.”

  I wiped the tears from my eyes. “I can’t believe you did that. And this entire time, I was worried that Parker would be too much for you. I think the better question is — are you too much for her?”

  “Obviously. Besides, someone’s got to stand up to her at school,” Nina said. “May as well be me.”

  I was impressed. I could count the number of people who would stand up to Parker on one hand. In fact, I could count the number of people who would stand up to Parker on one finger. It was just Nina. Apparently, my sister’s best friend was a lot stronger than I thought.

  “Besides, what could she even do to me?” Nina said. “Make fun of me for being in band? Who cares? I love being in band. No point being shy about something you love. A lifetime of experience with Parker has taught me that all you need to do is own whatever she says. That’s what really gets under her skin.”

  Even though Parker was no longer on the field, I put my hand back around Nina’s shoulder. Just for whoever else might be watching, of course. “So, if she calls you a clown…”

  “You pretend you’re in the circus,” Nina said. She blew the spit from her trumpet. “And that’s one benefit about playing music in front of people. You can use it to annoy them. Because no matter how loud someone is, no one’s louder than a trumpet.”

  14

  Nina

  Late November brought back the California sunshine — and with it, a small heat wave. In typical Beachbreak fashion, teachers noticed a suspiciously high number of absent students as the weather improved. Had they bothered stepping outside of their classrooms, they would’ve found most of these students lounging on the beach near school, soaking up the sun.

  I’d just returned from my own suntanning escape and was waiting patiently for Tyler at his locker. At Beachbreak High, the locker blocks were outside, and everyone’s locker was painted. Mine featured a dolphin playing a trumpet while riding a rainbow. And Ty’s? As a practical joke, he’d hired someone from the art department to paint a portrait of Mason wearing a ballet tutu on his locker.

  Mason, naturally, thought it was hilarious.

  Tyler strolled through the sun and gave me a half-wave. He winked. “I like your jacket.”

  “It’s new,” I said, twirling. “Boyfriend gave it to me.”

  I was wearing Tyler’s letterman jacket. It was the logical next step for our fake relationship — you didn’t just give your jacket to some girl. That was a privilege reserved for girlfriends only. As for the jacket itself, it was far too big for me — the tips of my fingers barely reached the cuffs. But I liked it. It was warm — almost too warm — and it smelled like Ty. Clean, with a hint of ocean salt and musky cologne. Not that I would ever admit it, but I sometimes caught myself cuddling in the jacket.

  “Generous boyfriend you’ve got,” Ty said as he unlocked his locker.

  “He’s a generous dude.”

  “You’re starting to sound like me.” Ty pulled open his locker, grabbed his chemistry textbook, and stuffed it into his backpack. “Where are you headed?”

  “Biology.”

  “To the science wing we go!”

  I clutched my books against my chest and we walked across the courtyard. It was getting easier and easier to talk to Tyler. Zoe joked that, sometimes, she forgot that we were in a fake relationship.

  And honestly? Sometimes I forgot, too.

  I figured that there were certain people that things felt more natural with, and Tyler was one of those people. When he was around, everything felt easy. I could let myself relax.

  Beachbreak High’s science wing always smelled vaguely of bleach. High windows let plenty of sunlight in, but given that the walls and the floors were both white, you practically needed sunglasses to see properly.

  I squinted against the brightness. “I don’t know if you saw, but Beac
hbreak just announced the first Candy Cane Event.”

  “What is it this year?” Tyler asked.

  “The usual — a Christmas tree decorating competition. They’re setting up on Highline Beach, so, close to your house.”

  “Convenient,” Ty said, ambling through the hall. “We want to go?”

  “You know how my family is about Christmas,” I said. “We have a shared Google calendar, so I know who’s going to be at every event. And — surprise, surprise — my uncle Robert will be attending the Christmas tree decorating competition this year.”

