by McKayla Box
“I don't know.”
“I do,” she says. “Presley, that thing is gonna go viral. Trust me.”
A flash of panic moves through me, thinking about some video of me throwing coffee at Trevor might be seen by millions of people. That wasn't why I did it. But I tamp down the panic, telling myself that he started it and it's not my fault if I finished it.
Shanna puts her hand on my elbow. “I wanted to talk to you.”
I look at her. “About what?”
She takes a deep breath and exhales. “Okay, this is going to be weird, so just let me say it, alright?”
I'm still unsure what she's talking about. “Okay.”
She bites on her upper lip for a moment, then lets it go. “I've been pretty shitty to you. And I know I sort of apologized already, but I'm...I guess I'm apologizing again.”
“You don't have to,” I tell her.
She shifts her weight in the desk. “Thanks, but I do. But it's not just that. What I did with Trevor that night wasn't cool.”
“He's not my boyfriend,” I tell her. “I don't own him. What he does is his own business. You, too.”
She frowns. “Okay, but we both know it was a bullshit thing to do.”
I shrug, not wanting to make it into something it's not.
“But I also need to say something about Derek,” she says.
“Look, I'm not interested in him,” I tell her. “I swear. I'm not the bitch who's looking to taking someone else's boyfriend.”
She holds up a perfectly manicured finger. “I know. Just let me talk.”
I don't say anything.
“He's not my boyfriend, either,” she says. “At least, not anymore. We've been on again and off again for a long time and we're totally off now. It's over. I don't think we're gonna be friends, but whatever.” She pauses. “So I have no...claim over him. I can't tell you or anyone else to stay away from him. He's...single.” She forces a smile onto her face. “And that's weird to say, but it's cool.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“Two reasons,” she says. “One because, I was a total bitch to you, pretending like he was my property and I was trying to mark him. Not cool and I just want you to know I'm sorry.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks, I guess. But you don't have to apologize.”
She watches a couple of people hustle into the room. “And the other reason is because I think he likes you.”
“Derek? Likes me?”
She nods. “Yeah. Look, you're totally his type. You're hot, you're smart, and you're apparently braver than anyone else at this stupid school. There are probably a lot of guys here that like you.”
My cheeks get warm and I look down at the desk.
“But Derek,” she says. “Derek's not a bad kid. In fact, he's pretty cool. Forget all of the stupid shit we did to one another. He's my ex now, so of course I'm gonna say stuff about him and we're gonna have a history. But he's not a bad guy at all. Compared to most guys at Sunset Beach, he's a really good guy, actually.” She pauses. “And he's a hell of a lot cooler than Trevor.”
Everything she's saying to me is making me uncomfortable. I don't want to talk about Derek with her and I sure as hell don't want to talk about Trevor. I just want class to start.
“So I just want you to know that if Derek does like you and you change your mind?” Shanna says. “I'm cool with it.” She smiles. “I mean, it's gonna be weird at first and maybe I'll be a little bitchy about it. But I'll be fine eventually. I'll get over it.” She shakes her head. “I'm just trying to not be the bitch everyone thinks I am.” The smile fades. “And that I've probably really been. That's all.”
I'm not sure what brings all of this on, but I can feel the knot in my stomach release a little bit. If there's one less person I have to worry about hating me or having it out for me, that's a good thing. I'll take it.
“Thanks,” I say. “Seriously. Thanks.”
She smiles again and nods. “Yeah. I just wanted you to know.”
The bell rings and she turns in her seat to face the front of the room.
The knot inside me unties itself a little further.
Maybe embarrassing Trevor Robinson won't be the worst thing that's ever happened to me.
TWENTY EIGHT
“Your mother wants you to call her,” my father says.
I'm home and he's actually home at a decent hour. We're able to have dinner together and it's nice to sit with him and catch up. Until he brings up my mom.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because she's your mother?” he says, gathering our now empty plates from the table. “I don't know.”
“I don't want to.”
“Yeah, well, there are lots of things I don't want to do, but sometimes you have to do them.”
“You're telling me I have to?”
He carries the plates to the counter next to the sink and shoots me a look. “I think you should, yes.”
I sigh. “Fine. Maybe tomorrow.”
“She asked if you would tonight,” he says. “She has a trip or something tomorrow.”
“Ugh. Fine.” I leave the table and head to my room. I shut the door and crash on my bed. I scroll through my phone until I find her number. I frown at it, take a deep breath, then tap it.
“Presley!” she says a moment later. “I was just going to try you.”
“Hi. Dad said you wanted me to call.”
“I was hoping we could FaceTime so I could see you.”
“He didn't say that.”
The call immediately interrupts and I can see that she's asking for FaceTime. I sigh again and tap the screen. The phone chimes and her face appears on the screen.
“That's better,” she says, smiling. “How are you, Pres?”
“I'm fine,” I say.
“How is everything at your new school?”
“Fine.”
