Hi guys! New story, I hope you'll like it. This is actually inspired and based on the story 'Along for the Ride', by Sarah Dessen. It's one of those cheesy romantic books, but it's actually quite good. Maybe you'll read it at some point, or you have read it. I'm throwing my own little twist on it though; it won't be a copy of the book I promise, some bits will be pretty identical…some won't.

So, naturally, I don't own anything, credits to Sarah Dessen. (Again, it won't be a copy of the book…I just don't want to get in trouble. Call me paranoid if you want.)

That being said, here we go.

Along for the Rush.

Chapter 1:

The e-mails always start the same.

Kendall! How are you?

What always pisses me off is the exclamation point. Whenever my mother reads them, she snorts at all the quirky and peppy punctuation and words—she claimed it was over exuberant, obnoxious, and irritatingly happy. That was just Mercedes though, and there was nothing we could do about it.

We're really excited for the new baby. Did your father tell you we're planning on naming him/her something after you? If it's a girl, we're naming in Kenzie. A boy? Kenny. Isn't that great?

Everything at the store is going great—my employees have been so understanding of my absences, given the pregnancy and all. I'm sure they'd love to meet you, if you'd like to come down this summer. As usual, you're welcome to come! Seriously! Colby could use another Knight boy around!

Your father's been uber busy on his photography and curating, they want him in the city some days of the week (sometimes it's hard for me). He's been great though; he's been working on the Nursery for a while now. Gosh, it looks great! The window looks right out to the beach! He/she will love it; I'm excited for her to come and see it! And you, you should come see it. Again, we'd love to have you come.

We're also super excited for your graduation—only a few more weeks to go! Congrats on the valedictorian status, I swear the baby kicked me super hard on the inside when your dad announced it! At first we thought I was going into labor! :)

Anyways, we really hope you'll come down for the summer; you and your mom could come down!

Have a good last few weeks of classes, and we hope you're doing well!

—Mercedes, Jon, and the baby :)

Reading letters from Mercedes was always like talking to a cheerleader—it was like she was right there with you screaming happy words into your ear. "No one should be that happy, Kendall, especially not with your father," I remember my mom telling me one day while reading an e-mail over my shoulder.

My parents divorced when I was eight. My mom predicted a couple years before my father remarried that it wouldn't be too long before my dad got together with a blonde chick almost half his age.

Her prediction was right.

My mom didn't like the woman my dad chose to marry. She came up with a fake excuse every time we were invited to something with the family, and insulted the blonde every chance she got.

Mercedes was twenty-six and having a baby—much like my mom was when she had me, but there was unmistakable differences between the two. My mom was a smart, independent and sophisticated woman. Mercedes was... Mercedes. A self-improvement woman, constantly keeping herself manicured, pedicured and highlighted, throw in a possible boob-job or two. My mom and I still haven't decided if that procedure had been implemented.

Mercedes also owned a store, we weren't exactly sure what type though. It could range from anything from a mechanic shop to a flower shop, with Mercedes we just did not know. My mom was a working woman too though, she was a college professor at a nearby university, she was always busy. Some nights she didn't even come home, she'd be working so late on finishing grading papers and projects. That's why it didn't matter to her that I was never home at night either.

A couple weeks after receiving the latest e-mail, I'm driving down the street to the local diner. It's already eleven-thirty. I always go to the diner at night when my mom's not around. I wrote all of my college applications there, still had one more to go. Thankfully it was a 24/7 diner—so I could sit there all night drinking coffee and writing the applications if I needed to.

Ever since my parents' divorce, I hadn't been sleeping at night. The two of them spent the nights shouting and fighting, keeping me awake. My biological clock eventually gave in to the arguments and reset so that I would sleep during the day when I could; and then stay up all night. The nights where they weren't fighting, they would both be out. I would wait for at least the one of them to come home. Some nights they didn't even come home, leaving me exhausted and worried.

