by McKayla Box
“Surfing lessons?” I ask when I get out to them. “Is that your thing?”
He looks at me, confused. “What?”
“Is that your thing?” I repeat. “Just bring girls out in the water and teach them to surf so they think you're awesome?”
He frowns at me. “No. Reese doesn't surf.” He looks at her and laughs. “Not ever.”
Reese starts to object, anger flashing through her expression, but it passes quickly and she smiles at me. “Yeah. We do other things.”
“We don't do shit,” Archer says.
The anger flashes again across her face.
“Why the fuck are you doing this?” I ask him, ignoring her.
“Why the fuck am I doing what?” he asks, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”
“You just bailed at lunch,” I say. “You were an asshole last night.”
“I was an asshole last night?” he says. “Really?”
“Yeah, really,” I say. “I'm not anyone's goddamned property, no matter what happens between us. You don't get to tell me what to do. And you don’t get to just be a dick to me because I call you out on it.” I look at Reese, then back at him. “And you shouldn't go slumming to try and make me jealous.”
Reese's face flushes pink and her hands flex at her sides, like she wants to reach out and strangle me.
That would be a mistake on her part.
“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about,” Archer says. “I came out here to surf. Reese came out here because she said she had something to ask me about school. And now you're here, bitching at me and I still don't get why. You were the one who flipped out last night. Not me. So don't lay that shit on me. And, yeah, I left as soon as the dumbass balloon thing was over at lunch because why the fuck wouldn't I? You made it pretty clear you didn't wanna talk.” He spreads his arms wide. “And, yet, here you are again giving me shit for I don't know what.” He leans closer to me. “So how about if you leave me the fuck alone?” He smiles at me, but there's no warmth behind it. “Since, you know, you aren't jealous or anything.”
He picks the board up out of the water and throws it out in front of him. He takes a couple of steps and dives onto the board, then paddles out toward the waves without looking back.
“You sure seem bent out of shape,” Reese says.
I look at her. She's smirking and if she wasn't such an asshole, I'd tell her she looks amazing in the tiny purple bikini.
But she is an asshole.
“He's not interested in you,” she says. “I'm not sure why you think he is. Or maybe you just think you can force him to be. He's not like that.”
“He's not interested in me?” I say, small waves crashing around us. “That's weird. Seemed like he was last night. At his dad's hotel.”
She starts to say something, but can't find the words.
“The suite was amazing,” I say. “I wish we could've spent the night.” I smile at her. “Maybe next time.”
Her jaw quivers and a wave splashes into her, knocking her a couple of steps forward. She rights herself and stares at me. “I swear, I'm gonna figure you out. I'm making it my mission.” She steps closer to me. “Because I know there's something there. You don't just show up out of the blue for no reason and pretend like it's normal.” She shakes her head. “No way. I'm gonna find out what your story is and I swear to fucking god, I'm gonna tell it to everyone. And then we'll see how fucking smug you are.”
Chapter 41
I'm sitting on my bed in my room, hugging my pillow, wondering how things got so messed up, when there's a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I say.
The door opens and my grandmother sticks her head in. She has a serious expression on her face and her phone in her hand. “Nola. Your mother is on the phone.”
My stomach lurches. “Right now?”
She nods and holds up the phone. “She's on here. I have her on mute. She can't hear you. Do you want to talk to her? She'll only have a few minutes.” She pauses. “If you don't want to, I'll tell her.”
I hesitate, then nod. “It's okay. I'll talk to her.”
“You're certain?”
“Yeah,” I say. “It's fine.”
She crosses the room and hands me the phone. “Just let me know when you're done.” She pats my shoulder, then leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
I push the mute button on the phone to unmute the call. “Hello?”
“Nola,” my mother says. “It's so good to hear your voice, honey. How are you?”
“I'm fine. How...are you?”
The line crackles. “I'm doing fine. How is your new school? Have you made friends? I have so many questions for you. But I'm only allowed a few minutes.”
“That's what grandma said,” I answer. “The school is good. Yeah, I've met some people. It's been okay so far.”
“Good, good,” she says. “And you like Del Sol? I'm sorry I never got you out there to visit before. It's so pretty, isn't it?”
“It is, yeah,” I say. “I like the beach.”
She laughs and it feels like years since I've heard her laugh. “Of course. I loved the beach, too. You're just like your mama.”
Jesus, I hope not.
“Do they still do the buoy swim?” she asks. “When I was in school, on the first night of school, there was a party and—”
“Yes,” I say, interrupting her. “I won.”
“You won? The swim?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “With this guy. I won.”
She laughs again. “Oh, my little Nola. I never would've predicted that.”
“Mom, how are you?” I ask, tired of talking about me. “Are you okay?”
The line is quiet for a moment.
“I'm doing okay,” she finally says. “It's hard. But I'm adjusting. I don't have a choice, right?”
I look down at my lap. “No. Guess not.”
