by McKayla Box
I try to cry out but it comes out like some weird animal whimper.
And then I see Bridget in the doorway, Maddie and Gina behind her.
“What the fuck?” Bridget says, looking around. “What the actual fuck is going on?” She looks at me on the bed. “Jesus. Are you alright?”
I'm crying and shaking my head.
“You fucking assholes,” Gina says, pushing into the room. “The fuck are you doing?”
Bridget pushes past Lisa and Jessica and sits on the bed next to me. She helps me into a sitting position and I lean against her, shaking.
“Jesus,” Bridget says. “She can't even sit up on her own. What the fuck did you do to her?”
Before anyone can answer, the door opens again. I hear laughing and I don't recognize the voices.
“Come on,” Bridget says, looking at Gina and Maddie. “Help me get her out of here.”
“You're not going anywhere,” Shanna says. “We're not done.”
“Whoa,” an unfamiliar voice says. “Is this an orgy? Sweet.”
“Good thing we locked the door behind us,” the second voice says.
I shift my head on Bridget's shoulder. It's Evan and Pritch, Derek's friends I met on the first day. And they're blocking the only way out of the room.
“No one leaves,” Shanna says, looking at the two of them.
They immediately cross their arms across their chests and take up stances in the doorway like they're bouncers.
“We're getting her out of here,” Bridget says. “And those two gorillas aren't stopping us.”
The two gorillas laugh and even I know there's no way she can fight her way past them.
“We aren't done with her,” Shanna snarls.
Derek steps to the bed and pulls Bridget out from underneath me. My weight topples me over and I'm on the bed again. Bridget is flailing and screaming. Maddie and Gina move toward her, but Evan and Pritch do their jobs and grab them before they can get too close.
Shanna jerks me back up to a sitting position. “We are so not done, New Girl.”
Holly stands next to her and smiles. Her hand curls into a tight fist and I can see the rings on her fingers now. Sharp, jagged. They are cheap, drugstore jewelry, the kind a little girl would buy with her allowance. But they will cut and hurt when she smashes them into my face.
She pulls her arm back and I try to brace myself, waiting for the explosion of pain.
And then the window behind them all explodes.
FIFTY THREE
The glass rains to the ground in millions of pieces, the sound deafening as the window comes apart and shatters. I'm bracing myself against the bed, managing to keep myself upright, and I see movement outside the window, then bodies coming through it.
I squint.
Trevor is standing there, Jake and Brett behind him. Jake and Brett have baseball bats in their hands. Their feet crunch against the broken glass on the floor as they spread themselves out.
Trevor's eyes sweep the room until they stop on me. His jaw locks.
And he looks angrier than any person I've ever seen on the planet.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Derek growls, turning toward him.
Trevor doesn't move but his eyes shift in Derek's direction.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” Derek yells and moves toward him.
When Derek's within arm's reach, Trevor finally moves. He pivots hard to his left, his forearm coming around just like one of the baseball bats might've. It crashes into Derek's neck and he stumbles to the side, clutching at his throat. Trevor wraps one arm around his neck, uses his other hand to grab the back of his shorts, and in one quick burst, lifts Derek and throws him through the now open window.
Brett laughs, shakes his head, but keeps his eye on the room.
Trevor goes out after Derek, hopping through the window like a cat and pouncing on him before he can move. Watching them through the broken window is like watching them on a movie screen, the jagged glass silhouetting them. Derek scrambles to try and get up, but Trevor starts swinging and Derek goes back to the ground. Trevor is punching him with a fury I've never seen and I'm afraid he'll kill him.
“Shit,” Brett says, then jumps out the window.
Jake shifts so that he's between the window and the rest of the room, daring anyone to try and get past him.
I see Brett pull Trevor off. Trevor shakes him off once and goes back at Derek, but Brett gets hold of Trevor again, pulls him close to whisper something in his ear, and Trevor relents. He leans down and says something to Derek that I can't hear, leaving him there on the ground.
“I'm getting the fuck out of here,” Holly says, shoving past all of the other girls, then Evan and Pritch.
Lisa and Jessica are right behind her.
Shanna glares at me. “We aren't done, bitch. Not even close.”
My foot jerks out like it did with Holly and I catch her square in the gut. She shrieks and stumbles backward into Jake, who gives her a small shove forward. Her face turns crimson and she breaks into a jog to get out of the room. Evan and Pritch look at each other and follow her down the hallway.
I hear the door close.
Bridget is back on the bed with me. Gina is squatting down at my feet. Maddie has her hand on my shoulder.
Bridget hugs me. “You're gonna be okay, Pres. You're gonna be okay.”
I lean against her. I don't feel like I'm going to be okay. I feel like I'm going to be sick and like I need the world's longest nap.
“We need to get you out of here,” Gina says.
“I'll take her,” a voice says.
I blink and look over Gina's head.
Trevor is standing there, looking down at me.
“I'll take her home,” he says.
The girls look at me, unsure what to do.
