A sweet and swoony YA rom-com about two friends making a pact to find summer romance like they’ve seen in the movies—and finding love where they least expect it along the way!
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Ray Stoeve’s The Summer Love Strategy, which is out May 7th 2024.
Hayley always has a crush. The problem is, her crushes never like her back. After her latest unrequited love—a girl from her basketball team—gets a boyfriend, she decides she’s done falling for girls who are unavailable. Her best friend, Talia, wants romance too, but rarely gets crushes on anyone, and she’s tired of watching Hayley get her heart stomped on over and over. So the two girls make a they’ll help each other find summer love by putting themselves in situations that always lead to romance in movies.
To help carry out their summer love strategy, they make a list of all the places they could find their real-life the beach, the Pride parade, the pool, a MUNA concert, and a party. But as they go to each place and try to find the one , it seems like they just can’t catch a break—they don’t know how to talk to cute strangers, someone mistakes Hayley as straight, and Hayley does a truly unfortunate DIY haircut (that she cannot be held responsible for––it was a crisis!). But when Talia and Hayley finally manage to score dates, will they be able to get out of their own way and really dive into the romances they deserve? Or is summer love not as far off as Hayley thought?
It’s the first day of summer and my heart is already broken.
“I’m never falling for a straight girl again,” I say, flopping backward onto Talia’s bed with a soft thump.
“I told you Sherika only liked boys,” Talia says, rocking back and forth in her desk chair. I turn my head and glare at her. She shrugs, grinning, and rocks a bit faster. “Besides, you’ve liked queer girls before, too.”
“I knoooowww.” I drag my fingers down my face. “But they all have one thing in common. They don’t know I exist.” I roll over, smushing my face into the bed.
The chair stops squeaking, and Talia’s weight settles beside me on the bed. “I’m sorry.”
I let out a long groan into the mattress.
“Hayley.”
“Talia.”
“You’re gonna find a girl who likes you back, I promise.”
“Yeah, right.” Her purple comforter is soft under my cheek.
“At least it’s summer now so you don’t have to see her and Trey together,” she says.
“What if he comes to see her at our basketball practices?” I started an offseason practice group last year, and according to Mariah, my friend and our junior varsity point guard, Sherika’s planning on joining us this summer.
“Maybe it’ll help you get over her?” Talia pokes me.
With a huge sigh, I turn over to face her. Like me, her usually white skin is still a little sunburned from the outdoor games we did for our last gym class of the year. She’s lying on her back, looking at the stars scattered across her ceiling. They’re not glowing because it’s the middle of the afternoon and a perfect sunny day, but I’ve spent so many sleepovers staring up at them that I’ve memorized all the constellations. Talia loved astronomy as a kid, and even though she’s not into it so much anymore, she’s kept all the stars up there. It’s a comforting constant: her spacious room with its sky-blue walls and huge closet opposite the door, her bed positioned between the two windows on the left-hand wall so it takes up most of the floor space in between. On one side of it is her nightstand; on the other is her desk, built by her dad during his woodworking era. On the walls around us, posters of her favorite bands and a bulletin board covered in layers of photos and papers and other mementos. And above us, the stars.
“Hey, you cleaned your room.” I didn’t notice it when I got here, but I feel kind of silly for not saying something before. She almost never cleans her room—not that she needs to. Next to me, she looks like a neat freak.
“Mom made me,” Talia says. “Said it would be a ‘fresh start for the new season.’” She air quotes the words and rolls her eyes. She’s prickly today.
“Are you OK?”
She shrugs. “I just need to do my shot, but I’m out of estrogen.”
“Is there a shortage again?” Talia is trans, and sometimes the estrogen she takes isn’t available for some reason. I don’t know why it’s so hard to make the medicine people need, but apparently it happens pretty often. Whenever it does, Talia is stressed out for weeks.
“No, I just forgot to refill my prescription. It’s OK, Mom’s getting it today.”
“That’s good.” I flop over onto my back again, and we both stare at the ceiling. That’s the nice thing about being with Talia: we can talk or not, it doesn’t really matter. The silence is as comfortable as our conversations.
I close my eyes, and the image flashes in my mind again: Sherika’s post on social media this morning, the photo with Trey and the gushy caption. I’d noticed him hanging around her more often, but I didn’t get that many glimpses of her during the day at school. She was a junior and I was a sophomore. I’d chosen to ignore the signs, I guess, hoping for something that now I know will never happen.
Just like every other crush.
