The remainder of the drive up the coast was silent. I’d just begun to doze when my father turned the car onto a gravel driveway lined with the thickest, tallest trees I’d ever seen. Even if the sun hadn’t already started its descent from the sky, the light wouldn’t have been able to break through the denseness of the leaves. I took in the picturesque landscape all around as we drove closer and closer to our new home. What I saw once everything came into view made my jaw drop slightly and my eyes widen in awe.
It wasn’t the massive two-story craftsman—although it was quite gorgeous—which left me speechless. It was the view of what was beyond the house that had me mesmerized.
“The furniture is already set up,” Dad said as he turned the key, shutting off the car’s engine. “The movers unloaded everything yesterday. All that’s left is to unpack are the boxes.”
Ignoring his words, I opened the car door to climb out. “I’m going to take a look around. Be back in a bit.”
I didn’t wait for his response before taking off around the side of the house. The view was absolutely breathtaking. The house sat on a bluff overlooking the Pacific. There were no fences surrounding the property. Our backyard was massive, at least fifty yards before it butted right up to the edge of the cliff, nothing to be seen but miles and miles of ocean. To say the view was stunning would have been a massive understatement. I could have stared at that view for hours and never grown tired of it.
Taking another step toward the edge of the cliff, I glanced down at the beach. One look was all it took and I knew right then and there I was in love with what I saw below me. The ground was covered in sand and pebbles. Downed trees that looked like they’d been there forever lay on their sides. Stepping back from the edge, I scanned the area, looking for a way down. It wasn’t that far of a drop, but there was no way I was climbing down a rocky cliff face all alone. Luckily, off to my right was a path worn into the grass. I followed it until I made it to the quiet beach. Once I was at the shoreline, I turned in a full circle, soaking up everything that surrounded me. With water in front of me, a rocky wall that led up to my new home behind, while magnificent trees and cliffs jutted out on both sides. It was amazing. My mom would have loved it.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, it felt like a balloon had popped, deflating all the wonder and joy I’d momentarily felt as I took in my surroundings, thrusting me back into a harsh reality where my mom was gone and I was on my own. Walking over to one of the fallen trees, I ran my fingers across the trunk where years of rain and tides had left the surface smooth. I took a seat on the weathered wood and watched the waves roll in as tears streamed down my face.
I couldn’t help but wonder when that big, gaping hole she’d left behind when she died would finally begin to heal and close up. Some days it felt like the pain was almost too much to bear.
“I miss you,” I whispered into the breeze as it blew past me.
“Are you a crazy person?” I spun around with a gasp, unaware there was anyone on the beach besides me. My breath instantly stalled as my eyes roamed helplessly over the boy standing before me. Dark brown hair flopped over his forehead messily, nearly masking equally dark eyes. The sun glinted off the piercing in his bottom lip, drawing my attention to his mouth. As I scanned further down, I saw he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of worn-out jeans with a chain hanging from his belt loop to his back pocket. The faded Converses on his feet also appeared to have been worn frequently, ripped and scuffed in places like only a favorite pair of shoes could be. Nothing about his clothing was all that impressive, but the way they hugged his body showed off lean yet well-defined muscles.
He was, by far, one of the most attractive boys I’d ever seen. It wasn’t just his body or the way he dressed that made him so good-looking, though. There was something in the way he was carrying himself. He had an almost-cocky arrogance in his body language. Everything from the slow, casual swagger he had as he walked toward me to the smirk that tilted the corner of his full lips up screamed confident. It was as if he was well aware of who he was and completely comfortable in that knowledge. A deep chuckle pulled my attention back up to his face where his smirk slowly spread into a full-on smile. I’d just been busted checking him out.
“Um…what?”
His head tipped to the side as his eyes narrowed. He was studying me closely, like something about me sitting there alone on a beach fascinated him. His attention was both thrilling and disconcerting all at the same time. His eyes were so focused, as though he was seeing things a stranger shouldn’t see, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
“I asked if you were a crazy person,” he repeated. The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver through my body.
“No!” I let out an offended huff, hugging my arms around my stomach like they were somehow going to protect me from the strange boy who had come out of nowhere. “Are you?” I asked, my tone full of hostility.
The boy stepped even closer and I noticed he looked to be right around my age. “I’m not the one sitting on a log talking to myself.” His eyes glinted with humor, but I wasn’t finding anything about our small exchange to be funny.
My lip curled in derision. “I wasn’t talking to myself,” I said sharply.
He leaned down to pick up one of the pebbles off the beach and began tossing it from hand to hand. “Looked that way to me. What’s your name? I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“We just moved into the house on the bluff,” I answered, pointing up at the cliff behind me. “I’m Freya Linden and you are?”
“Parker Owens.” He thrust his hand out for me to shake. “Freya, huh? That’s a weird name. Guess it fits you, weird name for the weird girl who talks to herself on an empty beach.”