He comes closer to the bed and picks me up, cradling me in his arms like a baby. His arms are strong, like anchors that won't let me fall. I lean into him and bury my face against his chest.
I feel safe.
FIFTY FOUR
My father is sitting on the edge of my bed when I open my eyes.
Light blazes into the room and I close my eyes, not expecting bright sunshine.
“You awake?” my dad asks.
I open my eyes more slowly this time, letting my eyes get used to the light. My mouth and throat are dry, but I manage to grunt in a way that lets him know I'm awake.
“How you feeling?” he asks.
Like a car ran over me. Twice.
“Okay,” I say and it comes out as a whisper.
“Heard you were pretty sick last night,” he says. “You should've called me.”
His words don't make sense. I struggle to turn over on my back and sit up a little. It's morning, which is also confusing.
“You were asleep when I got home last night,” he explains. “So I let you sleep.”
I think hard, but I don't even recall getting home.
“Trevor told me,” he says.
I try to clear my throat, but it sounds like I'm gagging. He hands me a glass of water and I drink half of it. I try again and manage to clear what feels like sand and grit from my throat. “Trevor?”
He nods. “He was here when I got home.”
Trevor holding me. That's the last thing I remember. I don't remember him being in my house.
“I can explain,” I say, already thinking that I'm going to be in more trouble.
My dad holds up a hand. “You don't have to. Trevor explained.”
“He did?”
He nods. “He said that you guys were on the phone and that you weren't feeling great. He said you didn't want to call me because you knew I was working and he was worried. So he came over to sit with you. He stayed until I got home.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage to say.
“It was very kind of him to do that,” he says, putting his hand on my forehead. “You don't feel warm. How do you feel this morning?”
I push
myself up a little more, getting the pillows behind me. My stomach is growling and my head aches and I feel like I need a gallon of water, but it's nothing compared to how I felt at the party.
After Shanna drugged me.
“I feel okay,” I tell him. “Probably just a bug or something.”
“Okay,” he says. “Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head. “No. Well, more water would be great. But I can get it.”
He stands. “No, I can get it. You rest. He said you were pretty sick.”
“What else did he say?” I ask.
He puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “He just said you were pretty sick and you tried to get him to leave because you're grounded, but he didn't want to leave you alone. So after you fell asleep, he waited in the living room for me to get home so he could explain everything. He didn't want you getting in trouble.” He smiles. “He's a pretty nice kid.”
A pretty nice kid.
I didn't ever expect anyone to describe Trevor Robinson as a pretty nice kid.
“Yeah,” I say. “He is.”
“And I'm not dumb, Pres,” my dad says.
I look at him, momentarily panicked that he knows I went to the party and that everything Trevor told him was a lie.
“There's clearly something going on between the two of you,” he says, smiling. “One of these days, you'll have to come clean and explain it to me.” He winks. “Be right back.”
He leaves and I lean back into the pillows.
How can I explain it to my dad when I don't even know how to explain it to myself?
FIFTY FIVE
“I'm sorry,” Bridget says.
It's Monday morning and I'm sitting in the passenger seat of her car. She texted me Sunday night to ask if she could pick me up for school and I texted back and said yes. We didn't text anything else and I was nervous getting into her car.
But her apology immediately cuts through the tension.
“No,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I'm sorry.”
She holds up a hand. “Me first. I jumped all over you about Trevor. I was a total judgmental bitch and I didn't need to be. I'm sorry for being shitty and I'm sorry for not trusting you.”
I lean over and hug her tightly for a moment, then let go.
“And I reacted like a complete baby,” I tell her. “I took it personally and was just a total shithead about it. I get where you were coming from, but my head was too far up my own butt to talk it out with you.”
She laughs and it's her turn to hug me. “I don't wanna fight anymore.”
“Me either.”
She leans back into her seat, the car still idling in the driveway. “How are you feeling?”
“I'm fine,” I say.
And I am. I spent the first half of Sunday in bed, drinking water and talking with my dad. He made me a late breakfast when I finally got up and after a shower, I felt mostly normal. Whatever Shanna had given me finally wore off and I felt human again. My dad and I went for a walk on the beach after dinner and if I wasn't still so angry, it would've been like it never happened.
But it did and I won't forget.
“You were in bad shape when we found you,” Bridget says, finally backing out of the driveway.
“I barely remember any of it.”
“Gina was the one who saw you go off with Derek,” she tells me. “And Maddie was making out with some kid when she saw Shanna and her gang of bitches head to the pool house. They came and found me and we just knew it didn't feel right. So we walked up to see what was going on.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“I'm just glad we did,” she says. “There was a moment where I thought I should just stay out of it. But it just felt weird, so I figured, at worst, you'd just be more pissed at me than you already were.” She stops at the stop sign. “I saw you on that bed and I just knew things were fucked up.”
“I think I started crying when I saw you,” I tell her, trying to remember what exactly happened.
