The Summer of Lost Wishes by Jessa Gabrielle Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t. I don’t want to look obsessed when the cutest guy in
Coral Sands is showing me around town.
    “So where’s the heart of town then?” I ask,
clicking my own seatbelt.
    “Downtown,” he says. He glances behind us to
make sure he’s clear before backing out of the parking lot. “All
the bed and breakfasts are there, a few cafés, expensive beach
shops… And all the seafood restaurants. This town would be famous
for its seafood if not for the Shark Island tragedy. It sort of
steals all the glory.”
    It amazes me how a tragedy can make a person
legendary, almost immortal in a way. The kids from the Shark Island
accident may have perished in those waters fifty years ago, but
they’ve never had a chance to really die. They’ve never rested in
peace. They have been the center of gossip, speculation,
candlelight vigils, and annual memorials since the moment the town
knew they were gone.
    “I guess the best way to live forever is to
die young,” I say, peering out the window.
    “Bonus points if you die young in a small
town,” Rooks adds.
    This guy so gets me. He gets how my mind
works. My friends back home would think it’s creepy that I’m living
in the mythical beach cottage, but this guy – oh, this guy – sees
the eerie excitement of it. And it’s a good thing he does because
no one in Tennessee has bothered to reply to any of my recent
texts. That whole “out of sight, out of mind” thing has proven
itself to be true.
    “If I’m going to actually show you around
this small town, we’re going to have to get creative,” Rooks says,
breaking my thoughts of our morbid connection. “Because there’s not
a lot to see here.”
    And he’s right. Downtown Coral Sands is just
a few blocks over from Waterfront Café. A cupcake bakery – Seaside
Sweets – sits angled on the corner, hiding any other shop from view
until you circle around onto the main street. Rooks turns to the
right when we reach the stop sign.
    The buildings are a disarray of businesses. I
expected quaint little shops with seahorses and sand dollars for
the window décor or cute French-style coffee shops with the
business name written on the door in curly silver letters. But
downtown is a random mess.
    A pastel yellow bed and breakfast sits off in
the distance, far enough away from the shops that you can enjoy the
privacy but close enough for a stroll or bike ride to grab lunch.
It looks peaceful and soothing, which is probably what people need
when they hear about the local legends.
    “It’s pretty typical of an old downtown
area,” Rooks says, easing up to the next stop sign. “Maybe your mom
can modernize it when she’s done with your house. She’ll need a new
project, right?”
    I’m pretty sure Mom will be down here
handing out her business card like a door-to-door salesman,
offering to spruce the place up with Ocean Blue doors and wreaths
decorated with starfish. This entire town will be her interior
design playground.
    “Don’t give her any ideas,” I warn him.
“Coral Sands would be unrecognizable by the time she was done with
it. I kind of like that it’s not a commercial gimmick like some
beach towns.”
    Rooks laughs and shakes his
head before pulling into a parking spot in front of Mermaid’s Paradise, a candy and souvenir shop .
Jars of blue rock candy sit on the window shelving with labels that
read ‘mermaid tears.’
    “We have a few gimmicks, as you see in front
of you. I’ll make sure you experience every last one of them this
summer,” he says.
    This summer. Because after this summer,
he’ll be back at his mom’s house, and I’ll still be here without my
Tennessee friends or my one Florida friend, if I can call Rooks my
friend. He’s my neighbor – my incredibly hot neighbor – who has
been tasked with showing me around. But he doesn’t seem to mind, so
I’m going to pretend he wants to do this, even if he may not.
    I exhale and let the words ‘this summer’
drift away with my breath. I