“Are you going to homecoming?” she asks. “I know it's different at Del Sol. Or at least it was when I went there. Listen to me. I sound like an old person.”
“Yeah, I'm going,” I tell her. “I'm...I'm actually on the homecoming court.”
“What? Oh my god, Nola. Congratulations!” she gushes. “That's amazing!”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to match her enthusiasm.
“Dammit,” she whispers. “Dammit.”
“Mom? What is it?”
The line buzzes for a moment.
“Nothing,” she says. “It's just that I can't believe I can't be there. To see you. Makes me so angry.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Yeah.”
“My fault, though, right?” she says quickly. “No one else to blame.”
“Yeah,” I manage. “I guess so.”
“But you're really doing okay, Nola?” she asks. “Maybe that's a silly question. Because it sounds like you're doing just fine.”
“Yeah, I'm okay,” I tell her. “Don't worry about me. It's all working out.”
“Okay, good,” she says. “Hold on one second.”
As much as I've blocked her out of my life for my own reasons, being on the phone with her makes me miss her.
And I'm so angry with her for that, and about twenty other reasons.
“Nola, I'm going to have to go,” she says. “Sweetheart, listen to me.”
My stomach tightens. “I'm here, Mom.”
“Have your grandmother take lots of pictures at homecoming, alright?” she says. “I want to see every second of it.”
“Okay, Mom,” I say, tears stinging my eyes again.
“And I will call you again soon,” she says. “Very soon.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Nola,” she says. “Very much.”
My words catch for a second. I clear my throat. “I love you, too, Mom.”
Chapter 42
I've been sitting on my bed for a few minutes after we hang up when my grandmother knocks on the door. “Just checking on you, dear.”
“You can come in.” The door opens and I force a smile. “I'm okay.”
She steps into the room and looks a little unsure of why she's there or what she should do. “Are you?”
I nod and hold out her phone. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She comes over and sits on the edge of my bed. “Of course. How is she?”
“Says she's fine.”
“That's good to hear.”
“She wants you take pictures,” I tell her. “At homecoming.”
She smiles. “Absolutely. From start to finish.” She pats my knee. “How was school today?”
“It was fine,” I say. “Nothing exciting.”
“How are the homecoming festivities going?”
“Fine.”
“Your grandfather and I will be at the country club tomorrow for the annual dinner,” she says. “We never miss it, and it's usually quite a bit of fun.”
One of the traditions of homecoming week is when members of the senior class work as servers at the country club for a charity dinner. The students do the serving, the parents, grandparents, and friends do the eating and the donating. The girls have told me it's fun, but I'm not really looking forward to it.
“I'm sure it'll be fine,” I say.
She smiles. “You know, I vaguely recall telling my mother that everything was fine when it most definitely was not.” She puts her hand on my leg again. “Is everything really fine?”
I lean back against the pillows. “I don't know. It's just...it's just hard sometimes.”
“What is?”
“Everything,” I say. “All of the stuff in Florida. My mom. Moving here. Trying to figure out where I fit in. Pretty much everything.”
She nods. “I think that's understandable.” She eyes me. “You know that nothing that happened in Florida was your fault, Nola. Right?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
She grips my leg a little tighter. “Nothing that your mother did in Florida was your fault. That is a fact. Her choices were her own.” She pauses. “As they were with your father years ago. Their decisions and choices aren't yours and they don't reflect who you are, Nola. It's important that you hear that and that you know that.”
I know that what she's telling me is the truth, but it's been that way my whole life. I am a product of my parents and it's difficult to shake that. Yes, I'm living in a different state and a completely different life and trying to make better choices, but I'm still a part of them. And when it feels like I'm hiding all of these secrets, it feels like I'm more like my parents than not.
“You've never really had a relationship with your father,” she says. “That is not your fault. He wasn't around. And I'm aware how difficult that's been for you, but it in no way is that any fault of yours.”
I look down at my lap. I've never been able to tell people that he was absent my entire life and that I've never known him. I've always defaulted to some vague story about him always being gone. Which is true, but not in the way I've made it sound.
“And your mother...” Her mouth twists into a tight knot while she searches for the right words. “Your mother has had issues for years, and it's not as if your grandfather and I haven't tried to help her figure her life out. But, at some point, you became our focus rather than her. We wanted to make sure that you were okay. Because she has seemed determined to run her life straight into a brick wall.” She looks at me. “Which she has now done.” She shakes her head. “And for awhile, I feared that we wouldn't be able to ensure that you were okay. Your mother was doing her best to cut us out of both of your lives. So while I am so incredibly sad about the direction of your mother's life, both your grandfather and I are thrilled to have you here and we want to make sure that you know that.”
I appreciate all of her words and tears form in the corners of my eyes. I wish it was all as simple as she puts it.
“You don't have to be embarrassed about anything,” she continues. “You are your own person. You are not them.”
I know she means well, but I'm tempted to point out that they don't share those things with their friends, either. We all agreed on the story that I was coming to live with them in order to get ready for college in California. It's not like she's going around and telling them all why I'm actually there.
