Rewind to You

by Laura Johnston

Genres: YA Romance

Synopsis

"A rapturous, beautiful debut with a romance that seeps into you like a sizzling Georgia summer." —Amber Hart, author of Before You Wish You Were Here One last summer before college on beautiful Tybee Island is supposed to help Sienna forget. But how can she? This is where her family spent every summer before everything changed, before the world as she knew it was ripped away. But the past isn't easily left behind. Especially when Sienna keeps having episodes that take her back to the night she wants to forget. Even when she meets the mysterious Austin Dobbs, the guy with the intense blue eyes, athlete's body, and weakness for pralines who scooped her out of trouble when she blacked out on River Street. When she's with Austin, Sienna feels a whole new world opening up to her. Austin has secrets, and she has history. But caught between the past and the future, Sienna can still choose what happens now. . . "A fabulous, fresh new voice in YA." —Kay Lynn Mangum, author of The Secret Journal of Brett Colton "Laura Johnston scores a touchdown with this coming-of-age love story." —Kelly Nelson, author of The Keeper's Saga "This poignant, sweet romance gripped my heart from beginning to end."—Jennette Green, author of The Commander's Desire 90,000 Words

Release date: September 1, 2014

Publisher: eOriginals

Print pages: 296

Sample

Regret washes over me when my gaze meets the photo of my dad and me. It starts with little warning, and I’m suddenly fighting to breathe. Heart pounding. Palms sweating. Vision fading. What’s happening to me? Then everything goes dark.

But shadows surrender to light, and I wonder if I’ve died, because I see him now like I saw him one year ago. Before the accident. We stand side by side, a dad and his little girl.

“Let’s make a pact,” Dad says, a smile touching his lips, his eyes. The scent of something sweet tempts me before I’m yanked back to reality.

I open my eyes. Slowly, I remember where I am and what happened—and basically how much my life stinks. If only I could turn back time and relive that last day with my dad, maybe he’d still be alive.

Let’s make a pact.

The porch door creaks open like a cricket and snaps back.

“You’re faking it, huh?”

I turn to find Spencer, my eight-year-old little brother, wearing a Batman cape, boots, and all. “Faking what?”

Spencer digs his hands into his hips and exhales. “You pretended to pass out.”

I massage my aching forehead. “Spencer, I’m not pretending anything. And I didn’t pass out.”

“Yes, you did! I saw you fall.”

“Yeah, right. You, like, weren’t even here.”

“Was too! I was on the porch.”

His Nintendo DS rests on the picnic table outside, supporting his claim. Despite an annoying headache, I smile as I remember running out there as a kid to play badminton, sand searing my feet on a hot summer afternoon in Georgia. But now this place, the sight of those waves and the creak of that patio door, only makes me miss my dad.

I turn back to Spencer. The sight of Batman standing with his hands on his hips, chest forward, head high, breaks my train of thought and I smile.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” I say, but a little chuckle escapes my lips.

“You’re laughing at me!”

I suppress my smile because the last thing Spencer needs is someone else laughing at him. “I’m not laughing. You’re just cute, Spencer.”

“Cute?” The word spews from his mouth as though he can’t stand the taste of it.

“Sienna,” my mom snaps, the tone of her voice spurring me to stand. I grab the nearest thing for balance. A vase and silk calla lilies litter the floor at my feet. The barrier in my mind crumbles then, my memory flooding back into place. My heart contracts at the sight of the photo on the coffee table, like it did when I first walked into the room.

“Sienna, what happened?”

I scurry to replace the vase I must have knocked over. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“Did you fall?” she asks.

“I don’t know. It’s—”

“You don’t know?” she cuts in. “It’s a simple question. Why were you on the floor? Have you been dizzy?”

Oh, man. Here it comes. “No.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No.”

Mom gulps like the next question is impossible to swallow. “Have you been . . . drinking?”

“No.”

“Have you been stressed?”

“No.”

“Have you taken a shower in the past five days?” Spencer pipes in.

“No,” I reply automatically and then shoot a glare at him in defeat. Got me that time.

“Of course she’s showered!” Mom exclaims, as though skipping a shower is worse than underage drinking.

Spencer dances out of the room with a smirk on his face. I’m not the one who has an issue with basic hygiene practices, and we all know that.

Mom’s probing stare burns through me. I glance at the car keys, thoughts of escaping her scrutiny luring me toward the door. Maybe because, for once, she’s justified. For one reason or another, I fainted after looking at that photo of my dad and me and recalling those last days we spent as a family before our lives took a sharp turn.

