Eclipsed: A High School Bully Romance (Del Sol High Book 3)

by McKayla Box

  “You did all of that?” I say. My chest feels tight, as does my throat. I swallow. “For me?”

  He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “It was a couple of phone calls and half an hour of driving. Really wasn't a big deal.”

  “But you took the time to think all of this out,” I say. “And then do it. Why?”

  He turns the cap around so it's backwards on his head. “I told you yesterday. I feel bad about what happened.” He shakes his head, like he's said the wrong thing. “Not what happened. What I did. And I saw how upset you were yesterday. I'm not saying this will actually make up for any of the shit I had a hand in putting you through, but if it helps you, then that's cool.”

  “But you did a lot,” I say. “And you thought way harder about this than I did.”

  “Well, it’s sort of what I do,” he says. “It's what I do for the paper and it's what I want to do in college and what I want to do for a career. Journalism is just research. You just have to be able to figure out how to lay it all out without wasting a lot of time.” He looks at the stacks. “I legit thought about going to get all six schools just so we'd have them, but I was worried I'd be late getting back here.” He looks at me. “And to be honest, I get mad when I can't find an answer. When we couldn’t figure it out yesterday, I just had to think logically about how we could find him.” He pauses. “And you were wrong.”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “You said this morning you only knew two things about him,” he says. “His name and that he didn't go to Del Sol.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You also said he played football,” he says. “That's three things we know.”

  I smile reluctantly and shake my head. “Yeah, you're right, I guess. You're way better at this than I am.”

  He shrugs. “I told you it’s, my job. And I enjoy it. It's like putting puzzles together.”

  I couldn't believe he had gone through so much trouble for me. I wasn't sure whether I fully bought his apology yesterday, but I have no doubt now. He genuinely seems to want to help me. And he really is better at this than I am.

  In multiple ways.

  I take a deep breath and exhale. “Okay. Where do we start?”

  Chapter 17

  “Are you sure we won't get in trouble?” I ask.

  The lunch bell rang, but we're still sitting in the library. Ricky got up five minutes before the bell, telling me not to leave and that he'd be right back. He returned about two minutes after the bell rang with small, blue pieces of paper.

  “Positive,” he says. “The blue slips will get us back to class when we're done. They're excused absence slips and they're already signed by my advisor. I keep them in my desk in the journalism room because I'm always doing other stuff and getting to class late. Trust me. You'll be fine.”

  So it's now twenty minutes after lunch ended and we're still paging through the yearbooks. We've struck out so far and my inclination is to revert back to thinking this is a crapshoot. Ricky says we need to go through all fifteen of the books so that we don't miss anyone and so that our list is complete.

  I'm just picking up one of the Sun Valley books when my chair jerks forward like someone's kicked it.

  I turn around and Reese is standing there, glaring at me.

  “The fuck is this?” she hisses. “A little fucking loser party?”

  “Go the fuck away,” Ricky says, barely glancing at her.

  “Don't you two have class or something?” she says. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “None of your business,” I tell her. “Considering it involves books and given the fact that I'm not sure you can read, it won't interest you anyway.”

  She kicks at the leg of the chair again. “Bitch. I can read.”

  “Yeah, but these books have big words,” Ricky mutters. “And we don't have the time to explain them to you.”

  “Fuck you, you little troll,” she whispers.

  “Are you lost?” he asks. “I can't imagine why you'd be in the library otherwise.”

  “Because my dumbass English teacher sent me here to pick up a book,” she says. “So I'm absolutely not cutting class like you two are.”

  Ricky laughs and shakes his head. “Mind your own business.”

  She kicks the back of the chair again and it's the straw that breaks the camel's back.

  I jump out of the chair and square up to her. It surprises her and she jumps back. It pleases me that I can scare, even if it's just for a moment.

  “Miss McClure,” the librarian calls from the front desk. “I have your book ready.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You're so lucky.”

  “Try me,” I say. “I dare you.”

  She looks unsure of what to do.

  “Come on,” I say, my hands clenched tight. “Try me. Right now.”

  “Miss McClure,” the librarian calls. “Are you coming?”

  “You're so lucky,” she whispers.

  I laugh. “Right. Go get your book, bitch.”

  She sneers at me, then turns, and walks toward the front.

  I turn around and slide back into my chair.

  “She is the fucking worst,” Ricky says, shaking his head.

  “And then some,” I say. “Hey, she can't get us—?”

  He holds up the blue slips. “We're golden. I promise. Reese can't do shit even if she tried.”

  I hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

  Flipping through the yearbooks is weird. All of these faces are staring back at me and I keep wondering if one of them might be my father's. Each time I see a name that starts with J, my stomach tightens, but then the name is inevitably John or Jerry or something that is not Jay.

  Our method is going to the football pages first to see if we can find a football player named Jay. If we do, then we can jump to the class photos to verify his name and photo and see if we can find anything else on him. This was, of course, Ricky's idea and not mine because I would've just been all over the place trying to figure out how to narrow it down.