The tears well up then and I sniffle, squeezing my eyes shut. I know it’s stupid to cry over a girl who barely knows who I am, but I can’t help it.
“Hey.” Talia’s weight shifts, and her hand curls around mine, squeezing it tight. I squeeze back. “I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice watery. The ache in my chest eases just a little bit. I came over here as soon as I saw the post, and now I don’t want to leave. Talia’s room is so calming. “Hey, can I . . .”
“Spend the night?”
I laugh. “You read my mind.”
“We could do an ice cream run, too.”
“You’re the best.” I roll over, and we lie facing each other.
“I know.” She grins at me. “Guess what else.”
“What?”
“I saw that MUNA’s touring this summer,” she says. “And they’re playing Seattle on a very special day.”
“What?!” I sit up straight, looking down at her. “No way.”
“Yup. They’re going to be here on our birthday,” she says, sitting up too. “I can get my parents to get us tickets. I bet there will be lots of cute queer girls there, too.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe you’ll meet someone who will make you forget about Sherika.”
I can see it now. The stage. The lights, sweeping over us. The super-hot, super-cool members of MUNA rocking out as I lock eyes with a cutie. And Talia there to witness the historic moment.
Talia and I have always shared everything. We were born in the same hospital on the same day; we’ve gone to all the same schools; we came out to each other before we told anyone else; and we were there for each other when I told my parents I am a lesbian and when she told her parents she is trans. She comes to all my basketball games, and I’m always down to hear about the latest book series she’s obsessed with. We both love mint chocolate chip ice cream, and we’re even the same height: five feet, nine inches. And since we were old enough to know what a birthday was, we’ve spent every single one together. There’s no one I’d rather dance with to sad queer synth pop than Talia.
Maybe this won’t be a completely terrible summer.
~~
“Hayley!”
I swim up out of an awesome dream toward the sound of my name. I’m a little annoyed; in the dream I was kissing Sherika, and it was perfect. But that was a dream, and this is reality: I’m single, Sherika is dating Trey, and it’s time for Sunday family brunch.
I spent the past few nights at Talia’s, marathoning superhero movies—not our normal fare, but the thought of a romance movie made my heart hurt—and eating way too much ice cream. Just kidding; there’s no such thing as too much ice cream. I do still like being in my own bed, so last night I came home to sleep. But Talia promised she’d come over today to check on me.
“Hayley! Pancakes are ready!” Sam pounds on my door and runs away down the hall. She’s way too awake for a thirteen-year-old on a summer Sunday.
I groan and blink against the sunlight streaming into my room, then inch out of bed.
My room is a mess. Unlike Talia’s mom, mine doesn’t make me clean it. She was a punk in the eighties and nineties—and claims she still is—and therefore, she says she doesn’t believe in trying to control children’s personal space. My dad is the same way. It’s not that we don’t have rules; it’s just that the rules make sense, and they let me and my sisters help decide them.
Besides, my room only looks like a mess to other people. I know where everything is.
The first thing I do when I get up is go to the window and breathe in deep. Summer always smells like flowers, and it helps that Mom and Dad planted a row of sweet-smelling bushes in the side yard below. Across from me, a hedge shields my room from the neighbor’s house, but not from the morning sun. I painted my walls golden yellow, and the sun just adds to the warmth. Rainbow dots of light sparkle around the room from the faceted crystals hanging on my curtain rod. I got them when we went to the Fremont Sunday Market as a family last summer.
I dig through my pile of clean shirts and find the one I want, and then pull on my cutoffs. From the top of the stack of books beside my bedside table, I grab my phone from where it’s been charging and swipe a brush through my hair with the other hand. Then I run downstairs to breakfast.
“Finally!” Sam says when I come in.
Everyone’s already sitting around the table, waiting. Our dining room is right below my room, facing south, so sunlight comes in all day through the bank of windows, and the kitchen is beyond it. Bookshelves are built into the walls, filled with Mom and Dad’s massive collection. In the center of the room is a hardwood table dappled with fingerpaint, cup rings, and scratches as evidence of the years of use we’ve gotten out of it. Our whole house is like this: comfortably cluttered, with aging, deep-cushioned thrift-store furniture, a different color accent wall in every room, cups forgotten on every surface. I love it.
Dad shakes his head and laughs. Mom’s already dishing pancakes up, and my older sister, Ella, is texting furiously.
My dad says her name in that patient tone, and she sets the phone down. Our meals together are family time, so we’re not supposed to have our phones out. I sit beside her. Then I do a double take across the table at Sam.
“Your hair!”