I see her fidget wherever she is sitting. “I was hoping for more than one word answers. I haven't talked to you in over a week.”
I lay back on the bed. “Sorry. I've been busy. School and stuff.”
There is an awkward moment of silence. I know she wants more from me, but I just don't feel like giving it to her.
“Tell me about your classes,” she says.
I shrug. “It's school. They're classes. Nothing special.”
She stares at me through the phone. “Presley, we can't have a relationship like this if you won't talk to me.”
“I am talking to you,” I say. “I called you. We're talking.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do know what she means, but I don't care that she's angry. “I don't know what you want from me.”
“I would like to be able to talk to you,” she says. “I would like to be able to hear about your school and your friends and whatever is going on in your life. That would be a nice start.”
Her voice is like a cheese grater on my ear. “I told you about school. I've made friends. Is that better?”
She looks down. “No. It's not.”
I know I'm being a bitch, but I have so much anger toward her every time I hear her name or see her face that I can't help it. She was the one who decided to break up our family and she was the one who decided to move to Washington. I didn't choose those things. She did.
She looks up again at me. I feel like I barely recognize her.
“I'd like you to come to Washington for Thanksgiving,” she says.
“Probably not,” I say immediately. “I'm going to be busy with school and stuff.”
“I've already mentioned it to your father,” she says. “I think you could manage a couple of days.”
I'm irritated that she's talked to my dad about it and he didn't tell me. “Well, I don't know what I'll be doing. I might get a job or something.”
“We'd like to see you, Presley,” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“So you're saying Roger will be there?”
“Of course he'll be here. We
live together. We--”
“Then no,” I say. “I'm not coming.”
“Presley, listen,” she says. “I know--”
“No, you don't know,” I tell her. “You don't know because you aren't here. You're there and you're with him. So you don't know anything about school or my life or what's going on or anything like that. And you can't make me get on a plane if I don't want to.”
She purses her lips. “I didn't want the conversation to go like this.”
“Me, either,” I says. “So let's end it.” I push the end button before I can think better of it.
I toss the phone on the bed next to me and I feel like punching someone in the face. Anyone. Mostly my mother. Definitely Roger. But there's no one to punch and even if there was, it won't fix anything. I couldn't think of anything that sounded much worse than spending Thanksgiving with her and the man she cheated on my dad with.
The phone vibrates on the bed and I groan, thinking she's calling me back. I pick it up and look at the screen. I'm relieved when I see it's a text from Bridget and not my mom.
What are you doing right now?
Nothing. You?
Gina just texted and said there's a bonfire down at the Point. You in?
I want to be in because being with my friends sounds far better than staying home and avoiding more phone calls from my mother. I'm not sure how my dad will feel about it, though.
On cue, there's a knock on my door and it's him. “Pres?”
“Yeah.”
He pushes the door open and sticks his head. “Hey. I've gotta run back to the office for a bit. I'm sorry, but I've got a ton to do.”
“It's okay,” I tell him. “I'll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
He smiles. “Okay. Don't wait up. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I wait until he closes the door to text Bridget back.
I'm in.
TWENTY NINE
“Just taste these,” Gina says, handing me a red cup. “You might have an orgasm.”
We're in the parking lot down at the beach where two of the bays come together. The Point is apparently the thin strip of sand between them. I wonder if I'll ever learn all of the nicknames for all of these spots.
The cup is filled with something that looks like a slushie, pink and icy. There's a straw in the middle of it and I take a sip. It's cold and icy and I taste strawberry and rum and other fruity things. I don't orgasm, but it's really, really good.
“Did you make these?” Maddie asks, staring at her cup like it contains magic.
Gina nods and walks around to the side of her blue Volkswagen Beetle. She comes pack with a massive thermos. “I made them in the blender at home before I left, then put them in these.” She grins. “I've got three more in the car.”
Maddie high fives her.
I take another sip and the second is even better than the first. I take a look around. The bonfire is raging on the sand and the parking lot is close to full. People are grouped on the sand and near the cars in the parking lot. Someone has parked an old school boombox on the edge of the sand and music is blaring from it.
Just another mid-week party in Sunset Beach.
We kick off our shoes and throw them in Gina's car. The asphalt is rough against my feet, but the cool, soft sand feels good once we reach it.
“I hope that junior boy is here,” Gina says, scanning the crowd. “Tonight might be the night we find out if he's actually a virgin.”
“I'm thinking of trying out a sophomore,” Maddie says. “One of the big, good looking ones who will need...some direction.”
We all laugh and she and Gina peel off to head down the beach, in search of their conquests. Bridget and I make our way to the fire. Someone has built a bridge made of wooden pallets across the flames and some of the boys are taking turns running across them, people screaming each time they make it across.
The hills across the bay are like twinkling stars against the water. One in particular stands out. It's the closest to the water, jutting out over the bay like someone hung it there. It's three stories high and mostly made of windows, like something you'd see in a magazine or on a TV show. Even in the dark, it's imposing.
