 
# Summer Alone

### The Summer Series Book One

## Amy Sparling
Copyright © 2015 by Amy Sparling

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About the Author

# Chapter One

It's the first day of summer and I'm sitting in my bedroom, still wearing pajamas. It's pretty much where I can be found any time I'm not in school. If there's one thing to know about me, it's the one thing _everyone_ knows about me: My name is Becca Sosa and I am a loser. Or in the words of Trey Sheppard at the senior's party last week, I am a _lame-o dork-o._

I hate insults like that. The ones that are said behind your back, directed to other people as you walk by. The insults you weren't prepared to hear because the people who say them—Trey Sheppard—are usually nice to your face. It's one thing to call someone an asshole if they are being an asshole; that's a trait you have control over, something you can choose to be or not to be. Like when my best friend Bayleigh accidentally dropped a piece of popcorn and it fell on her little brother's head and he got all confused about it. Then she kept tossing popcorn at him all night, just to mess with him. I told her she was a jerk for doing it. That's an insult that was deserved, even though she thought it was hilarious.

But lame-o dork-o? I didn't set out to become the lamest, dorkiest person in the city of Lawson. It's not like I was intentional about it. Besides, I'm normal. I'm not dorky. I don't wear thick-rimmed glasses with tape holding them together, or suspenders or orthodontic headgear or something like that. That's why those are the worst insults. Being made fun of for something that's just...just you.

The sad thing is that I didn't realize there were people who thought of me that way. Sure, when your best friend is crazy beautiful and wild in the best way and makes friends everywhere, you kind of expect to be known as the less popular one out of the two of you. But I guess I hadn't realized how low I actually was on the popularity totem pole.

Bayleigh has always been more popular and more outgoing than me. She's had boyfriends since we were in sixth grade, back when _having a boyfriend_ meant holding hands before and after school and telling everyone you had kissed when really you hadn't.

But even with the drastic differences in our personalities and likability factor at school, Bayleigh has always stuck by me. We met at a daycare when we were four years old, during a time when my stay at home mother had temporarily gotten a job to help pay for Grandma's nursing home. Bayleigh and I were instant best friends, according to our mothers, and even though I only had to go to that daycare for four months, our moms exchanged phone numbers and we stayed best friends with play dates and sleepovers. I really owe a lot to Bayleigh. She's the world's greatest best friend.

Hell, if it wasn't for Bayleigh extending her party invites to me, then I'd never go anywhere. I'd be stuck in my bedroom one hundred percent of the time instead of just...ninety-nine percent of the time. Not that my room is an awful place to be or anything. I love my bedroom. It's small, but it's me.

The wall behind my bed is painted hot pink, the kind of pink that says summer and girly painted toenails and little string bikinis. It's rich and bold and I love it. The other three walls of my room are painted black, but they haven't always been that way.

Last year, Mom had flown to Oregon to attend the funeral of her second cousin who none of us had met before, leaving Dad and me alone. Dad had dragged me to the hardware store with him while he stocked up on all the supplies needed to fix random things in the house. It was supposed to be a surprise for Mom, him fixing all of the stuff she'd been complaining about for months. This was one of the only times my dad, a police officer, was off work.

When I saw two gallons of black paint had been marked down to five bucks each, I instantly knew that my solid pink bedroom needed this black paint in its life. It needed the depth and dramatic color of darkness to make the pink really pop. I love my dad, so, _so_ much. And I would never try to take advantage of him...but he makes it _so_ easy. Since he works a ridiculous schedule, he inevitably buys stuff for Mom and me on his off days to try and make up for all the lost family time.

So when I stuck out my bottom lip and pointed to the clearance paint cans and said, "Please, Dad pleaseeeee?" He caved. He bought the paint and the supplies we needed and he spent the entire weekend painting my room with me. In the end, we thought it looked amazing. Like something straight out of a fancy house decorating magazine.

Mom absolutely hated it. She said dark walls were for people with dark hearts and too many tattoos and why on earth would her precious daughter want to ruin her bedroom like that? It was such a mom reaction. I'm pretty sure I won't be tempted to ink my body after painting my room. I'm the girl who cried when I got my ears pierced. My mom is great, but she's kind of a complete worry wart. She doesn't let me go anywhere without calling to check in once an hour, sometimes half an hour, and she frets about every single thing I do. She hated my room colors because she had thought I was turning into some weirdo who would start vandalizing cars and selling drugs after school or something.

Now I'm starting to hate my room as well. Not the colors, or the various crafting projects I've made to decorate my room—I'm kind of a Pinterest addict—but the _being_ in the room. I am seventeen years old and next year I will be a senior at Lawson High School. I think it's well past the time for me to break out of my shell, get out of my room and find out who I am supposed to be under the thick layer of awkward and lame that's filled my personality all these years.

I can be cool. And fun. Well, I could _try_ to be those things.

My shoulders straighten as I sit on the edge of my bed on top of the zebra print comforter, looking across the room into the massive mirror that hangs on the wall, surrounded in photos of Bayleigh and me at various times in our lives. She looks so happy and ecstatic about life in those photos and I look so...awkward. Maybe I'm just being too harsh on myself.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling my subconscious make this solemn promise to myself as the air rushes out of my lungs. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and try to smile at it. Try to reassure myself that I am worthy of being just as fun and awesome as my best friend. This is the summer before senior year, arguably the best year of high school. I will no longer be known as Bayleigh's best friend, the goody two shoes of our duo. What does that even mean? That I have two shoes and they're good? Shaking my head, I focus back on myself in the mirror, taking in my plain brown hair and face devoid of any makeup.

This summer will be my reinvention. My awakening. I won't be the same girl stepping into Lawson High on the first day of senior year. I will smile more, laugh more, and say yes to new opportunities. I won't roll my eyes and complain when Bayleigh wants to do something crazy and exciting. From now on, I'll grab my car keys and say, "Let's go."

Now I'm grinning like a dork in the mirror. But I feel amazing. Adrenaline courses through my veins and I step off my bed and dig around my purse, looking for my cell phone. It's nearly noon, so there's a fifty-fifty chance that my best friend will be awake by now. It really all depends on how late she stayed up talking with Ian last night. Even if my call does wake her up, any annoyance she'll have over it will vanish the moment I tell her my plan. I want to become a new person and I want to do it today. I'll probably even let her Aunt Truly put highlights in my hair like she's been begging me to do for months.

_Yeah_ , I think as I press the call button and put the phone to my ear. This is going to be awesome.

The phone doesn't even ring on the other line. It just goes straight to Bayleigh's voicemail. My lips squish to the side of my mouth and I try making the call again but get the same result. When my mom's cell phone goes straight to voicemail it means she's forgotten to charge it again and the battery is dead. But there's no way Bayleigh would let that happen to her phone. Her phone is practically an extension of her body. I'm not even sure she could function as a human anymore if she didn't have it.

Maybe she dropped it and it broke and now she and her mom are going to buy a new phone right now. That's probably it. That, or a small airplane crashed into their house and now they're all dead. I shake my head. No, I won't think like that. I can't let my crazy imagination ruin the start of my summer. I call her number again and leave a voicemail telling her to call me back immediately because I have awesome news for her. Now all there is to do is wait.

She'll call me back. She always calls me back.

# Chapter Two

My ponytail sloshes around as I dance to the beat of the pop music pumping out of my phone's tiny speaker. I'm in an awesome mood even though I haven't heard from my best friend in a couple of days. She probably did break her phone. Her mom's finances are stretched pretty thin as it is, so I guess that's why she doesn't have a new one yet. It doesn't exactly explain why she hasn't posted on Facebook though.

Promising myself to drop by her house later, I continue my morning's work: cleaning out my closet of every possible ensemble that doesn't fit with my new reinvented personality. Button up shirts? Toss. Collared polo shirts? Toss. And oh, my gosh is this embarrassing...an old pair of denim overalls? Super toss. I can't believe I let my mom talk me into getting them for my freshman year. Ugh, so cringe worthy.

Sliding over a dozen school spirit t-shirts, I reach in the back of my closet and find a pencil skirt with little penguins printed on it. The fabric is soft and comfortable but it is so not something the new Becca should wear. So off the hanger it goes. I fling it over my shoulder toward the ever-growing pile of rejected clothing.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Startled, I spin around and find Mom standing in my doorway, one hand on her head and the other holding a mug of coffee. "Sorry," I say, giving her a guilty look.

She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of the caffeine she loves so much. "It's a good thing I put a lid on here." Her brows squish together as she eyes the pile of clothes on my normally spotless floor. "What's going on here?"

I take out a pink and green tie-dyed tank top and toss it onto the pile. "I'm getting rid of clothes I don't want to wear anymore. I'll drop them off at the Goodwill later today, so if you have anything to donate, I can take it for you."

Mom puts a hand on her hip. "I spent a lot of money on some of this stuff," she says, nudging through the pile with her foot. She's about to say something else, but then her eyes drift over toward my quote board and her mouth closes, her lips making a tight line. "You changed your quote," she says slowly as she squints to make out the words.

My quote board was the product of a compromise a few years ago. I really love motivational and inspirational quotes. The more emotion a quote can wrench from your heart, the better. I collect them in notebooks, on scraps of paper, as images saved to my cell phone's home screen. A while back I had wanted to use a thin paint brush and some silver paint to write the quotes all over my walls. Mom, of course, did not like that idea. She kind of thinks my quotes are whacky and pointless. She says you should live for the moment and not for some magical inspirational land of awesomeness that those quotes imply. I say, screw that, I love my quotes.

So instead of painting them on the wall, I found this massive picture frame at a thrift store for four dollars. It has an ornate silver frame and two thick black ribbons attached to the topmost corners that knot in the center and hang from a hook in the wall. I took out the mat and the backing of the frame and left just the glass. Now it's my own personal dry erase board that I can fill with quotes and decorate with dry erase markers.

For the last several weeks the quote board said one of my favorite quotes: _Enjoy the little things._

Today it says: _It's not who you are that holds you back. It's who you think you're not._

I'm not sure who said it so I can't write their name under it, but I am in love with that quote. It took me an entire box of cheese crackers and about four hours of searching online to find something that fully encompassed how I feel about my summer transformation, but I finally found it.

Smiling at my mother, I nod. "I think it was time for a change. That other quote had been there too long."

"Who do you think you're not?" Mom asks. She walks over to me and runs a hand through my hair. "Because I think you are perfect the way you are."

I roll my eyes. "You're my mom. You have to say that."

"And I mean every word of it." Her hand slides down to my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"I think I'd just like to...I don't know," I say, realizing that this will be the first time I've said my mission aloud since Bayleigh hasn't called me back. I shrug and act like it's not a big deal. "I'd just like to break out of my shell a little. You know, be more outgoing and fun."

"Ah," she says, giving me this smile that's part condescending and part unbelieving. "Well have fun breaking out of your shell. But no tattoos. Or piercings."

My mouth falls open in fake surprise. "You mean I can't get a grim reaper tattooed across my entire back?" I toss my hands up in the air. "How else am I supposed to break out of my shell?"

Mom laughs. "I'm sure you'll find a way."

She turns to leave but I stop her. "Speaking of body modifications, would you be okay if I got Bayleigh's aunt to put highlights in my hair?"

Mom thinks for a moment, sipping her coffee just to keep me in suspense. "Sure, but I'm not paying for it." She points a finger at me while she stands in my doorway. "And no extreme colors. Just blonde or something."

I thank her over the big stupid grin on my face. Highlights. That's totally something new and fun and outgoing. That's step one.

Mom orders a pizza for lunch and I offer to go pick it up so I can swing by Bayleigh's house on the way back. Ms. Maize's car isn't in the driveway when I stop by after picking up the pizza. I don't want our lunch to get cold, but I have to know if Bayleigh's phone is broken or something, so I leave my car running and go knock on her front door. No one answers, even after I knock as loud as I can with my fist.

