I tilt my face up to the sky. It’s a dull blue, almost gray, and I run my eyes over the tips of the trees, over the mass of greenery. Behind it, the buildings of Manhattan stand tall. It’s so beautiful. So New York.
“Ready?”
I drop my eyes back down to Tyler. He’s standing directly opposite me on the pitcher’s mound, a playful smile on his face as he tosses the ball back and forth. I angle my body slightly to the side and raise the bat, preparing myself. I want to impress him. “Hell yeah.”
“Eyes on me,” he calls. It’s the easiest part of all this. Eyes on Tyler? Ha. They hardly ever rest on anything else. “All you have to do is swing. Not too soon, not too late.” His voice is husky despite the fact that he’s talking loudly, and I try to keep my attention focused on the task at hand rather than how attractive his voice sounds. “You gotta swing at just the right moment.”
I nod and hold my stance, narrowing my eyes as I lock them onto the baseball in Tyler’s hand. Please hit it, I tell myself. Please look cool.
Smirking, Tyler kicks at the dirt before narrowing his eyes straight back at me. He firmly draws his arm back and, in a split second, hurls the ball at me. It comes whistling through the air and I panic, flinching as I swing the bat, almost dislocating my shoulder. I miss by a mile and the ball flies past my cheek, forcing me to jump to the left.
Tyler’s laughter echoes across the field as I glare at nothing in particular. Baseball isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. “C’mon, bring it back,” he yells.
Huffing, I prop the bat under my arm and stalk off across the lawn to fetch the baseball, which has rolled to a stop. The first swing doesn’t count. I’ll get it this time for sure. I reach down and scoop up the baseball before jogging back over to the home plate, carefully tossing the ball across the field to Tyler, who’s still laughing.
“Okay,” he finally says, clearing his throat. He smirks. “You swung way too early. Don’t panic this time. Just focus.”
I press my lips into a firm line, concentrating hard on the ball in his hand as I take up my stance again. The bat hovers in the air by my shoulder and I say nothing, just wait.
Tyler nods once and pulls back his arm once again, snapping it forward and releasing the ball. It comes spiraling in my direction but this time I don’t panic, only remain still until just the right moment. With as much strength as I can possibly muster up, I swing, and suddenly there’s a thunderous crack.
It doesn’t hit me at first what’s happened until I see the ball curving back across the field, soaring over Tyler’s head as he raises his eyebrows, surprised. I lose sight of where the ball lands, but I realize that I’m still standing on the home plate. I shouldn’t be. I should be running.
I turn for first base at the exact same time as Tyler runs off to collect the ball. My heart pounds in my chest and my eyes almost feel blurred, but I keep going, passing first base within a few seconds. I head for second, but I can see Tyler turning around in the distance and making his way back over, perhaps running just as fast as I am. I try to speed up, almost sliding on the dirt as I round second base. I want a home run, I think. I really, really want a home run.
“Don’t do it!” I yell as I set my eyes on third base, but Tyler keeps getting closer. He’s right. He’s not going easy on me. I start to panic as he approaches, willing myself to make it, my pulse racing.
But just as I’m within touching distance of third base, Tyler’s body swings in front of mine and I collide with him before I even get the chance to stop. He grabs my waist and pulls me down with him, tackling me to the ground until we land in a heap on the dirt.
He starts laughing while I try to catch my breath, my breathing just as ragged and uneven as his. The ball has landed several feet away from us.
“That’s so not fair,” I mutter, but I don’t mind that much. My body is touching his, and I quickly roll off him and onto my back. I rest my head on the ground by his side as we both stare up to the gray sky. It keeps growing darker. “I wanted that home run.”
“Welcome to the world of baseball,” Tyler says, but he’s still chuckling. He eventually calms down and sighs, sitting up. His green eyes are smoldering. “How badly did you want that home run?”
“I wanted it more than anything,” I say, folding my arms across my chest and turning my head away from him. I’m still out of breath. “I wanted to look totally badass.”
