Fall: A High School Bully Romance (Sunset Beach High Book 1)

by McKayla Box

  “Absolutely,” my dad says, then looks at me. “We'll be up there if you need anything.”

  “And feel free to help yourself to the fridge down here if you change your mind about the drink,” Frank says. “If you don't see what you want, yell at me, and I'll find it.”

  I hate that Mr. Robinson is so nice. I want him to be awful like his son, so that I can be angry with him, too, for being forced to come to his house. But he's friendly and warm and kind and I can't find anything to dislike about him.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I'll be fine.”

  They both nod and head back up the stairs to the level above.

  I'm standing in the doorway to Trevor's room and I can't get my feet to move any further. All I can think about is the beer bottles crashing to the ground and our naked bodies moving together on his sheets. And how good it felt in the moment.

  And how terrible it felt the next morning.

  I finally get my legs to work and I walk tentatively into his room. The bed is made and his surfboards are in the corners. Not that I expect anything different, but the floor is so clean, you'd never know that it had been covered in broken glass and beer.

  Like it never even happened.

  I look around his room and take notice of the things I didn't see before. A tall, black dresser. A walk-in closet with no doors. A tall bookshelf near his bed.

  I walk as far around the bed as I can, like it's poison ivy, and get to the bookshelf. It's maybe seven feet tall with six shelves in it, with all kinds of books lining them. Novels, comics, photography. I see several books on surfing, what looks to me like a lot of mysteries, and stacks of comics that I'm not familiar with. I crouch down to get a look at the bottom shelf. It's mostly older hardcovers and most of them are mysteries. But laying flat across the top of them is a book about half an inch thick with no cover. There's a rubber band around it, a pencil tucked inside the rubber band. I hesitate for a second, the pull the book out.

  I sit down on the floor, pull the pencil out, then remove the rubber band.

  Then I stop.

  I don't know what's inside and I'm not normally one to invade someone else's privacy. Just because I've found the book, doesn't mean I should open it. The right thing to would be to put the rubber band back around it, replace the pencil, and put it back on the shelf.

  But then I think of what happened in his bedroom and whisper “Fuck him” as I open it up.

  It's a sketchbook, all pencil drawings. There are pictures of the ocean and surfboards and houses and people I don't recognize. They are all super-detailed and the kind of drawings you'd expect to see someone selling at an art fair or something. I can't believe Trevor has drawn all of these and for a moment I convince myself that it's someone else's. Except that his initials are in the bottom right corner of every single drawing.

  I page through the drawings, reluctantly marveling at how good they are. The pictures of the ocean are honestly amazing and something I'd hang up in my room if anyone else had drawn them. There's a picture of a surfboard that I recognize as being the same one standing in the corner of his room.

  I get to the last page and it's not finished. It's half the face of a girl with long hair, her expression somewhere between a smile and a smirk. Her hair is pushed back over her head to one side and it looks like it's wet.

  And then I can't breathe.

  Because I realize that it's my face.

  “The fuck are you doing?” a voice snaps behind me.

  I start from my spot on the floor and fumble with the book. I lay it back on top of the books on the bottom shelf and spin myself around.

  Trevor stands there, wearing just a pair of black trunks, his hair wet and tousled. His hands are on his hips and he's pissed.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Your dad told me to wait down here for you.” I push myself off the floor and stand up. “I was looking at your books.”

  He looks past me at the bookshelf, then at me. “He tell you to go through my stuff?”

  “I wasn't going through your stuff,” I shoot back. “I was just surprised that you're able to read.”

  The corner of his mouth flicks up into an almost smile, but he doesn't say anything. Then the almost smile disappears and it's replaced with something I can't quite place. Something that indicates he knows something that I don't.

  “Sorry I'm late,” he finally says. “Got caught up...doing something else.”

  “Right,” I say, wary of the apology. “I only came because my dad made me.”

  He laughs. “Right. I'm sure it had nothing with wanting to come here and go through my shit.”

  “I wasn't going through your shit,” I tell him. “Believe what you want.”

  “So maybe you just wanted to come back to my room,” he says. “Maybe that's it.”

  “Trust me, that was not it,” I say. “This is the last place I want to be.”

  He tilts his head and I try to ignore the beads of water on his broad chest. And the way his hair looks perfect. And the sparkle in his eyes.

  Fuck.

  “Look, I didn't come here to fight with you,” I tell him. “I'm only here for my dad. So we can just here and not talk to one another until they're done for all I care.”

  He looks at the bed, then grins at me. “You sure you don't want to do something...else?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “We did that.”

  “And won't ever again,” I tell him.

  “Don't make promises you can't keep,” he says.

  “I don't.”

  He laughs, like he knows I'm lying. I'm not, but the way he laughs, the way he dismisses what I'm telling him, makes me think I might be wrong.

  I start to tell him something else, something that will make me feel better, but I stop when I see movement behind him, coming in through the door.

  “Trev,” Holly Nichols says, dripping wet in a black bikini. “What's taking so long?”