And not that I'm a creepy stalker or anything, but when I peek through the narrow window to the left of the door, I see an empty living room and a television that's turned off. Bayleigh's little brother Bentley is pretty much always playing video games, so if he's not parked in front of the television, game controller in his hand, I think it's safe to say they aren't home.

Feeling a little abandoned, I turn around and head back to my car. Something must have come up with her because I know she wouldn't just stop being my friend. A nagging feeling pulls at my heartstrings. It's an ironic twist of fate that the day I decide to change my life is the day I can't seem to find my best friend. I really hope this isn't some sign from the universe that I'm simply not meant to be cool and that I should just quit trying.

Back at home, I grab a few slices of pizza and rush back to my bedroom. It's time for my millionth Facebook check of the day. Even if Bayleigh's phone is broken, she'd still have access to Facebook through her computer, and that girl loves social media. Me, not so much. My profile is basically a vast wasteland of nothingness with a few tagged photos of Bayleigh tossed in. I don't update my page much. I never do anything worth updating.

Pulling my laptop onto my bed, I sit cross-legged and open the browser. I take a bite of cheese pizza and almost choke on it when the website loads. Chills rush up my arms and a massive lump forms in my throat. Now I know why Bayleigh hasn't called me.

The first thing at the top of my news feed is from her boyfriend Ian. Only, he must not be her boyfriend anymore, because the status update from him says that he is in a relationship, but not with Bayleigh. It's with some girl name Stacia. In place of a last name, Stacia's profile has a bunch of stupid heart symbols. I don't know who this girl is, but she's older than us and super beautiful. Not that I'd ever tell Bayleigh that. From now until the rest of eternity, that girl is the ugliest skank on earth.

Ugh, poor Bayleigh. Ian probably broke up with her a couple of days ago and that's why she's been MIA. I wouldn't want to face the world either if that had happened to me. Not that I ever have a boyfriend because I'm too—ugh, okay, this isn't about me. This is about my friend and this sucks so much. I need to be there for her.

Scarfing down the rest of my pizza, I change into some comfortable pajamas and dig through the pink mason jar on my desk for some cash. It's time for some serious best friend broken heart mending, and I'll start with getting a gallon of ice cream on my way to her house. Hopefully she's home by now.

I'm stepping into my flip flops when my cell phone rings. It's a number I've never seen before, from an area code that's not anywhere close to here. It's probably a wrong number, or some kind of telemarketer, but curiosity gets the better of me and I answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Bayleigh?" I drop back to my bed, a surge of relief falling over me now that I know she's not dead. I didn't really think she was dead, but you never know. "Where are you? Did you lose your phone again?"

"No. You're never going to believe this shit." Bayleigh's voice is rushed. "Mom took away my phone."

I curse. "That's weak."

Bayleigh sighs. "It gets worse. She sent me to my grandparent's house for the whole damn summer."

My mouth falls open and I stare at the crumpled bills in my hand. Guess there won't be any ice cream tonight. Or for the rest of the summer. In the back of my mind I'm thinking about this pretty much ruins my Summer of Reinvention, but I'm not about to bring that up now. I'm sure she feels super heart-broken as it is. No need to rub salt in her wounds. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "I thought you were pissed about Ian and just ignoring the world."

"Nah, I'm grounded. Wait—what do you mean about Ian?"

That pain in my stomach from when I saw Ian's status update gets about a thousand times worse. "You don't know yet..." I begin, unable to finish my thoughts. This is bad. This is so bad.

"I don't know what?" She's practically yelling through the phone now. "What don't I know?"

I swallow. It's better than she hears it from me than someone else. "Stacia...you know that girl from the party?"

"Yes I freaking know her. Now tell me!" Ugh, she's mad now. Real mad.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip and my chest hurts almost as badly as if I were the one who had betrayed her instead of Ian. "She updated her Facebook status to being in a relationship..."

"And?" she says, her voice just a whisper now.

I sigh. "With Ian."

She sighs and I can feel the weight of her pain through the phone. Things with her and Ian have been rocky for a while now, but I know it still hurts. "I'm sorry, Bay. I really am."

"It's okay," she says with a sigh. "Thanks for telling me. I don't know if I can borrow another phone to call you, but I'll try."

When we hang up, I stare at my quote board and try to push away all the second thoughts I'm having about my summer plan. Maybe I don't want to be more like Bayleigh. Bayleigh takes risks and puts herself out there. She knows what she wants and she goes for it. We both knew Ian was kind of too old for her, but she liked him so much she was determined to make him hers. And she succeeded, at least for a little bit. But those same headstrong qualities that I've admired in her are also the traits that just got her heart broken. If you play it safe, you can't get hurt. Maybe I should keep my life on the sidelines like it always has been. Maybe I'm a lame-o dork-o for a reason.

Bayleigh might be strong enough to survive a broken heart.

But I don't know if I am.

# Chapter Three

Aunt Truly answers the phone with a sneeze. She isn't my aunt, but I've known her as long as I've known Bayleigh, so I get exclusive best friend rights to call her that. "Bless you!" I say with a laugh.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry," Aunt Truly says, giggling. "I shouldn't be dusting and answering the phone. Truly's Hair Salon, how can I help you?"

"It's Becca," I say, digging through the cash in my mason jar. I take out the bills and flatten them in my lap. "Do you have any appointments today? I want to get my hair highlighted."

"Finally let Bayleigh talk you into it? This should be fun." I hear some shuffling on the line and I imagine her hopping off the step-stool, duster in hand, as she walks over to the appointment book on the front desk of her salon. "I'm pretty booked up today but if you get here in ten minutes I could get started on it. If you don't mind me stopping to give Mrs. Pearson's triplets their monthly buzz cut while the color sets."

"Sounds good to me." I fold the stack of bills, mostly ones, in half and shove it in my back pocket. "See you in a minute!"

I slip on my flip flops, grab my phone and keys and dash out into the living room. Excitement flows through me but right when I see Mom give me a curious glance from the couch, I stop and realize what I am about to do. I haven't even had much time to think about the change I'm about to make to my hair. And I know very well it's not just a chemical color change to some strands of hair—it's step one of my summer transformation. It's changing my look to something fun and flirty. It's making me into an entirely different person. Someone who just might have the confidence to talk to guys this summer without my best friend there to break the ice first.

"I'm getting my hair done now," I say, a little breathless from all the rushing. "She had an open spot but only if I get there really fast."

"Drive safe," Mom says. "Is Bayleigh meeting you there?"

"Oh, about that," I say, grabbing a bottled water from the refrigerator. I tell her about Bayleigh's being grounded and shipped away to the hill country for the summer.

"That's too bad," Mom says. "Guess you'll have to spend the summer with your awesome mother!" She sticks her tongue out and I roll my eyes at her.

She has a point, I think as I drive the few blocks south to the Lawson shopping center where Truly's Hair Salon is on the corner. Without Bayleigh in town this summer, I probably _will_ spend most of my time with my mother. And when Dad's off work he'll want to take us out to the movies or to dinner so I'm already guaranteed to spend one night a week doing family stuff. There won't be anyone to invite me to parties or to come spend the night, or to join me at the mall. No one but my mother.

My heartbeat quickens as I pull into the parking lot. I know I'm supposed to take charge of my destiny and become the person I want to be, but I'm not really sure I can do that without Bayleigh. Maybe this breaking out of my shell thing will require a lot more effort than I originally planned.

The door chimes when I enter the salon and I smile at Truly's daughter as I walk up to the front desk. But she doesn't smile back because she doesn't see me over the very serious text conversation she's having with her phone. Her name is Julia and she's a sophomore but I don't think I've ever seen her at school. I only know her from the times I've come here with Bayleigh to get her hair done. I don't think I've ever seen Julia without her phone.

"Good morning Becca!" Aunt Truly appears from the back room, slipping an apron over her head and tying it around her waist. She puts her hand on the back of one of the salon chairs. "Ready to get fried?"

"Huh?" I climb into the chair and she pumps the foot pedal that rises me higher.

"Just kidding, hun. You have fresh beautiful hair. I won't fry it too much." Her hands flow through my hair, inspecting it. I watch her through the mirror in front of me. "So, what do we want? Chunky or thin? Just up top or all over?"

"Um, thin I guess." Thick highlights might be so dramatic of a change that my poor mother would fall over dead at the sight of me.

"Perfect choice," Aunt Truly says. "You have all these layers around your face so I think thin wisps of highlights and lowlights would really do wonders for you."

I shrug since I don't know much of anything about hair styles or dyes. "Just do what you think is best," I say.

Soon my hair is covered in folded over pieces of aluminum foil and the chemical smell of bleach is so strong, I'm worried my nose hairs have been burnt off just from breathing. Julia still hasn't said a word, or even looked away from her phone in all the time I've been there. I can't help but think of Bayleigh and how she's probably going completely insane without her phone. I wish I could tell her about my new hair style but now I can't even email her a picture of it since her grandparents don't have the internet. Or a computer for that matter.

"It's a shame Bayleigh had to miss out on this," Aunt Truly says, clucking her tongue. "She's been begging you to get your hair done forever."

I laugh. "Tell me about it. I finally decide to take the plunge and she's grounded. Did you hear about that?" I glance up at her in the mirror and she nods, her eyebrows lifted high.

"Oh her mama told me all about it. She called me so freaking pissed off I thought she was going to have an aneurysm right there on the phone."

"What did she do to get grounded?" I ask. Truly lifts a piece of the foil and peeks at the hair inside before frowning and folding it back over. She sighs. "I'll let Bayleigh tell you the details when she gets back. But it was about that boy." She shakes her head and I know right away that she's talking about Ian.

"Ah," I say with a nod. I can't even imagine what could have happened between them that got her grounded for an entire summer—actually, I don't want to imagine it.

"That boy is a bad influence and a piece of garbage, if you ask me," she says, letting out a long sigh. "Of course, no one ever asks me. Bayleigh doesn't want my advice. She's going to do what she wants to do." Her lips form a thin smile and she peers at me in the mirror. "I'm glad that she has you, hun. You're a good friend and a good person."

"Thanks," I say, not really sure how to react to the comment that's both a compliment to me and an insult about my best friend. I decide to get the subject away from Ian. "I don't know what I'm going to do without her this summer. She's practically my only friend."

"Have you thought about getting a summer job?" Truly glances back toward her daughter and raises her voice. "I'm about to need a new assistant if my current one doesn't get off her ass and sweep some hair."

Julia looks up at his, rolls her eyes and pockets her phone. She grabs a broom and begins sweeping the leftover hair clippings from the chair next to mine. Truly points out a spot she missed and then turns toward me. "I pay minimum wage," she says with a smile. "Just say the word and I'll be happy to fire my current assistant."

"Mommm," Julia whines as she sweeps. "That's not funny."

When my hair has "fried" for the correct amount of time, Aunt Truly begins taking out the foil one by one. I can't bring myself to look in the mirror yet. I'm scared and anxious and happy and freaked out all at the same time. So I stare at my hands in my lap and think about Truly's suggestion from earlier. Obviously I'd never take Julia's job from her, but getting another job for the summer might be kind of fun. I could meet new people and get out of my comfort zone a little. Plus, the horde of birthday cash I'd saved up in my mason jar is running dangerously low. A job would mean extra spending money to aid in the reinvention of myself. After all, I'm pretty sure Mom won't pay for all the replacement clothes my wardrobe now needs since I threw out most of my clothing this morning.

Plus, the greatest benefit of all—I wouldn't have to spend the summer with my mother.

"Do you know any other places that are hiring this summer?" I ask. I'm still looking into my lap and my head jerks left and right and up and back as Truly takes out all of the pieces of foil.

"Not sure, hun," she says as she works. "This is a big shopping center though. I bet you could find a place here that's hiring."

