Summer Love (A Young Adult Romance)

By Alice Sisman

Summer Love is a Young Adult contemporary romance about falling in love with your best friend.

"Every time he calls me a friend, I die a little inside. A dagger to my heart."

"Falling in love with my best friend . . . there is only one of two outcomes: either we'll be happy forever or strangers later.

Haleigh Simmons meets sexy foreign exchange student, Mika Harkett, when she attends a high school Summer Program at the University. Mika seeks out Haleigh's help with his English paper and before Haleigh knows it, she finds herself tutoring Mika and spending the entire summer with him. Haleigh soon realizes that she's stuck being Mika's best friend when she is falling in love with him more and more each day. And what starts out as an innocent friendship slowly turns into something not so innocent by the end of the next summer.

A Young Love contemporary romance with an edge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Sisman
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301264933

Book preview

A Young Adult Romance Novel

by Alice Sisman

Copyright © 2013 Alice Sisman

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

Karsynn and I have absolutely no sense of direction. Although we arrive on campus fifteen minutes early, it takes us an eternity to locate our classroom. We flounce around like two headless chickens, dodging through hallways, trying to orient ourselves.

Light years later . . . we find it! Phew!

Wheezing and panting, we creep into class. As I cut across the floor, this dreamy looking guy catches my eye.

He’s smolderingly gorgeous. He’s so incredibly hot that clouds seem to part, and he radiates from within like Helios the Sun God.

I guess Greek mythology serves a purpose after all.

I even hear a choir of angels singing.

And a string quartet playing, with several harps strumming fluidly in the background.

Miraculously, despite the fact that I’m lost in my own ancient Grecian musical odyssey, and in my own thoughts of the Sun God, I somehow manage to make my way to the back of the classroom, straight into the empty seat right next to him.

Score!

Karsynn plops down next to me, oblivious to his beauty. She only fancies guys with all the B’s—big, butch, burly, buffed, and with bulging biceps a.k.a. beefcakes extraordinaire.

I prefer my guys lean and tall, with sculpted features. Karsynn calls them pretty boys, but I beg to differ. They’re just more evolved and look less like apes.

Class, a petite, pasty blond guy calls our attention. I think everyone is here now. I’ll be passing out this sheet of paper. Please write your name down so I know you’re present. My name is Glenn Bland and welcome to creative writing class. Now just in case some you have wandered into the wrong class, this is Writing Expository Prose 101.

I have no idea what transpires after that as all my energy is focused on that piece of paper. I watch it pass from hand to hand, and finally into the hands of the Greek God.

After jotting down his name, he turns to me. Here, he says, arm outstretched.

Thanks. I reach for the sheet of paper.

For a brief second, our eyes lock and I feel myself going weak in the knees.

Swoon. He’s even better looking up close.

He has gorgeous green eyes, as green as the Chicago River on St. Patrick’s Day.

Before writing down my name, I scan the paper for his . . . Mika Harkett.

Hmm, sounds foreign. I wonder where he’s from.

Karsynn nudges me. Pay attention. Be a sponge. Soak it in.

She’s right. It’s only our fist day at our Summer Program and Spudsville University. Last year, Karsynn and I had enrolled for the program, thinking it’d be a great way to experience college life while we’re in high school.

And right now, I’m not so sure if this Summer Program’s such good idea after all. Quite frankly, I could be snoozing in bed right now.

But here I am in a college prep class, up at the crack of dawn.

Joy.

Mid-way through class, I find myself yawning appallingly, trying hard to cover my gaping mouth. Mr. Bland’s voice is so soothing . . . hush and velvety, like a lullaby. Minutes later, I’m dozing off and Karsynn is leaning against me, miles away in snooze land.

Her mouth hangs open and drool seeps out, sopping my hair.

Gently, I extricate myself from the drool monster and rub my temples. Oh God. How the hell am I supposed to survive through several grueling weeks of Mr. Bland’s mind numbing lectures?

Then out of nowhere, Mr. Bland clears his throat. Now if you’ll get together in groups of five, we’re going to do some fun exercises to wake you guys up a little.

I jolt Karsynn awake from her siesta. She yawns and stretches out like a Siamese cat. What’s going on? she asks groggily.

Groups, we need to get into groups.

Mika turns to me. Can we join you guys?

Sure! I flash him a bright smile.

Our team huddles in a circle, and I notice the other girl for the first time. She’s a gorgeous, willowy, blond überbabe, oozing the sex appeal of a Victoria’s Secret model.

Wait. I think they’re called Victoria’s Secret Angels.

We make our introductions.

