Heartsand

By Christy Howitt

This page turner really brought me back to the time when I craved the summer heat, the beach and relished in all its adventures of friendship, love and lust, Tiffany Wilson, Writer/Editor, Port Elgin beach

Tori has spent every summer of her life in Port Drift, the Lake Huron beach town where her parents tiny cottage sits, inherited from her grandparents a generation before. Every summer there was always Marc, right across the street from her, in his grand white house. He was always her biggest competitor, her closest childhood friend. But this summer they are sixteen and Tori sees the differences immediately. There are new attractions now, feelings you arent allowed to have when you are one friend of four. When there is Aidan and Sophia who have also grown up with Tori and Marc, who represent a childhood of traditions and unspoken rules. Can Tori really cross into the new world of thrilling first loves and still make it back to the safety of her childhood?
Join the four friends in Heartsand, the debut young adult novel by Christy Howitt, as they cross that invisible line between childhood and adolescence, as they come face to face with exciting new love, family secrets, heartbreak and betrayal, things that will make them question how strong their friendships really are and what exactly is worth protecting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524607579

Christy Howitt

Christy Howitt lives in Kitchener, Ontario. She has a B.A. in English Literature from Wilfrid Laurier University. She enjoys tea, kayaking and shopping sprees. She makes the trip to Lake Huron, to the beach, as often as she can during those much-awaited summer days.

Book preview

© 2016 Christy Howitt. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/25/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0759-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0758-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0757-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016907378

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Twenty Nine

Thirty

Thirty One

Thirty Two

Thirty Three

Thirty Four

Thirty Five

Thirty Six

Thirty Seven

Thirty Eight

Thirty Nine

Forty

Forty One

Forty Two

One

43812.png

To Edith and Charlotte who taught me the love of story-telling and soap operas, these words are for you.

43817.png

Prologue

YOU COULD SAY THE water changes everything. It changes everything partly because it doesn’t change itself. In Port Drift, Ontario, the little Lake Huron beach town where my cottage sits, this is true. It’s the truest thing. Every July I come back for the whole summer and the water is there, same as I left it. The boardwalk, the shops, Grays restaurant, all there, the same as always. And that is the marvelous thing.

My name is Sophia Iversen, I am sixteen and I like to believe in places. Everyone has a place. Mine is Port Drift beach, just down the hill from my cottage, where the sun will always find you and it doesn’t matter who you were in the winter as long as you show up with your new summer self. As long as you arrive on that first bursting Canada Day weekend and stay until that last sunset of the Summer Drift Fair, that last weekend of August.

Those are the rules, the rules that have been maintained throughout a childhood of summers with Tori, Marc and Aidan, my three summertime best friends.

That’s what we do, that’s what we’ve always done, ever since we were babies, living houses away from each other, eating sticky watermelon slices under that old red beach umbrella. The parents were always solidly there in the beginning, introducing us to the water, the waves that could change everything. They chased and followed, scared when we got too close. But mostly it was Miranda, Aidan’s mother, who watched us all in the shaded realms of their backyard, a school teacher turned summertime toddler master, showing us what was what.

We’re sixteen now. We’re the same old four friends who’ve shared everything from first swims to first teeth. Tori, the reckless one, always daring you to do something that’s sure to steal your breath away. She’s the most daring, yes, but also the most beautiful. Marc, he’s the fastest runner, the star of the baseball team, but he’s graceful about it, always. And Aidan, oh my gosh, Aidan will make you laugh so hard your stomach will hurt. He will also knock you flat with a few strums of his guitar. Then there’s me, Sophia. I’m just Sophia, the one always taking care of everybody else. But I wouldn’t ask for it any other way.

Summer, it was always ours together.

But this year, this was the summer of transition. There our beach sat, the same as ever, the same beach that’d seen braces and tantrums and long heated games of Uno. And, yet, there we were with the nerve to go about altering everything. Our story began a long time ago, yes, back when we were small, but in some ways, this year was really the start of it all.

Because falling in love, it changes everything.

One

SHE TRIED TO PICTURE his face. She pressed her memory and forced it to its limits trying to recall the fine lines of his face, the exact shade of his eyes, the way his mouth moved when he smirked at her. She thought of him and tried to see all the ways she knew him. The way he wore those old beach shorts, slung low on his hips, that same old pair that survived summer after summer. The way his baseball cap sat backwards on his head, allowing small glimpses of sandy blond-brown hair to show. The way he laughed, a laugh that started out soft and thoughtful but grew and expanded. His was a breathy laugh, and he was the only boy she knew who laughed like that.