"I see help wanted signs all the time," Julia says while staring at her phone. I'd almost forgotten she was here. "Just walk down the strip and look at the windows. That's where they hang the signs."

"Thanks, that's a good idea." My heart flickers with that nervous excitement I'd had the moment I stepped into the salon today. As soon as my hair is done, I'm going to look for a job. With any luck, all the forced social interaction will help me become more outgoing when I get back to school. Maybe I'll be able to talk to people without first reciting what I'm going to say over and over in my head.

Truly washes and rinses my hair, then takes a blow dryer to it for a while. I daydream the whole time about my potential future job. I decide I don't want something in food service because I'd rather not smell like pizza or cheeseburgers all day, and I also don't want something that's outdoors, like the snow cone kiosk, because then I'd get wickedly awful tan lines.

"You're all done!" Truly sings.

I look up to the mirror and check out my new hair. The normal chestnut brown strands along my face now have strands of blonde filtering through them. It's really pretty. And it's even better than I had imagined because it didn't change me. I'm still me. I just have a fancy new hair color.

"Thank you, Aunt Truly. It looks really good."

Julia looks up from her phone. "You look hot."

"Thanks," I say. I wasn't exactly going for hot, I don't think. I just wanted something different, something new. Something that says _this isn't the old Becca you're used to_.

But hot is never a bad thing. I'll take hot.

# Chapter Four

My hair smells like fancy salon shampoo as it swishes while I walk. Truly's is the first shop in a long strand of shops that used to be called Lawson Outlet Mall, but is now called the Lawson Outdoor Mall, because I guess there was no longer enough outlet stores to qualify it as a discount place to shop. Most people call it the LOM, like _lawn_ only with an m at the end. It's actually the opposite of discount stores now. Half of the stores are designer brands and places with employees who wear full tuxedos to work. And there's random places which I would never shop. But if you look past the weird stores you'll find the occasional gem, like a jewelry boutique that only sells things handmade from recycled items. Or the Forever21 which is my favorite clothing store and the pretzel shop that sells fresh baked pretzel deliciousness.

I walk slowly down the sidewalks, carefully checking each store window for signs that indicate they might be hiring students for the summer. But the only places I notice with Now Hiring signs are a few fast food joints (and not the good ones like the pretzel shop) and the Gucci store. I know right away that I won't qualify to work there since I know absolutely nothing about high end fashion, so I don't bother asking for an application. I also skip past the fast food places and hope that with the last few shops left in the strand, there will be somewhere that's decent and is also hiring. If I don't find a job at LOM, I'm not sure where else I'd look that would be a fun place to work. Definitely not a grocery store. Scanning groceries all day long would be the most boring way to spend a summer. Is it too crazy to want a job that's fun?

My nose crinkles as I walk by a hotdog kiosk in the middle of the sidewalk. An index card is taped to the front of the kiosk and HIRING PART TIME is written in marker on it. Um...I think I'll pass.

My hair is silky smooth and absolutely beautiful when I stare at my reflection in the floor to ceiling store windows as I walk. I know it's tacky and self-absorbed to be this vain, but I can't help it—I glance at my hair in every single shiny glass window I find. It's so beautiful and I am so glad I made this decision. My self-esteem has already risen about five million points since I stepped out of the salon.

"On your left!" The unexpected voice makes me jump. I stop still on the sidewalk as a kid on a bicycle speeds past me and swerves around the older couple walking ahead of me. A few seconds later, his two friends who are probably around twelve-years-old zoom past me on the left, following him. Freaking jerks. Sidewalks are meant for walking, not almost crashing into strangers.

I roll my eyes as they bike away, pedaling up and down on their way to the biggest store at the end of the street. It's not really a store at all, and I've never been inside of it.

C&C BMX Park – Indoor Bicycle Motocross. All I know about the place is that guys in our school used to have birthday parties there back when we were elementary and junior high. I think it's like on the X-Games, where people ride small bicycles up ramps and half-pipes and do tricks, only this entire place is indoors since the Texas heat gets pretty awful in the summer time.

When I approach the end of the shopping stores, I stop and stare up at the C&C BMX sign. It's lime green with splashes of orange and it lights up at night. You can see it from the road. I guess I never gave it much thought because it felt like such a scary sport that I was never interested in.

A woman who is probably in her twenties walks up from the opposite side of the street. She wears cropped black leggings and a grey tank top that has big cut outs in it that reveals her hot pink sports bra. She has knee pads and elbow pads and a helmet dangling off the handlebars of her hot pink bicycle. She looks like a total badass. The automatic glass doors slide open and she walks inside, pushing her bike. Now _that's_ a girl with an awesome life. I bet no one has ever called her lame. Her best friend probably wishes she was her instead of the other way around.

I stand just outside the doors and look inside the massive building. There's all kinds of wooden ramps and graffiti on the walls. Music blasts through speakers and BMX riders pop up on one part of the track and the swoop down a ramp until they're out of sight. I watch the girl sign in at the front desk, hop on her bike and pedal off into the distance.

For the smallest of seconds, I _almost_ consider the idea of _maybe_ getting myself a BMX bike. But...no. I sigh and my shoulders fall. There is no way I could be a BMX girl. I barely know how to ride a regular mountain bike, much less one of those small BMX bikes. Plus I'm sure it's expensive. And with my zero job options at the moment, there's no way I can afford it.

I kick at a tiny weed growing up in between the cracks of the sidewalk. I guess I could start walking back toward where I parked by Truly's and make a mental list of all the places that are hiring. Maybe fast food wouldn't be so bad, I think. But it's no use to try and lie to myself like that. Fast food would suck.

I roll my eyes and tell myself that I'm being super lame and super dorky right now. I'm not doing my hair any favors by standing here alone, like a weirdo, staring up longingly at a place that I totally don't belong. Speaking of my hair, I glance at my reflection in the glass of C&C, hoping to get a pick-me-up from seeing my awesome follicle reflection for the millionth time.

Only I don't see my hair, not at first.

I see a black dry erase board that's decorated from top to bottom in neon colored markers. Squiggles and swirls and dots and zig zags, all focused around the words written in the middle of the board: _Now Hiring Part Time_

Nervous excitement jolts through me. Before I can chicken out, I think about Bayleigh being gone all summer and Mom's silly comment, and remind myself of the very true fact that without a job this summer, I'll be spending all my time at home like a loser. So I swallow the lump in my throat, ignore the butterflies in my stomach, and step through the sliding glass doors.

Three super gorgeous guys hang around the front desk, talking with the older man who works there. And I mean _ridiculously_ gorgeous. Like, hotter than Ryan Gosling and Channing Tatum combined. They're probably way too old for me and they'd probably never even consider dating a senior in high school, but hey, a girl can look, can't she? I gnaw on my bottom lip and stand with my hands in my back pockets, waiting for the guy behind the counter to notice me.

I get lost in a mixture of anxious, semi-motivational thoughts as I try to pump myself up until I realize someone is talking to me. "Ma'am?" The guy behind the counter is watching me. He wears thick black framed glasses and has a buzzed haircut that shows a mixture of black and grey hair. He's like a middle-aged hipster.

"Oh," I say, focusing on him. Geez, how long had I been standing here like a total moron? "Hi." I smile.

Luckily, he doesn't seem fazed by my weirdness. "What's up? Would you like the summer schedule?"

"Actually," I say, pointing behind me to the general direction of the dry erase board. "I saw the sign that you were hiring, and I'd like to apply."

He lifts a curious eyebrow. "Do you ride?"

"No." My toes turn in as I stand awkwardly in front of the counter. "Not exactly."

He smiles and reaches behind the counter, grabbing some papers. "Awesome. We could use someone who doesn't ride. Too many kids want jobs here and think that means they can ride all day and never do any work." He hands me an application. "What hours are you available to work?"

I shrug, feeling a ton of nervous weight fall off my shoulders because of his warm smile. "Pretty much all day, every day. For the summer, at least." I take the application and a hot pink pen with the track's logo printed on it. The man nods approvingly. "If you can pass a drug test, you're hired."

"Really?" I say, stopping myself before uttering the words _you're not going to interview me?_ If he doesn't want to put me through thirty minutes of nerve-wracking questions and answers, then I'm happy to keep my mouth shut. No need to bring up the idea if he's not thinking it. I sit in a chair against the wall and fill out the simple one-page application, my hands shaking with excitement over the possibilities that lie ahead.

In just one day I have managed to get new hair, a new job, and just maybe some new friends if I'm lucky. Not that Bayleigh isn't the greatest friend ever—it's just that with her gone, I'd like to hang out with someone other than my mom until she gets back. I sign the bottom of the application, swearing that all of the above information is correct, and fill in the date next to it.

Oh who am I kidding? I think, as I turn in the application to the guy behind the counter. I can say the word _friends_ all I want when thinking about how I want to spend my summer. But even the most innocent parts of my subconscious know the truth:

That although I'd love to make some new _friends_ , what I'd really like is a _boy_ friend.

# Chapter Five

> _"We should all start to live before we get too old. Fear is stupid. So are regrets."_
> 
> _-Marilyn Monroe_

I have no idea if half the Marilyn Monroe quotes I've found on the Internet are genuinely something she said. But the authenticity of the words doesn't make them any less important to me. I press the cap back onto my new dry erase marker and admire my handwriting on my quote board. I had written the important words: live, stupid and regrets in bigger more elaborate cursive letters and the rest of the words were written in smaller capital letters. It looks pretty. It's also hot pink, thanks to the new set of markers I picked up at Office Max when I left C&C BMX Park yesterday.

I wholeheartedly agree with the words on the glass. Fear _is_ stupid. What's the point in fretting about things, worrying how you'll be perceived or what you'll do or the words you'll say? Just do it and be proud of it. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Ollie Hatch is the name of the guy who took my application yesterday. He's also the owner of C&C and my new boss. His unique name matches his skinny jeans, purple plaid button up shirt and Converse with two different colored shoelaces. He looks nothing like the super scary manager of the grocery store near my house and he seemed really nice and funny when he went over my application. I'm confident that this job will be the perfect addition to my summer transformation. After all, when people on bikes are doing backflips all around you, you can't help but break out of your shell. At least, I would think so.

Some of the empty space in my closet has been filled with a neon rainbow of C&C t-shirts. Ollie, he refused to let me call him Mr. Hatch, gave me one of each color as part of my new work wardrobe. I'm allowed to wear any type of pants I want, so long as my shorts aren't "so short the customers won't stop looking" and I have to wear real shoes, not flip flops or flats for safety reasons. There's purple, hot pink, bright as heck orange, blinding yellow-highlighter color, and lime green.

I choose the purple one because it makes me look the least like I'm a walking glow stick. It's ninety degrees outside, so I match my new shirt with a pair of dark denim shorts that have purple stitching, and a pair of running shoes. The shoes have neon orange shoelaces so I figure my boss will absolutely love them. I don't know what it is with him and neon colors, but the man is obviously obsessed.

On the drive over to my new job, I make an executive decision: The new Becca Sosa does not get nervous over the first day of work. So, gripping the steering wheel and parking near the back of the lot in the employee's section, I repeat those words to myself until I actually believe them.

Ollie greets me from the front desk by pointing a finger gun at me while chatting on the phone. He motions for me to join him behind the counter so I do, and I find an empty place on the shelves behind the counter to set my purse. My fingers drum on the smooth aluminum counter top as I wait for him to hang up and start teaching me about my new job. So far everything I know about BMX is...exactly nothing.

"Sorry about this, Kid," he says when he finally gets off the phone. "Braedon is supposed to train you this week but he called up here earlier saying he was sick." He looks a little concerned as he types something into the computer, closing a browser and pulling up some kind of software. "He must be real sick because that kid never calls into work. He's been here almost three years. Never called in."

"Just my luck," I say.

