Twenty Boy Summer

by Sarah Ockler

Genres: YA Coming of Age; YA Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

"Don't worry, Anna. I'll tell her, okay? Just let me think about the best way to do it." "Okay." "Promise me? Promise you won't say anything?" "Don't worry." I laughed. "It's our secret, right?" According to her best friend Frankie, twenty days in Zanzibar Bay is the perfect opportunity to have a summer fling, and if they meet one boy every day, there's a pretty good chance Anna will find her first summer romance. Anna lightheartedly agrees to the game, but there's something she hasn't told Frankie---she's already had that kind of romance, and it was with Frankie's older brother, Matt, just before his tragic death one year ago. Beautifully written and emotionally honest, this is a debut novel that explores what it truly means to love someone and what it means to grieve, and ultimately, how to make the most of every single moment this world has to offer.

Release date: May 1, 2010

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 304

Sample

It was just over a year ago.


Twelve months, nine days, and six hours ago, actually.

But thirteen months ago, everything was… perfect.

I closed my eyes, leaned over my candles, and prayed to the cake fairy or the God of Birthdays or whoever was in charge that
Matt Perino — Frankie’s brother and my best-friend-that’s-a-boy — would finally kiss me. It was the same secret wish I’d made
every year since Frankie and I were ten and Matt was twelve and I accidentally fell in love with him.


Frankie, Matt, and their parents — Uncle Red and Aunt Jayne, even though we’re not related — celebrated my fifteenth birthday
in our backyard with Mom and Dad, just like always. When all the singing and clapping and candle blowing stopped, I opened
my eyes. Matt was right next to me, beside me, sharing the same air. Mischievous. The back of my neck went hot and prickly when I smelled his apple shampoo — the kind
from the green bottle he stole from Frankie’s bathroom because he liked how it made his hair look — and for one charged-up
second I thought my birthday wish might finally come true, right there in front of everyone. I didn’t even have time to think about how embarrassing that might be when Matt’s hand, full of birthday cake, arched from behind his back on a not-so-slow-motion
trajectory right into my face.


While cake in the face was clearly progress from the previous year’s Super Bowl coach–style shook-up soda over the head, something
in the wish translation was still getting lost as it blew across my candles into the sky. I made a mental note to clarify
my demands next year in bullet points with irrefutable examples from Hollywood classics and screamed, shoving both hands into
the mangled confection on the picnic table.


I scooped out two giant corners overloaded with frosting flowers. Then, I charged.

I lunged.

I ran.

I chased Matt around the yard in laps until he dropped to the ground and wrestled the extra pieces from me, rubbing them into
my face like a mud mask. We went at it for ten minutes, laughing and rolling around in the grass, Frankie and our parents
cheering and howling and throwing more cake into the ring, candles and all. When we finally came up for air, there wasn’t
much cake left, and the two of us were coated head to toe in blue rainbow-chip frosting.


We stood up slowly, laughing with our mouths wide open as we halfheartedly called a truce. Dad snapped a picture — Matt’s
arm around my shoulders, bits of cake and colored chips and grass clinging to our clothes and hair, everything warm and pink
in the glow of the setting sun, the whole summer stretched out before us. It didn’t even matter that Matt was going to college
in the fall. He’d be at Cornell studying American literature, just over an hour away, and he’d already started talking about
my and Frankie’s weekend visits.


When the novelty of the birthday cake wrestling match finally faded, Matt and I went inside to clean up. Beyond the sliding
deck door, shielded in the cool dark of the house from everyone out back, we stood in front of the kitchen sink not saying
anything. I stared at him in a sideways kind of way that I hoped didn’t expose the secret thoughts in my head — thoughts that,
despite my best efforts to contain them, went further than I’d ever let them go before.


His messy black hair and bright blue eyes cast a spell on me, muffling the chatter outside as if we’d been dunked under water.
I held out a sticky hand and threatened him with another gob of frosting in an attempt to break the silence, afraid he’d hear
my heart pounding under my T-shirt. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Matt scooped some frosting from my outstretched hand and moved to close the space that separated us, changing absolutely everything
that ever was or wasn’t between us with a single raised eyebrow.


“Anna,” he said, dragging his frosted fingers through my hair. “Don’t you know what it means when a boy pulls your hair at
your birthday party?”


