Out of the Blue
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Synopsis
From Jason June, author of the breakout teen debut novel Jay’s Gay Agenda, comes Out of the Blue, a stand-alone dual POV queer rom-com that asks if love is enough to change everything you’ve grown up believing. Perfect for fans of Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas and Deep Blue by Jennifer Donnelly.
Crest is not excited to be on their Journey: the month-long sojourn on land all teen merfolk must undergo. The rules are simple: Help a human within one moon cycle and return to Pacifica to become an Elder—or fail and remain stuck on land forever. Crest is eager to get their Journey over and done with. Humans are disgusting. They’ve polluted the planet so much that there’s a floating island of trash that’s literally the size of a country.
In Los Angeles with a human body and a new name, Crest meets Sean, a human lifeguard whose boyfriend has recently dumped him. Crest agrees to help Sean make his ex jealous and win him back. But as the two spend more time together, and Crest’s perspective on humans begins to change, they’ll soon be torn between two worlds. And fake dating just might lead to real feelings . . .
This sophomore novel from Jason June dives into the many definitions of the word home and shows how love can help us find the truest versions of ourselves.
Release date: May 31, 2022
Publisher: HarperCollins
Print pages: 384
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Out of the Blue
Jason June
There are a surprising number of similarities between being a lifeguard and being a movie director. Both sit in a labeled chair to watch everything in their surroundings, their eyes squint just as hard thanks to glaring sun or glaring studio lights, and yelling “CUT THAT OUT!” to kids splashing day-drinking moms isn’t all that different from yelling “CUT!” to actors.
Sitting up here in the lifeguard stand makes me feel in control, like I can direct the movie of my life and everyone in it. Which is why when Dominic comes padding across the faux grass around the pool of the Santa Monica Beach Club—his favorite gold Havaianas in hand so he can feel the turf between his toes—my brain switches right into director mode. I mentally frame the establishing shot of the club, the pool busy with families during the only kid-friendly block on Sunday mornings, servers zooming in and out of lounge chairs and cabanas with brunch offerings for members who’ve just walked in from the beach after dipping their feet in the Pacific. Then my mind camera goes in for a close-up on Dominic, his black hair tousled perfectly, his green eyes locking with mine, his lips breaking into a grin that says so much: happy to see me, wanting to kiss me, eager to relive what we did a couple nights ago after my mom went to bed and we stayed up to “watch rom-coms” and “study their structure.”
Only, that’s not what happens. I do the close-up on my boyfriend, but he won’t meet my gaze. Dominic’s eyes are permanently focused on the ground, a deep scowl furrowed into his pale white forehead as he mumbles something to himself. I’m too far away to know what it is, but it seems like he’s practicing something. He looks like the kids in the drama department, whispering lines to make sure they have them right. And based on the way he looks like he could throw up at any second, whatever Dominic’s lines are can’t be good.
I want to scream “Cut!” like when I’m directing my romance shorts for film class. I want to direct that frown, that nervous mumbling, away from Dominic’s face. Or maybe jump into the ocean with him like we do every weekend and have the salty water wipe his concern away before I pull him into a kiss while the waves surge past our waists.
The dread in my gut increases as Dominic gets closer and his frown gets deeper and deeper and deeper. I fiddle with the promise ring he gave me last Christmas, a nervous habit that normally calms my nerves. But now it does nothing. When Dominic stops at the base of the perfectly polished white ladder that leads to my seat, he finally looks up.
My eyes zoom into a deep focus of his perfectly pink lips just in time for him to say the worst four words in existence: “We need to talk.”
How is it that just four words can make you feel like your whole life is completely ending? Everyone knows what “we need to talk” means. It’s the beginning of just about every breakup scene in any rom-com ever, the genre I’ve watched practically every day the past three years. But breaking up is not how the rom-com of my life is supposed to go. I’m supposed to finish the last couple of months of my junior year with Dominic by my side, have him cheer me on at qualifiers and then state swim meets, premiere my film showcase submission that he’s been helping me put together, dance at prom, help his mom throw his senior graduation party a few weeks later, then spend a perfect summer together before we move him into Cal State Northridge in September. Every last moment was going to make the ultimate real-life rom-com, but I guess Dominic has other ideas.