She knew these things. She knew the ways of him. But in her mind, something always stopped her from truly seeing them, seeing him. It was just like sixteen-year-old Tori Lands to know something her whole life only to forget it the moment it receded out of sight. If it wasn’t right before her, it quite possibly didn’t exist. She knew she was like this with most things. She doesn’t focus her attention on the right things, Mrs. Steeler had avidly proclaimed in last fall’s student/parent interviews. It took great effort for Tori to hold back her eye-rolling, to stop from shaking Mrs. Steeler’s bony, chemistry-loving shoulders. Maybe, Tori focused her attention on all the right things. Of course she did.

She thought of him again.

It was hard for her to see him fully in memory because, frankly, she tried too hard. She felt like she was always trying. She thought of him, brought along her memories of him in everything she did. Through those dull beige high school hallways and to her locker where that same old photo hung, clipped to her purple magnet mirror. The one of him and her other summer friends. Because along with him, there were others she missed throughout the year. Others who were summertime. And summertime did not mean her high school friends, even her best friend Eden Hanning was not a part of it all. It did not mean her empty little home in Waterloo, Ontario or even anything in its proximity, for that matter. It meant Sophia, Marc and Aidan. Her cottage and their cottages, the pier and the lake, the sand, the freedom and the air. The air, there was always lots of that.

Port Drift.

It was the place she spent the year waiting for.

Port Drift but also him. In a way, Port Drift meant him. They were one and the same.

She was thinking of him again. She had been at Eden Hanning’s latest party. She was floating with the memory of last summer as Eden introduced her to Ronnie Mitchell, Ronnie, star of the lacrosse team. Eden had said Ronnie was interested in a way that was supposed to mean something. But Tori’s summertime memories were challenging and reproachful that night and interested didn’t seem to mean much to her. It was a sad thing to see Ronnie Mitchell move on to the next girl. Tori didn’t know memories could do that. Could memories play the third wheel, the jealous-wanting-protective third wheel?

The thing was he wasn’t a third wheel and he wasn’t jealous and he wasn’t even there that night. She’d thought it all up. Old memories and new wants could make an unreliable mix. They weren’t together, they weren’t a couple. She and him. She hadn’t even seen him since last September when they were closing up the cottages. She talked to him once on the phone this past February. She texted him only occasionally. But still. Her memories were powerful.

Her mind was on Pine Lane, the dusty road that led to her small, weather-worn cottage, the road that led to his cottage also, that day in the museum. She liked old things, she did. And the Royal Ontario Museum held a lot of them. But she was distracted. It was the last school trip of the year, it was June and vacation lingered teasingly before her. She was jumpy and eager and her chest kept swelling in a way that made her want to sprint laps around the exhibits. The air felt charged and suddenly she realized why.

While the guide named Oliver cheered on about ancient fossilized remains, Tori’s idea, her memory of him, changed. Not guide Oliver, but him. Maybe not change so much as evolved, grew, updated itself. She was creating a whole new memory to add to the collection. Her ideas were all shifting with new information. She could now see the things she’d tried desperately to picture. She could see it all as if every one of his qualities were screaming out at her. She hadn’t intended on it, she hadn’t gotten on the bus to Toronto that morning thinking, Hey, he’ll be there today, for sure. Pack a little lip gloss, would you? No, it was all unexpected and beautifully rare, catching that lengthy glimpse of Marc right there next to the ancient forks and bowls.

She thought about that, about the surprise of seeing him, the joy of watching him without Marc noticing her. She knew he was more than an idea then, more than a memory, much more. He was real. And he was there. Out of all the times throughout the school year, this time he was really there. Her imaginings had not done him justice; not even close. Because in her mind, her imaginings couldn’t quite capture the effect of his presence, the effect he had on her. It was something too large for memory.

She recognized the familiarity of him at once. But also the ways he had changed. It seemed like opening your presents before your birthday, cheating in a way, unnatural but exhilarating. Oh-so-exhilarating. She wasn’t supposed to see the changes in him until Canada Day, until summer officiale. It seemed strange to catch Marc early and in the real world.

She needed to slip away from the group to keep her eyes on him. Arm clutched through Eden’s, they lagged behind, remaining still, safely out of plain sight of the group of students behind them. He wasn’t looking her way. He didn’t see the ways she stared. Was that a good thing? She wanted him to see her! She wanted to echo the marble walls with his name. She wanted to sprint and tackle him in a spin-around hug like couples at the airport do in movies.