She nods as she pulls away from the stop sign. “You did. And then it all went to shit, but we weren't going to leave you there. No matter what.” She glances at me. “We'd never leave you.”
I feel like a jerk. I'd gotten pissed at Bridget for calling me out about going to Trevor's and then tried to replace her with Shanna, completely oblivious to what Shanna was doing. I'd been blind about who my actual friends were. I'd been ready to write Bridget and Gina and Maddie off. Thank goodness they hadn't felt the same.
“Thank you,” I say again. “I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come.”
“That little bitch Holly Nichols would've beaten you to a pulp,” Bridget says. “And you wouldn't have been able to fight back. That's what would've happened. And it's gross.”
I know that's true, too.
And now there's virtually nothing I'd rather do than fight back.
“And I was wrong about Trevor,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
She takes a deep breath. “Look, we've all known Trevor since we were kids. And he can be a serious asshole. And maybe some of us are just jealous because he's so rich and seems to get what he wants. I don't know. But when he picked you up and carried you out of there?” She shakes her head. “That was something I've never seen before. Maddie and Gina said the same thing. That isn't something he does. I mean, I could see it in his eyes when he looked at you.”
I try to remember what it was like when he picked me up. “See what in his eyes?”
She pulls into her spot in the parking lot and turns off the engine. She pulls the keys from the ignition and spins them on her finger for a second. Then she smiles.
“He loves you,” she says. “Trevor Robinson loves you.”
FIFTY SIX
I can't find him anywhere.
I check in with the main office when I go into school and spend five minutes with Mrs. Young. She reiterates that I'm essentially on probation after the suspension and that if I screw up, the consequences will be more severe than a suspension. I assure her that I understand and that it won't happen again. She seems happy to hear that and sends me on my way.
I wait by my locker to see if Trevor shows up, but I don't see him or Jake or Brett. I check the parking lot, but don't see his truck, and end up running to first period so I'm not late.
I know that people are looking at me in class and I'm not sure if it's because of the suspension or because of what happened at Derek's. But I don't care.
I'm just trying to find Trevor.
I go to lunch with the girls and it feels normal again, but I'm still looking around, hoping he'll show up.
He's nowhere to be found.
Shanna and Derek must be trying to stay out of my line of vision, too, because they don't show at lunch. I think that's a good thing because I have so much pent up anger toward them and what they did, I know it's eventually going to come out. I remind myself to let it simmer, to lie in wait.
To make sure it's equal to what they tried to do to me.
Because I'm not going to forget.
I don't see Trevor when we get back to school and Bridget meets me at my locker after classes.
“Hey,” she says. “I need to stick around for while. Tutoring for math.”
“Oh,” I tell her. “Okay.”
“If you want to wait, I can still take you home,” she says, then wrinkles her nose. “Will probably be an hour, though.”
“Um, okay,” I say, thinking. “Actually, I have a favor to ask.”
“What's up?”
“Can I borrow your car?” I ask her.
“Borrow it?”
“I'll have it back before your done,” I tell her. “I just want to go check on something. I swear I'll be right back with it.”
She fishes in her purse and holds out her keys. “All yours?”
“Seriously?”
Bridget smiles. “I trust you, Presley. And I think I know where you're going anyway.” She grab
s my hand and presses the key into my palm. “Go.”
I squeeze the keys, then hug her. “You rock.”
“If I'm right, I want details,” she says, backing away. “That's the only payment I need.”
FIFTY SEVEN
The ocean is navy blue and the sun is reflecting across the top of it in long streaks. The waves are small and choppy and there's only one person out on the water, just north of the pier.
I park the car next to Trevor's truck and get out.
I shade my eyes from the sun with my hand, then kick off my shoes, and throw them in the car. The soft sand is warm under my feet as I walk down toward the water. I stand on the damp, hard-packed sand at the edge of the ocean and watch.
He's on his stomach, looking behind him, waiting for the right moment to paddle. When it arrives, his arms cut through the water like blades and he's on his feet as the wave picks him up. He slides down the face, picking up speed as he cuts hard to his left. Then he jerks the board back to the right and shoots himself back up the face, smashing through the white water as it starts to crash on him. He's in the air for a moment, the board still magically attached to his feet, then he's floating back down, landing gently in the water. He zig-zags the board back and forth until the wave dies and he dives off the board. He comes up out of the water, shaking his head, water spraying off of his face and hair. He looks toward the shore and I know he sees me. He grabs his board, slides onto it, and paddles in.
Butterflies clang around in my stomach, waiting.
He slides off the board again and stands. He's wearing light blue trunks, the color of his eyes, and nothing else. He runs a hand through that hair, sending more water flying, pushing the hair off of his face and forehead. The ocean drips off of his shoulders and chest.
“You weren't at school,” I say.
He takes his time coming in until we're maybe a foot apart. “I'm aware.”
“I was looking for you.”
He unstraps the velcro from his ankle, tosses the leash on top of the board. “Were you?”
I nod. “Yeah. My dad told me you were there when he got home Saturday.”
