Page 1 of The Summer that Ruined Everything

CHAPTER 1

C al walked out past the high tide line. He kicked off his loafers, letting his feet sink into the moist, crumbly sand that had been smoothed by the ebbing waters. The ocean was calm, the tiny waves glittering under the near-full moon.

He wished it was quiet, so that he could hear the water lapping at the sand. It helped him think.

Instead, the gentle peace he sought was drowned out by the noise pouring out of the beachfront mansion behind him. His parents had complained throughout the afternoon and evening — polite dinner conversation for once impossible, for which Cal was actually grateful — about the music and raucous party noise next door.

Cal didn’t think it was that bad from inside the house, but out here...sound traveled on the beach, and the party could probably be heard for a mile. Despite the fact that it had been going on all day, it didn’t show signs of letting up.

He wondered if his father would follow through on his threats to call the police. Maybe he already had. Maybe any second, the noise would cut out as everyone left to go their own way into the Westerly night.

At least the music was decent. Cal recognized the song currently playing, mouthing the words. It was something he listened to at school, a band out of England with what his mother would call unkempt shaggy hair, that people were going crazy for. It would never be considered appropriate at home.

He closed his eyes and wished he were back at school. Only three months of this prison , he thought, and then he could be himself again. Or, as much himself as he could ever actually be, anyway.

“Hey.”

Cal froze at the sound of the voice behind him.

“Hey, you.” The voice came again, brash and intrusive.

He turned very slightly, trying to communicate that he wanted to be left alone. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Turn around, would you? I’m not gonna talk to someone’s back.”

“You don’t have to talk at all,” Cal muttered, but he turned. A lean figure, cast into silhouette by the bright lights of the house behind him, stood about ten feet away. He had a bottle of something in one hand, dangling towards the sand. The other hand was twisting at a thread on the hooded sweater he was wearing. The bill of a baseball cap threw a shadow on his face.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he said.

Cal blinked, and then looked around, relieved to see the beach was deserted but for them.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Cal said quietly.

“What, that you’re gorgeous? Why? It’s a fucking fact.”

Again, Cal glanced around. The guy wasn’t speaking softly, that was for sure. He felt his cheeks heat at the compliment, one that was nice to hear, even if it shouldn’t be spoken out loud. He knew he was attractive: tall, blond, golden skin, symmetrical features. But it was rare that someone actually said it to him.

“Well...thanks,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low. “But I’m not...I’m not?—“

“Me neither. I can still think you’re gorgeous, can’t I?”

“Would you stop saying that?” Cal said, exasperation in his tone.

“I like that it makes you blush,” the guy said, laughing. “Makes you adorable on top of being gorgeous.”

“How did you know I was blushing? There’s not enough light out here to see color.” There wasn’t even enough light to see the guy’s face under his cap. All Cal could see was his thin frame, and the long fingers playing with the damned drawstring.

“Well, I didn’t know, but I do now. Gorgeous.” The guy snickered. “What’s your name, Gorgeous? Or I could just keep calling you that.”

“It’s Calloway,” said Cal. He glanced up at his darkened house, wondering if he could make a run for it.

“Calloway? Jesus Christ, that’s a heavy name. I need two fucking hands to lift it off the ground. You got a nickname, Calloway?”

“People called me Cal when I was a kid, but that stopped when I went away to school.”

“Why?”

“Nicknames are for kids.”

“If you were in school, you were still a kid,” the guy pointed out.

Cal stared at him a moment. “I haven’t been a kid for a very long time,” he said.

“That’s sad, Cal. You should always be a kid, at least a little.” The guy swung the bottle up to his mouth, tipped it back, and then dropped it down again, the liquid sloshing inside. “How come you’re not at the party, Cal?”

“Oh. I wasn’t invited,” Cal said.

“Everyone’s invited.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s my party.” The guy stepped forward, stuck his hand out, and tipped his head back, allowing the moonlight to suddenly illuminate his face. “I’m Jack.”

Holy shit. He certainly was. The face that grinned up at him was the same face he gazed at for hours in the magazines he kept under the floorboard in his room at college, the ones he’d painfully tossed in the dumpster when he came home for the summer, because having them here — and leaving them there — was too much of a risk.

This was none other than Jack Francis, the movie star.

The guy had splashed onto the scene the previous summer and released three hit movies in a row. The studios loved him, the audiences loved him, and he was lined up for more. Cal had fallen head over heels with his dark curls and high cheekbones when he’d seen the first film last fall.

And now he was standing here with his hand outstretched, introducing himself as Jack and waiting for Cal to actually fucking touch him.

And he thinks you’re gorgeous.

“Not a hand shaker?” he asked, waving his hand around.

“Sorry,” Cal said. He reached out, fumbled the grip for a second, and finally got it right, shaking Jack’s hand firmly. The guy’s fingers were cool and slim in his giant palm.

“Why don’t you come up now? There’s plenty to drink. And other things, if you’re interested.” Jack took off his cap and shook his hair out. “Probably gonna go all night, so you’re not too late.”

Cal fastened on his eyes, which were gleaming in the moonlight. The guy was definitely a little drunk, but seemed clear and coherent enough.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But maybe another time.”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, this party will probably last through the weekend, anyway. You could come tomorrow.”

If Cal didn’t know better, he’d think Jack sounded disappointed.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, knowing it would never happen. At school, sure, he’d party. Here...he couldn’t risk it. “I should go in,” he said, waving up towards his house.

“That where you live?” Jack asked.

Cal nodded.

“Cool, we’re neighbors. Have a drink with me before you go, neighbor.”

Jack held out the bottle. After a moment of hesitation, Cal took it. He tipped it back and took a long swallow. Bourbon . It burned its way down his throat and into his chest, and he coughed before handing it back.

“Thanks,” he said.

Jack took a swallow of his own, and then grinned. “Now you have to come to one of my parties. Since we’ve practically kissed.” He gestured at the bottle and wiggled his eyebrows.

Cal let out a short laugh, and then turned it into another cough.

“I have to go,” he said. “It was nice to meet you.”

He started to back away, and then turned and plowed up the beach.

“Nice to meet you too, Gorgeous,” Jack called.

Cal blushed his way up the wooden staircase to the back lawn and got all the way into the house, where he leaned up against the back door, gasping for breath, before he realized.

He’d left his loafers in the sand.