She pets her head, cheeks turning pink. Her shoulder-length green-streaked brown hair is gone, replaced by a skintight buzz.
“We did it this morning,” Dad says, rubbing his palm over her scalp, and she grins.
“Can I touch?” I ask, and she leans forward. “Wow, it’s so soft.”
“Thanks,” she says.
“Why . . . ?”
“I just felt like it,” she says quickly in that Sam voice that means she’s done talking about it. Sam’s stubbornness is legendary in our family. If she doesn’t want to do something, there’s no way you can make her.
“Can we turn down the music?” Ella asks, and Mom does. She loves blasting punk and new wave while she and Dad cook on Sunday mornings, but Ella hates it. Well, she doesn’t hate it, just how loud it is. Between the music and our family, something has to get turned down, and it’s not going to be us.
“OK,” Dad says, once we’re all settled. “Weekly check-in time. What’s the new news, what’s the hot gossip? What’s up, what’s going down?”
“Oh my god,” Ella mumbles. “You’re so cringe.”
He grins. “I’m fifty-two, I’m supposed to be cringe.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you,” Mom says, and they kiss.
“Gross!” Sam says, making a face. Ella rolls her eyes. I just smile. Yeah, our parents are corny sometimes, but I kind of like it. I want to still be starry-eyed about my person when we’re in our fifties.
“Carry on,” Mom says, flapping her hand at us. “Answer the man.”
“Well, there’s this,” Sam says, pointing at her head. She rubs it, staring down at her plate. “And . . . um . . . I don’t want you to call me my full name anymore, for any reason ever. It’s just Sam now, OK?” She says it really fast, looking at all of us like she’s expecting a challenge.
We all nod and say some variant of “sure!” all at the same time. I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on, but I don’t want to rush her or make her self-conscious by pressing her on it.
“OK,” she says and sits back. “You go, Ella.”
“Um.” Ella looks up, thinking. “I start my summer job tomorrow? And I’m feeling kind of, I don’t know. Anxious, I guess.”
“How come?” Mom asks.
Ella shrugs. “It’s just a lot of new stuff to learn. And what if it’s overwhelming or I’m not good at it?” One hand twirls her hair. She turned out a dark brunette, like Dad; my hair is starting to fade from its pastel-pink dye job, but it’s usually blonde, like Mom (at least, when her hair isn’t dyed punk-rock black). Sam is somewhere between the two of us.
“You love books, sweetie,” Dad says. “You’re gonna do fine.”
Ella’s going to college in the fall and got her first job this summer at a local bookstore. It makes sense; she fits the part. She’s wearing a T-shirt with artwork of the Pride and Prejudice cover on it right now, and if it was winter, she’d probably have a cardigan from her massive collection on over it. Dad pats her arm. Her mouth twists, but she nods.
Then everyone looks at me. “Talia’s coming over later,” I say. “She’s helping me through my heartbreak.”
“I’m sorry about Sherika, honey,” Mom says.
I pick at my pancake. “Thanks.”
My family is probably used to this by now. I’ve had too many crushes to count, and when I like someone, I can’t keep my mouth shut about them: how cute their smile is, whatever cool thing they wore today, how much I liked what they said in class. Well, except when it comes to telling the actual person I like.
“You’ll find someone, sweetie,” Dad says. “Probably when you least expect it.”
“Totally,” Mom says. She glances at Dad, smirking. “Maybe someone you usually avoid.”
“Oh god.” Ella buries her head in her hands. But I’m ready, leaning forward, hands clasped together. I love this story. I’ve heard it a million times and I never get tired of it.
“Like a flaky punk boy in a band?” Dad says, grinning at Mom.
“Well, you were a drummer. I was right to be cautious.”
“Of course, of course.”
“But then Debbie, my best friend at the time, set me up on a blind date.” Mom laughs. “She told me to go to our favorite diner—”
“Beth’s Café,” Dad says.
“—at 7 P.M. So I put on my nicer battle jacket, not the one crusted with blood from that one show. You played that show, remember?”
Dad groans and shakes his head.
“And I walk in looking for this guy she’s been talking up all week. And it’s you. I almost walked out—”
“You’d dated way too many drummers!” I exclaim. I know this bit by heart.
Mom smiles at me. “Exactly.”
“But I saw her before she could leave! I convinced her to stay for a milkshake, and we ended up hanging out there almost all night. They had to kick us off the arcade games eventually.” Dad laughs.
“That’s what I want,” I say with a sigh, leaning back in my chair. “I want a story as cute as that.”
