For Alana and Leigh Ann
who believed in this story when I couldn’t
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1
The predawn gray painted the Oceanside skate park in soft shadows, dappled monotone brushing against harsh graffiti and rough wood. Balanced on the edge of the towering half pipe, Summer O’Neill waited with her board extending into the open air and her weight shifted onto the back truck. She waited for the rush of adrenaline and the twitch in her muscles to align and create that perfect hum of focused energy. Waited for her mind to fall silent and her heart to soar.
With a slow, cleansing exhale, she adjusted the hem of her T-shirt. Another breath and she tucked her dull blond hair under her knit hat—a parting gift from Tobey.
One final breath and she shifted forward, following her board down the heart-stopping slope of the vert ramp, letting her worries and her memories and her failures fall away. At the other side, she shifted, bringing her board around and swooping down again. After a couple of laps, she crouched lower, picking up speed to pull off an aerial at the peak. She twisted, rotating halfway, all the way, another almost half. The board touched down again in a familiar, effortless motion.
She turned on the other side, gathering speed and building for something bigger. She spun, the whole world swirling around her in an undefined, variegated blur. The landing should be effortless. She’d done it dozens of times.
And missed dozens more.
She bailed at the last minute, a perfect 720 sending her crashing onto the wooden ramp. Her body slammed against the side, pain ricocheting through her limbs, and she slid down the rest of the way on bare knees.
Curling into a ball, she let out a string of profanity to ease the pain. Her board lay overturned beside her, thankfully still in one piece.
Mom would freak if she had snapped it already.
Footsteps broke through the quiet morning, the urgent smack of sneakers on pavement.
Because every moment of mortification in her life needed an audience.
She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.
“Damn,” a deep male voice said. “You okay?”
She focused on a tall, narrow figure standing over her. Between the early morning sun and the pain pulsing through her body, she couldn’t draw any details from his silhouette.
“Fine.” She pushed herself upright, clutching her knee to her chest.
“You hit really hard.”
“I’ve hit harder.”
He crouched down, eyes fixed on hers through the lenses of his glasses. “At least clean out your knee. The sand here is pretty gnarly.”
Summer peeled her fingers away from the injury, appraising the mangled skin underneath. “Maybe.” She reached for her water bottle.
“Hold up,” the boy said, straightening. “I’ve got some first aid stuff in my backpack.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. Really.” She rolled up the leg of her shorts a bit further and washed out the debris ground into her skin.
“Suit yourself.” He adjusted the oversize camera slung over his shoulder.
“You just carry around a first aid kit?”
“It’s how I get girls,” he said.
She stole a glance at him. Dark hair swept across porcelain skin, dark eyes behind thick-framed glasses, bow-shaped lips, the lower fuller than the top, and a nose just enough too broad to be endearing. A boy like him didn’t need a ruse.
“Sorry it didn’t work on me.” The breeze off the ocean picked up, raising goose bumps along her neck where she’d been flushed with exertion. “What are you doing here anyway? The park is closed.”
“I’m not here to skate.”
“Okay.” She shivered again and pushed up from the ramp.
“I’m working on a series of ocean landscapes.” He fidgeted with the camera. “The park has the best perspective of the curve in the coast.”
She took an unsteady step, swerving slightly.
“You sure you’re okay?” he said. “You look a little woozy.”
She shook her head, immediately regretting it. “I don’t normally cool down this fast.”
“Here.” He shrugged off his hoodie. The smell of mint and some cool, musky boy-scent wrapped around her, momentarily disguising the salty decay of the shore.
“I’m good,” she said, instinctively stepping back.
“It’s just a hoodie.” His gaze left little room for argument. “No strings attached. Except, you know, the strings on the hood.”
She rolled her eyes and snatched it from his outstretched hand. “There are always strings.” The soft fleece took the edge off the cold and soothed her frayed nerves. “I don’t normally wipe out that hard.”
“You almost landed that thing.” The disbelief in his voice grated.
“I was going for a 720 gazelle. It’s my specialty.”
“No way. You’re a girl.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” She reached for her board. She’d wasted far too many hours defending her place on a ramp to narrow-minded boys who couldn’t see past her anatomy.
“Wait.” His voice, a warm bass touch framed with confidence bordering on cocky, held her in place. “That sounded really stupid.”
“No kidding.”
“I’ve just never seen a girl who can ride like that.”
She turned back to him, stuck in the familiar war between flattery and frustration. “Here I am.”
“And here I am being totally socially awkward, as usual.”
Face-to-face, he stood just enough taller to make her heart skip. He wore smallish plugs in both earlobes, maybe a zero or a two gauge. Something about the way he carried himself, shoulders curved slightly in a permanent shrug, and the careful tilt of his head, spoke more of defense than swagger.