  THIRTY EIGHT

  Holly takes notice of me, looking me up and down, then pulls her hair behind her head with both hands. “Oh.”

  I know that I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. I can't help it.

  “You two know each other?” Trevor asks with a smile.

  It's clear that he knows we don't.

  Neither of us says anything.

  “Holly, New Girl,” he says. “New Girl, this is Holly.”

  Holly covers her mouth with her hand to hide a laugh. I know he wants me to react, so I make sure that I don't. At least not in the way he wants me to.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Neither of them know what to do with that.

  “I wanted to see what your room looked like in the daylight,” I say. “Since I was only here at night.”

  Holly's hand drops from her face and there's no laugh there now.

  Trevor doesn't say anything.

  “Did you bring her here for the same reason you brought me?” I ask him. “You want me to get you guys some beer so you can do it exactly like we did?”

  Holly frowns, looking at Trevor.

  He stares at me.

  “And Brett told me you don't usually bring girls here,” I say. “Guess he was lying about that.”

  Now he looks confused. “You talked to Brett?”

  “More like he talked to me,” I tell him. “But it's all good.” I look at Holly. “I'm sure the sheets are clean.”

  “What's she talking about?” she asks.

  “Nothing,” he says, frowning.

  “He didn't tell you?” I say. “He brought me here, too. Through that same door.” I look at him. “What was it? Twenty four hours ago? Maybe a little more?”

  He's not embarrassed by what I'm saying, more angry.

  “Trevor,” Holly says. “What's she talking about?”

  “Shut up,” he says, frowning again. He looks at me. “I didn't think you'd come.”

  “I came because my dad asked me to,” I tell him. “I was hoping you wouldn't be here. Thought you'd be busy bab
ysitting.” I look at Holly, then him again. “And I guess I was right.”

  The corner of his mouth does that flicker thing.

  Holly, however, doesn't find it funny.

  “Fuck you, bitch,” she says, planting a hand on her hip. “At least he's with me.”

  I look at Trevor. “So you guys are a couple now? Congrats.”

  “We aren't a couple,” he says.

  Holly's posture loses some of it's confidence.

  “But I'll get out of your way,” I tell them. “So you guys can do whatever you need to do.” I smile at Holly. “It won't take long. I promise.”

  Trevor fights off the smile again and I'm more irritated that he's amused rather than angry. I want him to be pissed off. I know he's done all of this on purpose to try and hurt me. It does, but there's no way I'm showing him that.

  “Fuck off,” Holly says. “Maybe just leave and go be jealous somewhere else?”

  I snort. “Sure I'll go do that. You two have fun.”

  I walk around the bed, keeping my eyes locked with his, hoping he thinks of me while he does whatever he's going to do with her. It's the smallest bit of satisfaction I can find for myself.

  “See ya later,” Holly says. “New Girl.”

  That freezes me in my tracks. Something about hearing it come out of her mouth. I'm not sure if it's the words or because she's copying Trevor or what, but something about hearing it come from her mouth enrages me. It's not hers to use. I hate it when he says it, but there is something disgusting about hearing it come from her.

  I turn to face her. “What did you say?”

  She seems pleased that she has my attention, standing a little taller, glancing at Trevor, before she turns back to me again. “I said see ya later.” She pauses and I feel it coming. “New--”

  She never gets the girl part out of her mouth because my fist smashes into her face. Her nose buckles against my knuckles and she stumbles backward into the wall. She screams and her hands fly to her face. Blood leaks like water between her fingers and onto her hands.

  “Holy shit,” Trevor whispers, looking at me.

  “Oh my god,” she whimpers. “Oh my god.”

  I look at my hand. It's speckled with blood and the skin across my knuckles is broken. My hand shakes and I can't believe I've just punched Holly Nichols in the face. I've never punched anyone in my life.

  Footsteps race down the stairs outside Trevor's room and Trevor's father is standing in the doorway with mine.

  “Trevor,” Frank Robinson says, looking at his son, then me, then the bleeding girl curled up against the wall. “What the hell is going on?”

  Trevor looks at me.

  I look at his father, then mine. “I did it. I hit her.”

  THIRTY NINE

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” my father asks as we drive away from the house.

  I look out the window and don't say anything. Frank Robinson brought ice and a towel to Holly, then suggested to Trevor that they get her to the emergency room. Then he'd looked at me.

  “And maybe your daughter can explain to you what happened on your way home, Stephen,” he said, giving us our cue to leave.

  My father doesn't say a word to me until we were out of the driveway and now I can see he's furious with me.

  “Nothing's wrong with me,” I say.

  “Really?” he says, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles go white. “You just punched a girl in the face and did who the hell knows what to her. That isn't normal.”

  “You don't understand,” I say.

  “Then you better explain it to me.”

  But I can't explain it to him. I can't explain to him what happened between Trevor and me. I can't explain to him what Trevor is like or why he brought Holly to his house. I can't explain to him what she said to me that set me off.

  “I'm sorry,” I say.

