Summer of '89

By Clare Tisdale

I've had a crush on Eli ever since we played Star Wars on the playground as kids. Now we're juniors at Santa Teresa High School, and he only has eyes for the beautiful new girl, Maya Cordero. My best friend Grace--who likes Eli's best friend, Troy--says I shouldn't give up hope. There's been so much drama this year at school and home. That's why I'm super stoked when Eli asks me to go on a road trip to visit his mom in some hippie commune in the Pacific Northwest for the summer. We've both got family issues, and we both need a break. Being with Eli the middle of nowhere sounds like heaven. If everything goes the way I want it to, this could be the best summer of my life. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clare Tisdale
• Release date: Feb 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393830344

Clare Tisdale

Clare Tisdale started writing at the age of nine, when her family embarked on a nine-month round-the-world trip from Australia through Asia and the Middle East, Europe and the US, and she began recording her adventures in a daily journal. She hasn't stopped since. In her day job, she's worked in journalism for independent weekly newspapers and as a marketing director. In addition to hundreds of articles, she has written five novels in genres ranging from romance to young adult to mystery. Some of them are even published! Her contemporary romance, "Falling Angel," is available as an e-book and she will release a young adult e-book, "Summer of '89," in 2021.

Book preview

Chapter One

The Love Bug

In the spring of 1989, the Love Bug spreads through the juniors at Santa Teresa High School like a contagion. With mutations across the spectrum, from unadulterated lust to true love, the infection takes hold. Stall walls and doors in the girls’ bathroom bloom with Sharpie marker hearts, pierced through by arrows and branded with paired initials. Ignoring the ban on PDA, couples hold hands in the hallways, smooch in the stairwell, and twine around one another on the lawn like frisky ferrets. Behind the brick wall on the sloping corner of the school grounds that backs onto Soldedad Street, condoms—tied off at the end like deflated balloons—lie discarded in the weeds among wads of chewing gum, cigarette butts and candy wrappers.

It hits me that first day of spring quarter when I walk into my second period Social Studies class. I step forward, expecting solid ground, only to end up like one of those Looney Tunes cartoon characters who runs off a cliff and hangs there in suspended animation as their legs cycle wildly in mid-air. I look down blankly at the chasm beneath me, until finally my brain catches up with reality. As soon as I know there is nothing holding me up, I drop like a stone.

––––––––

That’s how it feels when I fall in love with Eli.

––––––––

It’s the same queasy feeling I get when a roller coaster starts to barrel down the slope, faster and faster. Like I’m controlled by something outside myself, driving me toward ecstasy or destruction, blissful union or crushing heartbreak. It’s exciting. It’s terrifying. I wish it never happened. I don’t want it to end.

I know that I’ll never feel more alive than I do right now.

––––––––

Love at First Fight

I’ve known Eli forever.

We met the first week of Kindergarten, during a playground game of Star Wars. Mom and I had moved to the neighborhood only a month before that—after she and my dad split and she took a job as hospitality manager at a local hotel. Although I wasn’t a shy child, I remember feeling overwhelmed by the noisy, churning mass of other children at the school, which was much larger than the small, in-home preschool I’d previously attended. At lunchtime, after eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich alone, I clutched the chain link fence that surrounded the playground and watched as the other kids swarmed The Death Star (aka the jungle gym). Whenever the red-headed boy playing Darth Vader approached a group of kids, they screamed with terror and delight, scattering across the playground like leaves blown by a sharp gust of wind.

I played a little game with myself where I pretended that I was hidden behind a one-way mirror that made me invisible, and that this was why no one looked at me or acknowledged my existence.

That’s when a freckle-faced boy with grass-stained jeans and unlaced sneakers ran panting up to me. He reached out—shattering the one-way mirror—and tugged on one of my braids. His wide-set blue eyes locked onto mine.

I’m Luke, he said. You can be Leia. He handed me a stick. Here’s your lightsaber. Come on! We have to attack the Stormtroopers!

We raged into battle together, weapons raised against the forces of darkness. I like to think we’ve been fighting side by side ever since.