“Get up,” Tyler orders. I sense him getting to his feet, and his towering body casts a dark shadow over my body, despite the fact that there’s not much sun. “C’mon.”
Heaving a sigh, I push myself up from the ground and brush myself off. Standing straight, I arch my eyebrows at Tyler and wait for an explanation. He’s smiling gently.
“I didn’t touch base or tag you,” he says slowly, his smile widening, “so you’re still in. The home run is all yours.” He must see my confusion, because he shakes his head. “Didn’t you listen to anything I told you on the way over here? Didn’t you listen to any of the rules?”
“I’m not out?”
He rolls his eyes and doesn’t even bother to answer me. Instead, he reaches for my hand. I should be used to the feeling by now, but I’m not. We’ve gone so long without seeing each other that now even the slightest touch is overwhelming. I can’t seem to figure out why our hands seem to fit more perfectly together than Dean’s and mine. It could possibly feel this way because Tyler’s hands are smoother, whereas Dean’s are calloused from working at his dad’s garage. It could even feel this way because Dean’s hands are often cold and Tyler’s are often warm. I don’t know. It just feels different. My body never reacts to Dean the same way it reacts to Tyler, and I can’t figure out if it’s because I’m more in love with Tyler than I am with Dean, or if it’s simply guilt that causes my heart rate to pick up. Tyler and I are wrong for so many reasons. We’re wrong for not being over each other. We’re wrong for flirting behind Dean’s back. We’re wrong because we’re stepsiblings.
We’ll always be wrong.
Tyler’s pulling me along behind him, his skin smooth and warm. We leave third base and head across the dirt, but I’m not focused. I’m still thinking about our interlocked hands, and I’m thinking about Dean, and I’m thinking about how much of a mess everything is turning out to be. This summer is going to be hell and I highly doubt I’ll be able to survive until the end of my six weeks here. Dean was right to be worried. I’m spending the summer almost three thousand miles away from my boyfriend with the person I’m in love with. Is there a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone? Because I think that’s what separates Tyler and Dean.
I love Dean, but I’m in love with Tyler.
And to think I used to believe that nothing could ever be more confusing than AP Biology.
After only a few seconds, Tyler comes to a halt. He releases his grip on my hand and turns around to face me directly. His emerald eyes stare down at me as he moves one hand to my hip, and he nods to my feet.
I drop my gaze to the ground and only then do I realize where I’m standing. I’m back on the home plate, right back where I started. I kick at it with my Chucks before firing my eyes back up to meet Tyler’s. I furrow my eyebrows at him.
He takes a moment to swallow before squeezing my hip and taking a step back. Quietly, and with a small smile on his lips, he says, “You got your home run, badass.”
We keep playing until it rains. To begin with it’s only drizzle, but gradually the sky darkens even more and the rain grows heavier, and soon it’s pouring down over the city. Everyone else seems to have abandoned their ball fields by now and only Tyler and I are insane enough to stick around. Finally, after my hair is drenched and Tyler’s shirt is soaked against his chest, we decide to give up.
We even run, and we laugh while we do so. It’s not because we look ridiculous or because we’re running a little awkwardly. It’s because it’s just so typically messy of us. Tyler keeps falling behind and I keep having to stop and wait for him because I don’t know the route back. The rain keeps getting into my eyes and I drop the ball a couple of times on our way out of the park. Even my new Chucks are becoming squishy. I worry that Tyler’s writing will wash off, but it doesn’t even smudge.
“I’m so not used to rain!” I call over my shoulder as I leap out onto the sidewalk, pushing my wet hair out of my face. I blow out a breath and scan the avenue. I’m pretty sure we need to head right.
Tyler joins me by my side, out of breath, his hair flat. Drops of rain roll down his forehead, but he doesn’t make the effort to wipe them away. “Looks like you’re losing your Portland roots,” he says, loud enough for me to hear him over the sound of the rain pelting against the concrete.
