The Summer We Lied

Chapter One

"So how many guys are down there right now?" Kylie Brewster asks for the fifth time.

What can I say? When it comes to men, my best friend is a rabid woman. She will date anything in a pair of Calvin Kleins unless they are underage of course. That is at least the one and only bad trait that I've discovered about her in the past two months that I've gotten to know her.

"Most of the football team," I say.

We're up in my room with the door shut, but the loud, roaring hoots of laughter from downstairs are enough to make anyone go crazy. Most girls would say I'm lucky to have a brother on the football team and even luckier that he is the captain, but it's just a nightmare.

There's almost never any control in our house and it's chaotic to run into a bunch of shirtless dudes with rippling muscle around the house. The bathroom is never available anymore and the food is always disappearing. My safe place. My comfort zone is no more my comfort zone. It is a war zone.

Mom and dad never say anything. They let us run wild because they want us to live the American dream; the freedom, the partying, the carefree lifestyle. And quite the dream I'm living. A house is full of sweaty, loud jocks.

"I would be down there right now if I were you. The wrong girls get to be lucky," Kylie says.

"Did I ever tell you that Daniel drew up a stupid rule book when we were like four and five? He already assumed that I would ruin his life," I say, as I sit up cross-legged. "One of the rules on there was to stay away from his friends. That's one reason I'll never be down there. We're just not social with each other that way."

Kylie snorts. "He probably doesn't even remember it."

I shake my head and climb off the bed. "The rulebook never ends. He still makes new rules. He has a copy and I have one."

I pull the green box from underneath my bed. The sacred green box in which I keep my entire teenage life tucked in. I push aside my journals and letters and find the notepad with "Rule Book" scribbled largely over the cover with a permanent marker.

"This is sibling abuse, girl," Kylie says as we settle down by the bay window and look over the neat handwriting.

"Welcome to my life," I mutter.

"Don't come into my room. Don't talk to my friends. Don't lie. Don't go to senior parties. Don't steal my pizza from the fridge..." Kylie drifts off as she reads it out loud. "Okay, I agree with the pizza one, because I'll kill anyone that touches my pizza, but thank the Lord I don't have a brother."

I laugh. "I can't wish that because I love my brother, but yeah he can be a jerk most of the time."

Kylie continues to read over the list and as she does, there is sudden shouting and doors slamming. We immediately sit up and look out of the window to where he steps out of the next-door house.

Matt Hudson pulls on his black hoodie and is making his way over to our front lawn.

"Now that looks like a hot walking rule that needs to be broken," Kylie says and I don't roll my eyes or say anything sarcastic, because I can relate to what she says.

"He's here almost every day," I whisper.

"You lucky b***h," she mutters. "Who is tall dark and handsome and why is he coming over to your house?"

I move away from the window and go over to the door. "Matt is my brother's best friend and he's part of the football team. He's a quarterback. We saw him last week at the game remember?"

She grins sheepishly. "I don't actually. I was busy ogling Zach Cochran."

I roll my eyes. "Oh my God. Well, come on let's go do a bit of spying."

Kylie's grin widens and she joins me out in the hallway. We stop at the stairs and peek over the wooden railing to watch the door.

The doorbell rings. There are a few taps and then my brother emerges from the living room and opens the front door.

He and Matt exchange a fist bump and a few hard slaps on the back. They start talking in hushed voices and we can't really hear them but ogling Matt is a better option.

He's tall. He could be 6'3 like my brother, possibly just a few inches shorter. Matt has this "I don't give a crap look" 99.9 % per cent of the time.

There's no bad boy vibe, no quiet boy vibe because he talks a lot.

He's just Matt. A tall, dark-haired guy with a mystery surrounding him. The mystery part might have been invented in my head, but since I don't know anything about Matt, he's shrouded in mystery. Whereas the other guys in the team are attention seekers.

Whenever he comes over, he and Daniel hang out in the living room, shooting people in the head in Mortal Combat.

He's also just one of those guys you don't just go up to and begin a conversation with. He looks moody and irritated most of the time. Like the way, he's always frowning, or the way his lips are always pursed.

Kylie presses her face against the bars and gasps as Matt runs his long fingers through his longish dark hair.

"Shush, " I tell her too loudly and suddenly he is looking up.

Matt looks at Kylie and then at me; his blue eyes are dark and piercing.

Kylie and I jump back and quickly sprint back into my room like little girls that haven't seen a guy before.

"Oh my God, that was scary, " Kylie says holding her chest.

My heart is beating fast against my rib cage. "Now he'll think that we're stalking him."

She chuckles and flops back onto my bed. "Stalking is a little exaggerated. But he'll probably think that we are weirdos."

"Probably," I say and join her on the bed.

"What's his deal anyway? There was shouting coming from his house."

I shrug. "Daniel never told me. And I can only imagine what goes on. But it happens almost every night. Sometimes it gets really bad and Matt shows up here late at night."

"Parental problems?" Kylie wonders aloud.

"Maybe. My dad tried talking to him about it. He won't talk."

"Weird."

I nod and pull up my book, while the laughter from downstairs continues late into the night.