But wait. He hasn’t actually dumped me. Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding and I’m letting my obsession with movie beats fill in the blanks.
“Sean? Did you hear me?” Dominic’s yelling now and suddenly we’re the center of attention, mojito-drinking moms and the self-proclaimed SFGs (Sunday Funday Gays) whipping their heads in our direction. My face heats up. I purposely want to be behind the camera for a reason. I can’t stand all eyes on me. “I said we need to talk.”
A few gasps echo across the pool. I’m not the only one who suspects what’s about to happen. An SFG even drops his mouth in an overexaggerated O, slaps the side of his face, and says to a friend, “Mary, it’s about to go down.”
It’s best if I go to Dominic so that if he continues to do what I think he’s doing, it’s not going to be in front of an audience. “Hang on. Just . . . wait.”
I shoot a quick text to Kavya, who’s sitting in the stand on the other side of the pool.
I’m taking my lunch.
If I tell her the truth about what’s going down, she’ll make an even bigger scene. She has my back through everything, but the last thing I need right now is for her to make another pool proclamation.
Don’t get a hickey this time.
Kavya has her binoculars trained on Dominic. So she’s about to see what happens whether I tell her or not. Which might be a good thing, actually, because I’ll need somebody to drag me out of here after it happens. Maybe that’s why the club has a two-lifeguards-at-a-time rule, in case one of us collapses from heartache.
I make my way down the ladder, the whistle around my neck smacking against my chest with each step. It’s nothing compared to how hard my heart is beating.
When I finally make it to the ground and look Dominic in the eyes, I’m positive my suspicions are correct. This is the breakup scene, and even though I know it, I can’t stop myself from saying “Hey, handsome. What’s up?” like nothing’s wrong.
It’s how I’ve greeted him every day for the past thirteen months. Ever since I saw Dominic staring at me from the beach, smiling while biting his bottom lip. I wanted to bite it
back so badly, and I just felt this surge of confidence in me like I’d never felt before. “Hey, handsome” tumbled out of my mouth, we flirted for a few days until we had an epic make-out session and I asked him out, and we’ve been together ever since.
Dominic gives me a weak smile at the familiar greeting, nowhere near as bright and vibrant and sexy as that day at the beach. Well, he’s definitely still sexy, still has that brooding-vampire thing about him, and why can’t I stop myself from thinking this when he’s about to dump me?
“I, um . . . Man, this is hard.” Dominic scratches the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “We’re over, Sean. I’m just not feeling it anymore.” Then he delivers the actual worst set of four words in the English language. “I met someone else.”
I’m pretty sure the mega earthquake geologists keep warning about hits at the exact time he spoke because it feels like the ground falls out from under me. I literally collapse, the unforgiving plastic of the turf digging into my knees. But they’re just pinpricks compared to the knife stabbing my back, my gut, my heart, over and over.
Every single moment of our thirteen months together flashes before my eyes: our first date downtown at the VR arcade, where Dominic nearly threw up from motion sickness; going to his junior prom together in our matching dusty-pink tuxes; losing my virginity that night to this heartless piece of shit who decides to just throw it all away on someone else. And he tells me now? While I’m at work? Surrounded by dozens of drunk parents and gays who sure as hell are not going to feel confident in my lifesaving duties if I freak out poolside for the whole world to see.
Tears sting my eyes, but I will them not to come out with every ounce of strength I have left. But I have too much heartbroken energy and it has to get out somehow. So instead of crying, I start hyperventilating. I want to ask Who? or How? or anything that would give me answers, but I can’t seem to push any words out of my throat.