“You’ll get it. There’s no rush.” Mom digs into her scramble.
That’s easy for her to say. She has her person. She doesn’t have to worry about heartbreak or liking someone who has no idea she exists.
What if she’s wrong? What if I never find someone?
I push the thought away and cut off another piece of pancake, letting the sweetness fill my mouth.
~~
That afternoon, I fall into a rabbit hole of makeup tutorials on my phone, watching people transform their faces with bright eyeshadow looks. When someone clears their throat a few feet away from me, I shriek and bolt upright on my bed.
Talia grins at me. “Classic.”
“Don’t scare me like that! You know I’m dead to the world when I’m looking at a screen.” I’m complaining, but I’m smiling, too.
“Hey, I was standing here for two whole minutes before I coughed the slightest of coughs to shake you out of your social media vortex.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.
“Sam’s hair looks cool.”
“First of all, yes.” I look at her. “But also, today she asked us—”
“Not to use her full name again ever? That was the first thing she said to me when she opened the door.” Talia and Sam have a friendship of their own, almost like Talia had been Sam’s babysitter growing up instead of my friend who’s over at our house all the time. Sam always thought Talia was cool, but it really ramped up when Talia transitioned. At first, I thought all the questions Sam had for her were invasive, or offensive. But Talia had a different take.
“Do you think she’s getting ready to come out as nonbinary?” Talia asks me now.
“I think so? It’s been slow. She started dressing differently last year, more clothes from the boy’s section, but mix and match, which is cool. And now the hair and name thing in one day. She was probably thinking about it for a while, though.”
“Yeah, that’s usually how it goes.”
“I guess she’ll do it when she’s ready. If she is nonbinary. She might not be.”
“Also true.” Talia joins me on the bed. “What do you wanna do today? How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “I still feel shitty about the whole Sherika thing. Can we watch another movie? I think I’m ready for a romcom. I want to pretend that love isn’t a lie.”
“Oh my god, Hayley.” Talia laughs. “OK. Let’s distract you from your woes.”
We scroll through the various streaming services on my laptop for way too long until we finally pick a movie, some office romance with an actress I kind of recognize, and settle back against the pillows. The opening credits roll, some cheesy pop song blasting through my Bluetooth speakers.
A few scenes in, the main characters have their meet-cute at a poolside cocktail party. One of them turns around from a conversation and runs right into the other one, knocking them into the water fully clothed.
“These movies make it look so easy,” I say, watching the woman help the guy out of the pool in his soaking wet suit.
Talia nudges my arm. “Come on, you could do that.”
“Knock someone into a pool?”
She laughs. “Well, yes. Knowing you, that’s exactly what would happen.”
I swat her arm. “Shut up!”
She rolls away from me, giggling. “I meant you could meet someone there.”
“That’s not a thing.”
She rolls back. “You’re just bummed because you’re still pining for Sherika.”
“No, I mean, that’s not real life,” I say, watching the movie but not really seeing it. “We go to the pool every summer, and nothing happens.”
“OK, but we’ve never gone with the intention of meeting people,” Talia says. “We could try.”
“We?” I look over at her.
A small smile curls up the corners of her lips. “You know how you have a new crush every month on people who never like you back?”
“Wow, you don’t have to drag me like that.”
“Oh my god, no, I just meant—” she shakes her head. “Like, that always happens to you, and I almost never like anyone. But what if we changed that this summer?”
“What do you mean?”
She pushes her tortoiseshell-frame glasses up on her nose. I can see the light in her eyes that she always gets when she’s making a plan.
“Let’s try and meet people. Like for real. Let’s go to the pool and the concert and see if we can.”
I raise my eyebrows, but it does have potential. Even if we don’t find anyone, it could be fun. Besides, I need something to distract me from Sherika. My heart twinges at the thought of her: that gorgeous smile, her tall frame rising to block an opposing player, the bright colors she always wears that make her dark brown skin shine, how funny she is, and the way she always cheers the team on even when we’re losing badly. We would have made such a good couple.
“OK,” I say.
“Yes!” Talia pumps her fist.
I laugh. “You really want to do this? You want to find someone too?”
She shrugs. “I mean, that would be nice. And I get to help you feel better. Win-win.”
I lean my head on her shoulder. The faint lavender smell of her lotion, shampoo, and conditioner—it’s her favorite scent—drifts around me. Whether we really end up meeting girls this summer or not, it’s fun to imagine trying and being each other’s wingwomen, scoping out the hotties together. That sounds a lot better than pining for a girl I can’t have.
