Summer Alone (Summer #1) (3 page)

“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.

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.