“Sean?” Dominic still doesn’t move from his place just out of arm’s reach, too much of a coward to face my heartache up close and personal. “Are you okay?”
A flare of anger temporarily pushes away the lump blocking words.
“Does this”—heave—“look like”—heave—“I’m okay”—heave—“to you?”
Dominic scratches his neck again. “Um, no.”
I try to give him an angry laugh, but I’m so out of breath it comes out more like a hiccup. “What was”—heave—“your first”—heave—“clue”—heave—“Sherlock?”
Suddenly a pair of dark brown feet with black-painted toenails burst into view. I look up to find Kavya, chest puffed proudly, her bright orange buoy that we never have to use in the six-foot-deep pool strapped across her chest. “What’s going on? Bee sting? Allergic reaction? Shall I administer CPR?” She can sound like such a cheesy cartoon superhero when she hops into lifeguard action, her hands literally placed on her hips like she’s Wonder Woman or something.
“It’s fine.” Apparently I can handle two-word sentences now without gasping for air.
Oh.” Kavya’s arms fall limply to her sides. She’s been dying for the day when she finally gets to save someone’s life.
She looks over at Dominic, who still hasn’t moved a muscle since delivering his Richter-scale-10 news. “Hey, dude,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
“He’s met someone else,” I say.
Four words. We’re improving. So I try, “Who is he?” The question sends another knife to my soul, but I have to know.
“Miguel.”
He doesn’t have to say more. I know exactly who he’s talking about. Miguel is the most popular guy in school, one of the top swimmers on the team, homecoming royalty four out of four years at Shoreline High. And my former best friend.
“He’s a senior. He’s also heading to Northridge next year,” Dominic continues. “We really clicked at his barbecue. It just makes more sense.”
“Oh,” I breathe. How else are you supposed to respond when someone starts describing your replacement like reasons for upgrading a car? This is not the Dominic I know. He’s not this heartless.
Kavya grabs her buoy and pulls it over her head, dropping it with a hollow clunk at her feet. Then she bends down and touches her toes. Next, she stands tall and grabs her right foot, bringing it to her butt. She does the same with her left.
“What are you doing?” Dominic asks.
Kavya places her hands at the small of her back and bends backward while exhaling. “Stretching,” she says, her voice wispy as the word escapes with the air in her lungs.
Dominic raises an eyebrow. “For what?”
“For chasing you the fuck out of my pool.” A mom gasps and covers her toddler’s ears, while a few of the SFGs holler, “That’s right!”
“Sure you are.” Dominic laughs, and I just don’t get how he could be so cold. He can laugh at a time like this?
Kavya gets in her swimmer’s stance like she’s waiting for the gun to signal the start of her heat at one of our swim meets. She cocks her head to the side to look at me. “Your breath back?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you hold down the fort for a bit?”
I nod.
“Great.” Kavya looks straight ahead, her eyes dead set on my suddenly ex-boyfriend. “Just say the word.”
I look at Dominic, his lingering smile sending chills through my soul. He thinks this is all a joke. He thinks my pain is a joke. Here I am, lying on the turf in front of too many interested club members, devastated after the real life rom-com of my dreams turns out to be some relationship box office bomb, and he thinks it’s all just a joke.
He can choke on a bag of dicks.
“Get him.”
Kavya takes off, the sound of her feet whipping through the turf mixing with the applause and cheers of “Get his ass!” from a couple of the poolside regulars.
Dominic’s eyes go wide. “What the hell?!” He books it, puffs of sand flying behind his feet when he launches over the fake-ivy-covered fence separating the club from the public Santa Monica beach.
“Oh, I’ll show you hell!” Kavya yells, sprinting after him.
So much for being the one in control, being the director to the rom-com of my life starring me and the guy I thought I’d be with forever. Instead, Dominic yelled “CUT!” and recast my role without ever consulting me about it.
Rom-coms fucking suck.
“
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