No. Just then, I didn’t know what anything meant. I couldn’t remember how we’d arrived in the kitchen, why we were covered in
cake, why my best-friend-that’s-a-boy was looking at me so differently, or even what my name was. I bit my lower lip to prevent
my mouth from saying something lame without my brain’s permission, like “Oh, Matt, all my wishes have come true!” I felt the
stupidity rising in my throat and bit down harder, staring at his collarbone and the small piece of blue sea glass he wore
on a leather cord around his neck, rising and falling.


Rising.

Falling.

Seconds? Hours? I didn’t know. He’d made the necklace the year before from a triangular piece of glass he’d found during their
family vacation to Zanzibar Bay, right behind the California beach house they rented for three weeks every summer. According
to Matt, red glass was the rarest, followed by purple, then dark blue. To date he’d found only one red piece, which he’d made
into a bracelet for Frankie a few months earlier. She never took it off.


I loved all the colors — dark greens, baby blues, aquas, and whites. Frankie and Matt brought them back for me in mason jars
every summer. They lived silently on my bookshelf, like frozen pieces of the ocean I had never seen.


“Come here,” he whispered, his hand still stuck in my wild curls, blond hair winding around his fingers.

“I still can’t believe you made that,” I said, not for the first time. “It’s so — cool.”

Matt looked down at the glass, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Maybe I’ll give it to you,” he said. “If you’re lucky.”

I smiled, my gaze fixed on the blue triangle. I was afraid to look at him, because if I let my eyes lock on his, he might
try to — and then everything would be — and I might just —


“Happy birthday,” he whispered, his breath landing warm and suddenly close to my lips, making my insides flip. And just as
quickly as he’d surprised me with the cake, he kissed me, one frosting-covered hand moving from my hair to the back of my
neck, the other solid and warm in the small of my back, pressing us together, my chest against his ribs, my hip bones just
below his, the tops of our bare summer legs hot and touching. I stopped breathing. My eyes were closed and his mouth tasted
like marzipan flowers and clove cigarettes, and in ten seconds the whole of my life was wrapped up in that one kiss, that
one wish, that one secret that would forever divide my life into two parts.


Up, down. Happy, sad. Shock, awe. Before, after.

In that single moment, Matt, formerly known as friend, became something else entirely.

I kissed him back. I forgot time. I forgot my feet. I forgot the people outside, waiting for us to rejoin the party. I forgot
what happens when friends cross into this space. And if my lungs didn’t fill and my heart didn’t beat and my blood didn’t
pump without my intervention, I would have forgotten about them, too.


I could have stayed like that all night, standing in front of the sink, Matt’s black apple hair brushing my cheeks, heart
thumping, lucky and forgetful….


“What’s taking so long?” Frankie asked, running up the deck stairs outside. “Come on, Anna. Presents.”

I pulled away from Matt just before she pressed her face against the screen to peek inside.

“Yeah, birthday girl,” Matt mocked. “What’s taking so long?”

“Be right out, Frank.” I gave him my Don’t You Dare face. “I just need to change.”

“Can I come?” Matt whispered against my neck, causing a shiver. Or an earthquake.

I suddenly remembered all the baths we’d taken together as little kids, before we got old enough for it to be dangerous. The
memories seemed different now. More vulnerable. Raw. My face went hot, and I had to look away.


“So?” Matt pinched my arm as Frankie headed back to the picnic table.

“So you’re lucky Frankie didn’t see that,” I said, not sure I meant it. “And you have to go change your own shirt. In your own room. I mean, over —”


“Mmm-hmm.” Matt grabbed my hand and pulled me in tight for another kiss, his other hand on my cheek, quick and intense. He
pressed his body against mine in the same configuration of hip bones, stomachs, and ribs as the first time. I pressed back,
wanting to wrap myself around him, anchor myself to him. It was all that kept me from floating away like a tiny, iridescent
bubble.


“Do you think she saw us?” I asked when we finally stopped. “Nah.” He laughed, still holding my hand. “Don’t worry. It’s our
secret.”


Alone in my bedroom, I shoved my frosting shirt into a plastic bag to deal with later. I rinsed my face and hair with cool
water, but my legs wouldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t catch my breath. The brain that was conspicuously absent for the kitchen
sink rendezvous was suddenly hyperaware, modeling scenarios and impossible questions that were about twelve-and-a-half minutes
too late:


What now?