He laughs and adjusts the black vest he wears over a pale green cardigan, despite how freaking hot it is outside. "You'll do fine. The software is pretty self-explanatory." After a quick rundown of the software's basic features, Ollie jots down his cell number on a sticky note and presses it to the computer monitor. "Call me if you need me," he says, smiling as if I've got this all under control. "But try not to need me. I won't be able to answer."

"Why not?" I ask, wondering where the hell my boss is going on my first day of work. It's a Tuesday at ten in the morning, and not many people are here. Hopefully the entire day will be slow. I am in no position to fix a BMX crisis, should there be one.

"I have class. American Lit. Be back around three." He taps the countertop, his wedding ring dinging against the metal. "You'll be great! I have faith in you, little grasshopper!"

And just like that, he's gone, leaving me wondering if he's taking American Literature or teaching it. Either way, I'm stuck as the only employee in the entire building for the next five hours. Ollie hadn't left me any rules, or any guidance whatsoever, and I'm not sure if having my phone is allowed while I'm at work. But I'm also not sure if I can play on the computer, so I take my chances and play on my phone instead. I barely touch the thing now that Bayleigh doesn't have hers. Somehow, taking photos of myself without Bayleigh squished in next to me feels pointless.

I'm leaning with my elbows on the counter, updating my Facebook status about my new job: _Anyone want to bring me lunch? Because I totally forgot to bring something!!_ The glass doors slide open but I guess I don't really think about it, because I'm too caught up with my phone, reminding myself that I need to block Ian and that stupid Stacia girl's posts. I really hope someone—anyone—brings me food because I can't believe I'm such an idiot I forgot to bring something to eat. If my boss were here then I could slip away and get some pretzels, but the idea of waiting until three o'clock to eat sounds like a terrible first day.

"Damn, Ollie, you got hot."

I look up from my phone, confused, wondering where Ollie is since I thought he had left. Then I realize the guy who just spoke was looking at me. Talking to me. Making a stupid joke about me. Praise the gods of BMX—I wore a face full of makeup today so hopefully the bright red I feel pooling in my cheeks doesn't show as much as if I were bare-faced. "Hi," I say, swallowing back my nerves. My right hand gestures toward the facility behind me. "Welcome to C&C BMX Park?"

Is that what I'm supposed to say? Who knows? I suck at this. "Thank you!" the guy says, stepping forward, wearing that smile like it's permanently stuck on his face. He's kind of cute, I guess. For a college-age guy. He has super short cropped hair and a neck tattoo that's some kind of quote. He's thin and lean. The bike he pushed in with him is all beat up and not shiny like the girl's bike from yesterday.

He turns his attention toward the keypad on the counter, typing in a numerical code and then pressing his index finger to the glass window above the keys. My computer lights up with a message that Dustin Moore just signed in.

"You Ollie's secret love child?"

I shake my head. "Not that I know of."

He laughs and the glass door slides open again, making my stomach knot up at the idea of a new customer. Eventually one of these people will need some kind of employee assistance and I still have no idea what I'm doing. Dustin turns back and waves his friend over. "Dude! I'm surprised to see you."

I stare at the computer screen, trying to make sense of the software as his friend replies, "Told you I'd be here."

Dustin snorts. "You said that last time, then you bailed on me for Mixon."

I go to smile at the new guy, determined not to make the stupid introduction that I had done with Dustin. If they're members here, then clearly they don't need to be introduced to the place. Exactly one second later, I completely forget everything in my head. I'm not even sure I know my own name or what I'm doing here. Because the guy who walks up next to Dustin is hot. He's knees weak, hands shaking, heart fluttering hot. Sandy blond shaggy hair that covers part of his eye. An eyebrow ring hovers over the other one, framing his impossibly blue eyes as they sparkle under the bright industrial lights. He's tall and gorgeous and muscular, judging by the way his black Mongoose shirt fits over his shoulders, hugging tightly to his biceps.

And he doesn't even notice me. He says something to Dustin and automatically types in a number, pressing his finger to the glass. He straddles his bike-matte black with red wheels-and squints his eyes, looking toward the ramps behind me.

My lip hurts and I realize I'd been chewing on it. I don't know why my heart aches right now. This guy is older than I am, probably in college and old enough to buy beer, so it's not like he would notice me. Me, stupid high school senior lame-o dork-o Becca Sosa.

"What's your name?" Dustin asks me. I glance over at him and push away my momentary confusion. I had pretty much forgotten that he was here.

"Becca," I say. My eyes flicker to the computer screen. Dustin's super beautiful friend's name flashes across the screen as the last person to have signed in. Nolan Park.

"As in Re-becca?" Dustin asks, drumming his fingers on the counter. I'm about to nod when another voice interrupts. "Leave the girl alone, Dustin. She's clearly not interested." Nolan meets my eyes with an apologetic smile. My knees turn to jelly but somehow I manage to stay standing.

Dustin groans. "Aww, come on man. I'm just making friends. He extends his hand toward me and I go ahead and take it, because ignoring his handshake would be just as awkward as actually shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Becca. I hope we see you around here more often."

I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. "Well, I work here so..."

Dustin laughs and Nolan pushes him toward the track. "Go. You begged me to come ride so let's ride. Quit harassing the girl."

My phone vibrates from my back pocket and I know I should look at it and pretend like I'm not still trying to get some kind of attention from Dustin's hot friend, but I can't bring myself to shut up and do it. Nope. Instead of quietly checking my phone and ignoring them so they can go ride, I put on a smile and say, "He's not harassing me. It's actually super boring when no one's here."

Dustin shrugs off his friend and holds up his hand for a high-five. "Hell yeah! See, bro, I wasn't annoying her." I give in to his request and slap my hand to his. "I'm Dustin," he says, taking up residence directly in front of the counter again. "And this is my buddy, Nolan." He slaps him on the shoulder and Nolan smiles at me, reaching out his hand.

Oh gosh. _Don't blush, Becca. Don't blush!_

I manage to pull off a successful handshake, and yes, I'm also realizing how dorky I am for freaking out over something as silly as a handshake! But then Nolan says, "It's nice to meet you, Becca. You let me know if Dustin gives you any trouble."

My mouth is dry and my heart is thumping a million times a minute, but I manage to speak. "Okay."

The doors slide open again and I barely glance over at them, expecting to see more guys with bikes. Then my stomach lurches into my throat and my brain spasms into freak out mode. Oh my god, no. No, No, No.

My mother walks into the building, arms holding two Taco Bell bags, two Taco Bell drinks and one cell phone. Now I know who called my phone just now. She's wearing black capris and a big purple t-shirt with the image of a basket of kittens on it. "There's my girl!" she squeals. "All grown up with a job now!"

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice raspy. I'm almost hyperventilating with mortification.

"I'm bringing you lunch, silly! I saw your Facebook post." She plops the bags on the counter, right next to where Nolan and Dustin are standing, watching us. Suddenly I am _so_ not hungry anymore.

# Chapter Six

I bring my lunch to work for the next three days. But my peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat bread and a can of soda doesn't improve my luck any. Nolan hasn't visited C&C again. Curiosity gets to me when I arrive at work the next morning. Ollie brought in donuts and pumpkin spice coffee creamer. He's so excited about it, he hasn't even left the break room. So far we're the only two people here. I power up the computer at the front desk and wait until he hands me a cup of coffee and ducks back into the break room, saying he wants to start brewing his second pot of joe. When he's gone, I pull up the member profiles and look for Nolan's.

Okay. I know I'm being a stalker. But I swear I don't look up his address or phone number or credit card number or anything. I simply check his logins to see if there's a pattern. Like, if he were to come ride every Tuesday at noon, then I could make sure I looked cute that day. As it is, getting all cute and fixing my hair each morning before work for the last three days has been a tedious, fruitless, waste of my time. (Although I know Bayleigh wouldn't agree with that.) I frown as I scroll through the information. Before this week, he hadn't visited the track for six months. And then another four months before that.

I stick out my tongue at the computer and then sigh. Oh well. Forget him. Fate has clearly not made him a part of my summer transformation. The New Becca shouldn't care about guys anyway. _They_ should care about _her_.

"Did you just stick your tongue out to a computer?"

Startled and a little bit embarrassed, I look up and see a guy walk behind the counter and drop a helmet under the shelf where I keep my purse. He's only a couple inches taller than I am, with dark brown hair and we're wearing the same bright orange C&C t-shirt. I think I recognize him from school. He'd be one of those hot guys I never have the courage to make eye contact with.

"No." It's a lie, but whatever. I grab the computer mouse and rush to click off the screen so he won't see who I'd been stalking. "Are you Braedon?"

He nods. "And you're..?"

"Becca."

"Are you..?" He looks at my shirt and then back up at me. "Do you work here or something? I thought Ollie decided not to hire anyone else."

I shrug. "He hired me." Funny how we'd probably never talk in school but now that we're coworkers, here we are, talking.

Braedon also shrugs, running a hand through his hair. I don't know why he keeps looking at my shirt instead of at me. It's not like I have massive boobs or something. "Well, I guess I should start training you," he says, looking around the counter like he's trying to find something specific.

"I already know the software," I say, pointing my thumb toward the screen. "All I've really been doing is drinking coffee with Ollie and saying hi to people when they come in. Is there anything else this job requires?"

He snorts and pulls open the door to a closet with an Employees Only sign on it. He takes out a massive push broom and a metal dust pan. "They made me sweep every day for a month when I started working here." He wiggles his eyebrows and I frown, even though he gets cuter when he's making a sarcastic face. "Guess whose turn it is now?"

When the entire facility is swept and immaculate, I place the broom and dust pan back into the closet and close the door with a smug look on my face. Braedon watches me from the front desk. I can tell he's waiting for me to complain or whine about doing the dirty work but I don't. Truth is, I don't mind helping out and doing things that I'm getting paid for. If I were at home, I'd be watching reruns of Supernatural, Teen Mom or Real Housewives and I definitely wouldn't get paid for that. Part of me wonders if he would have made Bayleigh do the sweeping if she were the employee here and not me.

I take a spot next to Braedon behind the counter. "What's that massive square with all the chunks of foam in it?"

"Huh?" he asks, barely looking away from the computer screen. I peek over his shoulder. He's on the C&C Facebook page. "Oh, you mean the foam pit." He turns around and narrows his brows. "Do you seriously not know what a foam pit is?"

"Don't give me that look!" I say, pretending to be offended. "Just help a girl out and tell me what it is. What am I supposed to say if a potential customer asks me about it?"

He laughs and rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't fall out of his skull. "It's for practicing tricks, like backflips. You jump into the pit so if you screw up, you'll land in soft foam instead of cracking your neck on the hard floor. Sometimes we just jump into it for fun." He takes his hands off the keyboard and scratches the back of his neck. "Seriously, I can't believe Ollie hired someone who doesn't even know what a foam pit is."

I fold my arms across my chest. "I know what it is now."

He rolls his eyes again. He takes the sticky note with Ollie's number on it, crumples it into a little ball and then throws it at me. I catch it midair. And I don't even know how that happened. I'm not normally skilled at catching tiny paper balls as they're thrown at me, but this seems to impress him so I act like I meant for it to happen. He glances back at the computer, where three new messages wait on the Facebook page.

He clicks and reads through them. I bend down and dig through my purse for some lip gloss. "Hey, Becca," Braedon says, giving me just enough time to look up before a camera flash blinds me.

"What the--?" I stammer, rising up with an unopened tube of lip gloss in my hand. "Did you just take a picture of me?"

Braedon squishes up his nose and nods. "This is no good. Stand still and smile."

For some ridiculous reason, I do what he says. The camera goes off again and he smiles, pleased with the outcome. I lean forward and reach for his phone but he jerks it away. "Why are you taking pictures of me?" I ask.

He taps away on his phone and then looks at me. His eyes are evil and cute. "They're asking for it on Facebook."