  “I would hope so,” he snaps at me. “But that doesn't fix much of anything. Not only did you hit that girl, but it looks like you broke her nose. That's assault, Presley. And you did it at the home of a client who literally can make or break me. Do you understand all of that?”

  Tears sting my eyes as I look out the window. “I'm sorry, Dad.”

  “Sorry doesn't fix anything!” he says, his voice rising. “What happened? What caused you to punch some girl in the face?”

  I think again of all the things I can't explain to him.

  The tears spill down my cheeks.

  “I don't know,” is all I can manage.

  “You don't know,” he says, like the words are hard for him to say. “You don't know.”

  I look at my hand. Two angry, red slashes run diagonally across my knuckles. They throb and I flex my hand, then lay it flat against my thigh.

  “You better figure it out,” my father finally says. “Because what you did back there is inexcusable and you better hope she doesn't press charges. You better hope.”

  I wipe at the tears on my face with my hand that doesn't hurt. “I'm sorry, Dad.”

  “Yeah, you said that,” he answers. “And it's not enough.”

  I look out the window and I know it's not.

  I know it's not.

  FORTY

  Bridget picks me up in the morning and I can immediately tell that something isn't right. She's quiet and isn't smiling as we back out of the driveway.

  “Everyone knows,” she says, glancing at me. “About what happened at Trevor's last night.”

  “That's weird,” I tell her. “Because everyone wasn't there.”

  “Presley, what the hell happened?”

  I lean back in the seat. “I punched that girl in the face and broke her nose.”

  “Jesus.”

  I know that I broke her nose because Frank Robinson called my father after we got home to tell him that her nose was broken. He and Trevor took her to the emergency room, where they did whatever they do for a broken nose. My father walked into my room to report the news, then immediately turned around and left.

  “She was there with him,” I tell Bridget. “He did it on purpose. They were out surfing or on the water or whatever. I don't know. I was in his room, waiting for him, and then she came in.”

  “And you just hit her?” she asks.

  I look down at my hand. The cuts on my hand have started to scab over. The skin around them is red, puffy, and angry-looking.

  “No,” I say. “She called me New Girl.”

  “And then you hit her?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I know it doesn't make sense.”

  “Why were you even there?” Bridget asks. “At Trevor's house?”

  “Because his dad works with my dad,” I say. “Or my dad works for his dad. I don't even know. But his dad invited mine for drinks to go over some paperwork or something and he invited me, too. My dad wanted me to go, but I didn't want to. I told him I didn't want, but he basically told me I had to go. I finally gave in and went.”

  “And you really punched her?” she asks, glancing at me as we drive. “In the face?”

  I nod slowly. “Yep.”

  We drive in silence for a minute.

  “Why did you go?” she finally asks.

  “What?”

  “Why did you go to his house?” she says. “Why didn't you just stay home?”

  “I told you. My dad wanted me to go.”

  “Yeah, but you could've gotten out of it?” she asks. “Right?”

  “I tried.”

  “How hard?”

  I'm surprised that she's grilling me like this. “I mean, I feel like I tried pretty hard. I told him I didn't want to go, that I had homework, but he was set on me going because Trevor's dad invited me. Why does it matter? Trevor was the one who brought Holly there and she was the one who was taunting me.”

  She shifts in her seat. “I get all that, Presley. But...you punched a girl in the face. And, I mean, let's be honest. Trevor was just using her to piss you off. You said so yourself. And it to
tally worked. I'm not sure Holly really deserved that.”

  This isn't at all what I was expecting from her. I thought she'd be supportive and tell me that it all sucked, but she understood. Instead, I am getting the opposite. She seemed nearly as upset as my dad was.

  “And I told you this was going to happen with him,” she says, shaking her head. “I told you.”

  “I know you did,” I reply. “You don't have to remind me.”

  “Maybe I should have.”

  I look at her. “You're seriously mad at me?”

  She doesn't answer right away and that somehow makes it worse.

  “I don't know,” she finally says. “I just...I was just surprised when I heard.”

  “And what else did you hear?” I ask. “What else do I need to be worried about?”

  “It doesn't matter what I heard,” she says. “I just don't understand why you were there.”

  “I told you why. My dad asked me to go. I tried to tell him no, but he pretty much forced me to go. He doesn't know anything about what happened with Trevor, so it's not like I had a great reason to give him as to why I couldn't go,” I tell her. “He's trying to make an impression with Trevor's dad and because he invited me, my dad expected me to go.”

  I'm angry. I expected support from her, but now I'm having do defend myself.

  She glances at me. “Did she try anything with you?”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Like, did she swing first?” she asks. “Did she push you?”

  “No,” I tell her. “She called me New Girl. Twice. I told you.”

  She flipped her blinker on and turned us into the school parking lot. “So you punched her because of something she said? Because she called you a name?”

  I look away from her.

  She pulls us into her parking spot and turns the car off. “Look, I just don't get it. You can't just hit someone because of something they said to you. That's not cool. I don't care if it was some chick Trevor's screwing around with.” She pauses. “You should be better than that.”