“I need to go,” she said, mentally shaking herself. “But thanks. For the hoodie.”
“Sure.” He swung his bag over his shoulder. “But next time? Don’t let your own head psych you out.” He walked backward, with an easy swing in his hips and shoulders, and she found herself staring despite her better judgment.
“I’ll try that.” She rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch. “Shit!” Fighting the pounding in her head, she limped toward the fence.
After the amount of effort she’d put into convincing Mom to let her skate, she couldn’t afford to show up late on the first day of school. It would only take one mistake—even something as small as missing first bell—to lose whatever modicum of freedom she’d won.
Oceanside was her do-over. Her second chance.
Her last chance.
It was probably more than she deserved after the last ten months of hell she’d put her parents thr
ough. A wipeout in competition that took off half her face. The benders, attempting to drown her humiliation in a bottle or a bong. Skipping school. Failing classes. The DUI that ended it all and cost her everything, from her brand new license to her home with Dad.
One more mistake and she’d lose the skate park. She’d lose her board. She’d end up on glorified house arrest until she proved herself up to Mom’s impossible standards.
With the skateboard whirling under her, she pushed as hard as she could, navigating her way through unfamiliar streets back to Grandma’s sprawling house with its perfect lawn and perfect shutters and perfect emptiness.
Summer turned into the driveway still wrapped in a strange boy’s hoodie.
She stopped short beside the garage, looking between Pete and his shiny black Audi.
“’Morning, Summer.” He gave her a soft, welcoming smile.
“Hi.” She hardly knew Mom’s fiancé and still hadn’t figured out what the heck she was supposed to call him. “Is my mom here?”
“We just finished breakfast.” He brushed a nervous hand over his impeccable sandy-brown hair. “I stopped by to drop this off for you.” He gestured toward an aqua beach cruiser leaning against the side of the garage.
“Oh.” She stepped back and snapped her eyes toward Pete. Even at 7 a.m., he wore a perfectly pressed suit and shoes with those stupid pointy toes and skinny laces. Tall, broad-shouldered, model looks and a bank account that matched. It didn’t matter how nice he was or how happy he made Mom. He was the antithesis of Dad and that made him impossible to like.
“I thought it would make getting to school easier,” he said.
“Thanks.” She dropped her eyes. The unspoken reminder that she’d lost her license stung.
“I should go. I have a flight to catch. I just wanted to see you all before I take off.”
“Thanks. Again.” She walked backward toward the house. “Um. Have a safe flight.” She ditched her board on the deck before slinking through the back door.
“Summer?” Mom’s voice rang out from the front of the house.
She winced. Two seconds too late.
“Kitchen,” she called back. She sank into a chair to take the weight off her knee. It was still oozing blood; she probably should have taken a Band-Aid after all.
“Where were you?” Mom leaned against the door frame of Grandma’s kitchen, decked out in a matching sweater set and pearls like someone out of a 1950s sitcom. “I made pancakes.”
“I’m getting ready for school.” Summer picked up an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. “See? Breakfast.” Who seriously kept fruit in a bowl on the kitchen table anyway?
Mom frowned. “Are you sure that’s what you want to wear for your first day? That hoodie is huge.” She lifted a chunk of Summer’s dishwater blond hair off her shoulder. “Although it’s probably too late to do anything about your hair.”
“What wrong with my hair?”
“And what happened to your knees?”
Summer met her eyes, caught in the lie. “I can fix my hair on the way. And it’s not like I meant to wipe out.”
“You never do.” Mom squeezed her shoulder in a gesture she probably meant to be reassuring, but just felt like more judgment.
Summer shrugged her off. “If you want to keep me off a board, it’ll take a lot more than making me move in with you.”
“I don’t want to keep you off a board. But after everything you’ve been through in the last year, I thought maybe you should start taking life more seriously. Maybe you should consider that skating might just be a waste of time.”
“Not if I get sponsored. The next qualifier is before Christmas and Dad says—”
“Your dad has never taken anything seriously except surfing. I want to give you something better. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Summer banged the apple back down on the table. “I’m here because I have to be here. If Dad is so awful, why did you leave me with him for the last four years?”
Mom crossed her arms. “You chose to stay with your father and we all see how that turned out.”
“I’m here, okay? I’m going to your school and living with your mom and making nice with your fiancé. What else do you want from me?”
Mom pulled back, but immediately forced her expression into neutral. “I want you to try.”
“Right.” Summer pushed away from the table and grabbed her backpack. “I’ll try not to embarrass you or ruin your image.”
“I didn’t mean—” Mom tried to touch her shoulder again on her way to the door.
“Of course you didn’t.”