Will this kill our friendship?

What about our parents?

Does he like me, or was he just messing around?

Will it happen again?

How do we tell Frankie?

Why did he say it’s our secret?

Made-up answers raced through my mind, and I had to close my eyes and count to fifty to calm down. Fifteen minutes after everything
changed was too soon to start obsessing about the what-ifs of the future.


Back outside, warm and giddy in front of Dad’s bonfire, I spent the rest of the night not touching Matt, not laughing too
hard at his jokes, not looking at him, afraid that someone would read the thoughts written on my face. After the fire had
faded to a soft glow and I’d opened all the gifts, it was time for the Perinos to head back to their house next door. I said
my goodbyes and thank-yous to Frankie, Uncle Red, and Aunt Jayne and looked at my feet when it was Matt’s turn.


“Thanks for the cake,” I said. “And the journal.” He knew how much I loved my diaries — as much as he loved his books. It
was the best present ever. Well, second best.


“Happy birthday, Anna,” he said, picking me up and spinning me around in a giant hug, telling me with a wink that he’d see
me tomorrow, just like he’d done on a thousand other nights. “Write something for me tonight.”


To everyone else he was regular Matt, the big brother part of the inseparable Anna-Frankie-Matt triangle, the boy who used
to bury our Barbies in the backyard and read us adventure stories when we couldn’t sleep. But to me, he’d become something
else as soon as he pulled my hair at the kitchen sink. Something other. Something that would never be the way it was before.


You awake? Matt’s text message lit up the phone on my night table later that night.

Ya.

Of course I was awake. In the hours since the party, my heart hadn’t slowed its furious beat. Sleep was out of the question.

Meet me out back, k?

K. 5 min.

I pulled on a sweatshirt, brushed my teeth, and put my hair in a loose ponytail. I started to dig for my eyeliner but decided
it would look a little strange (and obvious) if I showed up behind the back deck at one in the morning in full makeup. Instead,
I opted for hair down with a little mango-flavored lip gloss — casual but cute.


It wasn’t sneaking out, exactly. I mean, it was my own backyard, and if I saw any of the upstairs lights go on, I could duck
back into the kitchen and pretend I was snagging the last piece of cake salvaged from the birthday battle.


Matt was waiting by the stairs when I tiptoed out the back door. My bare feet hadn’t even touched the dewy grass when he pulled
me against the side of the house.


“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, kissing me again, this time with a purpose and intensity I’d never seen from him
in the long history of our friendship. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck as his mouth pressed against mine.
I must have been shaking, because after a minute he stopped and asked if I was cold.


“Just — surprised,” I said. “And happy. And scared.” It was barely a whisper, but I hoped it communicated everything I was
thinking. Scared of getting what I wished for. Scared of hurting Frankie. Scared of losing my two best friends. Scared of
undoing everything the three of us had known and loved since we were kids.


“Me, too,” he whispered, breathing hard. “Anna, did you ever —”

Before he could finish, a square of light fell on the grass from Mom and Dad’s bathroom window upstairs.

“I have to go,” I said. “Tomorrow?”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him, a whisper brushing against my cheek. “Tomorrow.”

Then he kissed my neck, his lips alighting on the skin below my ear like a spark from the bonfire that burned long after I
crept back to my bed.


He called the next day.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” I was still dazed from the late-night backyard encounter and kiss-induced insomnia.

“Frankie and I are going for ice cream. Come over?”

Frankie.

“Sure,” I said. “But Matt, should we — I mean, did you say anything to her?”

“Not — exactly.”


Does that mean he doesn’t think it’s a big deal? That we can just go for ice cream like any other day, like it didn’t happen?
Like it won’t happen again?

“I want to, Anna,” he said, reading my mind. “It’s just — she’s my little sister. And you’re our best friend. And now you’re
my — I mean — we need to look out for her, you know?”


And now I’m your what? “I know,” I said. “Don’t worry, Anna. I’ll tell her, okay? Just let me think about the best way to do it.”


“Okay.”

“Promise me? Promise you won’t say anything?”


“Don’t worry.” I laughed. “It’s our secret, right?”

I spent an hour getting ready, obsessing over hair and clothes and things that never used to matter so much. I couldn’t calm
the butterflies in my stomach about seeing Matt again, about feeling his lips on me, about telling Frankie, about the rest
of the summer, about the rest of always.


