Free Always Summer by Nikki Godwin Page A

guys
Haler.”
    Haler? What the hell is a Haler?
    “Dude, we have a ship name,” Topher says.
He’s excited about this. How in the hell is there any way he can be
excited? This is more damage. Does he not care that Drenaline Surf
is being dragged down even more every time one of these things goes
to press?
    Miles shakes his head. “Haler is fucking
stupid,” he says. “It’s like an inhaler or…some other stupid shit.
Like a redneck saying ‘halo’ or something. You know, like some
angel has its haler on crooked.”
    Miles’s attempt at a southern accent is
horrendous and thankfully hilarious. I guess it could’ve been
worse. We could’ve been Tophey.
    “What would we be?” Emily asks, propping her
elbow on the counter and resting her chin on her fist. “Emiles?
Em-uh-less…or E-miles? Em-iles? Ugh. Forget it. We suck. We can’t
compete with Haler.”
    Alston clears his throat. “It’s bad, you
guys. They mentioned Topher and Miles being best friends since
forever ago. And that Haley and Emily hang out together. It’s only
a matter of time before they bring up the fact that A.J. and I are
your roommates.”
    I hadn’t thought of that. They’ll pick us
off, one by one. The only one who may be safe is Reed because he
doesn’t work here, but his parents gave Shark this lot to build on.
Mr. Strickland helped Colby get a top-notch attorney. Reed drives
Shark’s old Jeep. And he lives with us. The connections are bound
to come out sooner or later.
    After taking a deep breath, I move forward
and squeeze in between Emily and Alston. Pictures from my Instagram
account are on the page. There’s a photo of Emily and Miles as
well. She Snapchatted it to me about a week or so ago before she
posted it to her Facebook account as well.
    “Make your accounts private,” I tell her.
“Now.”
    I grab my own phone from my pocket and
immediately start updating my privacy settings. While I log in and
hide my life, I lecture Miles and Topher about what they can and
cannot post. No more girlfriend pictures. No more party pictures.
Be professional. Be surf-related.
    I can’t believe I’m actually having to PR my
own relationship. And my friends’ relationship. This is outright
ridiculous.
    “Heeey…” Alston says, dragging out the word.
“There’s a name on here. Carson? Do you know a Carson?”
    My mind rolls through its internal book of
contacts, but I can’t place it. It sounds somewhat familiar, but
it’s just not coming to me.
    “G. Carson? Does that help?” Alston
asks.
    Topher inhales sharply. “Greg Carson!” he
says too loudly. “He’s the Liquid Spirit guy who wanted to sign
me.”
    That’s it. That’s exactly how I know the
name. We met him in Sunrise Valley. He offered one hell of a deal
for Topher – a deal we never followed up on.
    I lean closer to the newspaper. “Is he
quoted in this? Did he say something about us?”
    “No,” Alston says, shaking his head. He
points to the byline. “He wrote the article.”

Chapter
Ten
    Miles yells at Topher to ‘Go left! No –
right! Left, fucking left!’ while I reread Greg Carson’s slander
for the hundredth time. Alston laughs hysterically when Topher’s
racecar crashes into a light pole and spins in circles. Miles
curses, and Topher asks for a rematch. Obviously, video games are
still most important in this household.
    Reed sits next to me, glancing at my phone
every few seconds to see if I’m still on this same site. I can’t
help it. It’s like I can’t look away. I feel like, maybe, if I read
it enough, I’ll find some hidden clue as to why Liquid Spirit would
do this to us.
    “Haley, let it go,” Reed says, waving his
hand in front of my phone. “You can quote that article by now. New
sentences aren’t going to magically appear.”
    I close the article and put my phone down.
“I just want to know their motive,” I tell him. “If we can get
ahead of them, we can stop them.”
    Reed looks at me with sympathetic eyes and