––––––––

Social Studies

Scanning the room, I see Eli’s blonde mop and freckled face in the back row; his long legs in faded blue jeans sticking out into the aisle. It’s the first time we’ve had a class together all year, something I’ve hoped for and dreaded in almost equal measure. My heart lurches and I quickly look away as students bustle around me to select their seats. I wonder whether Eli will be glad to see me. How long has it been since we really talked? Not since the start of sophomore year. I can’t believe it’s been that long. After the way I treated him, it wouldn’t surprise me if he ignores me completely.

What happened between us was all my fault. I was a bad friend and I deserve to be ignored by him. I scan the room, looking for a seat as far away as possible from Eli. The more time that elapses, the harder it is to try and resurrect our friendship.

––––––––

King of the Castle

Even in Kindergarten, Eli was one of those effortlessly popular kids. After our Star Wars adventure, he began seeking me out at recess and running up to me in the hallways to tell me about his latest discovery or suggest a new game. He took me under his wing and I was happy to be his sidekick. With his seal of approval, the other kids accepted me without question.

When my front tooth popped out during a game of Sharks and Minnows, Eli spent all of recess helping me look for it until finally­—as proud as a paleontologist unearthing a rare fossil—he pulled the enameled chip from the grass and presented it to me.

Grateful for his help in easing my transition to the new school, and under the influence of multiple viewings of Disney princess videos, it didn’t take me long to decide that we were made for each other. He was the prince to my Princess Leia. I had lots of competition from the other girls. Everyone wanted to be on his playdate list. But for some reason, he liked me best.

I remember watching with fascination on a playdate as he unzipped his pants and exuberantly watered his mother’s daisies. I felt jealous that I had no appendage of my own capable of such feats.

We sat crisscross applesauce on the mat next to one another during story time. He taught me how to tie my shoelaces with a double-knot, and I gave him swimming lessons in the pool at our apartment complex. By summer break, we’d agreed to get hitched.

For an engagement ring Eli gave me a dead worm that I wore wrapped around my finger until it cracked and fell off. We planned to have seven children, one of whom would be a giraffe.

Life was bliss.

Things got a bit more complicated after Kindergarten.

––––––––

Second Chances

Hey, Kat! Eli’s surfer-boy voice, with its drawn-out vowels and sun-kissed consonants, is unmistakable over the murmur of the room. I glance up, taking in his wink and smile as he indicates the empty seat next to him. Relief floods my system  and I weave my way between the desks toward him, grinning like a maniac. Has he forgiven me for the way I treated him?

I get to Eli’s desk. He smiles and I see only warmth in his eyes.

Hey stranger, I say, sitting down next to him.

He raises his hand for a fist-bump, just like we used to do.

Long time no see, he says.

Too long, I say.

It’s the closest I ever get to an apology.

––––––––

Cooties

By first grade, there was no more talk of marriage and children. No more lovey dovey, icky-sticky, girl stuff. Games of Catch and Kiss ended when Eli got his Supersonic sneakers and began to streak across the playground, leaving me in the dust.

He used to try and impress me by burping the alphabet on the bus ride home from school. When that didn’t work, he moved on to armpit farts. Not exactly the stuff of great romance.

During the long, hot California summers, we caught tadpoles in jam jars in the creek that ran through the ravine behind Eli’s ranch house. We rode our Schwinn Sting Ray bikes through the suburban streets, wearing matching red bandanas and calling ourselves the Fearless Adventurers. Eli was always up for something. He had an insatiable thirst for novelty.

One night we took flashlights and explored a condemned house at the end of his block where he swore an old man had been hacked to death in his sleep by a mask-wearing lunatic wielding a machete. In the master bedroom, he pointed out a black stain on the hardwood floor, then clapped his hand over my mouth to keep me from waking up the neighborhood with my scream.

I slept with the light on for a month.