  Uncle Robert, my mother’s brother, was almost as obsessed with Christmas as she was. He planned his decorations years in advance, and he’d turned his garage into what we affectionately named “Santa’s Workshop.” As in — he’d spend his time in his garage drawing Christmas designs, crafting cutouts, and painting displays. He’d even wired his Christmas lights display to correspond to whatever song was currently playing on the radio station.

  Seriously — obsessed.

  “Think we have a chance at beating him?” Tyler asked.

  I laughed. “He’s won the competition three years in a row. And each year, his tree gets bigger and bigger. I tried to get him to tell me what his theme was for this year, but he said it was a family secret.”

  “But you’re family.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And?”

  “And he said ‘you’re not family, you’re competition.’ So I don’t think we can count on him helping us out. But, the good news is that we don’t need to beat him. We just need him to see us as a couple. Preferably a happy one.”

  “I can pretend to be happy,” Tyler said as glumly as possible.

  “Good.”

  We stopped walking by the door to my biology class. Inside, Blair had taken her usual seat. She was resting her face on her hand, half-asleep and staring out the window.

  Hmm… this was another chance for Tyler and I to get noticed. If Blair could just turn her head slightly…

  “Do you have any ideas for a Christmas tree theme?” Ty asked.

  “Not sure,” I said, still watching Blair. What was the best way to get her to look our way? I settled on an ill-timed, high-pitched, and definitely awkward laugh.

  Tyler stared at me like I was having a stroke.

  But my fake laugh had the effect I wanted — Blair glanced over. Her eyes widened, and she immediately grabbed her phone and tried to “discreetly” snap a photo of us.

  Perfect.

  “You okay?” Ty asked.

  “Blair,” I whispered, while leaning in close and brushing a piece of lint off of his shirt. “We’ll text. If you have any ideas—”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Great,” I said. Then, before I lost my nerve, I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He was so tall I practically had to jump to do it. His skin was rough with stubble, but in a good way.

  Tyler smiled.

  My cheeks grew hot.

  He twirled his finger in a small circle, then booped me on the nose. Like, actually booped me. Like I was a puppy.

  “That’s right,” Ty said. “We’re going to be one of those nauseatingly cute couples. See you around, Nina ballerina.”

  “Bye,” I said, blushing. I slipped inside the classroom, pretending not to notice Blair.

  Things were going well. She’d probably texted Parker, and I had a date with Ty for the Christmas Tree decorating contest. It would be nice to have someone to decorate a tree with.

  15

  Tyler

  There were so many Christmas trees on Highline Beach that it felt like walking through a forest. Cheerful people bustled through, most of them dressed in green and red for Christmas. A few of the families were wearing matching clothes, and a pair of kids had added bells to their sweaters.

  I was feeling woefully out of place in my jeans and t-shirt, neither of which were green. If I was going to keep up with Nina – and her family – I would need to dress for Christmas.

  I stood next to a tall artificial Christmas tree. It was Nina’s family’s tree, and after the competition was over, her uncle had agreed to help her take it back to her house. Hopefully with our decorations mostly intact. I thought it was a cute idea, and quietly, I liked that I was going to be part of her family tradition.

  If she ever got here.

  Where are you? I texted.

  There was no response, and the contest was about to start. Worse, it wasn’t like I could get started without her – I hadn’t brought any Christmas decorations. Well, that wasn’t true, I’d brought one ornament. See, Nina and I had agreed to a theme of “Christmas Memories” for our tree. Unfortunately, my family wasn’t known for our sentimentality. For Christmas decorations, we used the standard – green and red ball ornaments, two strands of colored Christmas lights, some tinsel, and a gaudy star on top. There was almost nothing on our tree that didn’t come out of a box store.

  Hopefully Nina was more prepared.

  “Hello, boyfriend,” Nina said as she squeezed between a pair of trees. She wore a red jacket with a black belt wrapped around the waist, a pair of green leggings, and a Santa hat. Behind her, she was towing a red wagon – like for little kids – that was filled to the brim with boxes of lights and ornaments.