But she didn’t. Her lips were pressed down together. She was still and stillness was unusual for her. For the first time, she realized she was becoming obvious with her staring, not to him, but to others. A girl with a side braid was giving her that sarcastic, can I help you? look, but Tori didn’t care. Her eyes were elsewhere. She knew she had the upper-hand now because she had seen him.

Tori felt a strange new current pulse through her. It was unexpected, coming from the way Marc held his body, the new broadness in his shoulders and back. He was being the same old Marc, focused, intent on the words of their own wiry-haired guide, arms crossed across his body, oblivious to the female classmates that practically hung off him. Tori felt her cheeks burn. She wanted to grab his hand and sprint to Port Drift right from the ROM steps. Patience was so not a strong-suit of hers.

It was Eden who broke into her thoughts, preventing her from any irrational action. She raised a sculpted eyebrow in question.

"Do you know him or something?"

Did she know him? She knew that he was her best friend. Her best summertime friend. One of three. And you couldn’t have one without the other two. Those were the simple facts. Those were unspoken, unbreakable rules that lived and stood with their cottages.

Maybe, Tori shrugged nonchalantly, her long dark hair falling down her shoulders, turning to pull Eden away from that group and back to their own. Eden knew of Marc, but right then, she didn’t seem to be connecting the dots. And that was fine with Tori.

Tori also knew there was a reason it was always Marc she couldn’t properly remember. She knew the parade of change that was heading their way and also their powerlessness against it.

Tori left him, left Marc in his obliviousness. She couldn’t have him seeing her. She was allowed to skip out on the rules but not Marc. Marc liked the security of rules and predictability and she would give him that. For now. She would give him one last moment of grace before the joyful corrupting began. She had a week. They all had a week. After the whole school year, a week was nothing.

Two

SOPH, JUST SAY IT. I know you want to. We’ve both been thinking it all day.

Sophia Iversen’s eyes shot up from her tiny bottle of purple nail polish, her hand shaking under the last stoke with her wrong hand, smearing it all over her right thumb. She tried not to see the look on her best friend Tori Land’s face. Sophia rubbed the sides of her thumb with extra vigour, trying not to see that look. Her hands had purple all over. She was making quite a mess of things.

Sophia took a breath and said what they both weren’t saying.

That they aren’t coming? But being the Sophia that she was, ever-optimistic and overly-hopeful, she wouldn’t let herself believe the facts. Tori, of course they’re coming. She glanced down at her purple-tinged hands so Tori wouldn’t see through her claims. "When have the boys ever not come?"

Tori frowned, her long dark hair falling into her eyes, considering this.

Is this a new shade? I don’t remember it last year, she noted from the other side of Sophia’s backyard patio table, waving her hand and newly painted gold nails for Sophia to see. She’d stolen the bottle from Sophia’s hands ten minutes before though Tori never painted her nails, ever. I thought the tradition was red and white nails? Like you do every other Canada Day. Tori was already picking the gold shimmer from her nails, leaving it in flecks across the table. But hey, guess we’re not the only tradition-breakers here.

"Tori, they’re coming. And yes, that’s my new gold polish you’ve butchered." Sophia turned her own hands palm up on the glass-topped surface so she couldn’t see the mess she’d made of her nails. She pointed her toes under the table like a ballerina would, listening to the throaty roar of the Port Drift waters in the distance, just down the slope from her backyard. She half-expected the boys to pop around the side of her cottage, to sneak up on them with super-soakers or something stupid like that.

"All I’m saying is there are things we need to be doing, things that require all of us. All four of us. And I’m bored."

Painting our nails is not going to cut it?

Tori rolled her eyes.

It was just like Tori to be bored in a place where relaxation was at hand, where the day stretched open and free before them. Bored before summer holidays had really even started.

Tori groaned dramatically, her gray eyes now alight.

Did Aidan call you before he left? He usually does that, doesn’t he?

Sophia could feel the bright sun that peaked under the patio umbrella. Red and white surrounded the little beach town. The flags flew from the shops, maple-leaf towels were scattered along main beach. It was Canada Day, it was the long weekend, the official start to summer. But where were they? Where were Marc and Aidan? Of course their exams were done. Of course school was over. Sophia had done her research. She kept in touch and their mothers loved her. She knew when Marc had English and Aidan gym. But they were talking July now. They wouldn’t, they couldn’t, miss this.

