Say Yes Summer

by Lindsey Roth Culli

  I tilt my head, wanting to make sure I’m absolutely clear about this. “So you knew there wasn’t anything going on between Bethany and Clayton—”

  “I mean, I didn’t know, exactly,” Miles says testily. “But yeah. I was pretty sure.”

  “And you purposely told me that story in a way that made it sound like the other thing?” The anger blooms inside me like some kind of grotesque late-summer flower, huge and red. “Why?”

  “Why do you think, Rachel?” Miles looks at me like I’m completely dense.

  I cross my arms and shake my head, not because I don’t know the answer but because of course I do: He did it because he liked me enough that he told himself it justified doing something shady. Same as I did what I did because I liked him. “Still, though.” I stamp my foot a little, thinking of everything that lie set into motion. “Still.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said.” Miles rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t look nearly as disaffected as I think he’s probably intending. “Turns out I’m kind of a monster too.”

  I sigh, knowing we’re not actually that different, me and Miles: Both of us are instinctively, reflexively no people. Both of us have our reasons. And it’s probably past time for both of us to grow up. “You’re not a monster,” I tell him, raking my hands through my hair. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, this totally sucks to hear and I’m super pissed you did it, but it’s not any worse than what I did.” I shrug. “And maybe I’m not a monster either. I don’t know.”

  “Nah,” Miles says immediately, but he’s smiling now, just a little. “You’re definitely a monster.”

  “Funny guy.” I shake my head. It occurs to me that other than Ruoxi, Miles is probably the best friend I’ve got. I could just leave it at that, right? Just be the good friends we’ve always been and go our separate ways. Especially because if I take this step and tell him how I felt—how I still feel—it could implode spectacularly and I could lose him. For keeps this time. The idea of losing Clayton was painful…but losing Miles? That would be devastating. But if Dr. Paula’s book has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you have to take risks to reap rewards. Or something like that.

  “So, are we cool?” Miles asks.

  I bite my lip and nod. “We are. But I was actually hoping we could be…more than cool.” I steal a glance at him.

  Miles snorts. “So ice cold, then?”

  I reach out with one toe and kick him gently in the ankle. “Don’t deflect,” I tell him softly, shifting a little so I’m closer to him. “You know what I mean.” And I know this is it. Does he want to take this leap with me? Or just leave things as they are?

  Miles studies me for another moment. “Yeah,” he says, scooting to close the gap between us further. He reaches for my hand then, his thumb skating over the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, tracing the veins there. A slow, easy grin spreads across his face. “I think I do.”

  “I cannot believe I leave for one summer and you hook up with Clayton freaking Carville,” Ruoxi says, throwing herself backward into the pillows.

  “And Miles Vandenberg,” Carrie adds. She and Carrie are sprawled out on the bed watching me pack the last few things I’ll need for this year: hair ties and paper clips, all the tiny detritus of my life at home. “We mustn’t forget Miles Vandenberg.”

  “I would never forget Miles Vandenberg,” Ruoxi says solemnly. That’s when the two of them both crack up.

  I smile. I had to say goodbye to Miles yesterday. He got an internship at a small game developer and is going to work there during this semester while he takes a couple classes. “It’s not the white hats, but it’s pretty cool,” he said. I’m actually super-proud of him, but I wish he were still here to see me off.

  “Go ahead, have a giggle,” I tell them, tossing a turban towel in their general direction, but I’m delighted to have them both here. The two of them seem to have fallen back in step as easily as Carrie and I did. As if both nothing and everything changed.

  Carrie twists the wrap around her head while Ruoxi paws through a stack of books that didn’t make the cut to bring with me. “What’s this?” she asks, holding up A Season of Yes!, which has apparently been hiding under the bed for a few weeks now.

  I groan even as she starts flipping through it. “A terrible book.”

  “Oh my God, Rachel.” Recognition flashes across Carrie’s face as she peers over Ruoxi’s shoulder. “This was you. This summer. Wasn’t it?”