As we entered the girls have cooties and boys are icky stage around fifth grade, we didn’t hang out as much. Our family lives were complicated then and we didn’t have the vocabulary to talk about it. Eli’s parents, Ralph and Louise, got divorced, and Louise moved out, so Eli was shuttling back and forth between his parent’s places. Around the same time, my mother got a promotion at work, and we moved out of our apartment and into a small two-bedroom house in the barrio, on the wrong side of Agave Street. Mom scraped together the money for me to attend a private school for junior high because she said the public school in our neighborhood wasn’t safe.

Eli and I reconnected when we both started at Santa Teresa High, picking up as though no time had passed. I helped him with his English papers and he helped me with Algebra as we navigated freshman year together.

It all fell apart when I met Charlie.

––––––––

Memory Lane

Are you still working at the Shake Shack? I ask. Grace said she saw you there last summer.

Nah, that was seasonal work. I got laid off when school started.

Still driving the Purple Beast?

Eli nods. I sometimes see him cruise down our street behind the wheel of his old maroon El Camino. Often, there’s a cute girl—though never the same one as far as I can tell—in the passenger seat.

I’m pretty sure I saw you at Lucia’s party in Montebello over the summer, he says.

Oh really? I hope he can’t read my expression. Not only did I see him there, I spent most of the evening trying to avoid bumping into him and having to acknowledge the distance that had grown up between us. I didn’t want to have to apologize for my part in creating it.

Yeah, he says. You know, the yard with the infinity pool and the pool house?"

Oh yeah, I say. I remember now. To tell the truth, I was a bit out of it that evening.

Eli looks at me quizzically.

I take a deep breath. Confession time.

You remember Charlie, I say.

It’s a statement, not a question. Of course he does.

––––––––

London Calling

Charlie was a black-haired, blue eyed, sophisticated (to my mind) London boy, who moved to Santa Teresa from England with his dad and sister when his father got a teaching job at the university. We started dating in the fall of sophomore year, and by December we were inseparable.

Eli and Charlie were suspicious of one another from the start, when I suggested we all have lunch together in the cafeteria so that I could introduce them. My attempt to initiate a friendship between the boys failed miserably. They hardly spoke to one another, and I spent the whole time trying to spark conversations that fizzled out like lit matches thrown into puddles.

He’s trying to get into your pants, Charlie told me as soon as Eli left.

I scoffed. No way. We’ve known each other since Kindergarten.

So what?

Eli is like a brother to me. In fact, the first time we met, we played Star Wars. I was Princess Leia, and he was Luke Skywalker.

That doesn’t exactly make me feel better, Charlie said. He wrinkled his brow in an adorable confused British way, a la Hugh Grant in one of his rom com roles. Look, I’m not going to tell you that you can’t spend time with him. But it does make me rather uncomfortable.

It was easy for me—caught up in the throes of what I thought was love but realized in retrospect was only infatuation—to tell him I wouldn’t see Eli anymore. In fact, I gave him up with only a small twinge of guilt and regret. And after getting the blow-off from me a few times, Eli stopped calling or suggesting we get together.

Other than a perfunctory smile or greeting when we passed one another in the halls, we barely interacted the rest of sophomore year. Occasionally I saw him skateboarding in the parking lot after school or driving around the neighborhood. He had a new group of friends, skaters and alternative types who I didn’t know. They had a special spot where they congregated at lunchtime across from the art rooms. I made sure not to walk down there during lunch break.

––––––––

The Heart of the Matter

The light goes out of Eli’s eyes at the mention of Charlie’s name. Of course I remember him. He’s the reason we’ve hardly spoken since last year is what he doesn’t say. He’s too nice to rub it in. What about him?

Well, that party in Montebello that you said you saw me at over the summer? Lucia’s party? I’m hedging, not sure how to get to the point. That was a few days after he – I mean Charlie – and his dad and sister left to go back to London. His dad’s teaching contract at the university wasn’t renewed, so they had to go back. Visa and money issues. I was a bit out of it that night, I think, because he’d literally just left. It was all pretty sudden.

Eli nods.

We barely spoke after that, I continue, wondering whether Eli even cares or if I’m sharing too much. It just kind of... ended, you know? Anyway... that’s why he hasn’t been around this year, I finish, lamely.