But, unlike Tori, Sophia wasn’t impatient. She was just always better at waiting, better at sitting still than Tori. But, even so, there was this nervous energy bouncing around inside Sophia that kept her planted right there in her cushioned patio chair. Because a year had passed. A whole year since the last time she’d seen these boys. And text messages didn’t count. Their newsfeed pictures didn’t count either. They were sixteen now, all of them and sixteen was not thirteen, sixteen wasn’t even fifteen for that matter. She felt the hot breeze blow her hair about and it tickled her neck and cheek. She feared, after a year of changes, they would not love her the same. Tori, it seemed, had no such worry.

Actually Marc’s mom called before we left and talked to my dad. I wasn’t home but it couldn’t have been anything major, Sophia shrugged as Tori’s expression changed.

Oh.

Tori stood, scraping her chair legs against the stone-tiled patio unceremoniously. She had her left hand on her left hip, all legs and wavy beach hair, not possessing a self-conscious bone in her body. Sophia knew Tori didn’t worry that they wouldn’t love her same because they always did, summer after summer. Everyone did. And Tori didn’t really seem to see any of this, that was the marvelous thing.

Sophia stood too despite the wishy-washy feeling in her stomach. It didn’t matter that Tori had always been tall and pencil-thin, and Sophia had always been the small awkward one. It didn’t matter that Tori could run faster than Justin Mighthouse or play in the boys’ baseball league, looking stunning as she did it all. Tori was ready to jump right in and all Sophia could think about the recent expansion in her chest area, the new feel of her body and the strange new ways she was noticed. The things that held her back. Tori could have been best friends with any of the bleach blond girlie-girls in Port Drift– God knows how they’d tried to recruit her – but no, none of that mattered because Tori was their friend, Sophia’s friend and that mattered for something, mattered for a lot, actually.

She knew all these things, but standing there on her humid patio, with her smudged nails and purple tinged hands, it was hard to be so sure.

Come on, girlie, we’re going for a walk, Tori declared.

Sophia let Tori pull her across her backyard and around to the front of her house. She made pouty noises and dragged her feet but secretly liked when Tori took the lead. They walked, Sophia in her pink flip-flops and Tori bare-footed, down the street, away from Washers Point, the place where Sophia’s cottage sat, on the most northern end of the strip. The Washers cottages were grand and large and were placed atop a rocky hill that descended to the roughest strip of water. Below was a beach-front full of small rocks and minimal craggy sand.

They turned down Willow Road, their backs to the water now. They skipped over the death-step like they always did, that one crooked, raised piece of sidewalk that Aidan crashed his bike over when they were ten. He had broken his nose that day and Sophia could still see the tiny mark of that on his face if she really looked. Pine Lane was soon to their left but instead of turning down Tori’s street, they crossed the road and headed to the pier. They bought juice from a vendor at the outdoor grocery market and continued along the busy wooden-planked pier. At Grays, Aidan’s family restaurant, Tori began to walk backwards, now facing Sophia as they went. Sophia could just see her clocking some distracted unsuspecting beach kid who she couldn’t see coming. But she didn’t. She was graceful even backwards and it made Sophia laugh.

They left the pier and descended the grassy slope of hill that turned into main beach, the middle most popular stretch of soft sand. They dodged families and sun-umbrellas, toddlers running around in brimmed hats and diapers. They stuck their toes in the water and the slow waves were so cold, Sophia’s were almost numb. But it was the kind of cold you could get used to. The exciting kind. The kind that made your cheeks tingle. The water before them was amazingly large and bright and Sophia took a deep breath of the fresh Lake Huron air, watching a few stray sails out in the distance. People were in bathing suits all around them. The sun was beating hot but Sophia pulled her tank top securely down over her hips. Spring shyness was all over her. Her clothes were protection, but she knew, like always, that would soon wear off.

Tori had taken a step out of the water and Sophia knew what she was thinking. There were certain things they had all worked hard to uphold. Traditions meant everything in a place like this and they weren’t about to give up on them.

43765.png

His room was exactly the same as always. Aidan Grayson had thought about this room a lot over the past weeks. It had sucked leaving behind all his school buddies for the summer but this place was the one thing that could make up for it, the one thing that made it worth it. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. He dropped his bags to the floor with a thud and leaned his guitar case against the wall, his iPod blasting Radiohead in his ears. He saw the old band posters tacked to the wall, their paper edges curling at the corners. His same old desk, his same old bed with its soft blue summer comforter.