I roll my eyes and push his shoulder. He’s right, though. How I survived rain like this for the majority of the year, I’ll never know. After living in Santa Monica for two years, I’m now accustomed to the constant sun and heat.
“Trust me, I don’t think I ever had any Portland roots to begin with,” I say. He leads me right, just like I thought he would. I’m slowly getting my bearings. “I hate Portland. The only good thing about it was the coffee.”
“Better coffee than the Refinery?”
“For sure.”
Tyler doesn’t reply until we’ve made a lucky dash across the avenue, back onto Seventy-fourth Street. The tourists are soaked to the bone and look disgruntled, but I can’t blame them. We keep weaving our way around the damp flow of people still out on the sidewalks, and Tyler finally glances sideways at me, rain rolling off his eyelashes. “Do you still go there? The Refinery?”
“All the time.” I don’t think I’ve ever bought coffee from anywhere else the entire time I’ve been in Santa Monica. It would feel like betrayal if I did. “Best coffee in the city.”
“Did we ever tell you how we found that place?”
“Is it because it just so happens to be on the main boulevard?”
“Ha. No.” He smiles a little and runs his free hand through his hair, pushing it back. We’ve stopped running by now, despite the fact that the rain’s just as heavy, and he swings the baseball bat loosely in his hand. “Back when we were all in freshman year, we skipped classes after lunch and headed downtown because we wanted everyone to see us. Don’t ask. It was lame.” He shakes his head and gives a small laugh. “Rachael needed to find a restroom and we were passing the Refinery, so she ran inside and begged them to let her use their toilet. They wouldn’t let her because she wasn’t a customer. So she bought a mocha.” His mouth pulls up into a soft smile, like he’s fond of the memory of Rachael’s restroom dilemma. “She came running back out and told us that they served the best coffee. We ended up hanging out there for five hours, and we started going most days from then on.”
I study the warmth in his expression and I try to picture it, try to imagine them all together. It’s hard to think about it now. The moment they graduated, they all headed off to do different things. Tyler moved to New York. Jake’s in Ohio. Tiffani’s up in Santa Barbara. Meghan’s in Utah. So much has changed in a year. “Do you still talk to them all?”
Tyler’s smile quickly shifts, almost turning sad, and he gently shakes his head. “Mostly just Dean. Sometimes Rachael,” he says. “I mean, Meghan’s kind of disappeared off the face of the earth with that Jared guy, and Jake’s still an asshole. Did you know he’s dating three girls now?”
“Last I heard it was two,” I murmur. Jake hardly ever stays in touch with any of us, but when he does decide to drop one of us a text, it’s usually to Dean, informing us of the current total number of girls he’s conquered over in Ohio. Dean never replies. “I knew the long-distance thing wouldn’t work with Tiffani and him, but I at least thought they’d give it more than three weeks.”
“Tiffani needs a guy by her side and Jake needs a girl by his. Of course it wasn’t going to work.”
I look away from him for a moment and stare at the traffic, all wiper blades on at the fastest possible speed. I swallow and squeeze the baseball in my hand even tighter. “Do you ever talk to her?”
“Tiffani?” I can feel Tyler’s eyes latching onto me, but I’m too scared to look back. I focus on the sidewalk, on my sneakers, as we walk. He takes my silence as agreement. “That’s a dumb question. Do you ever talk to her?”
“No,” I answer immediately.
Tyler doesn’t say anything back. He only gives a brief sigh, swinging the baseball bat even harder. His narrowed eyes glance away from me and I doubt he’s planning on looking at me anytime soon. He hates it when I mention her. No one ever really likes to discuss their ex, especially when that ex is Tiffani. She put him through hell before, and once she discovered what was going on between Tyler and me, I swear she despised us both. “So when are Rachael and Meghan coming over here?”
I arch an eyebrow at his quick change in subject, but I don’t mind. I don’t particularly enjoy talking about Tiffani either. “The 16th. Meghan’s still gonna be in Europe with Jared until then, so they’re taking her birthday trip a little later than they planned.”