Huh, says Eli. I kind of wondered what happened to him.

You did? I wasn’t sure he’d even noticed that Charlie wasn’t at school this year. After we stopped hanging out, it seemed that Eli’s life went on as always. He was still the golden boy, still popular, still sought after by all the girls. Why would he even care?

He says something, but his words are drowned out by a sudden rise in the volume of chatter in the classroom. The teacher is late, and the students are getting loud.

I lean closer. Sorry, I didn’t catch that.

Never mind, Eli says.

No, what?

It’s not important, he says, which convinces me that it is.

Just tell me. Please?

Eli pauses and takes a breath. Did he break your heart?

I am stunned into momentary silence. Then I answer as honestly as I can. I owe him this.

"I was upset when we broke up. But not completely heartbroken. To be honest, I think I was more in love with the idea of Charlie than with Charlie himself. Also, I knew he may not be around for long."

Eli frowns. "The idea of him?"

You know; he was a year older, he had that posh British accent... Eli’s eyes are already glazing over and I trail off, thinking it best not to mention Charlie’s sexy smile and the vivid juxtaposition of his blue eyes and black hair. There are some things Eli really doesn’t need to know.

Can you believe it? I say, changing the subject. Here we are, almost done with our penultimate year at Santa Teresa High.

Eli grins. Still with the big words.

Us wannabe English majors have to do something with our impressive vocabularies.

It’s good news for me. My English class is gonna be a bitch this quarter.

Don’t worry, I’ve got your back, I promise. I’ll help you throw some big words into your essays. Impress the teacher.

The air clears between us like a fog parting.

What’re you doing for lunch today? Eli asks.

I shrug. Usually I have lunch with my friend Grace in the cafeteria.

Grace Ito? I know her. She was in my poli sci class last year. You guys should come hang out with us at lunch.

You mean that group across from the art rooms? Where you usually sit?

Yeah.

Your new friends look kind of intimidating.

Eli grins. They don’t bite. Much.

His blue eyes lock on to mine, and for a moment we are back on the playground in Kindergarten. He sees me. The one-way mirror shatters as he draws me out and into his world. Even after all these years, he still wants me to come and play.

Cool. I’ll see you there.

The teacher walks in and the class quiets down. I reach into my backpack to pull out my notebook and let my hair drop like a curtain across my face, hiding my smile. All is forgiven; the slate washed clean. I can’t believe my luck.

As I open my composition book to the first unmarked page, I glance sideways at Eli, his head bent over his own notebook, that ubiquitous lock of sun-bleached hair flopped down over one eye.

That’s when I know.

There isn’t a single guy I’d rather hang out with. Laugh with. Talk to. Kiss.

Eli isn’t Luke to my Leia anymore. He’s Han Solo.

I love him.

And not like a brother. Not like a brother at all.

Chapter Two

Spilling the Beans

Have you ever held onto a secret that burns like a hot coal inside you, until you think you might catch fire if you don’t release it?

As the weeks go by after that first day in social studies and we spend more time together, my feelings for Eli only grow. I want to tell him so bad, but I’m afraid. Afraid of what it might do to our friendship. Afraid that my feelings aren’t reciprocated. Afraid to change the nature of our relationship; to venture into new territory with him. Afraid, afraid, afraid.

Poor, long-suffering Grace patiently listens as I go on about Eli ad infinitum. Even though Grace is my best friend, we’ve only known each other since last summer. In fact, it was Charlie who introduced us. His younger sister, Mallory, was on the gymnastics team with Grace, and Charlie often drove her to and from practice. I would come along for the ride. After practice, Mallory and Grace and Charlie and I got into the habit of going out for coffee or grabbing something to eat. When Mallory and Charlie left town, Grace and I naturally turned toward one another for comfort.

Even though she’s a year younger than I am, Grace is mature for her age. Despite being relatively straight-laced, she’s not judgmental and is usually up for just about anything, as long as she can avoid getting caught by her strict parents.