"What!?" I shove him aside and look at the Facebook page. C&C BMX Park's update this morning was about me. _Stop on by and say hello to C &C's new employee, Becca!_ The next post is the picture of me that Braedon just took, smiling and leaning against the counter. It's a cute picture, if not for the silly work shirt I'm wearing. I wonder how many people at school are a fan of this Facebook page and will see me with my new hair. The post already has six likes.

"I can't believe you posted about me online." I say it like I'm annoyed but I'm anything but. This is exactly the kind of stuff that happens to Bayleigh all the time and her life is fun and fulfilling and –well, grounded at the moment. But that's not the point. "I don't know why you needed to post a picture of me," I say, just to sound even more casual about the whole thing. What I'm really thinking is that I'm so glad I paid extra attention to flat ironing my hair this morning.

Braedon snorts. "Uh, yeah I did." He gestures toward the computer screen where a few more comments have popped up. "The people were asking for it."

"Why?" I try reading the comments but he steps in front of the screen, using his chest to block my view. "Move it!" I press his chest but he stays put.

"Sorry, Becca. This is classified information."

"You're such a dork." I take my own cell phone and navigate to the C&C Facebook page. I'm pretty sure my jaw falls straight to the floor. The comments are so not what I was expecting.

After Braedon's initial post about the new employee, someone named Jason replied: _There's a girl there now? Is she hot?_

Braedon replied to that: _Come by and find out._

Jason: _Does that mean no?_

Braedon: _You gotta pay to play, bro._

Followed by about a dozen other comments, all begging him to know if the new girl, meaning me, was hot or not. Then I guess Braedon decided to post that picture of me to the page because a picture is worth a thousand words. I click on the picture to read those comments and a hand covers up my phone.

"Um," Braedon says, gnawing on his bottom lip. It might just be a trick of the light, but I think he's blushing.

"Excuse you," I say, trying to flick his hand off my phone. He holds it steady, curling his fingers around the screen.

"I'm just not sure you want to read those comments."

My face falls. "Why not?" A knot forms in my stomach as I realize what this means. He doesn't want me to read it because it's probably a bunch of guys making fun of me, the new girl, for not being hot at all. Maybe they're even talking about my hair, calling it stupid and saying I'm trying too hard. I drop my phone and he holds on to it. "Never mind," I say, turning back toward the counter, away from the computer screen and away from Braedon because I'm holding back tears and am not sure how long I can keep them back. "I don't need to know. I don't want to know."

"You misunderstand," Braedon says with a snort. "They're not bad, they're just..."

"Insulting?" I provide the first word I can think of. Ugh, I could cry.

He shakes his head. "Dirty. Just...not something a lady should read."

Oh. Well then. Wait. _OH_. Dirty comments are being said about me on Facebook? That has to be a good thing, right? Braedon types a reply into one of the Facebook comments and I lean over his shoulder, watching the words appear on the screen as he types them. _Hey now. No hitting on the new girl._

The next reply is almost instant.

Jason: _Do you already have dibs?_

Some guy named Sharky says: _Nah, he can't date someone he works with. I call dibs._

Braedon, while shaking his head types: _No one gets dibs without going through me first._

Jason: _So you're the C &C bodyguard now?_

Braedon glances back at me and I roll my eyes like I don't care and like I think their entire conversation is stupid. But when he turns back to the computer, I watch his reply: _Yep_.

Ollie chooses that moment to pop in from the back room. "How's it going, guys?" He punches Braedon on the shoulder and places a light hand on mine. "Is he training you well? Teaching you the ropes?"

I nod, trying to will away the red in my cheeks. "Yes, sir."

"Great!" he says, full of enthusiasm as always. Of course, now I'm suspecting his perpetual upbeat attitude is thanks to the gallon of coffee he drinks each morning. "You two take care of the place. I'm headed to class."

When he leaves, a palpable awkwardness falls over us. Braedon closes out of the Facebook window and plays a game on his phone, pretending like everything is normal, I guess. The tension in the air lifts momentarily when a woman comes inside with her three children, all of them pushing bikes and excited to ride. I step aside and pretend to be really interested in the shelf of bike chain oil and let Braedon deal with the customers. I'm still reeling from the small bit of virtual attention I got on Facebook and mentally, I'm deconstructing Braedon's comment of being my bodyguard. There's no way I can handle customers now.

"You ready for lunch?" he asks once the woman's kids are riding on the track. "I'm ordering pizza. What kind do you want?"

"I brought my lunch," I say, wishing _wishing wishing_ I could get pizza.

"What'd you bring?"

I motion toward the purple flower print lunch kit under the counter. "A PB&J, some chips and a Sprite."

He blows a raspberry with his tongue and picks up the work phone, holding it to his ear. "That's lame. You want pizza. I'm getting pizza."

"No, seriously, don't get me any. I wouldn't be able to pay for my part because I'm broke until I get my first paycheck."

He lifts an eyebrow in the middle of dialing a number, then drops the phone back onto the base.

"What?" I say to his deadpan stare. "I'll get pizza with you next time."

He shakes his head and picks up the phone again. "Nah, I was just confused. You're like the first pretty girl I know who's ever offered to buy her own food."

A thousand butterflies erupt in my stomach and flutter out, making my arms and knees weak. He just called me pretty. Braedon. The popular, super hot guy at school. "You okay?" he asks hesitantly, pointing his hand toward the back of the room. "If you're going to hurl, do it in that direction."

"What? No, I'm fine." I pick up my phone and look at it just for something to do. _He thinks I'm pretty. Stop thinking that! It'll make you stupid._ I swallow and act like I hadn't even noticed that he just called me pretty. "I'm going to clean off the dry erase board," I say, moving toward the black board that still claims to be hiring part time employees. Ollie had told me I could write whatever I wanted on it, now that he's no longer hiring. And this very moment seems like a really great time to do that.

Braedon talks on the phone for a while but I tune it out. Suddenly, I'm ridiculously aware of every inch of my body, how I'm standing, how I'm moving. The way I do things and smile and look around and talk. If he thinks I'm pretty, I feel this internal need to make sure that everything I do is attractive from now on. I'm not even sure why. Deep down I know it's idiotic and just plain embarrassing for me to pretend that someone like him could ever like someone like me. So he called me pretty? So what? I think all kinds of people are pretty. Doesn't mean I want to date them.

"I ordered enough pizza for the both of us."

I jump, not realizing that the guy I'm thinking about has moved away from the front counter and is now standing directly behind me. I pick up the eraser and swipe it across the neon colors on the board, eliminating the message that got me my first job a few days ago. "I told you not to get me any," I say, annoyed.

"It's my treat."

I finish cleaning off the dry erase board and turn around to look at him. He's doing that back of the head hair scratching thing. I'm starting to think his head doesn't really itch. "Thanks," I say with a smile. "I mean, I guess I can eat your free pizza."

"Pretty girls," he says, shaking his head. But he's smiling. "Impossible. You're all impossible."

# Chapter Seven

Mom stares at me as I pour a cup of coffee. Yeah, I'm a coffee drinker now. I never really cared about coffee besides the random Starbucks Frappuccino until I started working at C&C. Ollie makes like four pots of coffee a day so we always end up drinking it out of boredom. He likes to experiment with different flavored creamers from all over the world. Unfortunately the only creamer we have at home is reduced fat milk.

"What?" I say, dropping a spoonful of sugar into my cup and stirring it up. "I like coffee now. Also, we should get some sugar cubes. They're way more fun."

"Sugar cubes?" Mom fills her own coffee mug up to the brim since she drinks it black. "What are you, some kind of fancy coffee connoisseur now?"

I roll my eyes and take a sip of coffee, which is so not as good without Ollie's fancy creamers. "We have sugar cubes at work and it's fun to drop them into your coffee and watch them disappear." Half the time I'm tempted to eat the cubes straight out of the box, letting them dissolve on my tongue. One of my favorite books, Chasing Forever Down, has a character named Topher who eats sugar cubes all throughout the book. If I wasn't afraid of becoming a hyperactive maniac, I might do the same thing.

"Let me guess, that guy at work likes sugar cubes," Mom says, wiggling her eyebrows at me as she sips her coffee.

"What? No." I groan and gulp down the rest of my coffee.

"Oh come on," Mom says in her trying-to-be-cool voice. "I'm just playing with you! Geez!"

"No, Mom. You're trying to make it weird. Braedon is just a coworker."

She nods in this really sarcastic way. "A coworker that has a super huge crush on you! Oh stop blushing, Becca. He's cute. You should be happy about it."

"Oh my god. I am not having this conversation with you." I rinse out my coffee cup as quickly as possible and grab my purse off the counter, singing "La la la la la la," as my mother goes on and on about how cute she thinks Braedon is, based on her very tiny knowledge of what he looks like. Ugh, I swear. Your mom walks into your work when you're having one tickle fight with a coworker and she won't ever let you forget it.

Not that I could ever forget it, either. It was the greatest tickle fight in the history of the world.

If she only knew the truth, that Braedon is about a million times more popular than I'll ever be, and I'm sure he has a ton of other female admirers that flock around him outside of work. Maybe then she'd shut up and stop picking on me, acting like her daughter has a boyfriend. My goal this summer is to become more popular, but even I'm not delusional enough to know that no amount of summer makeovers will make me popular enough to date him. But of course I can't bring myself to tell her that. It would just be too awkward.

Mom's laughing her butt off by the time I finally gather my stuff and rush out the front door, blushing from head to toe. Braedon does not like me and I wish she'd just stop saying it for once. Geez! I mean, of course he's super cute and he's fun to be around, but there's no way he'd like me. Braedon is fun and energetic and spends hours after work each day riding his bike on the track instead of trying to find a girlfriend like most guys I know. He likes me as a coworker and that's it. He called me pretty just to be nice. I'm convinced of it now. There was nothing else to it. I bet the second Bayleigh comes back from her summer away he'll get a massive crush on her. She's got that magnetic personality guys like. Me? Not so much.

But who cares? I don't. It's been two weeks of being an official C&C employee and I just got my first paycheck. It's burning a hole in my pocket but I can't spend it until after work today since I'm opening the shop at nine in the morning. I haven't forgotten about my plans to change my entire self this summer, but besides highlighting my hair and getting a job, I haven't done anything else to further my mission.

Guilt and embarrassment creeps over me as I drive to work. I know I'm supposed to be on this self-imposed journey of coming out of my shell this summer, but give a girl a break. No matter how badly my brain wants it, I can't be expected to do it all at once! Of course, I can't stop playing these scenes over and over in my head each day—scenes where I saw an opportunity to be more outgoing and fun, to be the person I want to be, and then I chickened out like an idiot.

Two days ago, a group of guys in my grade came to C&C to ride but I was in the back room chatting with Ollie so Braedon signed them in instead of me. Josh Beck and Chase Summers were two of the guys at the last party I went to with Bayleigh and I know they think of me as Bayleigh's dorky best friend. So the moment I saw them hanging out with their friends by the snack machines, I wanted to walk over and say hello. I could picture it all in my head: Becca Sosa with her gorgeous new hair and shimmery eye shadow coming over to welcome them to the coolest place in town, the place _she_ works at because _she_ is fun and outgoing and not a lame dork. Maybe they would see me differently because of it. Maybe, when school starts, Josh would say hi to me in the hallways and not just Bayleigh.

It _could_ happen.

Only, it didn't. Because I was too much of a freaking lame-o dork-o to walk over and say hello. I roll my eyes as I park my car and get out, ready to face another day of work. Working at a BMX track is so much more fun than I could have ever imagined, even if I am sucking at becoming a new person. If only I could talk to Bayleigh this summer, even if it was just through the phone instead of in person. If I could just tell her my plan I know she'd have some awesome advice for me. She'd cheer me on from the sidelines and pump me with the encouragement I need.

