Spring: A High School Bully Romance (Sunset Beach High Book 3)

by McKayla Box

  Gentry then nods at the police officer.

  Shanna is crying.

  She turns around, her back to the officer.

  Then puts her hands behind her back.

  Gentry slides Shanna's backpack off of her shoulder.

  The officer places the cuffs on Shanna's wrists and is saying something we can't hear.

  “Holy fuck,” Gina whispers, holding up her phone.

  They all turn and head back to where the police car is parked.

  I try to swallow, but my throat is dry and I almost choke.

  Shanna's chin is tucked into her chest.

  The officer guides her to the car, opens the door, and helps her into the backseat. He closes the door behind her. He gets into the driver's seat and waits for his partner to get in. Gentry says something to them, then gets back into her car. Both cars make U-turns and head out of the lot. I watch them drive down the street and turn the corner.

  And just like that, Shanna Becker is going to jail.

  FORTY

  “They arrested Shanna,” I say.

  My dad nods. “I know. I got a phone call.”

  We are sitting at the dinner table. He brought a pizza home and the box is open in the middle of the table. He's on his third slice. I'm still only halfway through my first.

  “You got a phone call?” I ask.

  He nods again. “Detective Gentry called me to let me know that they were filing charges against her and that they'd be picking her up.”

  “It was at school,” I tell him.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yeah. In the parking lot after school got out.”

  He thinks for a moment. “I guess that makes sense. They wouldn't want to interrupt the school day and it would be total chaos if they pulled her out of class. Assume they didn't want her getting in a car going anywhere. A compromise, I guess, to pick her up as soon as classes were over.” He glances at me. “You saw it?”

  I nod.

  “You okay?”

  I shrug. “I guess. I don't know.”

  “What don't you know?” he asks.

  I tear off a piece of the crust. “It was just weird.”

  “How?”

  “Because she was being arrested because of something she did to me,” I say. “Because it was happening basically because of what I told the police. Because it was at school. I don't know. It just was.”

  “Are you glad she was arrested?” he asks.

  I chew on the small piece of crust for a moment, thinking. “I don't think glad is the right word. There's not, like, any pleasure in it. I don't feel good about it. I wish all of it had never happened.”

  He nods.

  “I was more in shock than anything,” I say. “Just watching it happen. Was like a bad TV show or something. I wasn't celebrating.”

  “Glad to hear that,” he says, pushing his plate away. “It's absolutely not something to celebrate, no matter what she did to you.”

  I lean back in my chair. “I just want it all to be over and done with, you know? So people won't ask me about it. So I can stop thinking about it.”

  “It'll take awhile,” he says. “It doesn't just happen overnight.”

  “What will happen next?” I ask.

  He folds his arms across his chest. “She'll probably bond out on bail. Not sure there'd even be a bail hearing, given her age and what the crime is. Probably release her to her parents pretty quickly. They'll set a court date and she'll have to appear. She'll have to plead guilty or not guilty. If she pleads, guilty, they'll dole out whatever punishment she's going to receive. And that would probably all be arranged ahead of time, so she'd know what was coming. It would all be arranged with her attorney. That would be quick and easy.”

  “What happens if she fights it?” I ask. “If she pleads not guilty?”

  His cheeks puff out and he exhales. “Then it gets a lot more complicated. It would be set for trial. That could be pretty far in the future, maybe up to a year or so, depending on the calendar? Technically, it would be the city bringing charges against her, so it's not us versus them. But we'd be heavily involved. You'd be asked to testify as a witness since you're the victim. That part would be key. Without your involvement, they'd have a hard time prosecuting. People who were there that night or knew what she was doing would be asked to testify.” He shrugs. “So it's all really going to depend on what she decides to do.”

  I feel nauseous at the idea of a trial. Having to sit in a courtroom and detail everything she did and be questioned about it makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide.

  “What do you think she'll do?” I ask.

  “I have no idea,” he says. “I don't know the girl and I don't know her family.”

  “What would you tell me to do?” I ask. “If it was me.”

  “If you did it, I'd tell you to plead guilty and admit what you'd done,” he says. “No reason to prolong it if you did it. With no priors and a good attorney, any sentence handed down would probably be light. Might still be a felony, but I doubt there'd be any jail time. Admit your mistake, take your medicine, and move on.” He raises his eyebrows. “If you plead not guilty, you better be certain of two things. One, that you didn't do it. And, two, that you can convince a jury that you didn't do it. Because if you're pushing it that far and the jury finds you guilty, you're probably looking at a much stiffer penalty.” He shrugs again. “So it really all hinges on how honest she's going to be.”

  I shift in the chair. I have no idea what Shanna will do. It seems like a no-brainer that she'd just tell the truth, but I have no clue if she's willing to admit that. So I don't know if I'm in for another fight or not.

  But I guess I need to be prepared for one.

  “Anyway,” my dad says. “All set for tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah, think so,” I tell him.

  “And you're just going with the girls? Not Trevor?”

  “Yep.”

  He makes a face and shakes his head. “So different than when I was a kid. And I know how old that makes me sound, so you don't have to remind me.”