When we meet at our shared locker after the last bell a few weeks into the quarter, I tell her I’ve decided to spill the beans. I’m going to tell him, I say, talking loudly above the noise as students stream past us down the hallway and out the front doors of the school.

Tell who?

I raise my voice. Tell Eli. How I feel about him. Anything is better than this uncertainty. It’s like I’m gonna explode if I don’t let it out. It’s like a bad case of diarrhea.

Ew, gross! Grace pulls her gym bag out of the locker. She has gymnastics practice for several hours a day, both before and after school. When are you going to tell him?

Tomorrow at lunch.

Grace looks doubtful. Are you sure that’s a good idea?

"No. But what have I got to lose? Eli and I have been through so much together. We’ve been engaged before, even if it was in Kindergarten. Though he doesn’t show it, maybe he feels the same way I do."

I don’t know, she says. Maybe you should wait for a sign."

What, like a voice coming out of a burning bush, or a lightning bolt?

"No, duh. A sign from him. Have you noticed anything different in the way he is around you lately?"

I scan my memory. He asked me to come over and help him with his English essay, I offer.

That’s nothing new. He’d probably fail English Lit without your help. She pats my shoulder. But hey, if you’re set on it, go for it.

Did you ever check our Zodiac signs?  

I did! He’s year of the Dog, and you’re year of the Pig, which is good. It means you’re very compatible. He’s more energetic and moody, but you’re both loyal and easy-going. Now if you were Rabbit and Rooster it would be a different story. She shakes her head and bumps her fists together. They don’t get along at all.

If you come to lunch tomorrow, don’t sit next to me, ok? I won’t be able to do it if you’re listening.

Grace rolls her eyes. So much drama! She hoists her gym bag onto her shoulder and gives me a little wave. Good luck! Call me tonight if you’re freaking out. She heads down the hall, her black ponytail swinging briskly.

––––––––

That Intoxicating Smell

I set my alarm a half hour earlier than usual. Generally, my morning routine involves waking up 15 minutes before the bus is supposed to arrive, throwing on whatever combo of jeans and T-shirt lies pooled on my bedroom floor and running out the door to catch the bus. When the alarm goes off, I resist the urge to hit the snooze button. My dreams were chaotic, perhaps as a result of my anxiety. I was looking for Eli in a large, multi-story house, full of small rooms and hallways, knocking on doors that were opened by strangers, taking the stairs up and down, completely lost. I hoped it wasn’t a premonition.

I drag myself out of bed and dress in the black lace push-up bra and low-cut black V-neck t-shirt I picked out last night. I put on my black miniskirt instead of jeans. Judging from Eli’s reaction to Maya, he has a thing for short skirts. I put on makeup—black eyeliner and mascara, foundation, blush, and a tinted lip gloss. I like the way the dark eye makeup accentuates the hazel color of my eyes in what I hope passes for a sultry look. I heat up the flatiron as I practice my script in the mirror. Eli, there’s something I wanted to ask you, I say, gazing deeply into my own eyes. Have you ever thought of us as more than friends? Um, no. That sounded weird, and way too formal.

Maybe I should just kiss him. Right there at school, in front of everyone. I kiss the cold glass, but even as I do, I know I wouldn’t dare for real. I have to approach this strategically. Ok. I’ll lead with something innocuous, like, Hey, wanna check out that new Tim Burton movie at the Granada Theater this weekend? That’s good. Open-ended. Gives us both some wiggle-room. Not a declaration of passion, but something that could lead to something more. I run the flatiron through my hair, straightening the curls for a sleek, sophisticated look. I’ll wear my tight black crop top and jean jacket on our first date. Eli will pick me up in the El Camino and take us downtown. I’ll catch him looking at me as though seeing me for the first time. I will no longer be the kid who wet her pants at his house and had to be picked up by her mom the next day wearing his Batman boxers and old T-shirt, with her clothes in a plastic grocery bag (the memory pains me still). That’s all in the distant past; obscured by the mists of time. Not just obscured but forgotten. In his eyes, I’ve transformed into someone new, grown up, altered in a way that intrigues him. What is that intoxicating smell that wafts from my skin? (I make a mental note to hit the mall with Grace and pick up a bottle of Eternity by Calvin Klein.) In the theater, we sit quietly, throbbing with unspoken desire. The lights go down. As the opening scene begins, our hands meet over the popcorn bucket...