I try to picture her voice in my mind, and think of what she'd tell me. "You can do it?" No, that's too generically dumb and not at all what my best friend would say.

"Earth to Becca!" I look up and stop just in time to avoid slamming into Braedon. He's standing in front of me, hands on his hips, and one eyebrow cocked. "Dude, are you high or something?"

"What? No." I punch him in the arm and step around him since he's blocking my way to the front counter.

"Could have fooled me," he says, tugging on my pony tail.

"Why do you say that?"

He gives me one of those looks like he thinks I'm a moron. "You walked in here in a daze like you were some kind of zombie or something. I said hi to you twice and you ignored it." He twirls a finger around his temple, indicating that I'm crazy. "So I figured you were high, or I don't know, maybe you're sleepwalking or something."

"You're dumb," I say with a smile. I hate when he wears his yellow work shirt. He looks so good in yellow.

"You tell me that like five times a day," Braedon says, but he's smiling so I know I haven't really offended him.

"Maybe that's because you're dumb five times a day."

He clutches his heart and throws his head back, his mouth twisting into fake agony. "Ouch, Sosa. So mean."

Ollie emerges from the back room, carrying two white boxes. "Would you two lovebirds knock it off? You're gonna make me vomit if I have to keep listening to all this flirting."

"We're not flirting!" I say, realizing that Braedon had said the exact same words at the exact same time. Ollie sets the boxes on the counter and gives us a disbelieving look. "Great. Now you're talking in sync." He makes a big dramatic sigh. "Guess I'll have to start planning the wedding soon!"

Braedon starts laughing which only makes my embarrassment about fifty times worse. But I guess laughter isn't the worst reaction he could have had. At least he didn't freak out and say _ew_ , _gross_ , or _I'd rather die_. So, I guess that's one positive thing about being mortified by my boss. Luckily, the boxes Ollie brought in contained an assortment of donuts from the new bakery that opened at the other side of the mall, so everyone dives into eating the sugary goodness and quickly forgets about our supposed flirting.

Well, everyone except for me. I do love hanging out with him every day but as I tell myself repeatedly: he does not like me. We're just friends who like to goof off at work. I'm pretty sure all of his joking around with me is just that—joking around. Definitely not flirting. After the science partner fiasco of freshman year, I will never ever allow myself to think a guy is flirting with me unless he explicitly tells me that he is. For now, I'll just sit back and enjoy the playful banter I have with my coworker. Hopefully all of this friendship we've developed will spill over into my senior year of high school, and boost my popularity.

Work is busy today and I have to struggle to ignore my dumb crush on Braedon so I can focus on signing in customers and showing them around if they're new. At least now I can admit to myself that I have a crush. I'm sure Mom would love knowing that. It's fine to have a crush on someone—so long as I don't let it go too far. So long as I know I won't collapse into heart break the first time I see him with another girl. Right now, I am in no danger of that happening. He is a friend, who I happen to think is really cute, but that's it.

But as the day goes on, I keep catching him do something really adorable out of the corner of my eye. It hurts to watch him teach a little kid how to drop in on the half pipe. It's almost too adorable to bear.

I've almost forgotten my daily fantasies about one very attractive and very allusive rider named Nolan Park. I've pretty much given up on my hopes that he might come ride again this summer and that I might get enough guts to talk to him if he did.

So anyway, I'm drifting through the work day in a haze, constantly looking at my coworker and seeing him in a different light. I ignore all the subtle hints my subconscious tries pulling over my eyelids, things like: _You shouldn't like a coworker because it'll only turn into trouble, and Braedon is just a nice guy who is nice to everyone. Stop thinking he's being exclusively nice to you._

Around one o'clock, Braedon walks behind the counter and slings an arm around my shoulders. "Sosa," he says, squeezing my shoulder. He smells faintly like cologne. I freeze. "You want pizza?"

"Again? We eat pizza all the time."

"That's because pizza is amazing! Duh, Sosa."

"Sure," I say, fishing some cash out of my pocket. He refuses it though. He always refuses. It's another one of those things that keep me up at night, wondering if he won't take my money because he likes me. By two in the morning, I've usually convinced myself that it's just him being nice.

"You two would make a cute couple." Ollie points his fork at me while eating a salad. "I'm assuming Becca doesn't have a boyfriend or else he'd have been in here by now, probably threatening to kick your ass, Braedon."

"Oh shit," Braedon says, as if this is an entirely new idea to him. He pulls his arm off my shoulder as if I'm infected and turns toward me. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Looks like I temporarily have the advantage. I narrow my eyes at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Ollie finds this incredibly amusing, to the point of almost choking on a cherry tomato. "I think you're in the clear," he says after regaining his composure. "You should just ask her out, man. Come on. Grow a pair."

I know I didn't hear what I think I heard. There is no way my boss just told my coworker to ask me out. But then Braedon says, "Dude! Is there no confidentiality in the boss and employee relationship?" He drags his hand over his face and briefly looks at the floor before looking at me. "Don't listen to our jackass boss," he tells me.

Ollie mimes the act of zipping his lips closed. "Sorry. But I had to break the ice for you." He waves his fork between us. "It's a slow day, so if you want to ask her to lunch, I'd do it now."

"Oh my god, you are insane," Braedon says, shaking his head. Then he nudges me with his shoulder. "You want to come with me to pick up the pizza? We can plot ways to kill our boss while we're there."

"Um, sure." The whole world feels like it's in a daze as I grab my purse and follow Braedon out of the sliding glass door. My mind is a whirl of emotions and crazy thoughts and there is no way Braedon likes me the way Ollie seems to think that he does. Braedon jiggles his car keys in his hand as we walk.

He glances at me after a few moments of silence. "Look, Becca. I'm sorry everyone keeps saying shit like that. It's probably creating one hell of a hostile work environment for you."

"It's no problem," I say. "Wait. Everyone? Who are you talking about besides Ollie?"

"The guys on Facebook."

"What guys on Facebook?"

We reach Magic Mark's Pizza and he pulls open the door for me. "Do you not read the C&C Facebook page?"

I shrug. "Not really."

Braedon shakes his head. "You are the weirdest girl I know. Every other girl in the world would be obsessively stalking that page to see what was being said about them."

"Well you already alluded to the fact that their comments weren't very nice, so why would I torture myself like that?" From somewhere deep in the bottom of my soul, I find the strength to break out of my shell a little bit. "Besides," I say with a shrug. "I don't care what anyone has to say behind my back. I only care about the people who talk to me in person."

Marilyn Monroe would be proud. Braedon simply lets his jaw fall open. "You think they're saying _bad_ things about you?"

I shrug and stare straight ahead. "You said it was dirty things. Dirty means bad."

He shakes his head. "No...pretty much every nerdy BMX guy has a massive crush on you. That's why I wouldn't let you read the comments. You would have gotten a huge ego boost and then been a nightmare to work with." When I glare at him he just smiles.

I'm not sure if I should believe him or not. But I drop the subject and let him order enough pizza to feed an army and then help him carry it all back to work. "You eat more food in one day than I eat all week," I observe as we're toting three large pizza boxes and a bag of cheese bread.

"I'm trying to gain back all that weight I lost when I was sick." He pats his belly which is flat, but the way he rubs his hand over it, you'd think he was Humpty Dumpty.

I roll my eyes and stop long enough for the glass doors to slide open automatically, letting us back inside. Ollie hangs out near the front counter, talking on his phone. He points to the left and we both turn to see Ryan Phillips sitting in a chair, his head leaned back against the wall, asleep. Ryan is Braedon's best friend and I know him a little as the guy who has home room with me, but it's not like we've ever talked or anything. Probably because he's also fairly high up on the popularity chain.

Braedon sneaks up to Ryan and leans down near his ear. "Police!" he yells in a deep voice, making Ryan bolt awake and fly out of the chair. I can't help but laugh.

"Not cool!" Ryan says, stumbling a few steps forward as he wakes up. When he sees me, he gives me a little wave. "Hey, Becca."

"Hi," I say, taken aback. I didn't know Ryan knew my name.

"How do you like working here?" he asks, ignoring Braedon's warning not to touch his pizza. He opens a box anyway and grabs a slice. "Braedon said you picked up the job duties really quick."

"Oh did he?" I say, narrowing my eyes in his direction. He winks and bites into a piece of pepperoni pizza that he's folded in half. "What, did he think I would be too stupid to learn a silly software?" I stick out my tongue. Ryan glances back at our boss and he and Ollie exchange knowing looks.

"He totally likes her," Ollie tells Ryan in what is probably the world's loudest whisper voice ever. It's right about now, with Ollie and Ryan nodding as if they have everything figured out, that I lose my composure. This is just embarrassing and stupid and it's bordering on harassment.

"You guys are annoying and need to freaking stop."

Ryan snorts. "Oh come on. Just admit that you two are crushing hard on one another and we can get this over with."

I refuse to be embarrassed and I'm definitely not going to give Braedon the chance to reject me in front of my boss and our customers, so I stand a little straighter and become the person I've always wanted to be. "Sorry Ryan," I say, hands on my hips. "You can try all you want but you won't embarrass us. Braedon and I are professional coworkers and we're also friends." I glance at him and he jumps a little bit. Then he nods. "So I hate to break it to you and Ollie, but it's just so not going to happen. Right, Brae?"

Braedon startles, shifting on his feet as if I just brought him out of an extensive daydream. "Right." He looks me straight in the eyes, a slice of pizza hovering in the air next to his mouth. "Just friends."

# Chapter Eight

My bedroom is dark except for the faint glow of the single strand of Christmas lights above my bed. There are more strands decorating my room, but I only turned on one. It's almost midnight and I don't need my room to be lit up enough to see my reflection in the mirror. Because I definitely don't need a mirror to tell me that I look pathetic tonight.

Tears flood into the corners of my eyes but I brush them off with the back of my hand. I am a big girl and I will not cry. It's funny how strong I felt back when I was lying to myself about my "crush" on Braedon. I felt like as long as there was some small strand of hope that he might have liked me in return, then I could lie all I want about not liking him. I could pretend we were just friends. But after yesterday when he straight up admitted that all we are is friends, I haven't been able to concentrate. I can't refocus all of my energy away from him.

Turns out, I didn't just have a playful small crush on my coworker. I had a massive crush. Why do these things happen to me? Why do I have to _pretend_ to be the kind of girl who doesn't fall easily? Why can't I just _be_ one of those girls? Why am I wallowing in self-pity, listening to sad music while I look up quotes online? It's pathetic. Yet, I can't stop doing it.

It's been hours since I skipped dinner, telling Mom I didn't feel well and hid out in my room, looking for the perfect quote to describe how I feel right now. The quote that's currently drawn on my picture frame dry erase board is about the worst, most untrue quote in the world right now.

_Make a move. It's just fear._

Right. Because fear isn't that big of a deal. I roll my eyes, think about climbing off the bed to erase the stupid quote, but decide not to because I'm much too comfortable all bundled up in my comforter. My laptop makes my legs warm. I sigh and grab another handful of candy corn from the almost empty bag on my nightstand and continue searching through pages and pages of quotes.

I need a quote that says: _I suck at keeping my emotions in check and so what if guys don't like me and who cares that I'll be a dork forever._

But, you know, something that's worded all poetically and inspirational. I type the word "heartbroken" into the search bar and sit back while dozens of images load. I've missed Bayleigh all summer, but I've never missed her more than I do at this very moment. Although I know it will go straight to voicemail, I call her phone anyway. When I get a robot voice telling me to leave a message, I hang up, feeling somehow even more defeated.