“Mom, relax. I showered. And I’m fine. I’m just exhausted after driving all day.”

She taps a manicured finger on the granite countertop. “I suppose we did drive quite a bit today. You should lie down. Perhaps you fainted from heat exhaustion.”

“Heat exhaustion?” Spencer returns, gliding across the wood floor in his socks while juggling a box of Legos. He rolls his eyes. “Mom, that’s so stupid! She’s sixteen, not fifty.”

“Seventeen,” I say.

“Seventeen. Whatever,” Spencer says. “And it was only, like, sixty-five degrees when we left Virginia.”

“Spencer, enough!” Mom shouts, and I can tell she instantly regrets it.

Spencer frowns at the floor, but I know he’s actually frowning at our mom without the eye-contact part. He flings the box, and a spray of Legos explodes like soda from an overshaken can. I feel my mom’s sharp intake of breath, sense her holding it in. Great. Just what we need.

Sometimes the friction between the three of us is hardly noticeable as we go through the motions of life. But the tension is always there, filling our home like a suffocating smog. It was never like this when Dad was around, and I wonder whether Spencer will remember those days. Years down the road when he’s all grown up, will he even remember our dad?

“Sorry I raised my voice, Spencer,” Mom says, but he’s already pretending she doesn’t exist. She throws her hands up. “He always overreacts.”

I glance over to see calm, medicated Spencer playing with Legos, wincing at the fact that Mom speaks as though he’s too dumb to understand. Heaven knows she does her best by Spencer. Still, her expectations of me only skyrocketed after Spencer was born and we discovered his ADHD and bipolar disorder at a shockingly early age.

“Always,” she continues. “No matter how much I work with him on—”

“Hey, Spencer,” I call out. I don’t dare a glance at Mom, but her glare pricks me nonetheless. “Want to toss the ball around the beach tomorrow?”

Spencer falters for a reply, anguish folding his face. “But, you can’t throw like he could.”

“Sienna Nancy Owens!” Mom snaps.

“Maybe you can teach me, Spencer. Please? I know I can’t throw as well as Dad, but at least I could try.”

“Sienna!” Mom shouts again, as though simply mentioning our dad to Spencer is a sin.

The Legos rocketing into the air shouldn’t surprise me. Nonetheless, I jump and so does my mom as Spencer flings another fistful. We duck, barely dodging them.

“Stop it!” he yells. I sense he wants to say more, but instead he kicks the empty Lego box and runs up the stairs. Stop fighting. I know that’s what he wanted to say.

“See?” Mom spits out. “This is what happens when you bring up your dad.”

Something hot flashes through me. This is my fault? Oh yeah, big surprise. Everything is. “Bring up Dad? Are you kidding me?”

Mom wrenches open the linen drawer and starts refolding—refolding! —the dinner napkins. “How inconsiderate can you be, Sienna? Football with Dad is what Spencer lived for every summer. The whole reason we came to the island this summer is to start over. As hard as it may be, we have to get our minds off of Dad and move on.”

“Get our minds off of him?” I say. “Here? On Tybee? Mom, we came to this island every summer with Dad. How do you expect us to come here now and forget about him?”

“I don’t expect you to forget about him!”

“That’s what you said!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Mom slams the drawer shut. “I just want you to be yourself again! You don’t even dance like you used to. For a year now, it’s like you’re on the stage but not really there.”

Yet another thing I’m doing wrong. I nod, taking it all in. And I walk to the door.

“Sienna?” Mom asks, starting after me. “Are you going out with Brian?”

A happy yet wistful feeling flutters in my stomach, but it can’t be at the thought of Brian. “Maybe,” I reply as I check my pocket for my cell phone.

“Maybe?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. You’ll be at Brian’s house then?”

“No,” I reply and grin. This, oddly, is the wistfully happy part. “Brian and a bunch of his friends are meeting on River Street.”

Her lips form a stern line. “You’re going into Savannah? Tonight?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

River Street—wild and spirited and adventurous—is everything I secretly love, and everything she hates. But this is Brian we’re talking about, the son of my mom’s best friend from her hometown in Georgia.

“All right,” she says. “Stay with Brian. Don’t go walking around alone.”

I slink out, my stomach knotting as I glimpse Mom picking up Legos. She’s right. It is my fault. Everything. I took Dad away from us all.