"Elon University," the waitress hovering over me while pouring coffee into my mug spoke. She looked down at the unfilled application in front of me. "Do you think you'll get into this one?" She'd seen me writing so many different applications to different schools. Either she thought I hadn't been accepted to any and kept trying, or I was just a try-hard kid. It was the latter.

"I think so," I shrug. "It's not that difficult."

"Well," she smiles. "I like that confidence. You'll do fine."

I don't need her reassurance; I'm at the top of my class and have been offered scholarships at most schools I've been interested in. I thank her for the coffee and she leaves me alone—the usual routine for her and myself.

Occasionally a person or two will come in for some coffee, but by two o'clock I'm the only one around aside from the couple of waitresses watching the late night shows on the news channels on the small TV perched up on a shelf on a wall. I finish the application and put it in the envelope they sent, writing out my return address and everything necessary before sealing it and setting it down in front of me.

The waitress comes back over and offers me a smile, before pouring more coffee into my cup.

We both knew I'd be here I while.

Kenzie Caroline Knight was born the day before my graduation.

"I'm so sorry, Kendall," my dad sighs into the phone. "I hate to miss out on your speech." Eventually I understand the fact that I wasn't first priority anymore, a little baby is much more responsibility than an eighteen year old boy, and accept my father's apology and tell him, "Don't worry, send Mercedes my regards."

The next day, I graduate from high school, in my class of one hundred and seven students.

I can now tell people I graduated with a straight-A average, and was accepted to all of the schools I applied to, if anyone asked. Elon didn't even hesitate to send back the acceptance letter a short four days after I sent it in.

The night of graduation, after all of the graduation parties, I go home and immediately flop down on the bed with all of my acceptance letters, mulling through the school choices. Elon-U, UCLA, UNC, Boston College, Amherst. I sigh as I tuck them back under my bed, silently praying the summer would go by quickly.

Fourteen days of summer down. I've accepted my position as a student at Elon University—Class of 2016.

Despite actually doing things for the two weeks, summer still hasn't been moving fast enough for me. I've hung out with some friends a couple of times, and bought all supplies and dorm stuff for Elon in the fall.

Tonight I found myself at a friend's party, feeling completely out of place and tired of summer already. I leave early, getting home at about eleven thirty to flop on my bed and breathe. Alcohol and drugs were just not my thing.

"Knock knock," my mother walks in, sitting on the bed next to me. She's in a dress and some heels, just getting back from somewhere as well.

"Why are you all dressed up?" I ask.

"I went out with some colleagues, seeing as you didn't need me at your party," she says sarcastically and ruffles my hair while referring to all of the professors she works with. "And your brother sent one of his many girlfriends," she pauses to roll her eyes and hand me a package. "To give you this while we were out."

I look at it for a moment.

"Kevin sent this," I raise an eyebrow. My older brother never sent me gifts, he was always moving around the world—making it almost impossible to send him something in return.

"Indeed he did," she raises her hands, not understanding either. "Anyways, I went out to avoid seeing the new girlfriend," she air quotes the word 'girlfriend'. "I can't deal with the bitches he sends anymore. I'm so glad you're turning out better than he did," she sighs.

My mother openly didn't approve of Kevin's tendencies to travel around the world and meet new girls every week—send a new one home with letters telling us he was alive and well. My mom stands up and leaves me to the package and my thoughts. I sit up on the bed so I'm in a pretzel position on top of the comforters, looking at the box in my hands before sighing and opening it.

My hands fumble with the tape (packaging tape is fucking annoying to deal with) and open the box, finding a bunch of bubble wrap and tissue paper. I finally dig out a picture frame, with a picture of my brother placed in it.

I snort as I look at the engraving on the bottom of the silver frame. In neat cursive writing it says:

"Having some fucking fun."