A single black square with simple font catches my attention. The words say: _You are one heartbreak closer to being with the person you are meant to be with._

I jot that one down in my notebook, but don't put it on the board on my wall. Those words are inspiring for sure, but I'm not heartbroken. I'm just hurting over losing the possibility of being heartbroken by Braedon. The next quote is better, but still not perfect: _I keep myself busy with the things I do. But every time I pause, I still think of you._

My phone vibrates from its place on the nightstand. For a second, I think I imagined the sound because it's just after midnight and no one texts me that late unless it's Bayleigh. Bayleigh! I dive across the bed, grabbing my phone and hoping to God that she just texted me and that I hadn't just imagined the sound of my phone vibrating. The tightness in my chest loosens when I see the icon for one new text message.

Only, it isn't from Bayleigh. It's from a number I don't know. I sigh because it's probably some spam robot or a wrong number. Before I check it, I look at the next quote in my search. It's from Shakespeare and I think it might be perfect: _Expectation is the root of all heartache._

How freaking true is that? Here I was expecting Braedon to like me and then he didn't. And just now I expected Bayleigh to text me and she didn't. And I'm hurt because of both of those stupid expectations. It really makes me question why I think that changing myself this summer should have any kind of good recourse. It will probably just be another one of my failed expectations and senior year will go on just like all the years before it, a massive disappointment.

I write the Shakespeare quote in my notebook, underlining it twice. As soon as I get my lazy butt out of bed, I'll be replacing my quote board with this gem. My phone vibrates again, reminding me that I have a spam message to delete. When I click the message, all of those bad feelings from earlier come diving right back into my heart.

**_Hey Becca. It's Braedon. Are you awake?_**

**_Sorry this is so late._**

Holy crap. Why is Braedon texting me? How did he even get my number? Oh my god oh my god. Deep breaths. I draw in a slow breath, trying to calm my shaking hands. I really hope he's not some kind of crazy psychic mind reader or I'll be really embarrassed that he knows what I've been thinking all this time.

**_I'm awake. What's up?_**

He takes forever to reply. And by forever, I mean exactly five minutes. Five agonizing minutes of me lying in bed wondering if I had fallen asleep earlier and had dreamed this entire thing. When he replies, my heart skips a beat.

**_I can't sleep...I feel bad about earlier._**

The events at work earlier today replay in my mind, as if I hadn't already done that a thousand times tonight. What could _he_ possibly feel bad about? Ryan was the one saying stupid comments, so it's not Braedon's fault. I don't know why I do this, but I type a reply and wait a few minutes before I send it. No reason to look too eager to text someone who just wants to be my friend.

**_You mean Ryan? Don't worry about him. I knew he was just messing around._**

He must be a fast texter because I get the reply almost instantly. **_That's not it. I should have actually said something else._**

Huh? I shake my head, thinking that boys make absolutely no sense. Then I reply, **_What were you going to say?_**

**_Nothing. Sorry to bother you. I'll see you at work tomorrow._**

Okay... I think about telling him that he wasn't a bother. That he can text me any time he wants. But instead, I drop the phone like it's an addiction from which I should break free and close my laptop. This day has been stressful enough and I think it's time to go to bed. Hopefully tomorrow won't be as weird.

* * *

> _Although no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending. – Carl Bard_

* * *

I stand back and admire my artwork on the clear piece of glass on my quote board. I wrote the entire quote in swirly cursive letters with a dark purple marker. It looks beautiful, and I feel powerful. Like my new start has already happened simply because I wrote the words. Of course, that could just be the fumes from the dry erase marker making me feel this way.

After a short, fitful night's sleep, I had taken out my laptop again and searched for the perfect quote. Something to get me back on my feet. It was as if the Quote Gods opened the sky and blessed me with exactly what I needed to hear. That Carl Bard quote was the top one in my search results. I was so tired, I don't even remember what words I had used.

The quote really spoke to me. So what if I sucked at my summer transformation? The summer is only a few weeks in, and there's plenty of time to change how things are going to end for me. As long as I'm breathing, I can change things.

With a yellow C&C BMX shirt that could blind someone with its brightness, I put on a little makeup, smack my lip-glossed lips in the mirror and smile. Today will be a good day, no matter what. I am restarting my life and my happiness. Braedon will now and forever be, just a coworker.

I can't actually talk to Bayleigh right now, but I did finally figure out what sort of advice she'd give me if she were here. She'd put her hands on her hips, lift her eyebrows until her forehead got all wrinkly and give me this look like I'm an idiot. "You see a bazillion hot guys at work all day," she'd say. "Forget the one guy who doesn't like you and go find someone who does."

And that's exactly what I'm going to do.

C&C BMX Park has a line of customers that reaches out the door and around the sidewalk when I arrive at work. I walk uneasily to the front door, wondering why there are so many people here. BMX riders don't usually hop out of bed at nine in the morning to go ride. A few guys step out of the way so I can get past them, and it definitely doesn't escape my attention that the guys in line aren't little punk kids. They're super hot. And just out of high school by the looks of their tattoos.

I smile politely and stare at the floor when I pass by two particularly gorgeous guys. Bayleigh would be tripping over herself right now. But me? I'm still terrified. My brain can't help but think of a million ways I could embarrass myself in front of these guys, and the fear of doing something stupid becomes so overwhelming that all I can do is get to the front desk as soon as possible. That's the only place I feel comfortable.

"Ollie," I call out when I see him duck into his office. "What's the deal with all these people?"

He lifts up one finger as he finishes chewing a massive bite of the donut in his hand. Before he can speak, the screeching of a guitar that's badly out of tune fills the room, making me jump. "What the?" I spin around, noticing for the first time, the massive addition to the BMX park: a stage.

Right there in the middle of the park, where the metal bars that people grind over used to be, is a black stage with metal framing. A drum set sits in pieces in the middle, along with two guitar stands and some guy with his butt crack hanging out of the back of his jeans as he messes with an amplifier.

The scent of boy shampoo fills the air seconds before Braedon appears next to me. "This is going to be a crazy day." I glance over at him, trying my best to ignore how cute he looks today. "What exactly is going on here?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the stage.

Braedon waves to a man in a fedora, a white tank top and skinny jeans. The man waves back while chatting on his phone. "Zombie Radio is shooting a music video here today. They invited all of their friends to come and be the crowd for the video. How did you not know this? It was on the Facebook page."

I shrug. "You know I never check that thing." Truth is, I barely check my own Facebook page now that Bayleigh is gone. It's not like anyone besides my best friend ever posts anything worthwhile. He chuckles and shakes his head. "You are ridiculous."

I put a fist on my hip. "How so? Because I'm so cool I don't spend all my time on the internet?"

"Ouch," Braedon says, gripping his chest. "That was mean, Sosa. Not everyone has some kind of amazing social life like you do."

I want to burst out laughing at how his assumption is so completely wrong, but instead I just smile. No need in giving away all my embarrassing secrets. So I change the subject instead. "Who is Zombie Radio? I haven't heard of them."

"I don't even think they're a real band," he says, rolling his eyes. "Beaux Brite is the lead singer and his dad owns TS Optics so he's crazy rich. They've been a band for like three months and they already have a self-produced album but they haven't played any gigs or anything. I think their plan is to spend money as if they're already famous and then hope that somehow makes them famous."

"And they chose a BMX park for their big music video debut? I would have chosen like, Vegas or something."

Braedon nods. He starts up the work computer and logs in. He's acting exactly like normal, which is a good thing I guess. Even when we officially open for the day and Ollie allows all of the band's friends to come in without paying a cover fee, Braedon just does his job as if this is a normal day. As if he didn't text me in the middle of the night last night. As if he didn't say cryptic weird things that will leave a girl hanging, wondering what the hell he meant.

I draw in a deep breath and tell myself to chill out because thinking about how Braedon is acting today is not the way to get over him. Soon, the band's sound check fills the entire facility and I wouldn't be able to talk to Braedon if I wanted to. C&C is essentially a massive metal building so the acoustics of having a rock band play in the middle of the park are far from ideal. It's so loud, I fear my ear drums will burst and after a few minutes of some truly terrible music, I grab a piece of paper and write the words: _going outside for a minute_. I hold it up to Ollie, and he nods, giving me permission to get the heck out of there.

The awful music permeates the outdoors too, but luckily it's just a dull roar. I lean against the outside wall and stare up at the puffy clouds in the sky. Working alongside Braedon will be harder than I had hoped. Exactly how is a girl supposed to get over a crush when she has to see him every day at work? Maybe if he would stop being so cute...

The doors slide open for the tenth time since I've stepped outside. A burst of music pumps into the open air before slowly being drowned out as the doors close. I don't bother looking over this time because it's probably just another smoker taking a quick break.

Then someone speaks and I feel all the blood rush to my face. "Skipping out on work is a terribly mean thing to do to your coworker."

I bite my lip and refuse to look at him. "I just needed a break from what is probably the worst music I've ever heard."

"I don't think we can call that music. It was just uncoordinated sounds that were impossibly loud."

I nod. A shadow falls to my right. Braedon's shadow. He moved himself so far into my personal space that he's casting shadows on me. My toes start to tingle and I wriggle them from inside my shoes. _Please please please don't do this to yourself. He doesn't like you._

"So," Braedon says, drawing out the word as if he doesn't know what to say next. "I kind of want to talk about last night."

"What happened last night?" I'm not sure if playing dumb is the right way to go about this, and by the quick look of hurt that flashes across his face, it probably wasn't.

He runs a hand through his hair. I watch the muscles in his forearm flex and focus on that one vein that bulges along his skin. "Uh, nothing really. Just about how I texted you so late. Sorry about that by the way."

"It's no problem." I lean to the right and nudge him with my shoulder. "You worry too much, Brae. Your friend didn't bother me, I promise."

He smiles and my toes get all tingly again. Dammit, why does this happen to me? Why am I even out here talking to him? I'm supposed to be moving on from my stupid crush. Braedon swallows and opens his mouth, then closes it. "What?" I say, a little too severely.

He shakes his head and gnaws on his bottom lip, all while staring at some empty space of nothingness in front of him. I nudge him in the shoulder again. "What are you thinking? Just spit it out, geez."

His head rests against the wall behind us and he looks up at the sky. "You are the only person in the world who calls me _Brae_."

"Really?" I feel a little stupid because I thought he would say something more profound than a small observation on his name. "That's weird. People always shorten names. My name is just a shorter form of my real name."

He shakes his head with that big smile still on his lips. "Nah, you don't get it. No one calls me Brae because I don't allow them to do it. I think that's a stupid name for a guy. It sounds girly."

"Oh." I swallow. My fingers feel cold against the wall behind me. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

He lets out a quick breath, almost like he's laughing but in the most sarcastic way. "You don't get it, Becca." He leans forward, letting his head dip down so that we're closer to eye level. "Or maybe you do get it and you're just screwing with me. Maybe that's it."

My forehead wrinkles. "I don't get it, whatever it is. Trust me, I don't. Look, I won't call you Brae anymore."

"You can call me Brae. You can call me whatever you want." He swallows and stares at the ground. In this very instant, I feel a horde of butterflies burst to life inside my rib cage. Braedon is nervous. Nervous to be around _me_. My mouth is dry, but I find the words and force myself to say them. "What exactly are you trying to tell me?"

His fingers clench into a fist at his side and then they release and clench back up again. I'm so tempted to take his hand in my own, and I don't even know why. Why would I be so bold? I don't think even Bayleigh is _that_ bold. When he speaks, his voice is barely louder than a whisper. "What I'm trying to tell you...."

"Yo!"

The serenity of the moment is gone. Smashed to bits by the guy who waves his hand in the air as he jogs toward us. He's wearing dark purple skinny jeans and a studded belt that shines in the sunlight.

"Hey Dustin," Braedon says, not even hiding the disappointment in his voice.

"Did I miss the shoot?" Dustin's boots slap against the concrete as he slows down and catches his breath. I hadn't noticed it the first time I met him, but his left arm is also covered in tattoos, all of them quotes by the looks of it. I wonder if he knows of any motivational quotes that would help me out this summer.

