by Piper Bee
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Track 01 - Can't Blame A Girl For Trying
Track 02 - The Middle
Track 03 - Starving
Track 04 - One Call Away
Track 05 - Never Been In Love
Track 06 - Hold My Hand
Track 07- Better Now
Track 08 - Just A Friend To You
Track 09 - Woke Up Late
Track 10 - Take On Me
Track 11 - Catching Feelings
Track 12 - Space Age Love Song
Track 13 - Style
Track 14 - Bad Liar
Track 15 - Forever Young
Track 16 - Rainbow Connection
Track 17 - I'm Down
Track 18 - Sucker
Track 19 - Rewrite The Stars
Track 20 - Feel It Twice
Track 21 - Somebody That I Used To Know
Track 22 - Say Something
Track 23 - Grip
Track 24 - Heartless
Track 25 - Bluffin'
Track 26 - This Is On You
Track 27 - Make It Without You
Track 28 - Clearly
Track 29 - Homecoming Queen
Track 30 - Handmade Heaven
Track 31 - Out Of The Woods
Track 32 - Young And In Love
Joy's Summer Playlist
Acknowledgements
About The Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Disclaimer: Chapter (“Track”) titles are actual song titles and the artists are represented in the back of this book.
Copyright © 2020 by Piper Bee
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For
more information, address: [email protected]
First paperback edition June 2020
Book cover art by Amelia Buff
ISBN 978-1-7349492-0-9 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-7349492-1-6 (ebook)
piperbeeauthor.com
Sensitive content warning:
Brief, non-graphic descriptions of sexual assault are contained in this book.
Seek help from a trusted source if needed.
This one is for my biggest supporter and the love of my life, Jimmy <3
TRACK 01 - CAN'T BLAME A GIRL FOR TRYING
June 5th
Before I hit thirteen, my arms were perpetually sticky with watermelon juice for the month of July. That subtle sweetness dripping from firm, pink flesh was like a bite of summer. I always kind of wanted to be like a watermelon: shiny and tough on the outside, but mostly soft and sweet in substance. It’s funny how freely we dream when we’re kids.
That childlike freedom eludes me now that I’m an 18-year-old glorified mascot for my big brother’s baseball schedule. And since there is no replacement for the “lucky” baseball tee he gifted to me (which must be worn at every game), sticky watermelon-juice arms are a no-go. Any remnant of a stain somehow makes it “unlucky.”
I’d say my brother’s sports superstition is strong, but he’s actually just controlling.
“Shoot!” I thumb the brown patch of mud that materialized on my shirt. I don’t know why I decided to put it on two hours before his game.
“What?” Lena asks, perching herself up on her elbows. We’re sitting on this fallen tree that’s in a secluded clearing near my suburban neighborhood. Her raven hair tickles the bark. No one at school would guess that cheer captain Lena Garcia would drape herself over a log to get a tan.
No one but me, I guess.
“I have to go home and wash this before the game,” I tell her. “Carson will flip if it’s dirty.”
She scoffs. “My dad says you’re never supposed to wash a lucky shirt.”
Explaining this quirk has gotten a bit old. “Yeah, well, even Carson’s superstitions are particular, I guess.”
“Screw your brother, Joy!” She rolls her pear-colored eyes. “It’s just a stupid shirt.”
I’m glad Lena seems immune to Carson. He’s a dangerous kind of handsome, but she always brushes him off. Given that she’s dated like eight guys since I moved here last year—due in no small part to her supermodel Greek/Latin genes—it’s basically a miracle they never happened.
I swing my leg over so both my feet dangle off one side of the tree. Deep breath. There’s a sparkle of fuzz dancing in the air, glowing from the sun. Sometimes I wish I could float away like that, drifting in the summer breeze. But even once I’ve graduated from the demands of high school, it won’t be that way. I’ll be glued to a stadium seat all summer.
Impromptu log-lounging with Lena is as free as I’m gonna get.
I brush the spot with my knuckle. “I can probably spot clean it.”
“Wait, isn’t it glee’s karaoke night? I saw Cale put like ten posters on your locker.”
“I told him I wasn’t going.”
Lena sits up and gapes at me. “But you want to go, right?”
I don’t answer. Of course I want to, I just can’t.
She flops back and continues her unnecessary tan. Her even, medium skin is beautiful enough without sun. My freckles get darker, but that’s it.
“You break your back for your brother, Joy,” she sighs. “The world doesn’t freaking revolve around him.”
But mine does. It has to. Otherwise he might break again.
Lena doesn’t know that. We’ve only been friends since the start of senior year, but I still worry every day she’ll figure out what happened in our old town last year. No one has yet, thank God.
I hop off the tree, my Converse squishing in the soft ground.
Lena shades her eyes. “Don’t go yet! I want to soak this up a little longer.”
“You know the sun is supposed to age you.”
“Oh my god, I had no idea,” she says monotone, then she closes her eyes to bask in it.