“So I’m guessing you’re gonna be hanging out with them rather than me for a while?”
I try to catch his gaze, but he’s adamant on staring at the sidewalk. By this point I think we’re both past caring how wet we get. Our pace is slow. “Hey,” I say, “they’re only gonna be here for a few days. I would have been coming with them if I wasn’t already here.”
Finally, Tyler glances sideways at me. There’s a smile on his lips. “Thank God I called dibs.”
We cross over on Third Avenue as we approach his apartment building, and just the sight of it and the thought of warmth is enough to make me break into a jog for the last few yards. Tyler follows suit and the two of us burst through the entrance, our bodies dripping, silence around us. We just stand there for a moment, attempting to recover, until finally Tyler laughs.
And finally, he runs his hand over his face and wipes away the drops of rain. “Maybe today was a bad day to play baseball.”
“You can say that again,” I murmur, but I’m grinning.
We don’t hesitate for much longer and we shuffle into the elevator, leaving behind a wet trail that decorates the main lobby. We’re a little giddy, and part of me wonders if perhaps it’s simply the effect of the rain, but soon I realize that it’s not the weather that’s making us laugh; we’re both genuinely in a good mood. I make an attempt at wringing out my T-shirt as I follow Tyler along the twelfth floor and into his apartment.
We’re greeted by Snake, who’s seated on the carpet with his back pressed against one of the couches. He’s on his phone, texting. To begin with he doesn’t even glance up from his device, but he eventually decides to acknowledge our presence.
When he does, his eyes widen and he studies us both for a long moment before asking, “What the hell happened to you guys? Did you jump into the fucking Hudson?”
“Did you realize it’s raining?” Tyler smirks, then turns and heads through the kitchen, tossing the baseball bat onto the worktop and slipping into the bathroom. A few seconds later he reappears, two towels in his hands. “You know . . . raining like hell?”
“Since when?” Snake asks, oblivious. He cranes his neck, eyeing up the large windows, before murmuring, “Oh shit, you’re right.” He glances back over to Tyler. “I was too busy hanging out with the 1201 girls to notice.”
“The what?” I pull a face at him as he fires his eyes to me.
“The apartment two doors down,” Tyler murmurs before Snake has the chance to reply. He joins me again and passes me a towel, which I accept with a smile of gratitude. “Some college chicks. They’re hella annoying.” Bending over slightly, he ruffles his hair with his own towel.
“Huh,” Snake says after a second. “You weren’t calling them annoying when you were all doing body shots on each other last month.”
“That was a dare,” Tyler interjects, his body shooting upright. His hair’s everywhere, and if I weren’t so focused on Snake’s words then perhaps I’d find it cute. “Your dare, actually.”
Snake grins and it makes his nose seem a little crooked, like it’s been broken before. “Yet you had no complaints when it came to doing it.”
Tyler just shakes his head, yet I’m hoping he’ll say something. Defend himself. Even, hopefully, tell me that Snake’s just kidding. Who are these girls that live in apartment 1201? College girls? I’ll bet they’re gorgeous. I’ll bet they’re smart. I’ll bet they all hang out often.
“I’m gonna call Dean,” I blurt. I’m not sure why the thought even crosses my mind, but after I say it I realize that I really, really do need to call him. It’s overdue and I can almost hear my phone yelling my name from Tyler’s room. So I turn around, towel in hand, and float through into his bedroom. Or my bedroom. Whichever.
I catch Tyler furrowing his eyebrows at me as I shut the door and I’m tempted to throw him an apologetic smile, but then I remember the body shots. I look away quickly and click the door shut, my expression blank. It doesn’t remain like that for much longer, though, because soon I’m gnawing on my lower lip as I reach for my phone and dial Dean’s number.