I chuckle as I look at the picture—Kevin standing in front of the leaning tower of Pisa in the distance. He's standing far enough away so that he could turn his body at an angle so it looked like the tower itself was emerging from his pants, right where his dick should be. I started to think about what else he would conquer over the summer, what places he'd visit and what foods he'd try, what girlfriends he'd create and then break up with. He was never really one to think ahead, but when it came to summers he always had a plan.

If I was being honest with myself, I had been thinking too much about graduating high school and beginning college throughout the year, but what was supposed to happen in between the two events? I looked down at the picture frame in my hands, smiling at Kevin again. I suddenly felt a pang of jealousy, that he was traveling all around the world and had weird and great experiences. Traveling seemed to have offered him some amazing opportunities. I can't help but wonder what might happen if I were to go somewhere, what opportunities might arise for me.

While I couldn't go to the leaning tower of Pisa and take funny pictures, or go to China or Egypt with someone random that I just met, I had somewhere I could in fact go.

I grabbed my laptop and opened up the e-mail Mercedes sent a couple weeks ago that I still hadn't responded to.

Mercedes, I've considered your offer to come down to Colby, I'll be down tomorrow night to help out with the baby and everything.

Sorry for the late response, Kendall

And with the click of a button,

My summer changed.

"Don't tell me you're actually going," My mom says when I find her in the kitchen in the morning.

"I am," I point to the suitcases I have sitting behind me, and the backpack lazily slung over my shoulder.

"Are you that eager to waste your summer with your step-mother?" my mom is heavily judging me right now, but she was in no position to criticize considering she was spending her time with other male college professors the night before. I ignored her question, grabbing a coffee mug out of the cabinet and stealing some of the leftover coffee she made.

"So what'd your brother send the new girlfriend with?" she was referring to the frame I got.

"A picture of himself in front of the leaning tower of Pisa," I smile as I think about how I tucked it under some clothing in my suitcase. If it weren't for that absurd picture, I wouldn't have been leaving today for a chance at refreshing my summer vacation.

"Ah, Italy," she nods, wrapping her hands around her own coffee mug tightly. "I would have never guessed he was there at this time of year, it attracts a lot of tourists over the summer. Much like the beach, which brings me back to my point. Why are you going?"

"Mercedes responded to my e-mail almost right away, saying I could stay as long as I wanted. No commitments. So if I hate it, I'll come back. And what am I going to do here? Wait for you to come home from your dates?" I tease.

"Hey, that's no fair," she smiles. "I'm obviously the dominant professor at these gatherings. There's no such things as dates in my book."

"Sure mom," I roll my eyes. "Do you think the girlfriend that dropped the gift off last night knows she probably won't see him ever again?" I wondered aloud.

"You never know, Kevin might have changed and the two are meeting back in Italy to get married next weekend," my mom smirks.

For a second after her statement, we give each other incredulous looks before losing it and cracking up.

"People don't change, Kendall," she concludes. "And that poor Mercedes chick has another thing coming to her if she really thinks your father is going to be helpful with that baby. She's lucky to have you coming down to help. Have fun, be careful." She comes over to kiss my forehead before stepping away. It was like she miraculously changed her views on me leaving—maybe she finally realized she was free to do whatever the hell she wanted without a kid around to judge her.

"Call me when you get there."

My father and Mercedes' house is just as you would expect it to be. It looks as if it were plucked right off of a movie set trying to capture the image of a typical house in a utopian society. The house is completely painted white, except for the green oak door in the front, at the top of a couple steps leading up to a porch.

I pull into the driveway, wondering how my dad would give in to such a house—it was so unlike him. Maybe he changed, maybe Mercedes' preferences around the house he lived in were at his best interest.

"People don't change, Kendall," my mom's voice rings through my head.

I knock on the door after managing to get my suitcases up the steps and on to the porch. There was no answer, so I knock again. My eye catches something at my feet, an orange post it note.

Kendall—it's unlocked :)

Holding on to the sticky note, I push the door open and drag my stuff in behind me.

"Hello?" I speak out into the silence, hoping someone might answer this time. Of course, I'm disappointed and hear no response.