“Cops!” someone yells.
I turn around and the parking lot is lit up with red and blue lights. Multiple police cars are pulling to the curb.
“Oh, shit,” Bridget says. “Drop your cup and get out of here! I'll text you if I can get my car out!”
I'm confused but toss my cup in the fire as she takes off. In fact, everyone is taking off, running in all directions, scattering like mice. There's lots of yelling and confusion as the cops are exiting their cars and telling people to stop.
I choose to run away from the parking lot, down toward the water, and up the beach toward the point. Most everyone else has chosen to go the other way and I soon realize why. At the end of the point, there's nowhere else for me to go. I have no choice but to turn around or head back.
I stop, my chest heaving, as I try to catch my breath. I can see the police sitting kids down on the curb and more cop cars pulling into the lot. People are still running in the other direction on the beach, but the police have moved to the sand to try and round them up.
Shit. I'm fucked.
“Come on,” a voice says.
It startles me and I duck, like someone has thrown something at me. It's coming from the water. I squint into the dark and I can see a figure on a paddle board.
The paddle slices through the water and the board comes closer to the shore.
It's Trevor.
He's standing there in black shorts, no shirt, like some sort of ocean god on a board.
“Two choices,” he says. “Get on the board with me or you're gonna get written up. They aren't gonna let you go without a ticket.”
I'm frozen in place.
“But you better decide,” he says. “Because they'll come down here.” He maneuvers the board around so that he's now facing away from the short. “And I'm not waiting.”
I have to decide. I don't want to get a ticket or get arrested or whatever the police are doing. I don't want to have to explain to my dad what I was doing and why. I know there will be consequences.
But I am dreading that my only other choice is Trevor.
“You've got two seconds,” he says, steadying the paddle in the water.
I make my decision and jog to the water. “What should I do?”
“Have you been on one before?”
I shake my head.
He spins back around, jumps off the board, landing in the ankle deep water. “I'm gonna hold the board. Just get on the front and sit.”
I wade around the board on the other side. I get to the nose then get myself up onto it, as he keeps it still.
“Sit cross legged,” he says. “Don't keep your legs in the water. It'll slow us down.”
I fold my legs up.
“Hey!” a voice shouts. “You two! Stay right there!”
“See ya, asshole,” Trevor says.
He hops on the board with ease, barely moving the board. I brace myself, putting my hands on the sides. He digs the paddle into the water first on the left side, then the right, his powerful strokes moving us quickly away from the shore.
“Hey! I said to stay where you are!”
Trevor ignores him, gliding us across the water until we are out in the middle of the bay and there's nothing the cop can do.
Trevor laughs. “He's walking back now. We're good.”
I take a deep breath, relieved that I didn't get caught. “Okay. Good.”
He keeps paddling and there's something calming about being out in the middle of the black water at night. The houses on the other side are larger now and I twist around to see where we've come from. The red and blue lights are still swirling in the lot, but most of the running has stopped. I can see kids sitting on the curb. I wonder what's happened to Bridget, Gina, and Maddie.
“They'll be fine,” Trevor says.
I feel like he's reading my mind. I look up at him. “What?”
“They'll be fine,” he says. “They'll get minor possession tickets. It's like a traffic ticket. You can go to a class and they take it off your record.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
“Still better not to deal with it, though,” he says. “Especially if you have other shit on your record.”
I'm not sure if it's because I'm looking up at him or the night sky or what, but he looks even bigger than normal, standing there, moving us across the bay. His shoulders are like tiny boulders and his abs ripple every time he pulls the paddle through the water.
He looks down at me. “So you're welcome.”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, turning away from him. “Thanks. Were you there?”
“No, I was just dicking around out here,” he says. “Lucky for you.”
I hate that he's right.
Neither of us say anything for awhile and I realize he's taking us to the other side of the bay.
“I can call and get a ride,” I say. “When we get over here.”
“Probably want to wait awhile,” he says. “Your friends are probably gonna be a little busy. Or you could call your buddy Derek, if he wasn't there.”
“He's not my buddy and I don't know if he was there or not.”
“Right.”
He's paddling straight for the dock that extends off the grass below the house I'd been looking at earlier, the magazine house with all of the windows.
“He's not and I didn't see him,” I say, still feeling the need to defend myself. “I wouldn't call him anyway. I don't even have his number.”
“I'm sure that'll change.”
“I'm sure you won't ever change,” I say. “Asshole forever.”
He laughs, but doesn't say anything.
He paddles us to the front of the dock, tosses the paddle onto it, and loops his arm around one of the posts. “Hop off.”
“Aren't we gonna get in trouble for being here?” I ask. “Just pulling up to someone's house?”
“It's a dock,” he says. “It's fine. Come on.”
I twist around on the board and he offers me a hand to help me up. I ignore it and get to my knees on my own, then step off the board onto the dock.