  “You're old.”

  “I said you didn't need to remind me,” he says, but he's smiling. “I'm just glad you're going.”

  “You are? Why?”

  “Because, for most kids, it ends up being a really great memory,” he says. “I would hate for you to have missed out on that.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I'm glad Bridget talked me into it.”

  He stands up and clears our plates. “I want pictures of you before you go.”

  “I hate pictures.”

  “Tough,” he says. “I want them. I want the memories, too.”

  “Fine.”

  I help him clear the table and put box up the left over pizza, then head to my room. I dive onto my bed and bury my face in the pillows.

  Memories.

  I want memories, too.

  Good ones.

  It's the bad ones I'm hoping I can forget.

  FORTY ONE

  “I can't believe we're going to our fucking prom,” Gina says. “I feel, like, old.”

  It's the next night and we are at the hotel, up in the suite Maddie's dad has arranged for us. We got through the school day and then I spent way too long getting ready. My dad came home early and took a ton of pictures. Bridget picked me up and he took more of the two of us. I think I saw him cry, but I'm not sure.

  We meet Gina and Maddie at the hotel and our room has a sweeping view of the harbor. The lights from the boats twinkle on the water. It's gorgeous. The other three are messing with their hair and makeup.

  “I know,” Maddie says, leaning in so her face is two inches from the mirror over the desk, checking her eyeliner. “It's like one of those things you see in movies and don't seem real. Now we're at ours. Bizarre.”

  Gina turns around. She looks incredible in her dress. Her hair is perfect and her makeup makes her face look gorgeous. “We probably should've talked about this ahead of time.
Who's planning on getting laid tonight? Raise your hand.” She raises her hand.

  We all laugh.

  “I'm serious,” she says, dropping her hand. “This kick-ass suite is awesome, but we've got two bedrooms, and I don't wanna make anyone uncomfortable if I'm getting down with someone else's date.”

  We all laugh again.

  She looks at me. “We know you're already hooked up. Are you bringing Lover Boy back here?”

  “I have no idea,” I say. “Haven't even thought about it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Ladies, come on. We need a plan.”

  “I have on plans to engage,” Maddie says, turning away from the mirror. “I'm here to have a good time with you ladies and that's it.”

  “Same,” Bridget says. “I'm not bringing anyone back. I will happily take a couch if necessary.”

  Gina looks at me. “Okay. So it's me and you then.”

  “Sure.”

  She looks at Maddie and Bridget. “You two are couch bound, if necessary.”

  Maddie rolls her eyes and walks over to the small wet bar on the other side of the room. “Great. Whatever.” She opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne. She sets four champagne flutes next to the bottle. “Let's get on with the important stuff.”

  “Yeehaw,” Gina says. She grabs the bottle, pulls the gold foil off the top, and aims the bottle away from us. She holds on to it with both hands and uses her thumb to work the top off. It comes off with a loud pop and smashes into the ceiling. The champagne foams out over the top and she swings it back to the counter. “Boom.” She fills each of the flutes and hands them out.

  Maddie raises her glass. “To my bitches and to having a great night.”

  We clink glasses and drink. The champagne bubbles tickle my nose and I set the empty glass down. My stomach growls.

  “We should go downstairs,” I say.

  “You think your boy is here?” Gina asks. “Are you already that hot to trot? Not that I blame you.”

  “I have no idea if he's here,” I say. “I just want to go see what it's like. Let's go have fun.”

  Gina grabs the bottle from the counter and takes a long pull from it. She sets it back down. “Alright. Now I'm ready.”

  We all laugh and walk to the door.

  I want to remember all of this.

  The things we're saying.

  What we're wearing.

  What the champagne tastes like.

  I want to remember it all.

  I'm not sure I'll have friends like this again.

  And I don't want to forget what it feels like.

  Ever.

  FORTY TWO

  The ballroom down on the main floor of the hotel is packed when we get there. There's still a line to get in, as they check us in. There's a photo booth off to one side and an actual photographer off to the other. The walls vibrate with the bass from the DJ's music.

  We get through the line and into the main room. It's like a nightclub. The lights are down, but there are strobe lights and spinning lights. There are light strings hung everywhere. It looks just the way I expect it to look.

  We take our pictures and we dance. I don't remember the last time I danced. But we dance and I'm a terrible dancer and I don't care even a little bit. The champagne loosens me up and I'm dancing and laughing and not caring about anything but being there.

  After an hour, I'm sweaty and tired and Bridget and I go over to a table that has drinks and snacks. I down a water bottle in several swallows and immediately grab a second. I look around the room. The dance floor is crowded with groups and couples.

  But I don't see Trevor.

  I've left my phone up in the hotel room because I don't have anywhere to keep it and I didn't want to worry about it, so I have no idea if he's texted or what he's doing.

  “I don't see him, either,” Bridget says.

  I look at her. “What?”

  “Trevor,” she says. “You're looking for him. I don't see him, either.”

  “I just thought he'd be here by now.”