"Hellooooo," I say a second time, moving further into the house. Much like the outside, everything is white except for the few green details.

"Kendall?" I hear a squeak of a voice out of nowhere.

"Mercedes? Dad?" I ask, hoping to hear the voice again.

"In the living room," I hear the squeaky voice again—definitely Mercedes.

I follow the voice into the large living room, immediately being hit by a refreshing breeze coming right off of the ocean through the open sliding doors.

"Mercedes?" I ask, not seeing her anywhere in the room.

"On the couch," I hear a mumble.

I step closer to the couch, not sure what I'm expecting. I finally set eyes on her. She's holding a sleeping Kenzie in her arms. She looks up at me, and I'm taken aback by her appearance. A tired, baggy and wrinkly one replaces her usually happy and energetic face.

"Kendall," she smiles weakly at me, rocking the baby around in her arms.

"Hi," I smile back, not sure of what to do.

"I'm sure Kenzie will be up any second," she sighs, looking down at the resting creature. "She barely spends any time sleeping." Oh God, please don't curse little Kenzie with a sleeping disability like myself.

"How are you?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"I'm exhausted, to be honest. Having a baby is hard work."

"I can imagine," I can also imagine that my father isn't helping out with the baby.

"Your father is upstairs in his office," she nods her head towards the staircase behind me. "You're staying in the guestroom, if you wanna put your stuff in there before you talk to him or something."

"Thanks," I pick up my things and climb up the stairs, noticing all of the white and green in the house, as I keep moving.

"Dad?" I nudge the office door open with my foot to see my father hunched over his desk in a swivel chair observing a photo.

"Kendall!" he turns around and sets the photo down to stand up and give me a hug. It's been a while since I've seen him, so I hold back on the 'hello' and simply pat his back as he engulfs me in a bone-crushing hug. "Feel like I have seen you in weeks."

It's been years. I swallow any annoyance and anger to simply say, "It's been a while, yeah."

"Did you meet Kenzie?" he pulls away, grabbing my shoulders out of excitement.

"Sorta, she was sleeping," I shrug; it's not a big deal.

"God, Mercedes is having a little trouble with that. Kenzie's just like your brother was, always crying and never sleeping."

"I see, how's life being the father of a tiny baby again?" I inspect, hoping he'll list some things he actually does to help.

"It's great, I love taking care of her," he flinches. Liar.

"Okay," I clench my jaw, now officially annoyed with my father. Mom was right, he didn't change. He couldn't.

"Go get settled in, you have a couple hours to do whatever. And you can do anything you want in the guest room—you could paint it…put posters up, pictures, whatever. We're painting it again in the fall again.

I swallow and nod, leaving him to his business.

I wake up at around six-thirty, according to the green alarm clock set on the white wooden bedside table next to the bed. I put everything away into drawers and books on shelves, and opened the windows to feel the ocean breeze and listen to the tides rolling in. I was then left with nothing to do—or no interest to do anything else, except for sleep.

While sitting up to look out the window—almost as if I was making sure the ocean was there, and I was indeed in Colby at the moment, my ears tune in to a wailing baby. Not even wailing (she's way past that), screaming. I get up and walk into the hallway and down to the nursery, to find the door open. Mercedes is sitting in a rocking chair with Kenzie in her arms, giving her lungs a real workout. Kenzie's arms are flailing all around and she doesn't seem to be breathing in between screams.

Mercedes doesn't notice me standing in the doorway, she has her eyes locked on Kenzie's whispering "Shh, it's alright Kenzie…shh it's going to be okay."

I close my eyes when I hear this, remembering that familiar phrase. It takes me back to my eight-year-old self, crouching down against my bedroom door and covering my ears to block out the screaming and fighting of my parents down the hall. I would always whisper, "shh…it's okay Kendall…they love you, shh…it's going to be alright."

I shake the memory out of my head and walk down the other end of the hallway, trying to find my dad.

"Hey," I knock on the door, and close it behind me.