  I grab the first Sun Valley book, the one from two years before my mom graduated, and find the football section. I find the team photo and start running my finger along all of the names listed below the photo. Unfortunately, they listed all of their players by first initial and then their last name. So I write the last names down on a sheet of scratch paper that Ricky found and then start paging through the class photos to see if any of them are actually named Jay.

  John.

  John.

  Jeffrey.

  Jeremy.

  Jordan.

  Jason.

  Jacob.

  I sigh. “I swear I'm seeing every name that starts with J except for Jay.”

  Ricky chuckles. “Yeah, pretty much. Just keep looking. If he's not in one of these, we'll find him in the next group.”

  “You're way more patient than I am,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. “This is how research works. You keep looking until you don't have to look anymore.”

  “Ugh. I don't think I like research.”

  He laughs again. “Most people don't. Keep looking.”

  I frown, but go back to the pages.

  James.

  Jake.

  Joel.

  Jay.

  It takes me a second to realize I've finally found a Jay.

  I sit up a little straighter.

  I look at his last name.

  And I know his face.

  “Oh, shit,” I whisper.

  Ricky looks across the table at me. “What's the matter?”

  “I found one,” I say, staring at the picture. “I found a Jay.”

  “That's good,” he says. “Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”

  I try to speak, but the words won't come. I look down at the page again. “This can't be right.”

  “What can't be right?”

  I put my hand on the page, then flip back to the football pages. I find him in the photo, make sure it's the same guy with the sa
me name. And it is.

  “No way,” I say.

  “Nola,” Ricky says. “What did you find? What's wrong?”

  I look down at the list of my names.

  His was the last one I'd found.

  “Nola,” Ricky says.

  I turn the book around and push the yearbook toward him.

  He pulls it closer and looks down at the page. “Okay. We're in business.” He looks at me. “But you think you know him? Through your family?”

  I shake my head. “No. But I definitely know him.”

  “How?”

  I reach over and pull the yearbook back, spinning it around. I look at the picture again.

  “It's him,” I say. “It's absolutely him.”

  “Who? Ricky asks. “Who is he?”

  I stare down at the picture. “Jay King.” I look across at Ricky. “It's Mercy's dad.”

  Chapter 18

  I take my blue slip and go to class because I don't have it in me to look any further. Ricky asks what I'm going to do and I tell him I have no fucking clue.

  I make it through my afternoon classes, but I'm not sure I hear a single word anyone says. I can't stop thinking about Jay King and Mercy and my mother.

  What the actual fuck?

  By the time the final bell rings, I know I need to talk to her.

  I just have no idea what I'm going to say.

  I head to the parking lot, find her car, and wait for her. I'm afraid that if I go anywhere else, I'll chicken out of talking to her. But the longer I wait there, the more unsure I feel about talking to her. I'm just about to head to my own car when I see her coming.

  And she sees me.

  So now I'm stuck.

  She hesitates when she sees me, looks a little confused, but then keeps coming toward me.

  “Hey,” she says, when she reaches the car.

  “Hey,” I say, nervous. “What's up?”

  “Uh, nothing, really,” she says. “Just...about to go home.”

  “Right,” I say. “Yeah.”

  “Are you alright?” she asks.

  I start to say yes, but it would be a lie and I've vowed that I'm not going to lie to her ever again.

  “No,” I say. “Not really.”

  Now she looks really confused.

  “Oh,” she says. “What's wrong?”

  “I don't know that anything's wrong,” I say. “I literally don't even know. Things just got super weird for me today and I don't know what to do now, but I thought I should come talk to you and now this all feels super weird and I'm sorry if I'm freaking you out.”

  “Well, you are,” she says, forcing a smile. “A little bit. It's okay, though.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say. “I didn't mean to freak you out, but I'm sort of freaking out, so it's all just… weird.”

  “What's weird?” she asks.

  I take a deep breath, then let it out. “Okay. So my dad. That I've never known. I went through this whole big thing with my mom and it turns out she lied to me about his name my whole life. It was pretty much the only thing I ever thought I knew about him, but I found out she'd literally lied about his name.” I wave my hand in the air. “But that's whatever. It's my mom. She does that shit.”

  “I'm sorry, Nola,” she says. “That sucks.”

  “It does, but it's fine,” I tell her. “I talked with my grandma and she actually remembered his real name and that was how I found out what his real name was. And then I got on this kick about seeing what I could find out about him. Because he was from here, and because this is where my mom grew up. I don't know why. I've never wanted to know anything before, but now I do.” I take a second to catch my breath. “And Ricky is helping me—”

  “Ricky?” she asks. “The kid from...before?”

  I nod. “Yeah. But it's okay. It's cool. He wants to help. He apologized to me about everything and just told me some shit about Reese and...it's fine. Really.”

  “You're sure?” she asks. “You trust him?”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “But it's not even really about him. I mean, he's helping me, but I found it and so even if he was messing with me, it doesn't matter.” I laugh and shake my head. “I know none of this is making any sense. I'm sorry.”