Karsynn just grunts her name and I say coolly, I’m Haleigh.

Mika, he says with a casual nod.

And in a girly, high-pitched ring, the Victoria’s Secret Angel chimes, My name iz Ingeborg.

Whoa! She sings like a nightingale, but what a name!

Meanwhile, Karsynn is making a highly unsuccessful attempt to suppress a snort.

I studiously ignore her, trying my best to be gracious to our newfound friends.

I’d like to join you guys, too, if that’s okay, comes a friendly voice. He pulls up a chair next to me.

Of course. I slide my chair to the left to make room for him.

I’m Truong, by the way, he says.

How do I pronounce your name? I ask politely. I want to make sure I say it right.

Truong smiles pleasantly. "It’s like the word trunk, you know, like tree trunk, but with a ‘g’ at the end instead. Or, you can just call me Trunk."

My gaze shifts down to his scrawny chicken legs. He looks severely underfed. All skin and bones. A bag of bones.

Calling him Twig would be more suitable than Trunk. So I decide to pass on Trunk and try his real name.

"Okay, Truong, I say, testing the waters. How’s that?"

You nailed it. He beams like a beacon. Then a flash of recognition crosses his face. You girls go to Spusville High, don’t you?

Yep. I nod. Me and Karsynn do.

I’d thought you looked familiar. Truong smiles. You probably don’t recognize me. I’ve just recently transferred from Taterville High.

Really? says Ingeborg, brightening. I go to Taterville High, too.

I decide to include the Sun God in our conversation. Thus far, he has been a silent oracle. What about you, Mika? Where do you go to school?

Spudsville High, he says with a faint accent.

Really? This takes me by surprise. How come I’ve never seen you around school?

I’m a foreign exchange student, he says. I don’t start ’til this fall.

Foreign exchange student, eh? Truong echoes. Where from?

Belgium, he replies.

Karsynn pipes in with her big mouth, Hey, you guys make the best chocolates ever! She pauses for a beat and then adds, Or is it waffles? Suddenly she has an epiphany and answers her own dim witted, asinine question, Oh, I know! You guys make the best Belgian chocolate waffles!

I make an apologetic grimace.

God. Karsynn can be so embarrassing at times.

I turn to the überbabe. Where are you from, Ingeborg?

I live in Taterville but I’m originally from Pazardzhik, vhich iz in zouthvest Bulgaria, she singsongs sweetly.

Instinctively, I shoot Karsynn-the-loose-cannon a quelling look.

Uh-oh. I can almost see the cogs turning in her brain. Before I can intercept, Karsynn blurts, Bulgur wheat!

Ingeborg squints and shoots Karsynn a peculiar look.

Thankfully, Mr. Bland stops by our group and briskly hands out five sheets of paper. Guys, I want you all to work together and figure out these brain teasers.

After taking a minute to study it, I glance at my teammates. Okay, first one—Hamlet Words. Anybody?

Karsynn yawns and bats her eyelids like she’s not remotely interested. I’m pretty sure she knows the answer but she just can’t be bothered.

I, on the other hand, have a guy I want to impress.

I need to bowl Mika over with my wit and intelligence.

I jerk my head at Ingeborg, but she looks lost in space.

Truong stares at me with a big question mark on his face. No clue!

Mika shrugs. Sorry, I don’t know the answer either.

Okay then, how about . . . a play on words? I eye my teammates, trying to gauge their responses.

They nod approvingly, and so I jot down the answer.

I move on to the next teaser. "Second one. Hmm, there’s just nothing there."

I get three blank stares and another big yawn from Karsynn.

"Let’s see, how about . . . a blank slate? Or tabula rasa?" I suggest.

Ingeborg gives me a puzzled look, as if I had just been speaking ancient Sanskrit. Vhat did you say? Did you speakity Spanish?

"Tabula rasa? I repeat. No, it’s Latin for ‘blank slate’."

Ingeborg shakes her head. Szorry, I don’t gezt it.

It’s the concept of a young mind that hasn’t yet been affected by experience, I find myself explaining.

Yep, learned that in my AP psych class, Karsynn quips with a scholarly nod. The whole nurture versus nature thingamajig.

Karsynn, I say in a teasing voice. Why thank you for gracing us with your presence.

She ignores my jab and tilts her chin at Ingeborg. "Do you want to hear more about this whole tabula rasa theory?"

No! I say a little too quickly. Let’s get back to the exercise, shall we? I coax, giving her a tight-lipped smile. If I allow Karsynn to go on with her psychobabble, we’ll never see the light of day.