"What's up?" he doesn't take his eyes off of the new photo he's looking at.

"Should I get dinner going? I can cook something—"

"Mercedes isn't doing that?" he turns, his face with no expression on it.

"No, I think she's with the baby."

"Is she crying again?" he turns to set the photo down, giving me a chance to roll my eyes. Are you deaf? Do your ears function? Are they attached to your head?

He then turns back to me, with his full attention—as if not having dinner ready was a major concern of his. With my father, I'm not surprised. He's always been a little bit tubby, a 'food lover' as he liked to call it.

"If you're hungry, you could go down to that burger joint at the end of the street. The Rocque's café?"

"Sure," I shrug. I don't know about anybody else, but I'm starving. "Do you want me to get you—"

"I'll have the onion rings," he's smiling like a little girl.

"Does Mercedes usually get anything?" She's more important than both my dad and myself right now, the poor woman.

"Eh," my dad turns around again to his work. "You can ask her."

I roll my eyes behind his back again and walk back down to the nursery, the baby still crying—but not as loud as before. She must have gotten tired of the screaming.

"Mercedes?" I knock. She doesn't hear me, of course. "Mercedes?" I almost shout.

"What?" she looks up, startled.

"I'm going to get dinner—"

"What?" she shouts over the baby, leaning closer to me to hear.

"I'm going to get dinner! Do you want anything?" I shout as well, tired of competing with the baby.

"Oh," she leans back. "Get me whatever you're having!" she shouts, before looking back down at the baby and whispering her sweet nothings again. I nod and leave the room, not wanting to hear the words she whispered, the ones I used to use to calm myself down.

I walk into my room to grab my wallet and phone before changing my pants into shorts, and throw on my UCLA sweatshirt over my plain black t-shirt, knowing the beach got a little chilly at night.

"I'm going," I announce, knowing no one hears me leaving anyways.

My dad is right when he says that Rocque's cafe is right down the street. I can see the neon sign next to the streetlight on the corner, but there's a bunch of stores in between the house and the restaurant itself. My eyes scan each store. I pass a boutique, a book store, a little convenience store, all before I stop to look at a picture of my baby step-sister posted on the inside of a window of a little surf shop. I look at the name of the store, 'Inlet Outlet Surf Shop'. The picture of Kenzie says,

"It's a girl! 7 pounds 11 ounces! Kenzie Caroline Knight."

This must be Mercedes' store. I look in to see a girl with thick curly brown hair sitting on the counter at the register talking on the phone. She runs her fingers through her curls; tightly winding them and then letting them bounce away again. My eyes then land on a boy, a Latino with a cute mole on his chin. It takes me a while to scan the store—seeing it's a surf apparel kind of store, with both boards and surf-brand clothing. I didn't know Mercedes was a surfer. Then again, it was mentioned that she grew up on the beach in an e-mail at some point.

"I'm just saying it needs to be named something awesome. And energetic," I hear a male voice down the street. I look away from the store and keep walking, towards the voices.

"No shit, Jett," I lay eyes on two boys, sitting outside of a bike shop.

There's a boy with dark hair with dirty blonde strands—like he spent too much time in the sun.

"Thank you, Dak," he says to the boy who said 'No shit,' before. So he must be Jett. "Okay… How about Overdrive bikes?"

"No," Dak groans.

"Fine. How about we call the store…" Jett starts, and stops to think. "I just saw the hottest boy in Colby walk by?" I lift my eyes up to see who he was talking to, to notice his eyes are locked on mine. I feel my face heat up as he smirks at me; he was definitely talking to me.

"Jesus, you're pathetic," Dak laughs, and Jett laughs along. I drop my eyes again, blushing harder now and walking into the restaurant. Sure, I've had crushes before, but not openly admitted. I've had plenty of people who've liked me, but they weren't exactly my type. They were girls.