  “Don't apologize,” she says, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure that he's not...doing whatever again.”

  “I really don't think he is,” I say. “But it's crossed my mind, too. But even if he was or is, it doesn't matter because what I found isn't really something related to him.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I think I'm following.”

  “I think I found him,” I tell her. “I think I found the guy that might be my father. We know he went to high school in the area and Ricky got all of these yearbooks from other schools and…I think I found him in one of the yearbooks.”

  “Oh, wow,” she says. “That's incredible. I mean, I guess it is?”

  “Yeah,” I say nodding. “If it's him, it would be amazing that we found him.”

  “Are you going to try and make contact? Talk to him or something?”

  “I want to, yeah,” I tell her. “At least, I think I do. I don't know. It all just feels surreal right now. I don't know how to explain it.”

  She nods. “Yeah, I'm sure. Well, that's good. That you found him, I mean. It answers that question for you, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It does. And I know right now you have to be thinking why the hell am I telling you all of this?”

  “I...was assuming you just wanted to tell someone,” she says, smiling. “And that's fine. I'm happy to listen.”

  “Well, yeah,” I say. “That's part of it. And thank you for saying that. I know we don't—”

  “It doesn't matter what we don't do anymore,” she says, cutting me off. “I'm happy to listen.”

  I appreciate her saying that. It makes me feel better about rambling like a lunatic to her.

  But it doesn't make what I need to tell her any easier.

  “So we were going through the yearbooks,” I tell her. “My grandmother told me that she knew the guy's name. And that he played football. That was literally it. I thought he went to Del Sol, but she remembered that he didn't. So that's why Ricky got all of the yearbooks from other schools. So we could try and match up the first name and football players in the right years.”

  “That makes total sense,” she says. “You guys are good detectives.”

  “Maybe,” I tell her. “If I'm right, maybe. So we know he played football. And it looks like he went to Sun Valley.”

  She nods, waiting.

  “And my grandmother told me his name was Jay,” I tell her.

  It takes a second for it to click with her.

  “Oh, that's funny,” she says. “That's my dad's name.”

  I nod. “Yeah. And your dad went to Sun Valley. I found him in the yearbook.”

  She starts to say something, then stops, and I think it's all sliding into place for her. “And he played football there. There's a picture in his office.”

  I nod again. “Yeah. I found the team photo in the yearbook.” I pause. “Mercy, we looked through a whole bunch of yearbooks from other schools, too. Your dad was the only guy we could find so far named Jay in the pictures. At least the only one from any of the yearbooks we looked at.”

  She leans against her car, staring at the ground for a long time.

  I don't say anything because I'm not sure what to say.

  Then she looks at me. “Holy shit.”

  Chapter 19

  Mercy looks at me, her mouth hanging open. “That would mean we're sisters.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Half-sisters. But, yeah. And I'm sorry. I know this is totally bizarre and it doesn't even make sense at all, but I swear I'm not losing my mind.”

  “Do you have the yearbook?” she asks.

  “Ricky does,” I tell her. “But I took a couple of pictures.” I pull my phone out. “Of his senior picture and the football pi
cture.” I hand her the phone.

  She takes it and stares at the screen, toggling back and forth. “Yeah, that's definitely him. I've seen his senior picture before. And I'm almost positive that's the same football picture that's up in his office.” She hands me the phone back. “That's definitely my dad.”

  “And maybe it's not him,” I say quickly. “I'm just saying that he matches all of the criteria that I know of. Which obviously isn’t much…”

  She nods slowly. “Yeah. No, I get it. And I know he and my mom didn't meet until later. I think it was their first year of college, and then they had me the following year. They were both still in school.” She looks at me. “So I guess it's possible?” She pauses. “But are you sure? There's no one else?”

  “I can't say there's no one else,” I tell her. “All I can tell you is that Ricky had this pretty efficient system for us, and we were writing down names and cross-checking and doing all of this stuff. So that we wouldn't make a mistake.” I take a deep breath. “Your dad's name is Jay. He played football. And he was in high school the same time my mom was. But not at Del Sol.” I glance at Mercy, trying to gauge how she’s really feeling about all of this. “If there's another Jay like that, I haven't found him yet.”

  She sets her bag on the hood of her car and rubs at her forehead like it aches.

  “And, like, I don't want you thinking the wrong thing here,” I say. “I am nearly positive that whoever my dad is, he didn't know that my mom was pregnant. I don’t know that for sure, of course, but it makes the most sense that she never told whoever it was. So it's not like I think he ditched her or me or whatever.” I take another deep breath. “I just want to know who it is. I don't need or want anything from him. I just want to know.”

  She looks at me. “Well, that's bullshit.”

  “What is?”

  “Not wanting anything from him,” she says. “You have a right to have a father and to have him act like a father. No matter who it is.”

  “Well, I guess,” I say. “I just don't want anyone to think I'm trying to find this guy because I think he owes me something. No one owes me anything.”

  “I don't think that, if that's what you're worried about,” she says. “I don't think that at all.”