I jog to the SUV and jump in. To my mom, apart from the rich history of architecture and design, downtown Savannah is a cesspool of poverty and unruly living in a deep-fat fryer. My dad, however, felt differently.

“Anything can happen on River Street,” he said to me once with his big smile after I found a silver dollar there as a kid.

I shove the key in the ignition, fighting the thought that if Dad were here, he’d tell me to listen to Mom. He’d tell me to move on; he was unselfish like that. The engine purrs to life when I twist the key, puncturing the silence.

“Here’s to moving on,” I say to no one, feeling the words swell up in my throat as I throw the gearshift into drive. I can almost hear my dad’s voice now as I speed down the gravel road: Anything can happen on River Street.

When life gives you lemons, buy a Mountain Dew. That’s my motto. All right, really I’m just your average Joe, scraping by to make a little punch with the fruit life throws at my face. But not for long.

I glance at my online bank statement. Dimes and pennies. Takes a lot of them to build a savings like this, and it wasn’t easy. You see, in many ways, my life is like a football game. Short, intense plays of grit and sweat, one after another. Inching closer to the goal. Occasionally I’m thrown a perfect wide pass, but there’s always a fierce defense, driving me back. But tonight is a water break.

“Later,” I say as I pass Uncle Mark on my way out. His gaze is fixed on the preseason game on TV, his ears open to nothing but the cheer of the crowd and the referee’s whistle.

“Can I toss the TV remote in the toilet for you?” I say for kicks. Couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark says. Totally fell for it. He fishes a purple sock from the laundry basket and folds it with a brown one. “Sure.”

“Amen to that!” Aunt Deb cheers from the kitchen as she pulls a lasagna from the oven. “Austin, honey, bring one of those girls by for Sunday dinner sometime. You hear? Your mom is gonna want to hear all about who you’re dating out here.”

“Right,” I say, faking a smile. You see, I’ve become as much of a pain in my mom’s side as my dad was. Pretty sure she wishes I didn’t exist.

I get a whiff of lasagna before I open the door. I hang back, stomach growling. No one cooks like my aunt. Well, besides my mom. “You’re killing me, Deb.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

“Gotta go,” I say. “Save some for me.”

“Take that trash out on your way, will ya?” Deb calls out.

I pull my baseball cap on. Snag the trash. “See ya.”

An old sedan pulls up, heavy metal music blaring. I toss Deb’s trash into the can. My two-year-old cousin sure is cute, but dang, her diapers make this thing reek.

The passenger window inches down. Leo slings his arm out. “Yo, ace! What up?”

“Just throwing out the crap.”

“What, they got you taking out the doo-doo now?”

I laugh as I hop in.

Reggie takes one last drag from his cigarette. Tosses it out the window. He cranks up the music and we wind through the city Reg-style. No regard to speed limit whatsoever.

“So, spill it. What’s going down tonight that’s so great you couldn’t tell me?” I ask as we enter Savannah’s historic district.

They exchange silent glances. Leo turns and gives me the once-over, his nose scrunching. “What you wearin’, man?” He tosses a different hat to me, ignoring my question. “Here, put this on.”

I glance at the cap, some flat-brimmed thing with metal spikes and sparkly stuff I wouldn’t be caught dead with. “Swag, man. Real nice.”

“You think?” Leo smiles, taking me seriously.

I chuck it back at him. “Where are we going?”

“C’mon, Grandpa,” Leo says. “You wear your hat like you out golfing with the seniors. Where’s your pride? And your shirt’s inside out. You blind?”

“Why does it matter? You said we were going somewhere chill.”

“We are.”

“Come on, Leo. Tell me we aren’t—”

“Just hitting up a party,” Reggie cuts in.

“You’re such liars.”

“Say what?”

They tricked me. Again. So much for a water break. “Hey, I’ve got a better idea.”

“Uh-huh.” Leo makes a doubtful sound. “What’s yo’ betta idea? Some hillbilly movie only Austin Dobbs can dig and still get chicks, ’cause he’s some preppy football star?”

I stare at the back of their heads as they laugh. “Actually, I was thinking a chick flick,” I say like I’m serious.

“Chick flick!” Leo spits out between bursts of laughter.

Why do I hang out with these monkeys? Good question. I guess it’s easier to dodge sympathy when you’re surrounded by idiots whose lives are a whole lot more screwed up than your own. Reg and Leo aren’t the types who have everything in life. They aren’t the types who pity anyone who doesn’t.