Braedon shakes his head. "Nah, you're good. They're just warming up."

"Sweet!" Dustin checks his cell phone, types a reply and then slides it back into his pocket. "New girl," he says, pointing a finger at me. "What was your name again?"

"Becca," I say, glancing up at Braedon. He had said my name at the same time.

"Becca! Duh, I knew that," Dustin says, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. "Are you single?"

"Dude, you can't just ask that—" Braedon says, stepping forward, but Dustin cuts him off with a shake of his head. "It's not for me. I have a girlfriend."

"Then why are you asking?" Braedon says. "I told you guys not to harass her."

"It's fine," I say, placing my hand on Braedon's arm. He tenses at my touch. "I am single," I say, glancing at Braedon to see his reaction. His jaw is clenched and he's pretending not to pay attention. For some reason, this makes me crush on him even harder. "But I'm not interested in any of those guys on Facebook," I tell Dustin. I crinkle my nose up in disgust just to prove my point. My hand is still on Braedon's arm and I feel his biceps loosen. He shifts on his feet.

"Man screw those guys," Dustin says, making a face like he thinks they're all idiots. I can't say I disagree with him. From what I've read online, those guys _are_ idiots. Good thing most of them prefer to express themselves through online comments and are too shy to talk to me when they come ride at C&C.

Dustin peers through the doors and checks his phone again.

"My friend thinks you're cute and since he's never in town I thought I could get your number and talk him into dropping by more."

I balk at his forwardness. "You were going to use my heart for your own personal gain?" My hands press against my hips and I give him my best _oh no you didn't_ glare. "There's no way your friends are hot enough for me to put up with that."

_But they think I'm cute_ , the tiny voice in my head sings. It must be the new hair. _But still, someone thinks I'm cute!_

Dustin laughs and looks through his phone again, holding it up to me with a number on the call screen. "Why don't you tell that to Nolan Park yourself?"

My chest goes cold at the mention of Nolan's name. Is he serious? There's no way. In my shocked silence, Braedon finds time to speak up. "Dude get out of here. Stop flaunting your famous friend around. It won't get you any girls, you know."

"Hey, come on now," Dustin says, holding up his hands, one of them still holding his phone. "Like I said, I'm not trying to get girls for myself. I'm trying to get my best friend to visit me."

"It won't work," Braedon says, standing to his full height. He's not massive or anything, but next to Dustin's lean frame, Braedon is intimidating. "She's not even eighteen, so seriously dude, just leave."

"Ah, never mind. Jail bait." Dustin winks at me before turning and heading toward the door. It slides open and lets out the fury of the grunge metal music playing inside. "Carry on!"

I'm grateful for the loud music because at least it covers the sound of my heartbeat thumping like crazy. "That was...interesting." I try to laugh but I can't stop gnawing on my bottom lip. Plus I'm pretty sure my face is the color of a strawberry right about now.

"Not really." Braedon's lips form a tight line. "I'm sure you hear shit like that all the time."

I look up at him. "Actually, I—" Braedon cuts me off with a sigh. He steps away from the wall and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't even look at me when he talks. "I'm going back to work."

# Chapter Nine

Braedon stays pissed off for the next hour. All he does is lean against the front counter, staring at his phone or looking at the floor with his lips pressed into a thin line. He isn't even texting. I know this because every time I glance at his phone, the screen is off. I can't even pretend to know why he's acting like this. Pissed off Braedon is not something I've ever seen before now.

The band plays the same song over and over again while their diehard fans dance around for the music video as if they haven't heard the same chorus play a thousand billion times already. As long as the film crew is here, we don't have any real work to do, besides stand around the front counter and wait for this to be over.

I'm sitting on the floor, my back against the wall and my head leaning against the shelf behind the counter. I feel like I should say or do something, but I don't know what. It's like there's some kind of spell over the BMX park today, and it has nothing to do with Zombie Radio's video shoot. I can pretend to be naive and act like I don't know why things are weird, but even the old Becca knows that would never work. Things are weird because Braedon was about to reveal something, something personal, something embarrassing to me. He was this freaking close to spilling his guts and telling me exactly what was bothering him.

That he liked me.

I know it. I know that's what he was going to say. Why else would he let me get away with calling him a nickname that he normally hates? Another thought occurs to me as I stare at Braedon's backside from my spot on the floor: what else would he let me get away with?

Does he like me the way Steven Marshall likes Katie Emmett? Would he let me borrow his clothes and lean over and take bites of his ice cream without asking? Could I change his Facebook status and become best friends with his little sister?

Or does he like me the way Ian likes Bayleigh, where he'd like me just long enough to talk me into hooking up with him and then dump me for the next available girl?

My good mood darkens when I try to picture Braedon being the same type of guy as Ian. He certainly doesn't seem like that kind of guy, at least not on the surface. His Facebook pictures are boring and his status updates are never about girls. Not that I've been looking at his page very often or anything...

Plus he seemed extra protective of me when Dustin asked me if I were single and every single time someone says something about me on the C&C Facebook page, Braedon basically tells them to shove it.

I smile and look up at the bright blue shirt Braedon wears while he leans over the counter, staring at his phone. He definitely likes me in the Steven Marshall way.

I'm not able to bask in the enjoyment of knowing Braedon likes me very long, because as soon as I remember the incident with Dustin, I remember something else that deserves a little obsessive analyzing: Nolan Park thinks I'm cute?

Ugh, never mind. I can't think about Nolan Park. He's obviously too old for me and he doesn't even live around here since Dustin has to bribe him to come visit. I remember his infrequent logins on the computer and remind myself that he's probably the same type of guy as Ian. He's crazy hot and he knows it. He probably flirts with girls in every town he visits. That's not the kind of guy that deserves to occupy my thoughts all day long.

From a few feet away, Braedon sighs and drums his fingers on the counter, keeping beat with the drummer on stage. He stares out of the doors, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Hey," I call out. He glances down at me and lifts an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue. Only, I didn't have anything planned after that initial word, so I scramble for something to say. "You'd think they could just film the band pretending to play music and then add the music into the video later."

"Yeah. That would be a good idea." He gives me a wry smile and then turns back to the ever important task of staring at the countertop.

His profile is so freaking cute, even if he is making this morose sad puppy face as he absentmindedly traces shapes on the counter. The boy wears his emotions on his sleeve and for some reasoning out of my control, I want grab him and hug him and never let him be sad again. I wonder if he feels my eyes on him? If he knows that I'm thinking about him as much as he's obviously thinking about me?

"Hey..." I say again, only this time I draw out the word letting him know there's something super important at the end of this sentence. It won't be like the last time I said it.

"Yeah?" He doesn't even look over at me. Oh well, I'm not discouraged. Instead, I take in a deep breath and imagine that I am sitting across the room, watching this scene unfold with Bayleigh in my place. She would make sure to get what she wants. And so will I.

"Come here."

"I am here."

"You're not as _here_ as you could be," I say, patting my hand on the floor next to me. Braedon glances around as if seeking permission to leave that spot on the floor. "Hurry," I whisper. I don't even know what kind of smile I have, because it's the kind of smile I know I've never made before. It's sneaky. Exhilarating.

Braedon grins and looks around again before closing the space between us in two steps. He drops to the floor beside me, pressing his back against the wall. He pulls his knees up and rests his arms on them. He smells like coconut shampoo and coffee. "Is this better?"

The butterflies in my stomach feel like they have butterflies in their stomachs and then I'm wondering if butterflies even have a stomach and I know it's just because my mind doesn't want to stay focused on the task at hand. Summoning that endless courage I seem to get when reading an inspirational, motivational quote, I let my head fall to the right until it rests on Braedon's shoulder.

He doesn't make me wait forever, wondering if he's going to return the gesture or shrug me off of him. He just tilts his head until it rests on top of mine and just like that, the entire world feels perfect. I barely even notice the screeching music that saturates the room with its awfulness. We sit like this for a while, neither one of us speaking. I think we're both trying to figure out something to say that won't ruin the moment.

I crack first. I lift my head but keep my shoulder pressed against his and look over at him. "Finish telling me what you were going to say outside."

"I think you know what I was going to say."

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. "So say it anyway."

Braedon's fingers intertwine. "If I say it, things will change."

"So say it."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Do you want things to change?"

"Duh!" I smile but his face turns serious. "I didn't think you wanted that."

"You didn't think I wanted what?" I ask, peering into his brown eyes. He swallows and stares at this hands. I nudge him with my shoulder. I wish feelings and emotions weren't so damn hard to talk about. "Talk to me," I whisper.

He sighs and runs his tongue over his lips. I almost throw my arms around his neck and kiss him like crazy but, well, I'm not that bold yet. So far words are the only weapon in my summer transformation arsenal. After another tense moment, he says, "If I talk to you then I'll change everything. I'll ruin what you want."

"What do you mean? How do you know what I want?"

"You made it perfectly clear what you want, Becca. In front of me and my friend and our boss."

A wince flashes across my face before I can help it. My stomach knots up and I replay the earlier conversation in my mind. "I said we were just friends..." He nods. "Do you want to be just friends with me, Becca?"

It's the moment of truth. Only it's happening all wrong. _He_ was supposed to tell me how he felt. _He_ was supposed to take the leap, risk total embarrassment and rejection. Now it's all on me. My first reaction is to nod, play it off like we're just friends and that's all we'll ever be. It'll be easy. It will take away all the anxiety and fear of rejection. I can say yes and this whole thing will blow over and go back to normal.

But normal isn't fun.

Normal doesn't make for good memories.

"No." The word is barely out of my mouth before Braedon kisses me. It's quick but passionate. It's startling and comforting. His mouth tastes like glazed donuts and French vanilla coffee creamer. He pulls away and watches me for a reaction but all I can do is stare at him, open mouthed and gasping for air. His forehead leans closer and I think he'll kiss me again, but he rests his forehead on mine instead. "Say something," he whispers as his hands slide into mine, interlacing our fingers and pulling them into his lap.

I say the only thing on my mind. "Do it again."

He smiles and wraps a hand around my hair, pulling me into him, kissing me for the second time. And the third. And forth. I squeeze his hands and he squeezes back and we share an epic moment together, both hidden from view of everyone at C&C BMX Park.

Brendan's lips press into mine and a flurry of crazy emotions tumble through me. He smiles and I smile and everything, everything except for Zombie Radio's song, is good. There is not a quote or a lyric or any words of wisdom that someone else has ever said that will fully describe this moment. I don't know the words to describe my situation as elegantly as Marilyn Monroe or with the wisdom of Shakespeare, but maybe every part of life doesn't need to be put into words.

I don't need some fancy quote to tell me that this summer is a new beginning. _My_ new beginning.

And the best part? I won't be spending it alone.

Thank you for reading Summer Alone!

Don't miss Part 2: Summer Together!

It's the summer after graduation and Bayleigh just asked Becca to be her maid of honor. Determined to give her best friend the greatest wedding ever, Becca has a lot on her plate. When she thinks she's finally got everything under control, a certain member of the groom's bridal party can't keep his eyes off her. Becca's not sure how to handle all the attention but she is sure of one thing: This will be a summer to remember.

Click here to get Summer Together!

# About the Author

Amy Sparling is the bestselling author of books for teens and the teens at heart. She lives on the coast of Texas with her family, her spoiled rotten pets, and a huge pile of books. She graduated with a degree in English and has worked at a bookstore, coffee shop, and a fashion boutique. Her fashion skills aren't the best, but luckily she turned her love of coffee and books into a writing career that means she can work in her pajamas. Her favorite things are coffee, book boyfriends, and Netflix binges.

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She's always loved reading books from R. L. Stine's Fear Street series, to The Baby Sitter's Club series by Ann, Martin, and of course, Twilight. She started writing her own books in 2010 and now publishes several books a year. Amy loves getting messages from her readers and responds to every single one! Connect with her on one of the links below.

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