"Could I have some onion rings, two cheeseburgers and two chocolate milkshakes, one vanilla please?" I order at the register once I get inside—wanting to get back the house to my room as soon as possible, away from Jett and any source of embarrassment. The girl at the register takes my money and hands me all of the food after a couple minutes. I thank and tip her, before leaving.

Jett is still outside, but the Dak kid is gone. Jett is now talking to a brunette boy with pale skin and spiked up hair.

"Hey, UCLA!" Jett doesn't let me go by unnoticed as he addresses my sweatshirt. I look up, to see the spiked-hair boy glaring right at me.

"If you're looking for something to do tonight, meet me at the Tip at eight," he raises an eyebrow. The boy he was talking to is still glaring at me, trying to stab me with the deep brown eyes in his sockets. I remain quiet; deciding if I spoke the boy would actually attack me.

"Ah, you're the heartbreaking type," Jett smirks—accepting a challenge. "I'll wait for you there."

I keep walking, considering his request. Maybe I could go out, just to observe the teenage nightlife in Colby on a typical weeknight. I can still feel the one boy's death glare poking at my back, in between my shoulder blades.

The paper bag filled with food is getting hot in my hands, so I make a point to walk faster back to the house before the greasy food burned my skin through the bag, also to get away from the kid who wanted to hurt me.

"I'm back," I announce. My dad is waiting at the dinner table with a newspaper in his hand, a plate and napkin out for only himself. I pull all of the food and drinks out, and shake out the mustard and ketchup packets on to the table.

"Does Mercedes want to come down or should I bring it up?" I ask. My dad doesn't look up from his newspaper, but mutters "Yeah sure, sounds great."

"No, Dad," I wave my hands to get his attention. "Should I bring Mercedes her food?"

"Oh, right, sorry," he folds up the newspaper and reaches for an onion ring. "You could do that, I'm sure she's with the baby." I arrange Mercedes' plate for her and go upstairs to the nursery. She looks up at me, eyes bloodshot and wet. Kenzie is of course freaking out, as usual.

"I brought you your food," I set it down on the dresser before taking a step closer and looking down at my baby step-sister and helpless step-mom.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Mercedes breaks down in tears. "She's fed, changed, everything. I don't get it," she sobs. I feel a little awkward standing and watching as she cries.

"I don't know much about babies, but apparently Kevin was just like this," I refer to all of the stories I heard about my older brother. "I think the term was fussiness. It'll stop soon, she just needs to learn to self soothe or something like that."

"Fussiness?" she sniffles. "But I've done everything that I can think of—Oh god, Kendall I'm sorry. You don't want to hear about this." I shrug.

"You should go down to the Tip tonight, all of my girls and boys at the shop go at night. I did when I was your age," she smiles weakly at the memories, sniffling more. I nod, seriously considering again.

"I might," I shrug. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" I ask her. She wipes her cheek with her free hand, the other arm cradling the baby.

"Yeah, thank you for the food," she smiles. "Just promise me you won't let me or the baby stop you from doing anything fun this summer?"

"Sure," I smile back. It's not completely sincere, but I try to be nice about it.

I hop back down the stairs, and find my dad almost finishing off the onion rings.

"Is she okay?" he asks, looking up at me while dipping an onion ring in ketchup and bringing it to his mouth.

"Not really, the baby's still crying," I sigh.

"I'd better go check in," he disappears up the stairs.

Finally.

I glance at my phone screen—telling me it's seven thirty. I have half an hour to make a decision. After a while of thinking, I shove a bunch of fries down my throat and then put the burger in the fridge—I'll save it for later.

I leave the house with my phone and wallet, and walk down the familiar street past Rocque's and the bike shop, where Jett was outside before. All of the shops are closed—the teenage workers gone and undoubtedly at the Tip already.

I pass all of the stores and the café, and make my way to the sandy end of the boardwalk at the street.

I'm at the Tip.

What did you all think?
Please review and tell me if it's good enough/interesting enough that I should continue it :)

Thank Youu!

xx

Sarah