A sharp and sulfurous odor fills the bathroom—the unmistakable stench of burning hair.

Shit! I left the flatiron in place too long while spacing out in la la land.

You moron! I say to my reflection. She looks back at me with a sheepish expression. Guilty as charged. I lay the flatiron on the counter and pull my hair around to inspect the damage. Luckily, only a small strand is fried and blackened. But boy, does it ever stink. I open the bathroom window to air out the room. Grabbing the nail scissors, I snip off the burnt section and toss it in the garbage, then wave my hands around in an attempt to disburse the fumes.

What if he reacts badly? What if he gives me the dreaded, ‘I like you only as a friend’ speech? What will it do to our friendship? To our whole circle of friends?

I guess I’m about to find out.

––––––––

Total Makeup Idiot

When I get to social studies, Eli is already in his seat. When he sees me, his eyes go wide.

What? I say, feeling self-conscious but also hopeful. Could he be picking up on the change in me already?

He gestures at my ensemble. You’re looking kinda Goth today. Are you bummed out about something?

I bristle. What do you mean, Goth?

I don’t know. Dark. Like your grandmother or your cat just died. Is everything all right?

Everything is fine, thank you very much, I say. I’m wearing eyeliner. Is that such a big deal?

Hey, whatever, it’s cool. He holds his palms up and leans back in his chair as though afraid I’m going to breathe fire on him.

I slip into my seat. This is not going well at all.

He taps me on the shoulder and I turn my head. So, which was it?

"Which what?"

The cat or the grandmother?

I roll my eyes. Such a comedian. I take out my notebook and pen.

Eli leans over and whispers in my ear. I’m sorry for your loss.

Eli?

Yes?

Shut up.

He waits, then leans over again. Let me know if you need a ride to the funeral.

I swat his shoulder. Fuck you.

Ha ha, you wish.

God, I say. You are such an immature person.

He smirks at me. Takes one to know one.

Clearly this is all fun and games to him. I’m crushed. My attempt to get him to see me as a love interest has completely backfired. He’s still treating me like one of the guys. Like a sparring partner. I slump in my chair as a tension headache starts up in the center of my forehead. I close my eyes and press the spot with my fingertips, hoping to rub it away.

Hey, Kat?

What? I say without opening my eyes.

Are you ok?

I’m fine.

A pause. You’re not seriously pissed, are you? About the Goth thing?

No.

You know I was totally joking, right?

Yeah, of course.

The makeup looks good. Seriously, like, really nice. Professional. And your outfit is, uh, cute. Though you gotta admit, it is kinda Goth...

Oh my god, would you stop? Stupid tears spring to my eyes. I’m being a total drama queen, just like Grace predicted. What is wrong with me?

Since when do you care what I think about makeup? Eli persists. He taps my shoulder as I stare straight ahead.

Hey, hey! Kat, look at me.

I do, but that just makes it worse. I can feel my mouth trembling with the effort not to cry. Great. I was trying to show him how grown up I’ve become, and now I’m acting like a five-year-old.

He fixes me with those beautiful blue eyes. I don’t know the first damn thing about makeup, he says, deadpan. I’m a total makeup idiot.

You’re a dumbass, I say, blinking hard.

He nods. One hundred percent. A total makeup dumbass.

In spite of myself, I laugh.

His face lights up as he sees that I’m not about to go all psycho-bitch on him, after all. Crisis averted.

––––––––

The Lunch Bunch

By the time lunchtime rolls around I’ve recovered from the makeup fiasco. I end up wiping the rest of the eyeliner and eyeshadow off in the girl’s bathroom with a damp paper towel before heading outside.

It’s a warm day, and I know that most of the lunch crew of musicians, artists, punks, stoners, hippies and hangers on will be eating outside on the lawn by the art rooms. It’s a motley crew of rotating characters, united by