  “No,” I say sheepishly. The flush in my cheeks betrays me. “Okay, yes. I tried it.”

  “And?” Ruoxi raises her dark eyebrows.

  “And…” I think about it for a moment: Clayton and Carrie and jumping into the pool with my clothes on, dressing up in flapper costumes and getting picked up by the cops. Speeding down highways and crossing over borders. Coming back home again. Miles.

  “I’m glad I did it,” I say.

  Carrie reads out loud: “ ‘Your present self is built upon what you said yes to yesterday, your future self upon what you choose to say yes to now. At your core, you are a product of your past decisions.’ Um, that actually sounds super interesting.” Carrie tucks the book into her bag. “Mind if I borrow it?”

  I smile and shrug. “I mean, sure. But use at your own risk, et cetera.”

  Carrie grins. “I always do.”

  It’s true that Dr. Paula didn’t always know exactly what she was talking about. But as I watch my two friends with their heads ducked close, I’m thankful for the yesses that got me here. That they got us here. Together.

  Two nights before I’m due to leave for Northwestern, Nonna slides a long, small box across the kitchen table in my direction. “Your graduation present,” she explains.

  I frown, then look up at her and over at Mom and Dad. “I graduated months ago.”

  “Okay,” she says, “so it’s also your birthday present. And your Christmas present. And Rosh Hashanah.”

  “We’re not Jewish,” I remind her. “Also, people don’t exchange gifts for High Holy Days.”

  Nonna ignores me. “Chinese New Year,” she continues, obviously enjoying herself now. “Arbor Day. Basically this is your present for every holiday for, oh, about the next millennia.”

  What on earth? The only thing I can think is jewelry—a pearl necklace?—and as Nonna knows, I am not exactly an “adorn your neck with the excrement of oysters” kind of girl. “Nonna, you’ve already done so much for me.”

  She waves her hand. “Spend it now or spend it after I’m dead. I choose now, if it’s all the same to you. That way I can witness the joy that comes from it.”

  I ignore the meaning of her words since she’s obviously going to live forever and take care to open the package, worried that something very delicate and obviously expensive will come spilling out. But inside the box is only a random key. I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what it’s a key for. And then I see the Toyota emblem.

  “No.” This is some kind of joke. “A car?” I can’t even form a full sentence right now, much less verbalize a coherent thought. “You got one? For me?”

  “Yes.” Nonna clasps her hands. “Don’t get too excited—it’s definitely nothing fancy, but it will get you from point A to point B. And maybe from point B to point C on occasion too.” She winks exaggeratedly in case I’m not catching her meaning that point C equals Detroit. And Miles.

  Nonna smiles, and Mom and Dad smile too. “Patatina, you work so hard and I know you were saving up. I thought maybe this way we’d get to see you more.”

  “And save ourselves six hours of driving every time,” Jackson pipes in. Normally I’d glare at him, but instead I just beam.

  Nonna grabs my hand and leads me out the back door toward the garage. There, inside waiting, is a tidy white Corolla. My car. “I’ll admit, she’s not much, but she’s all yours.”

 
“Four doors and a running motor,” Dad says. “New brakes, new battery, new tires. The rest of her is ancient, though.”

  I open the door with the key fob—they keep insisting it’s not a very nice car, but it’s nice enough to have one of those, plus power locks and windows—and climb into the driver’s seat. Despite the small tears in the upholstery and the well-worn steering wheel, there’s a sunroof and a decent-looking stereo.

  And—oh yeah—it’s mine.

  “We’re still driving with you to school, obviously,” Mom tells me, “but this way you’ll have more opportunities to come back. To us. Home.” She looks up and blots the corner of her eyes with her thumb. Dad laughs at her, but when I catch his eye, I find he’s choking back tears too.

  “Here come the waterworks,” Nonna says, nudging my shoulder with a smile.