Karsynn wants to be a Psychology major, which is pretty ironic since she’s quite possibly the nuttiest girl I know. Her nickname in school is ‘psycho-bitch,’ because freely doles out her psych advice to anyone who’d listen. And as her BFF, more often than not, I am forced to listen.

Seriously, I can’t wait for Karsynn to get her Psych diploma so I can start calling her a certified lunatic.

I steer Karsynn back to the task at hand, and in ten minutes, we’re done!

All around us, the other teams are still hard at work.

Haleigh, you’re pretty good at this, Mika remarks.

I flip my hand in a oh-think-nothing-of-it gesture, but inside, I’m basking in his praise.

Twenty minutes later, Mr. Bland goes over all the answers with the class, and our team slays the competition.

For the grand prize, we are each awarded a Kit Kat bar.

Mika takes a bite out of his candy bar and I catch him watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.

I look away.

After class, Karsynn confronts me. All right, Miss Flirty Pants, what’s going on with you and Mr. Belgium?

Nothing, I say innocently.

Karsynn is too perceptive. Haleigh! Don’t play dumb with me.

My face twists into a Cheshire cat grin. I find myself bubbling and fizzing with joy.

Just then, I spot Mika and Ingeborg holding hands as they make their way across the parking lot. They look intimate. He whispers something in her ear and she laughs, nuzzling against his chest.

POP! The bubbles burst and the smile drains from my face.

I guess Mr. Belgium is taken, Karsynn states the obvious.

I stare forlornly at the beautiful couple. "Guess so. Anyway, who am I kidding? I can never compete with Ingeborg. She’s so organic-ly and rustic-ly beautiful. Like a willowy model strolling barefoot through a field of wildflowers. Me? I’m just plain ol’ boring Haleigh."

You’re cute! she bleats. You are. You look like a pretty Dutch milkmaid. In clogs. Milking a cow in a red barn.

Thanks Karsynn, I say with a trace of sarcasm. I feel so much better now knowing that I look like a dowdy milkmaid.

My gaze follows the couple and I catch Mika planting a quick kiss on Ingeborg’s bee-stung lips. She’s a knockout.

"Well at least you have a prettier name than her. Jeez Louise, Ingeborg? What the hell were her parents thinking? They were naming their daughter for Pete’s sake, not an android. C’mon, what’d they name her brother? Cyborg?"

It’s probably a pretty name in Europe . . . just lost in translation here.

Suddenly, Karsynn lowers her voice and her demeanor turns dark and sinister. "Bwah ha ha ha. My name is Igor Draganov, descendant of Ingeborg Draganov and I VILL BREAK YOU!" she intones in a heavy Russian accent.

Like mean schoolgirls, we explode into a fit of giggles.

Karsynn drapes her arm around my shoulder. You know, I’ve always wanted to say that.

We set off down the pavement, tripping merrily over tiny cracks on the sidewalk. Ah . . . thank goodness for best friends.

Chapter Two

The next several weeks on campus seem to fly by. Mostly all the high school students are lumped together in the same curricular. My course load includes: Writing Expository Prose, Critical Reading and Study Skills, Art History and Architecture, Introduction to Material Science and Nanotechnology, Investigations in Theoretical and Experimental Physics, Mathematical Boot Camp for Budding String Theorists . . . among many others.

Karsynn, Mika, Truong, Ingeborg and I continue to sit in the same row, and the five of us have developed an easygoing, relaxed sort of comradeship.

In spite of myself, Ingeborg has quickly grown on me. She can be a tad whiny at times, but I can’t begrudge her. She’s sugar and spice, and everything nice, with an extra heavy dose of naiveté.

I’ve come to understand why Mika is completely smitten by her.

Because I surely am.

And Mika has been a huge help when it comes to math. He picks up all the course material in a snap and blitzes through the exams.

As for me, I barely scrape through. I hate exams.

I hate the pressure of cramming everything in, and having to spit it all out at a moment’s notice. So sitting next to Mika has come in handy. Whenever I get stuck on a math problem or if a concept completely eludes me, all I have to do is turn to Mika, and he graciously obliges.

Every day that I’m in class, I’m keenly aware of his presence, my heart having a tendency to leap whenever I watch him at odd moments of the day. Like right now.

Abruptly, I’m jolted out of my reverie when I hear someone in class calling his name.

Dammit. I’m falling hard for this guy.

But there’s no harm in just looking. Right?

Sometime later, my eyes gravitate back and I find myself studying his killer cheekbones. I’m being extra discreet, when suddenly he looks up and catches my eye.

Flustered, I focus all my attention on Mr. Zimmerman.