The sound of the monotonous ring almost makes me feel sick. If I could, I’d avoid all contact with him for the next six weeks. Six weeks to get my thoughts in order, to decide if I want to stay with him or if I don’t. Right now, I’m too busy trying to figure out how I feel about Tyler. It’d be better if I could figure out how I feel about Dean much later, but apparently I have to figure it all out now, at the exact same time. I’m juggling the two of them back and forth, trying not to hurt either of them, but already I’m struggling. I can’t think of a way to resolve any of this.
“So you are alive,” Dean’s voice mutters into my ear, his abrupt greeting bringing my attention back to the call. His contemptuous tone makes me regret this already.
“Sorry,” I say. I almost want to sigh, but for his sake I manage to suppress it. “I got so caught up in everything and then my phone died and—”
“And what? They don’t have landlines in New York? They don’t have phone booths?”
I draw my phone away from my ear and scrunch my face up at it. Damn. Part of me wants to hang up right there and then because of his bitter attitude, but the rest of me seems to have the common sense to know that that’ll only make this worse. So I press the phone back to my ear. “I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. Just chill out. You’re acting like I haven’t called you in a week. I’m here. I’m in one piece.” I grit my teeth and set myself down on the corner of Tyler’s bed. The mattress is soft, but I’m far from comfortable. “And the city is great, thanks for asking.”
Dean doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he remains silent and the only thing I can hear over the line is the sound of his breathing. Slow and deep. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles after a while. “It’s just that we’re on completely different coasts and I’m not getting to see you every day. I need to be able to talk to you. You owe me that at least.”
“I know.” I glance around Tyler’s room, nervously looking for something to focus on, but only end up staring back at the towel in my lap. I hadn’t realized I was still holding the baseball, either. I squeeze it hard. It’s cold and slightly wet. “I’ll try to call you more.”
“You better,” Dean shoots back, but his tone is softer now. “Do you want to drive me crazy over here?”
“Just try not to think about me,” I joke. After the words leave my lips, I realize I’m not even kidding. I don’t want Dean to be thinking about me. I’m too busy thinking about Tyler to pay Dean the same amount of attention. “Really,” I say, “don’t think about me.”
“It’s not that easy.”
I let out a sigh away from the phone so that he doesn’t notice, and then I toss the baseball onto the floor and flop backward onto Tyler’s bed, pulling the towel over my head. “Are you really still mad at me for coming here?”
“I’ve never been mad, Eden,” Dean says gently, reassuringly. I wish he was, though. In the background I can hear the purring of engines and the faint echo of the radio. He must be at work. “Just disappointed that you’d rather spend your last summer with me . . . without me. We’re hardly ever going to see each other after the fall, and you know that, yet you still chose to take up the whole New York idea.”
“It’s New York, Dean,” I say quietly, squeezing my eyes shut. “New York.” And Tyler. Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. Endlessly.
“Sorry, you’re right. It’s New York,” Dean repeats. His tone is quickly growing sour again, his voice deepening. “I’m sorry I can’t compete with Times Square or Central Park. I’m sorry that I must seem so shit in comparison.”
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“I gotta get back to work.” Dean’s usually so soft-spoken, but right now his voice is rough. “Enjoy New York. You know, since it’s so much better.”
He hangs up before I can even reply.
I sit up and gape at my phone for a minute. As if Dean just hung up on me like that. Pissed off at him, I grit my teeth and get to my feet, quickly wrapping the towel around my damp hair. All I want to do is hang out with Tyler again, away from Dean and his crappy attitude, so I swing open the bedroom door and enter the living room.
Snake’s still texting, only now he’s standing and leaning against the kitchen worktop. He glances up at me from beneath his eyelashes, not quite lifting his head. He looks at me a little strangely, like he wants to laugh at the towel wrapped around my head.
“Where’s Tyler?”
“You’re a minute and a half too late,” Snake says. “He just left. He had to head out.”
“Why?”
“Emily needs his help with something. Asked for a favor.” He shrugs.
“Emily?” I echo. Something inside of me shifts, like I can quite literally feel my stomach dropping. Emily? I swallow. “Who’s that?”
Now Snake looks up. “He’s never mentioned her to you?”