When I first got to their house, I climbed in the backseat of Matt’s car and avoided eye contact with him, worried either
that he’d already told Frankie, or that he hadn’t. We rode the whole way not looking at each other, Frankie chattering in
the front seat about their upcoming California trip, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the whole world had changed the
night before. It wasn’t until we got inside Custard’s Last Stand and Frankie forgot her purse in the car that we finally locked
eyes.


“Hey, you,” Matt said gently, smiling at me. I opened my mouth to say something important, something witty and charming, but
in the new dawn of our relationship, where everything suddenly mattered, I was tongue-tied.


“Hey,” I said lamely.

Matt jangled his keys and kicked at the floor with his foot. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, tracing a line across
my forehead.


Before I could invent something better than “Last night at the party and behind the house and I wish you would just shut up
and kiss me again,” Frankie was back with her purse, pressing us to make the difficult decision between the banana split and
the fudge brownie sundae.


Sparing Frankie any further agony over the ice-cream selections, Matt ordered one of each, along with a caramel sundae for
me, and we shared everything, fifty-fifty-fifty, just like always.


As Frankie shoved a spoonful of brownie into her brother’s mouth, laughing her soft Frankie laugh, a flash of guilt squeezed
my stomach. Until the night before, there were no secrets between the three of us but the ones I kept for myself — my silent,
formerly unrequited feelings for Matt. I could hardly look at him without my insides tying up. Please, please let’s tell her.


“Listen,” Matt said. We were out back under the stars again, sneaking out after everyone else had gone to sleep. “You know
she needs to hear it from me. I think the best time for me to tell her is when we’re in California. It’s only a few weeks
away, and then I’ll have some time alone with her to tell her about everything. It’ll give her a chance to let it sink in.”


The thought of keeping something so important, so intense, so unbelievable from my best friend for even one more day almost
killed me. Never before in our shared history did I hide so much as a passing crush — she knew everything. She’d been there
for every tragedy, every celebration, every embarassing moment. She’d been with me when I got my neon green braces in fourth
grade. With me in seventh grade when I walked out of the school bathroom past the entire lunch line with my skirt tucked into
my tights. With me when Jimmy Cross and I kissed during the eighth grade assembly and got hauled off to the principal’s office.
Birthdays, dreams, fears, laughs, obsessions — everything. Inside her head, Frankie had the map to my entire life, and I to
hers. I hated that my feelings for Matt were uncharted and unmapped like a secret buried treasure.


But he was Frankie’s brother. I trusted him. And when he took my face in his hands and breathed my name across my lips, I
knew that I would keep my promise forever.


Days passed quickly into weeks, Matt and I perpetuating our “just friends” charade as best we could in front of Frankie and
our families. So many times during family dinners or casual visits in our adjoining backyards, I wanted to end the charade,
to throw my arms around him in front of everyone and just make it known. I censored every look I gave him, every word, every
touch, certain that I’d mess up and someone would find out.


But no one did.

To our parents and Frankie, we were the same best friends as always, innocent and inseparable. Whenever we could steal a few
minutes alone, that’s when we became the “other,” the charged-up thing that kept me up at night, afraid of falling so fast,
afraid of losing, afraid it wouldn’t last once Frankie found out. We stole too-short kisses in the front hallway, shared knowing
and devious looks across the dinner table when we weren’t being watched. We snuck out every night behind the house to watch
for shooting stars and whisper about life, about our favorite books, about the meaning of songs and old memories and what
would happen after Frankie knew. It wasn’t the topics themselves that changed — we’d talked about all of those things before.
But now, there was a new intensity. An urgency to know as much as we could, to fit as much as possible into our final nights
before Matt revealed the secret.


On their last day before the trip, after they’d finished packing, the three of us went back to Custard’s for an ice-cream
send-off. I ordered the mint chocolate-chip brownie sundae, Frankie got a dipped cone, and Matt got a strawberry shake. Matt
and Frankie were buoyant, floating on the anticipation of their upcoming trip, carrying me along in the current of their excitement.
I couldn’t wait for them to get to Zanzibar, to their summer house, down to the beach where Matt would tell Frankie about
us and she’d smile and laugh and hug him and everything would be perfect again.


“It will be fine, Anna. You’ll see,” he whispered to me when Frankie went up to the counter for more napkins. “. . .