  * * *

  I beat my family to Evanston by a solid twenty minutes because Jackson has a bladder the size of a walnut and they had to stop. Twice. When I pull into the parking lot, I spot a familiar face in the crowd of dazed-looking freshmen. Miles. He’s nonchalantly waiting outside my new residence hall, familiar as home in his black T-shirt and jeans.

  His eyes widen when he recognizes me behind the wheel of the Corolla: “You…got a car?” he calls, his voice deep and surprised through the open window.

  I jump out and practically tackle him. “I did,” I say, my voice muffled as our mouths bump together. “Nonna thought it might also come in handy when I need to get home. Or maybe to Detroit now and again.”

  He smiles and snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me close. “Why?” he asks. “What’s in Detroit?”

  If Dr. Paula’s theory is right, if we are the product of the things we say yes to, then a few months ago, I was basically the product of fear. Fear of new things, fear of new people, fear of new experiences, but mostly fear of getting hurt. And even if Dr. Paula’s advice wasn’t 100 percent solid, I have to admit that it led me to this place, to this person I’ve become. Who I am becoming. And also to this other person who’s standing here with me. I have no guarantee that I won’t eventually get hurt. But even so, I think he might be worth it.

  If that’s what it means to be a product of yes, then I think I can be on board with that. At least most of the time.

  “So, you ready for this?” Miles asks. “Ready to commence the next chapter?”

  I smile and twine my hands behind his neck, threading my fingers together. “Yes,” I say.

  Unabashedly, unequivocally, yes.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  You know how there are a hundred adages about “behind every great book…” and “it takes a village,” etc. etc.? In my experience, every one of them is true. It looks like magic, but this book is the result of so many people working so very hard.

  To the entire team at Alloy Entertainment and Random House Children’s Books: thank you for your insights, your vision, and your patience. Thanks especially to Wendy Loggia, Viana Siniscalchi, Sara Shandler, and Josh Bank. I know it’s not actually magic, but you sure make it look like it.

  I wouldn’t be where I am today without Amy Tipton’s tenacity and steadfast belief. And I wouldn’t be where I’m headed without Elizabeth Bewley’s enthusiasm and guidance. Thank you both, truly.

  One of the things no one told me about becoming an author is that eventually my heroes would become some of my dear friends. “Thanks” doesn’t begin to express the debt of gratitude I owe to two such friends, Kara Thomas and Courtney Summers, but I suppose it’s a start. Without you, I’d certainly have thrown in the towel ages ago. Also, so much love to Leila Austin, Alexis Bass, Somaiya Daud, Laurie Devore, Debra Driza, Sarah Enni, Maurene Goo, Kristin Halbrook, Kate Hart, Kody Keplinger, Michelle Krys, Stephanie Kuehn, Amy Lukavics, Samantha Mabry, Phoebe North, Veronica Roth, Steph Sinkhorn, and Kaitlin Ward. There are not enough table-flipping or Kool-Aid Man gifs on the entire internet to express my gratitude for the ways you’ve celebrated and commiserated with me over the years. Also, thanks to the LBs past and present. You all are the OGs.

  To every English and/or writing teacher I’ve ever had, thank you for your part in shaping my life in writing. That goes double for MJ Peters. And maybe a special thank-you to the instructor who once told me my “voice would be better suited to YA” way back when. You meant it as a dig because you didn’t understand the extraordinary possibilities to be found in YA (it’s okay, it happens a lot), but you actually set me on a path of discovery that opened up the world for me. You should know I’ve never looked back.

  To Sarah, Jennifer, Kellie, Lydia, Katie VA, Lindsey (Other), Krystle, Erin, Nancy, Liz, and Veronica: thanks for the accountability, the cheerleading, and all those gentle reminders that I can do hard things. I certainly won the friendship lottery.

  To my family: Mom & Nick, Tyler & Erin, Bob & Judy, you are all simply the best.

  Sam, this book would look so very different (by that I mean would not exist) without your support and encouragement. Thank you times a million.

  And finally, Carly, Calvin, and Caroline: you are everything. Love you, mean it.

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