  She smiles. “He'll be here. That boy loves you. He's coming.”

  I look around the room again.

  I want him to be there.

  I want to dance with him.

  I want to be at the prom with him.

  I sigh. “I hope so.”

  “I know so,” she says. “Let's go dance some more.”

  She grabs my hand and takes me back out to the floor. Gina is dancing with some guy I don't know. She winks at me as she gyrates against him. I laugh. Bridget grabs Maddie's hand and the three of us jump around and laugh some more, the music pulsating through the room.

  We dance for another half an hour and my legs ache. My feet hurt and I kick off my heels. Maddie comes with us to get more to drink and we pile our shoes in a corner.

  And that's when I see Brett.

  He's standing near the check-in table. He's in shorts and a sweatshirt. He's scanning the room.

  Why is he in shorts and a sweatshirt? Why isn't he dressed for the dance?

  Where's Trevor and Jake?

  It's not making sense.

  His eyes sweep the room again and then settle on us.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Maddie asks. “Making some sort of anti-fashion statement?”

  He lifts his chin in our direction.

  I hold up a hand, confused.

  He walks toward us.

  And I have a bad feeling in my stomach.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi,” I say. “What are you doing?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Why are you dressed like that?” Maddie asks. “I know you aren't the tux type, but still.”

  He frowns at her.

  “Where's Trevor?” I ask. “And Jake?”

  “Jake's outside,” he says. “We didn't wanna park, so I hopped out. He's circling until I get back out.”

  “So where's Trevor?” Bridget asks.

  Brett chews on his lip for a second, then looks at me. “They arrested him an hour ago.”

  FORTY THREE

  I can't believe I'm hearing him right. “They arrested him?”

  Brett nods. “Yeah. Came to the house. We were there, getting ready. They came to the door.”

  “Shit,” Maddie says.

  “For the thing with Derek?” I ask.

  Brett nods again. “Assume so. His dad tried to hold them off, but they had a warrant. Nothing he could do. They cuffed him and took him away. His dad followed them.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Jake and I were just...there. We didn't know what to do. Then I figured we needed to let you know. I texted, but you didn't answer. Any of you.”

  “Our phones are up in our room,” Maddie says. “Shit.”

  “I figured,” he says. “So we just decided to get in the car and come down here. To tell you. I didn't know what else to do.”

  I feel dizzy.

  I feel nauseous.

  It's exactly what I was afraid of.

  “Is he going to get out tonight?” Bridget asks. “Or what happens?”

  “No clue,” Brett says. “Literally haven't talked to anyone since they came and got him.” He looks at me. “We just knew that you were planning on meeting him and we figured we should tell you.”

  “This is all my fault,” I say.

  Bridget puts her arm around me. “No, it's not.”

  “It is,” I say. “It's my fault. Derek said he'd do it if I went to the police. I did and he did. If I'd kept my mouth shut, Trevor would be here right now.”

  “Is that motherfucker here?” Brett asks, his expression hardening. “Because if he is--”

  “Because if he is, you'll kick his ass so you can go to jail, too?” I ask. “Don't do that. That's stupid.”

  Brett looks away.

  “I wanna go see him,” I say.

  “I don't even know if you can,” Brett says.

  “I don't care,” I say. “I wanna go to wherever he is. I wan
na be there.”

  “You can't do anything, Presley,” Maddie says. “I know you're upset, but you can't fix it now.”

  “I don't care,” I say again. “I want to go be there. Wherever he is, I want to be there.”

  Brett looks at Maddie and Bridget.

  They both shrug, like they don't know what to do.

  “Jake and I can take you to the police station, I guess,” Brett says. “Maybe we can find out where he is and what's going on.”

  I walk over and grab my shoes from the pile. I slip them back onto my feet and head for the exit. “Let's go.”

  FORTY FOUR

  Jake is idling out front of the hotel in his truck. I slide into the middle of the bench seat and Brett follows me in. Jake just nods at me, doesn't say anything, and pulls away.

  I stare down at my lap the entire time we drive.

  I feel like I knew this is where we'd end up all along and yet, my hands are still shaking. It's not that it's a surprise because it really isn't. Maybe it's just that it's a reality now.

  And I can't believe that.

  When the car comes to a stop, I look up.

  It's the police station. The same place I went with my dad to give my statement. To make my accusations.

  We all get out and go inside.

  Trevor's father is sitting in the waiting are. He looks up when we walk in. He doesn't smile.

  “He'll be out in a bit,” he says. “There's no bail requirement. They just have to process him, then he'll be released.”

  “What are they charging him with?” I ask.

  Mr. Robinson gives me a long list. “Aggravated assault. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?”

  My heart sinks.

  Because it does sound familiar.

  “I haven't seen all of the paperwork yet,” Mr. Robinson says. “Our attorney will be reviewing it as soon as he gets a copy.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say because I can't think of anything else to say.

  “Me, too,” he says. “I really hope he hasn't thrown away his entire future with all of this.” He shakes his head. “I really hope.”

  I can't tell if he's just angry with Trevor, if he blames me, or both.

  I'm guessing both.