That I no longer have a home in Florida.
“I know,” I say. “I know I'm not them. It's just trying to fit in and stuff. That's all.” I wave my hand. “I think I'm just tired. I really am okay.”
“You're a tough girl,” she says, patting my knee. “You remind me of your mother when she was your age. She was tough, too.” She pauses. “But she would just never ask for help.” She thinks for a moment. “I have a lot of guilt. I'm not sure where we went wrong with her. And then when everything happened...” Her voice trails off for a few seconds, before she smiles at me again. “I thought maybe I might get a second chance to fix things. With you.”
I lean forward and hug her. “You don't have to fix anything, Grandma.”
She pats my arms. “Oh, sometimes I think I need to, even if my brain tells me I don't. Regardless, I'm glad you're here. And if I can help, I do hope that you'll talk to me.”
I give her a quick hug. “I will. I promise.”
She stands. “I think your grandfather is insisting on bringing home Chinese food for dinner tonight. He had a good checkup this morning at the doctor, so he seems bound and determined to fill himself with carbohydrates and sodium.” She smiles at me. “Is that alright with you?”
“That's great,” I tell her. “I like Chinese food.”
“So does your grandfather,” she says. “A bit too much. I'll let you know when he's home.”
“Okay.”
She closes the door behind her and I lean back against the wall of pillows behind me. I know that I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself, and I'm already regretting decisions that I've made in Del Sol.
I know that I need to rectify some of them now. I don't want to feel like I'm hiding things from my friends. I need to be straight with them and trust that they'll understand.
As I wait for my grandfather to get home, I'm just not sure they will be.
Chapter 43
I make it through classes the next day without any real drama. I don't run into Reese, and Archer and I avoid looking at one another during English. I'm in my own head for most of the day, thinking about everything. I'm mostly a zombie at lunch, but the girls don't say anything. I'm not sure if that's because they don't notice or because they are just being polite. Either way, it's fine by me.
Mercy takes me home after school, then picks me up to take me to the country club for the dinner. When we get there, it seems as if most of the senior class is there. It's not just the homecoming court. It's nearly every graduating senior.
“I told you,” Mercy says. “This is honestly a huge deal.”
“I guess so.”
“Even the kids who don't like school show up,” she says. “That's probably because their parents make them, but almost no one misses this.”
We are herded into an enormous ballroom and divided up into smaller groups to be given our assignments. Mercy and I will be drink runners, which means we'll be bringing drinks and refilling glasses. Dylan and Brooke are food runners. We are given quick instructions on how to carry the glasses, how to remove them from the tables, and where to bring empty ones. It's all fairly simple and shouldn't be hard.
I see Reese with her gaggle of bitches over in a far corner of the room. Archer is in another corner with Aidan and Nick. He doesn't look in my direction.
We're handed our T-shirts for the event. They've been specially designed with the school name and the year, and a little cartoon homecoming float on the front. The names of the entire senior class are printed on the back. I pull mine on over my tank top and it smells like they just picked it up from the print shop.
I glance across the room again. Archer pulled off the T-shirt he wore and is putting the event shirt on. Aidan sa
ys something and he laughs.
“Stop looking at him,” Mercy says.
“What?”
“Stop looking at him,” she says, smiling.
“It's that obvious?”
She pulls her shirt on. “I wouldn't call it obvious. But that's twice now I've seen you looking in his direction. Which is fine if you don't care. But you made it seem like you care earlier, so...”
I nod. “I know. I'm just stuck in neutral, you know? I don't know if I should try to talk to him or not. I don't know if I freaked out in the car with him or if he was genuinely being an ass. And I don't know what that shit was with Reese at the beach, but I wanted to drown her right there.”
Mercy laughs. “Uh, yeah. That was kind of obvious. And I'm not sure any of us would've tried to stop you. But that probably would've been bad.”
“Probably.”
We both laugh.
“Look, if you wanna talk to him, you should,” Mercy says. “Don't worry about what other people think or what they'll say. It doesn't matter. And it doesn't matter if you make the first move. If it's weighing on you, then do it. Don't be stubborn just for the sake of being stubborn. Just be honest with him.”
It's good advice. And it applies to more than just Archer.
“Hey, look,” I say. “I wanna tell you something.”
She tugs on the sleeves of her T-shirt. “How awful this T-shirt looks on me?”
I laugh and shake my head. “No. It's something else.”
She smiles. “Okay.”
But before I can say anything else, a woman enters the ballroom and starts clapping her hands to get our attention. “People! Let's get organized! Our members are arriving and we need to get a move on!”
The woman leading our group takes us back to the kitchen, shows us the long line of water pitchers lined up and sends us on our way.
The dining room is mostly full and most of the heads are turned in our direction as we emerge from the kitchen like ants in a long line. I spot my grandparents table and make a beeline to their table. They are sitting with three other couples and my grandfather is beaming as I get to the table.