The Summer I Gave Up Boys

The Summer I Gave

Up Boys

Kassandra Kush

The Summer I Gave Up Boys

By Kassandra Kush

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Kassandra Kush

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The Summer I Gave Up Boys

Kassandra M. Kush

Copyright © 2013

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

The information in this book is distributed on an as is basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Also by Kassandra Kush:

Guardian

Protector

Messenger

The Things We Can’t Change Part One: The Prologue

The Things We Can’t Change Part Two: The Struggle

The Things We Can’t Change Part Three: The Healing

The Things We Can’t Change Part Four: The Love Story

The Things We Can’t Change Part Five: The Epilogue

The Lightwood Legacy

For Information:

http://kassandrakush

Cover Design: Mae I Design

http://maeidesign.com/

The Summer I Gave

Up Boys

Kassandra Kush

For the real

Kristen and Amanda

ONE

Well, well, well, if it isn’t Kaliyah Simon, as I live and breathe.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back at the sound of the deep voice, resigned. It was one that had haunted me for four straight years of high school, and even now, three years into college, it still made me grind my teeth together and want to throw something, preferably at the speaker himself.

I looked up (and up and up) into the grinning face of Isaiah Winters. At six-foot-three, there had been only one possible sport for Isaiah: basketball, proven by the FSU athletics hoodie he wore at that exact moment. Unfortunately, his other extracurricular all through high school had been making my life miserable.

Surprised you can even get a breath through that ego floating around your head, I replied easily. After years, and I do mean years, of practice, the deep, silky part of his voice had no affect on my brain. As it wound around my spine to cause a shiver, along with some goose bumps on my arms, I had to admit my body was a whole different story.

Isaiah only laughed, a rich, deep, booming kind of laugh. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared if people glared at him for disrupting the peace. Without invitation, he dropped into the airport waiting seat next to mine, folding his lean body into the too-small chair. Three whole years, and you haven’t changed a bit, he said. How have you been? You look worn out from finals.

I couldn’t detect any mocking in his voice and decided that at the age of almost twenty-one, I could afford to be social and polite. I closed my book and looked into his blue-as-ocean eyes. I am worn out, I admitted. I got my first B this quarter. It hurt my pride. And my GPA. No need to mention why I’d gotten the B.

Isaiah clutched a hand to his chest and looked heavenward. No, a B? Really? How awful.

I gave him a shove. Just because you’re used to getting them doesn’t mean I am, jock-breath.

Nice one, he said mockingly. He picked up my wrist with two of his fingers, just by the tips, as though it was contaminated. You’re looking a little pale with all the time spent studying for that hard earned B.

I knew this was a lie, of course. My skin was just as darkly tanned as it always was, even if I had been studying for finals the past two weeks. I had a healthy dose of Cherokee Indian from my dad, though my eyes and hair came from my mom’s Scandinavian roots, and I had been a good olive color before I had moved to Florida my freshman year of high school. Isaiah’s dad was bi-racial, his mom a startling blonde, and he was an interesting mix of both his parents. Due to our matching golden-brown hair, strange light blue eyes, dark skin color, and similar above-average height, there had been a lot of confusion about whether we were distant cousins in the initial days of high school.

How many did you rake in this semester? I asked, trying to turn the tables.

Isaiah leaned in close to whisper, None, geek girl.

I rolled my eyes. I find that pretty hard to believe, seeing as you went national this year and were voted MVP and had to pull two-a-days.

Isaiah cocked an eyebrow. Whoa, careful, or you might fool people into thinking you actually leave your dorm once in a while.

Ha-ha. Could you possibly quiet down a little bit? I’m trying to read. I brandished my book (Forget You, by Jennifer Echols, a MUST read I might add) right in Isaiah’s face.

You don’t want to catch up with an old friend? he asked, his voice full of mock hurt. Mocking. That was always the one word that would describe Isaiah in any situation. He lived to make fun of people, and he was clever enough to make it vaguely entertaining.

We were never friends, Isaiah. We were mortal enemies, I corrected, still looking at my book on the pretense that I was reading it.

That’s kind of a harsh description. Everyone at Lemon Bay knew you had a crush on me.

I choked out a laugh. "In your dreams, Winters. Everyone knew I hated your guts because you broke Amanda’s heart sophomore year. And before that, you crashed our tennis team party and trashed my pool."

I was young and stupid then, he replied, pulling a contrite face and putting his hands together in front of him, begging. Can’t we start afresh? That was almost seven years ago now, it’s time to put the past behind us.

I looked at him for a long minute, and he cracked first and began to laugh.

"It was pretty hilarious. I still remember you screaming at me. And I didn’t break Amanda’s heart. She dumped me for Jordan Rivers, remember? She broke my heart."

You don’t have a heart to break. Excuse me a minute, I said, turning to grab my vibrating phone. I saw the caller I.D and clenched the phone in my fist, counting to ten to collect myself. I hit the button to answer the call.

Leave me alone, I hate you, I snapped, and ended the call, throwing the phone back in my bag.

Jeez, tell us how you really feel.

I jumped and whirled in my chair, and then frowned at Isaiah’s amused look. I’d been so wrapped up in my rage that I’d almost forgotten he was there. I try to always be upfront about my feelings, I told him, my nose up in the air. What exactly do you want, anyway?

"Want? Want? he asked incredulously. Can’t two old friends who happen to be waiting at the same gate sit next to each other and catch up without any ulterior motives? You wound me, Kaliyah."

Okay, so the warm tingles went up my spine again when Isaiah said my name. It’s not like a girl can just be immune to six feet-plus of total gorgeousness—well-muscled gorgeousness to boot. But I had no designs upon Isaiah, as the idea of him having designs on me would also be extremely laughable. For one thing, I barely talked to him. At least, not anymore. We were the sort of ‘friends’ that only saw each other when we happened to have a class together, or a friend of mine who was a friend of his got us all together, which had happened fairly often in high school.

But Isaiah and I were not friends, per se. We just sort of… floated in the same circles, with lots of friends who were friends. We ribbed each other mercilessly, not to mention the fact that during the past three years at college, I’d hardly said two words to him. I didn’t even know what his major was. We really hung in different crowds there.

And yet, here we were, as though nothing had changed since graduation day three years earlier when he’d been behind me in line to walk on stage and tipped my cap off just as I took my first step toward the principal.

I gave him a long stare, which I’d been told was pretty intense with my ghost-like pale blue eyes. He blinked back, completely innocent.

I’ve got your number, Winters, I said, and then plugged my headphones back in to return to my book. I hadn’t read one paragraph – and I’d like it known that I was at a really good part – when a headphone was tugged from my right ear and a voice said, You know, it’s good to see some things never change. How many more books do you have in your carry on bag? Five? Six? Twelve?

Baker’s dozen, actually, I snapped, because everyone knew that interrupting me while reading was tantamount to death. I’d offer to let you read one, but if things haven’t changed, then you still can’t read, either.

Isaiah clutched his heart. Phew, low blow, Simon. That one will haunt me forever.

Shut up, I snapped, because honestly, I couldn’t come up with anything else.

Niiiiiceee one.

Look, it has been a very long two weeks and I would really appreciate it if you could just leave me alone, I said, in quite a polite tone, I thought, for having my jaw clenched the whole time.

Where’s the fun in that? Isaiah asked, settling deeper into his seat.

I looked over at him in disgust. "Why are you wearing a sweat suit in