He flopped down on his bed, resting his arms up behind his head. He shut his eyes, his music blocking everything out. His drive up hadn’t been long, Wingham was not all that far from Port Drift, but two screaming four-year-olds could make it seem endless. He felt himself drifting off when the music suddenly stopped. He glanced down at his iPod. Dead. Great. Aidan groaned, ripping the ear-buds from his ears. The noises of his surroundings flooded back to him; the clatter of boxes and dishes, little feet pounding around and across the floors, his mother Miranda’s frazzled voice calling after his brother and sister. And then a thud of impact off his bedroom window. Thud. Thud, thud.

Aidan jumped up to see the smudges of dirt that had torpedoed the glass. He slid it open and stuck his head out just as more dirt came flying his way. He ducked just in time, catching sight of the yard below.

Hey! he called out but couldn’t help the goofy grin that formed on his face. Of course. Miranda’s going to kill you for that, you know, he yelled down to the laughing girls below. That’s like, window cleaning duty for a month.

Your dad said we could! the small, strawberry blond girl called out.

Get outside now, Grayson! the taller, dark-haired girl shouted, hands on her hips.

Aidan didn’t waste another second. He turned from the open window and bounded down the stairs almost running head first into his mother.

Jesus, Aid, slow down, she exclaimed, her dark red hair growing large in the heat and commotion, one grocery bag in each hand. He glanced guiltily at the bags on the floor, the ones that still needed unpacking. Miranda caught his look and sighed. Go see your friends, she exhaled, sweat glistening on her forehead. Just take the monsters with you.

Aidan put his hands to his mouth like a speaker-phone and made his voice sound funny like a sports announcer. Jake! Em! Train’s leaving!

They bounded at him full-force, like trains themselves, but he was quicker, grabbing each by the waist, carrying them football style out the front door. They squirmed and screamed the whole way.

Where is your father, anyway? he heard Miranda say as he left the house. Apparently telling the girls to throw dirt chunks at my window, he thought with a smile. He made his way over to Tori and Sophia, a twin in each arm.

Dirt? Really? How subtle of you. Doorbells exist, you know. he smirked, his eyebrows raised, seeing how very pleased the girls were with themselves. He felt something bubbling within him, that same old feeling, rising, as he studied them. Surprise, recognition and then not surprised at all to see them there with the sun reflecting down off their skin and hair. Like the in-between had never happened. Like there hadn’t been months where he hadn’t seen them.

Do you know what day it is? Tori asked, her hand still on her narrow hip. Because Soph and I seriously think you don’t know. You’re late, you know. Canada Day started hours ago.

He could see the corners of her lips turning up. She was serious but she was also teasing him.

Aidan pretended to be taken aback. Late? Impossible. When have I ever been late in my life?!

They shook their heads. He was late for everything.

Let us down!

Aid- an!

Jake and Emily giggled in his arms and finally he set them down, their bellies touching the grass.

Tori started tickling the twins on the ground. Look at you two. You used to be babies, you know.

Nooo! they cried out together, bounding to their feet.

Tori turned back to Aidan. Well, I’m glad you decided to show up. She smacked him playfully on the arm and took off after the twins, chasing them, their bare feet squeaking on the fresh grass.

It’s great to see you too, Tori! he yelled after her but she ignored him, catching Emily in her arms and swinging her around. She was quite the sight. In some ways, nothing had really changed at all.

Aidan turned back to Sophia, shrugging his dark bangs out of his eyes as he looked her over.

Nice hands, He picked one of them up and held it in his, staring at the smudged purple nail polish mixed with smears of dirt. He raised her arm up in the air and spun her in a circle until her pale face beat bright red. She was different than she had been but too much the same for it to really make a difference. That was how it always was, year after year. Change was a given. But the real parts that made them them were always the same.

Same old Sun, he said before she could speak and her honey-coloured eyes widened ever-so-slightly. She broke out in a large smile. He’d decided to call her Sun when they were very little because he’d thought her hair looked just like it. It turned the brightest strawberry-yellow blond after just weeks at the beach and it seemed important to make this comparison known to her when they were five.

Same old Grayson, she nodded, bumping her shoulder into him but only coming up to his ribcage. Except, maybe not. You’re like a foot taller.

You’re like a foot shorter, he teased, mimicking her.

I am not! she crossed her arms adamantly, glancing up at him on her tiptoes to be sure he really was joking. Of course he was.

Okay, okay, he laughed. He nodded