“C’mon,” Leo pleads. “Lindsay’s gonna be there, lookin’ hot!” He lists every enticing detail. Music and babes and on and on. His face animates his enthusiasm, as though he hopes his party fever will rub off on me. I nod, pretending to listen. Find myself catching the sugary scent of pralines in the air, the smell derailing my train of thought. One thing I’ve learned in the year I’ve lived in Georgia: Savannah makes pralines like Girl Scouts make cookies.

“You sure you guys don’t want pralines?”

Leo’s face turns sour. “Pralines? Have you been listening to a word I just said?”

“Not really.”

He lets out a breath of impatience. “What’s yo’ beef with parties, ace? You know, sometimes you act like a grandpa, too.”

“Come on. Every party is the same,” I say. “A bunch of wannabes pretending they’re having a good time.”

“What you talking about?” Leo says. He pulls a plastic bag from his pocket and dangles it over his shoulder. “We are gonna have a good time!”

I look away, silenced. No comeback this time. Nothing.

I glance at the brick buildings outside and listen to the jolt of a tour bus gaining speed as it pulls away from the curb. A man runs after it, trying to flag it down with his umbrella. Poor sucker’s never going to catch it. I look at everything but the dime bag of weed in Leo’s hand. The reason my mom sent me to Savannah in the first place rushes back with regret.

“Pull over.”

Despite Reggie’s rap music, an itchy silence stifles the air.

“What?” Leo asks.

“Pull over.”

Reggie gestures to the lanes of cars stacked like ants. “Pull ova’? In this?”

I tap the window. “Yep, right there.”

“You takin’ a leak or somethin’?” Leo jokes.

“Nah,” Reggie mutters. “He’s bailing on us.”

“Bailin’?”

“Absolutely,” I reply.

“Hey, you not down with this stuff, we cool with that. But we got a party to hit,” Leo says.

“And I hate parties.”

“Why you be such a hater, man?”

“I’m not hating,” I say. “Look, I just don’t want to go.”

“Lindsay’s gonna be there!”

“Lindsay and I broke up.”

“She’ll be shakin’ her hips. Dancin’.”

A Leo-induced headache flares up. “Dude, I don’t dance.”

“Nah, I’ve seen you get down. You ain’t that bad.”

“Just. Pull. Over.”

Reg slams on the brakes as the light turns from yellow to red. “Where you going?”

I reach for the door. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll . . . watch fireworks,” I say, recalling what tonight is.

“Fireworks?”

“Yeah. I’ll get some pralines and cream on River Street. Find a bench. Sit there with my grandpa cap and watch fireworks with some old lady.”

They both chuckle and then burst into laughter. “You want pralines?” Leo asks and dangles the drugs in front of me again. “I got somethin’ a whole lot betta than pralines, homey.”

I shove his hand down. Throw a quick glance around. “Keep that down. Better yet, get rid of it.”

Leo makes a face. “You realize how much flow we put down for this, Gramps?”

“Too much. You obviously don’t have much brain left to fry, anyway, so ditch it.”

Reg turns around. “A’ight, hear me out, Austin. You chill out and come to the party. You don’t have to try none of this, and we’ll keep it on the down low. We cool?”

I shift my gaze to the sunset, something weak inside luring me to cave. Go to the party. Whatever. Sit next to Lindsay. Put my arm around her and forget the past. Maybe even go along with Reg and Leo, drown out every mistake and the hard truth of what a screwed-up mess my family is. Doesn’t sound so bad after all.

“Austin?” Reggie asks again.

My fingers slide across the door handle. I never hesitate. Never. I read the defense, spot gaps between zone coverage, and shift direction to make the catch, all within seconds of exploding off the line of scrimmage. It’s the only thing I’m good at.

Yet here I sit, hesitating. No matter what I say, Leo and Reg are going to trudge through the mud on this one. They’re good guys. Deceptively rough on the outside and as stupid as my dog, sometimes, but they’re genuinely good, like most people.

“Austin?” Reg asks again. “We cool?”

My hand rests on the handle, frozen. Then the traffic light turns from red to green, and time is up. Fate is something I’ve never let myself consider. However, when I finally make up my mind, I have a strange feeling this decision will change the course of my life forever.

I shouldn’t be here, not on my own. I check my cell. Still no reply from Brian. Glancing at the setting sun, I start down River Street anyway. Alone. Mom would kill me.