I felt my cheeks heat at his insult. I’d never been the type of girl who was easily offended. My mom had taught me from an early age to ignore people’s hatefulness. She always said mean people were just scared, pathetic human beings who needed to build themselves up by knocking other people down. I was usually able to brush insults off, but having Parker call me weird pricked at something inside of me. I couldn’t explain it, especially since I didn’t know the guy from Adam, but for some reason, it bothered me.
I stood from my spot on the log and started toward the path that led up the cliff. “You’re an asshole,” I ground out as I walked away. What was wrong with me? First I got my feelings hurt, and then the best I could come up with was to call him an asshole? I was awesome when it came to hurling insults at someone who was acting like a jackass. Maybe it was sleep deprivation. Maybe all those hours in a car had thrown me off, but no matter the excuse, in Parker’s presence, I was most definitely off my game.
“Whoa, whoa. Wait a second.” I heard the rocks fly up from the ground as he ran after me. “I was only teasing you,” he said, grabbing hold of my elbow and turning me to face him. “It was a joke. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I frowned as I jerked my arm from his hold. “What’s funny about being a jerk to someone you’ve just met?”
He ran his hands through his unruly hair and released a breath. “Look, I’m sorry. Really. You just looked a little…I don’t know, lost, I guess. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I was just trying to lighten the mood for you.”
I didn’t like how he seemed to be able to read me so well, but more than that, I didn’t like the way he made it feel like I had a million butterflies flapping around in my belly. I’d met the guy all of five minutes ago, for crying out loud. I needed to get away from Parker and his creepy insightfulness.
I opened my mouth to toss a smart remark back at him just as my father called my name from up above us.
“Gotta go,” I said, turning around and continuing up the path.
“It’s been a pleasure, Freya Linden.”
“Can’t say the same, Parker Owens,” I called over my shoulder.
“Feisty. I’m looking forward to seeing you around, new girl.”
I didn’t bother
responding that I hoped to never have to see him again because a part of me—a very tiny part I refused to acknowledge—was kind of excited at the prospect of running into Parker Owens again. Even if I had found him the slightest bit detestable.
It was official. I’d been in Sommerspoint for all of an hour and I was already losing my mind.
Freya Linden.
The name was just as interesting as the girl herself.
As I made my way home, taking the route along the beach to clear my head, the last thing I expected was to run into a beautiful girl sitting on a log crying as she stared out at the ocean. My walk on the beach was something I did regularly to escape the turbulence of my life. I craved the solitude I usually had on the long, lonely expanse of sand and pebbles. I’d left Cassidy’s house an hour earlier and was in desperate need of the salty sea air to clear out the chaos in my mind. I didn’t understand why I kept going back. The girl drove me insane on a good day, but on days like this one, she did nothing but add to the stark blackness of my life.
I’d made the right decision to end my relationship with Cassidy a while back, but when I was having a bad day, it was just too easy to fall back into a routine—or into Cassidy’s bed, to be exact—in an attempt to get a reprieve from the bad days. Unfortunately, that reprieve had come to an end. I’d used my ex as a fallback plan for too long and she was starting to push. Pushing for us to get back together, pushing for us to be something we just weren’t, pushing me to tell her I loved her when, in all honestly, I wasn’t even sure I liked her.
As I made my way back home, that emptiness I’d started feeling inside after every encounter with Cassidy had started to grow. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue going on the way I was before the darkness swallowed me whole. If I were being honest with myself, my relationship with Cassidy—if that was what I could even call it—wasn’t the only thing I was beginning to question. For the past few years, I’d surrounded myself with people who weren’t all that great. Where I could typically find a redeeming quality in most people, it was gradually becoming harder and harder to excuse the selfish behavior of my so-called friends. At first, the inane drama of my tight-knit circle of friends had been a welcome escape from my own self-loathing. However, as time passed, I found the childish behavior and pettiness to be doing nothing but adding to the weight I carried around on my chest, threatening to pull me under until I drowned in it all.
The sight of the girl on the beach seemed to lift that depressing fog, if only for a little while. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a pair of blue eyes so startlingly beautiful. But it wasn’t just the color that had pulled me in. It was the sadness she held behind them. In just one brief moment on that quiet beach, I saw something in her so similar to what I saw every time I looked in the mirror. Like recognized like, and I recognized the same pain in Freya that I carried around every single day.
It made me want to know her better. It made me want to discover what clouded those deep azure eyes. There wasn’t much I had to look forward to in my life, but maybe…just maybe Freya Linden was going to change all of that.
It was the morning of the first day of my senior year. I should have been excited. I should have been making plans for the future, thinking about Homecoming, Prom, college applications. But as I stood in front of my bathroom mirror staring into my emotionless blue eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but sadness. My mother wasn’t there to walk me through any of the milestones approaching during my last year of high school. I was stuck in a microscopically small town with no friends, starting over without any type of support system. Just like I’d predicted, as soon as the house was in some semblance of order, my dad had buried himself in his work, leaving long before I woke in the morning and not arriving back home until well after dark. I had to navigate our tiny town all on my own just so I could find my new school and register for classes. Dad had a meeting with his new partner at the hospital in town that day. Of course, that took precedence over getting his teenage daughter enrolled in school.