This is her favorite spot. When she found out that I lived in the neighborhood across the street, she freaked out in a good way. Her mansion is up in the hills, with an incredible view of the countryside, yet she brings me to this decaying log time and time again.
There’s a gleam in her eyes whenever she talks about the guy that brought her here.
“Jin’s coming home soon,” she says. “Finally.”
Jin Park is Lena’s neighbor and childhood bestie. She’s kept her love for him a secret for years, I guess. All her other friends knew him when he went to our high school, but I’ve yet to lay eyes on this Korean God of Handsome.
“Do I get to meet him this time?” I ask, hoisting myself up on the log again.
“Only if you promise not to fall in love with him like everyone else does.”
“I’ve kinda sworn off boys for the time being.” It’s easy to say, but kinda hard to face.
She props herself up to squint at me. “Why is that? Are you sure you swing that way?”
“Oh yeah, I like guys.” There’s no doubt about that, it’s just… they’ve gotten me in trouble. Hence the reason we got the hell out of Salem a year ago. But I can’t tell Lena that. “I’m just busy. Carson’s baseball schedule is super demanding, and it was brutal catching up to Willow Haven’s grad requirements. I don’t anticipate my first year of college will be easier.”
“I know mine will be,” she says, closing her eyes under sunbeams again.
I laugh. “How could you know that?”
“Because Jin will be there.
” Her soft, full lips roll out a pleased smile.
God help this Jin guy.
♫
Lena and I cross the field heading back to my house, jay-walking across the street and passing the very suburban sign that reads “Oak Meadows” in chipped navy paint. Each house in my neighborhood has one of seven faces and one of nine neutral paint jobs. Mine is the color of oatmeal. The only thing that makes it distinct is Dad’s random Seahawks gnome.
And sometimes, Carson’s red Dodge Dakota parked out front.
I walk into the entryway and peel my mud-covered shoes off my feet with my toes. Guess I’ll have to wash those, too. Lena closes the front door after me, shutting out the crisp summer afternoon. I see straight into the galley kitchen, the beige ceramic tile reflecting the sunlight onto my brother making himself a sandwich.
Shirtless.
Ugh. Why couldn’t he just wear a shirt?
Wet, copper curls dangle over his sharp jaw, dripping onto his baseball muscles. He glances over at me, his mouth half full. He frowns when he sees my tee. “You’re gonna wash that, right?”
I walk up to him. “When you put a shirt on, you can complain about mine.”
His eyes focus past me and onto Lena. He swallows and stretches his lips into one of his charming smiles, as if I’m not right in front of him. “Hey, Lena.”
“Hi, Carson.” Lena cocks her head with a sardonic smile, giving Carson the eyes she reserves for all the boys that have no chance with her.
She folds her arms. “Joy can’t go to your game, ‘kay?”
I whip my head around, my chest pounding. “Lena!”
“What? He knows you have the glee thing, right?”
Deep breath. I turn to Carson, ready to diffuse. “I never said I was going to that.”
His brow tenses. “What, you don’t want to come to my game?”
“I’m coming to the game,” I assure him.
“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to?” There’s a subtle sparkle of sadness in his honey eyes when I don’t answer right away.
“I mean… I wanted to do karaoke, too,” I finally say.
A muscle in his jaw pops, but he nods. “Yeah. I get it.” Then he softens. “It’s a lot of games.”
The calm way he takes a bite of his sandwich unsettles me. What… happened to my brother?
I pinch my shirt. “I’m gonna go put this in the wash,” I say, my wide eyes watching him. There’s no way he’d release me just like that. I’m at every game. We nod at each other before his first pitch every game. I wear this stupid shirt to every game.
“No, you should do the singing thing,” he says. “Do what you really want.”
I shift toward the hall, but look back at him. I’m so confused. But if he’s okay with it, maybe I should. “I’ll go get changed then. Be right back.”
Carson sets the plate on the counter. “I actually gotta get dressed too. Later, Lena.” He winks at her. Barf.
She rolls her eyes with no hint of a smile. Pretty sure there’s no danger of them getting romantic.
In the hall, Carson leans over my shoulder and whispers, “She’s into me.”
“No, but it’s cute you think so,” I whisper back.
We pass the gallery wall of mixed childhood photos and kid-mindscapes scrawled in crayon. Coordinated Halloween costumes, Carson’s first Little League portrait, my over-painted face grinning post-dance recital, and various sibling side hugs and missing tooth grins. It’s evidence that we’re attached, but it’s also a bit of a facade. Something broke before our teen years, and none of us really know what.
Carson stops at his open bedroom door. His room is shades of blue with clothes scattered like paint splatters.
I put my hand on my door frame, looking over at him. We end up here a lot, on opposite sides of the hall, glancing at each other before we enter our own spaces. He’ll always be my barely older brother.
“I’ll miss you at the game,” he says, almost wistful, but not quite. He’s never been good at emotions outside of thrill and anger.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
I head into my room, the sound of his door closing off-set from mine.