Fading sunlight seeps through the sweeping oak branches as I find a contact on my phone and press send. The handsome voice brings a smile to my face until I realize it’s his voice mail.

Yo, this is Kyle. Peace out.

I still remember the grin on Kyle’s face from across our pre-algebra classroom as he texted me for the first time. Hey. U r hot. Wanna go out?

Did I imagine we would still be together when we graduated high school three years later?

I leave a short message, drop my cell in my purse, and ignore the shadows around me as I walk through Emmet Park.

If Mom had her way, I’d date Kyle all through college and marry him. Seriously. She adores his parents: charming, respectable, wealthy—perfect potential in-laws, in her eyes. Falling in love with Kyle came easy. Breaking up with him our junior year was like swimming in a hurricane. However, like the pull between two magnets, my dad’s death yanked us back together.

I sigh in relief when I reach the edge of the park and join the crowd of tourists walking from shop to shop. My purse vibrates and I whip out my phone. “Hello?”

“Sienna?” Brian calls out over loud music on the other end.

Brian’s been my beach buddy ever since I can remember. He could have been my older brother, we’re so close. Our moms grew up in Georgia together, so naturally Brian is my mom’s second pick. My life is like a GPS with a programmed destination (and my mom plays the voice that says “recalculating route” whenever I veer). Lame, but true.

“Hey, Brian!”

“Where are you?” our voices ring out at the same time.

I smile. “You’re on River Street, right?”

“Actually, no. Sorry. We’re up at this awesome party at—” Static cuts Brian off. “Do you want to come?” I hear him at last. “You’d rip up the dance floor here.”

“Where?” My voice repeats like an echo, cutting in and out. “Brian?” I hold my phone up to see if it helps reception, doing the cell phone samba around a park bench and no doubt attracting odd glares.

“You’ve, like, gotta come—” Brian says before another round of static. I shake my phone, feeling like an idiot desperate for company.

On second thought, college starts this fall, and I won’t have peaceful moments like this. I’ll be living with my best friend, Haylee, in an apartment a block away from Kyle at the University of Richmond.

“H-hey. You there?” Brian asks. “Where are you now?”

“River Street,” I reply.

A silent pause. “Alone?”

“Come on, Brian. Anyone tries to bother me I’ll rock ’em sock ’em,” I say. And I am now officially a nerd. Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots are weaving their way into my vocabulary, proof that I drove across three states next to an action-figure-obsessed eight-year-old.

“Do you want me to come get you?” Brian asks.

“What? No.” I almost laugh. I imagine his concerned face, like an older brother protecting his little sister. “That’s sweet, Brian, but I’m fine. Have fun at that party.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Sorry.”

Brian sighs. “Okay.”

Guilt pricks me as I detect his disappointment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”

“Yeah?” Brian says with a hopeful lilt in his voice. “You wanna hit the beach together? Grab one of those hot dogs at the pier?”

“Those greasy ones my mom would kill me over if she knew I’d eaten?”

“Yep.”

I laugh. “You bet.”

Background music from the party jumbles his words, and the conversation comes to an abrupt end. I toss my cell in my purse and take a deep breath, inhaling the sugary scent of vanilla and pecans. It’s the smell of River Street.

Let’s make a pact.

The words I heard my dad speak when I passed out drift back to my mind. But what was our pact? A crippling ache seeps into my heart as a thought settles in: I’m already starting to forget him.

I walk back toward my car, brushing these thoughts aside as I try to enjoy the simple things: birds chirping, an artist painting the Savannah River, a pair of shoes I’m tempted to buy. But I step in a wad of fresh gum and a bird craps in my hair like I was target practice, and I quickly admit this trip to River Street was a total waste. Darkness closes in, and streetlamps cast shadows around me as I walk back through the park, one heel sticking to the pavement with every step.

I distract myself with my phone in time to see a text from my mom.

Oh, man. The Legos thrown across our living room will be nothing compared to what will happen in the morning if we don’t have Lucky Charms. Not that I blame Spencer. If he didn’t put his foot down every once in a while, Mom would have both of us eating a bowl of hot wheat cereal and a green (aka grass) smoothie at every breakfast.

Knots unwind in my stomach when I spot the stone staircase that leads to my car. Ha! Mom had no need to worry, I think, pleased with myself.

The catcall whistling from the shadows do. . .