As I studied my face in the mirror, I tried not to think about how much I missed my mom. I tried to push away the constant sorrow that seemed to follow me around like a dark storm cloud, blocking out any light that could possibly brighten up my black and white world. I didn’t think about how much I looked like her because that would have only led to unstoppable tears, and the only thing worse than starting over at a new school all alone was starting over with a red, splotchy face from crying all morning long.
Two brushes of the mascara wand over my lashes and a touch of clear lip gloss was as good as it was going to get. I’d never been a big fan of makeup. While I loved my blue eyes for being so much like Mom’s, I also disliked them for how big they were. Too much makeup would have made my wide eyes look like they were too big for my face.
I let out a dejected sigh and walked from the bathroom into my bedroom, sliding my feet into my gold ballet flats. My shoes were the only pop of color in my entire outfit. Plain skinny jeans, a plain white t-shirt, no jewelry, and my hair thrown up in a ponytail. Judging by my clothing choice, it was pretty obvious that I couldn’t bring myself to care about my appearance.
I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen to make myself the same breakfast I’d been having for the past few months: black coffee, a granola bar, and a banana, the breakfast of champions. I took a seat on one of the barstools at the island which gave me a perfect view of the ocean outside the back windows. The morning was overcast and dreary, but I was still amazed by what spread out for miles and miles beyond the cliffs. We’d been in the house for a week and the view of the ocean still took my breath away every time I saw it. I’d have much rather sat at home, staring out at the gray, turbulent water than go face whatever teenage hell I was about to stumble upon at Sommerspoint High School. That choppy, angry sea matched my mood so perfectly it almost felt as if the waves were speaking to me, calling my name, asking me to stay with them.
As I reached for a banana from the fruit bowl, I noticed the piece of paper with my name scrawled across the front. If I was reading it correctly—which was questionable since my father’s handwriting was just as bad as every other doctor out there—he’d left me a note.
FREYA,
GOOD LUCK ON YOUR FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL.
~DAD.
No I love you or anything that could have possibly been misconstrued as affection. Just a simple, generic letter scribbled onto a piece of paper as if the note had been an afterthought as he prepared to rush out the door.
I crumpled the paper in my hand as I finished my banana and tossed the letter, along with the peel into the trash can. I grabbed my canvas messenger bag off the table and shoved a granola bar inside to eat on my walk to school, then I was out the door. It was time to start my new life
Sommerspoint High School was just like every other high school in the country, or so I assumed, seeing as I’d only had one other school to base my observation on. There were kids running around like they were on fire, in a hurry to get to wherever it was they needed to be. Others meandered through the halls like they had all the time in the world, clearly not in a rush to learn. Some students stood at their lockers, surrounded by their friends as they talked and laughed without a care. I kept my head down, not wanting to draw attention to myself or get pulled into a conversation I didn’t want to be in. I just wanted to get through the day and go home. I wasn’t looking to connect with anyone.
I caught a few stares from people as I made my way to my locker, undoubtedly garnering interest as the new girl in such a small town. But I just pushed forth, ignoring the looks and whispers as I passed. I pulled the small slip of paper from my bag that had my locker combination on it and began turning the dial. After three attempts, the damn door still refused to open. I let out a curse as the first warning bell sounded, signaling classes were about to begin. I turned the dial again and pulled at the little metal lever to no avail. The bastard didn’t want to let me in.
I turned to see a girl a good few inches shorter than me standing just two lockers down from mine. Her fire engine-red hair sprouted out around her face in a frizzy mass of curls and freckles covered most of her face. Her green eyes crinkled in the corners as her lips stretched out into a huge smile. The bright red hair and freckles were usually a bad combination, especially on a teenage girl. However, on the one standing in front of me, they seemed to give her character, like she owned her looks, flaws and all. She was so tiny with such a mass of fiery hair that she reminded me of one of those little woodland sprites my mom used to read about in books when she’d tuck me in at night.
“Huh?”
“The lockers,” she said, her smile spreading even wider. Oh, no, she was one of those chronically happy people. I had to suppress a groan as she came toward me. “You have to give it a whack if you want it to open. Here, let me try.”
The sprite took the paper from my hand and studied it before turning the dial. As soon as she was done with the combination, she hit the locker door with the side of her fist and pulled the little lever up. The stupid door opened like a charm.
“See, you just have to know what to do.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled as I stuffed the books I didn’t need inside.
“No problem. I’m Stella.” Her little hand jutted out at me as she hopped from foot to foot. Clearly Stella was a very excitable person. I wasn’t feeling the excitement, but there was just something about her sweet face. I couldn’t bring myself to be mean to her.
Scattered Colors Page 2