  “Girlfriend,” I replied, giving her a hug. I looked through the decorations. They were all sentimental – cute framed photos, mini snow globes, and hand and paw prints preserved in clay. Shifting through the ornaments made me feel like I was part of every Christmas Nina had ever had.

  It was nice.

  “Your family takes the sentimental part of Christmas very, very seriously,” I said.

  She shrugged. “What is Christmas for if not for sentiment?”

  “Can’t argue with that. Where’s your uncle?”

  “Over there.”

  She pointed to a middle-aged man who looked like Christmas personified. He wore a sweater with a Christmas train on it – which lit up, of course – and his tree was twice the height of anyone else’s. Beside the tree, he’d set up a free-standing cork board with Christmas tree drawings, and behind the corkboard, there several neatly stacked boxes, each with a number on the side.

  I let out a low whistle. “Intense.”

  “He’s been planning this all year,” Nina said. “He numbers the boxes so he knows which one to open next. He also knows exactly how long it will take him to decorate the Christmas tree.”

  I put my arm over her shoulder. “He’s going to feel so silly when we beat him.”

  Nina laughed. “He’s won three years in a row.”

  “Well, he’s not going to win four years in a row.”

  “We’ll see.” Nina stared at his well-labeled and well-prepared decorations. She looked doubtful as she assessed at her own wagon of ornaments, where nothing was labeled or thought out. She bit her lip.

  The stress of the competition – even though it was supposed to be just for fun – looked like it was getting to her. But Christmas was supposed to be fun, not stressful, so I decided to cheer her up.

  I took her hand in mine. “I know we’re going to win. Want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have the secret ingredient.”

  “What’s that? Love?”

  Something flipped in my chest when she said the word “love,” but I ignored it. I shook my head. “Love doesn’t win competitions. You know what wins competitions?”

  She waited.

  “Bribing the judges.”

  She broke out into a grin, and the stress melted from her face. “How much did you pay them?”

  “A dozen of my best gingerbread men.”

  Nina mock-gasped. “You sacrificed them for me?”

  “They died doing what they loved,” I said.

  The judge climbed onto a stage that had been set up in the middle of the forest. He was tall, skinny, and dressed like an elf. His shirt had ca
ndy cane-striped sleeves. “Okay, everyone! Welcome to the seventeenth annual Beachbreak Candy Cane Christmas Tree Decorating Contest! Wow, what a mouthful.”

  Everyone cheered.

  Nina clapped excitedly.

  “You have one hour to decorate your Christmas tree. There are extension cords running between the rows, so feel free to plug in your lights. Just remember to weigh them down so no one trips. We don’t want a repeat of last year.”

  Nina leaned in and explained. “An entire row of Christmas trees got knocked over. Like dominoes.”

  “You may begin!” The judge shouted.

  Nina darted to the wagon. She grabbed two boxes of lights, one white, and one colored. “Preference?”

  “Dude, that’s not a real question,” I said. “Colored. Always go colored.”

  She looked at me skeptically. “But everyone else will probably go with white lights. It’s a more classic look. It’s cleaner.”

  She wasn’t wrong – everyone else was using white lights. Already, some people were plugging their lights in.

  I snatched the box of colored lights out of her hand. “We’re different from everyone else. Plus, this is about Christmas Memories, isn’t it? When you’re a kid, it’s way more magical to be surrounded by colorful lights.”

  I opened the top and pulled out the strand of neatly packed lights. In fact, the strand of lights was so neatly packed that there wasn’t a single knot or kink in it. I looked at Nina.

  “What?” she asked defensively.

  “How long did you spend untangling these last night?”

  She pulled the string of lights from my hand. “About as long as it took to bake gingerbread men for the judges.”

  “Nah, dude, those were store bought,” I said.

  She laughed and passed me one end of the Christmas lights. Together, we wound them around the tree, then buried them among the branches to hide the wires. Nina plugged them in and our tree lit up.

  “Looking good so far,” she said.