Her voice hardened again. “Don’t forget you start community service this week.”
“Whatever.” Summer slammed the door and grabbed the beach cruiser from against the garage.
She peddled toward the high school, taking out her anger on the poor, innocent bike.
The worst part? Mom was right. Again.
Chapter 2
After spending most of her life bumming around a series of nowhere beach towns with Dad, in and out of whatever schools along the NorCal coast, the stream of Audis, BMWs and Range Rovers outside the high school sent Summer reeling. With almost twice as many kids and two fewer grades, the cafeteria at Oceanside could have housed her last school in its entirety without squeezing.
Summer locked her bike to the rack outside and plaited her wind-tangled hair into two braids before digging around in her bag for some lip gloss. For a second, she regretted wearing shorts that exaggerated her gangly legs and showed off her battle wounds from the ramp.
Even if she loathed admitting Mom was right, she knew she should try. She wanted to try. She wanted this whole fresh start thing to work. She’d tried life on her own terms and it hadn’t exactly worked out.
Maybe she could make some real friends who weren’t part of Dad’s entourage. Tobey and Lola were great, but they’d both been out of school for over a decade and even if they’d been the same age, they were more family than friends. They liked her for who she was—Cody O’Neill’s daughter—not what she was—a loner who understood boards better than people.
At every school she’d attended, she’d been able to find enough people to disappear. A crowd that allowed everyone to label her without looking closer. Kids to hang out with by default and fill her time off the ramp.
But they weren’t friends. They partied with her when it was convenient—and had ratted her out when it was convenient too. They had disappeared as soon as she had, forgotten faces from forgotten places.
Oceanside could be different.
She needed it to be different.
Summer braced herself, screwed up her mouth into her best smile, and pulled open the door, only to get knocked back by a group of cologne-scented boys heading the opposite direction. She pressed herself against the wall to let them pass.
Everything was bigger and brighter and louder than at any of the schools she’d attended. Instead of the familiar, chill, NorCal pace, everyone rushed everywhere, pushing and shoving and jostling for rank.
It took her several minutes to calm her breathing and fortify herself to try again. After all, with this many kids, someone had to not suck.
Gripping her schedule in one hand and the strap of her backpack in the other, she navigated the labyrinth of featureless hallways and faceless students to find her first class in the dizzying array of outbuildings and courtyards.
Already, most of the seats in her first classroom were taken, kids clustered together into little groups, heads bent together with that inevitable camaraderie that came from shared experiences.
The entire school had two solid months on her. Two months to find classes and make friends and get to know teachers. She was behind on more than just coursework and she hadn’t even started.
Pressure mounted in her chest and she turned, looking for an escape.
She spotted a bathroom across the hall, tucked between towering rows of lockers, and darted
for it, dodging a cluster of kids congregating outside the classroom to reach it. She burst through the door and pressed her back against the wall, sliding down to sit with her head between her knees.
A full-blown panic attack would be the actual, literal worst way to start her time at Oceanside High. She’d managed to keep it together at every other school, kept her weirdness in check just long enough to move on. But Oceanside wasn’t just a stop along the way. She had to spend the next two years in those halls. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—screw it up on her first day.
A muffled sob broke into her self-focused pity party and she snapped her head up.
Across the room, a short, slight girl sat in the same position, scrubbing at her cheeks. Bright chunks of pink and turquoise highlighted her blond bob and her oversize blue eyes glittered with tears.
“Sorry,” Summer said, scrambling to her feet.
The other girl laughed. “No worries. I doubt I have a corner on the misery market.”
“I didn’t mean—I should get to class.” Summer backed toward the door, bumping into the tiled wall.
“We still have . . .” The girl checked her watch. “Three minutes and forty-seven seconds to bawl our eyes out before first bell. I don’t know about you, but I can get a lot of catharsis out of three minutes of crying.”
Summer shifted her feet. “I . . . Are you . . . okay?”
The other girl shrugged. “Just a breakup. I’ve been here before. Except.” She shut her mouth and looked down at her hands. “Never mind. You?”
“First day.”
“Oh.” The girl looked up, her eyes focusing in a way they hadn’t before. “I didn’t think I knew you.”
“I don’t know anyone.” Because that was a brilliant introduction.
“Eh. There aren’t that many people worth knowing. Come sit.”
“Um.” She inched forward and awkwardly sat a foot away on the cold tile. Six schools in four years ought to have made her an expert at meeting new people, but she couldn’t make her words work without a beer or her board.
“I’m Abby.” She tilted her head and smiled, an obvious invitation.
“Summer.”
“Welcome to the hell mouth, Summer.”
“Is it that bad?” The panic rose again.
“Not really. It’s just been a crap morning.”
The Trick to Landing Page 1