The truth is, I’m a little lost without Carson. We take care of each other. That’s why I’m going to his school, Frederick University. That’s why I show up at all of his games. I traded my life in Salem so he could have a real future. Even if he’s not the most thoughtful brother on the planet, I’m loyal to him.
But I’ll be damned if I’m not excited for some actual fun.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and text my only other friend, fellow glee member and textbook class clown, Cale Thomas.
JB: Guess what?? I can make it tonight! Pick me up?
It takes two seconds for him to reply.
CT: YASSSSS!!!!! I’m sobbing Becker
CT: SOBBING
CT: Gonna be LIT with you there!
CT: See you at 7 sharp Almond Joy
I giggle at the rapid succession of quips. Typical Cale.
JB: Sure thing Cale Salad :)
I’m buzzing with good nerves now. Cale’s like an energy drink that hits you right up front and keeps you going as long as he’s around.
I grin looking at my closet. No matter what I wear, I’ll feel on top of the world tonight.
♫
“Wait, you’re not coming?” I bolt upright on my mom’s floral couch, abandoning Instagram.
Lena sits criss-crossed next to me, scrolling through whatever feed is on her phone. “I’m not even in glee.”
True. But I’m not really friends with anyone except Cale, who’s friends with everyone. They’ll all be vying for his attention, no doubt. I want to argue with her, but I’m terrible at conflict.
Guess I’ll just suck it up and let the singing be enough. It usually is.
“I still have to pack for next week, anyway,” she says.
“It only takes like a couple hours to pack for a week-long vacation.”
She eyes me. “Maybe for you.”
Lena’s an odd mix of careless and high-maintenance. She constantly curates her outfits and perfects her makeup, but when she whines about wrinkles or chipped nails, she’s completely joking. I’m the only one who gets her humor, I guess.
But maybe we’re all an odd mix of careless and high-maintenance, for different things.
I have a well-organized closet with a few vintage pieces, my brother’s sports-related hand-me-downs, and yoga leggings galore. When I try to look cute, I pick one piece to center my outfit around. Tonight, my favorite gold peplum top.
It’s a special occasion, after all. The first night I've had to myself in forever.
My phone chimes on the coffee table. I grab it.
CT: 5 mins
It’s 6:55 PM. I thought “sharp” meant basically nothing these days, but I should never underestimate Cale. I’ve learned this.
When I pass the entryway mirror, I tug strands of my dirty blond hair to adjust my black and gold bow before going outside to wait for Cale.
“You’re cute, okay? Stop being so fidgety!” Lena slaps my arms. I obey her and we walk out the door.
Cale’s beige, unwashed Ford Escort that he affectionately calls “the beater” rolls up at the edge of my fresh-cut lawn. Seven sharp. The engine rattles in a concerning way. He turns it off and the sputtering sound makes it seem like the car is struggling to decide if it should shut off or not. It does.
Cale pops out of the car with both arms in the air. “The chariot arrives!” His dark brown skin gleams in the sunshine, but his open-mouth smile is brighter.
“I see I’m the only one who decided to dress up,” I say, looking him up and down with fake smugness. He’s in his usual pretends-he’s-a-baller uniform: a crimson t-shirt that’s two sizes too big, shiny grey basketball shorts, and pristine Nike high tops.
“Um, THANKS FOR NOTICING MY HAIRCUT,” he chimes, rubbing his head. I crack up because there’s no way his already close-cr
opped hair is more than a centimeter shorter.
“What’s wrong with your car?” Lena asks, adopting a judgmental lilt.
He rubs the hood. “I think what you mean, Miss Garcia, is how did my lovely beast get such a unique purr?” Cale points his forehead at her and waggles his eyebrows.
Lena bursts out laughing. “Okay, Mr. Thomas.”
“At least he has a car!” I’m a bit sore about the fact that Carson’s 12-month seniority over me is the lone factor in his vehicular inheritance.
“You should really change that,” Lena says.
I swing my mini backpack over my shoulder. “How? I have no money to get my own car.”
“You could take the dog-sitting gig.”
“Lena,” I sigh. “Your house is way up in the hills. I have to use a car to get there. The need is cyclical.” I draw a circle with my finger. She already offered to pay in advance, but the money wouldn’t buy me a car with a working engine. The circle motion also represents the number of times we’ve gone around this conversation.
She shrugs and starts fishing her own car keys out of her fringe purse.
I head for Cale’s passenger door. “Enjoy packing.”
“Don’t have too much fun,” she says with a wicked grin. As if.
I try the handle but it doesn’t open, so I look to Cale. “It’s locked.”
Cale reaches by me. “Nope. Nope. Just persnickety!” He pulls the handle up with both hands and lifts the door up just enough that it cracks open. “But I love her!”
I get in the car and Cale shuts the door for me. He rounds around the front and crashes into the driver’s seat. Then he looks out the window and winks at Lena. She laughs at him.