I need to put a kibosh on this. I must stop obsessing over this guy.

Pssh! Who needs boys?

They’re just extra baggage, merely placed here on earth to help women procreate.

"I am a woman of substance," I chant in my head.

After class, Mika disarms me with his sexy, boyish grin. See ya, Haleigh.

Bye! I say with feigned indifference, but inside my heart is lurching into somersaults. Team China Olympic acrobatic flips.

Sigh. I certainly don’t need a man, but I’d be much happier if I had one.

Especially one like Mika.

The next day, Karsynn and I bounce into class, twisting and turning in our Reebok Easytone butt-shaping shoes.

I can definitely feel a pull in my calves when I walk, Karsynn keenly observes.

Uh-huh, I concur. My hamstrings are burning and I think my abs, thunder thighs and booty muscles have tightened. These shoes are sculpting my badonkadonk beautifully.

Amen sista! Karsynn exclaims, clenching and unclenching her buttocks. I THINK OUR BUTTS LOOK PRETTY PERKY! WE’LL HAVE JIGGLE-FREE BIKINI BUMS IN NO TIME!

Several heads turn and there is a collective snort of laughter.

Thanks Megaphone Karsynn! I hiss under my breath. For broadcasting it all the way to Machu Picchu.

Everybody listen up, Mr. Bland calls our attention. Today, we’re going to have some fun with Shakespeare. For this exercise, I’d like you all to hurl Shakespearean insults at one another.

Turning to face Karsynn, I address her in a frou-frou voice, O’ how darest thou leave me hangeth! Gird thy loins, drink thee from a poison challis, clean thine waxy ears and grow unsightly warts, thou errant boil-brained barnacle.

Karsynn fires back, Forsooth say I, be those panties or pantaloons? Trip on thy sword, rip thy pansy pantaloons, swim thee with leeches and sit thee on a spit of blood, thou artless beetle-headed clotpole!

Phui! I say. What wanton debauchery! Truong exclaims, puffing his chest. At the King’s behest, I shall see thee hang’d! Thou treasonous, bawdy, besluberring flax wench!

Mika raises an imaginary sword. Thou dost intrude. Get thee gone! Thou goatish, gorbellied, wayward flap-mouthed, fat-kidneyed maggot pie.

Phwoar! Kiss my codpiece! Who knew Shakespeare could be so cool?

And next . . . Mr. Bland snaps his fingers to get our full attention. We shall go over some descriptive writing exercises. Now, I’d like you to start with this sentence: My heart is thumping like . . . After a brief pause, he says, Now who can give me some examples?

A girl in the front row raises her hand. My heart is thumping like the wing beats of a humming bird.

Another hand flies up. My heart is thumping like a front load washer with an off-balanced load.

Those are some good ones. Mr. Bland nods encouragingly. Now I’d like you to get those creative juices flowing and put them down on paper.

I flip open my notebook. Nibbling my pen, I stare at the blank page for several seconds, marinating in my creative juices. Then I scribble down:

My heart is thumping like the things that go thump in the night.

I glance over to my right. Karsynn had written down:

My heart is thumping like a thumpy thingamajig that goes thumperty, thump, thump, thump.

Glancing over to my left, I see that Truong had jotted down:

My heart is thumping like Thumper the Rabbit.

Wow! Such creative souls we are, weaving words of deep significance.

When I peer over Mika’s shoulder, I’m somewhat surprised to find that his notebook is curiously blank.

After class, Mika falls into step beside me. Hey, Haleigh.

Hey, I say, tucking some loose strands of hair behind my ear.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot. Are you free tomorrow? For lunch?

Um, I should be. It comes out like a frog’s croak. Why?

Can you meet me in the cafeteria? Say one o’clock?

Sure, I say quietly.

Awesome. He beams at me. I’ll see you there!

As Mika strides off, I stand there for a moment, scattering my thoughts to the four winds of heaven.

Did he just ask me out on a date?

Nah. I give myself a mental shake. Don’t kid yourself, Haleigh.

Chapter Three

Hurricane Katrina has struck again! Karsynn surveys the pile of clothes strewn across my room.

Looking helplessly around, I cry, I have nothing to wear.

Karsynn seizes me by the shoulders. Look, your skinny jeans and grandma top are fine.

Grandma? I glance down at my blousy, ethereal Leifsdottir top. It’s laced with ruffles, gathered with ruching, and stitched with tiny, iridescent rosettes. This is vintage inspired, I cry in an injured voice.

"Po-tay-toh, Po-tah-toe, she tuts. You say