Bailey And The Bad Boy

by R. Linda

  Me: What words?

  I asked him while I was sunbaking on the sand, pretending not to watch Chace jump around in his sea green shorts as he tried to spike the volleyball over the net.

  Ryder: Chace is an arse. ;)

  Ryder’s reply made me laugh out loud, which in turn made Indie and Christina whip their heads around to look at me warily.

  “What’s so funny?” Christina cocked a perfectly arched blonde eyebrow in my direction, while Indie pushed herself up to look over my shoulder at my phone.

  I tucked it away under my towel. “Nothing. Don’t worry.”

  Indie didn’t look convinced, but Christina had lost interest and had already turned back to watch the boys playing volleyball, cheering and clapping every time Chace scored a point.

  It was wrong of me to be jealous that she was cheering him on, but I couldn’t help it. She was my best friend. She was meant to hate him as much as I tried to. But she didn’t, and I knew that. They had been friends forever, and I could never expect her to choose a side. It still didn’t stop the sting when he won the game and Christina jumped out of her chair and ran over to him, throwing her arms around his neck and squealing like she had won.

  That was how our days went. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves while I just wallowed in my grief and considered sending the magic words to Ryder. But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t believe Chace was an arse. How could I believe that when I still loved him and hoped with all my heart that this road trip would make him see how much he missed me?

  A couple of days after New Year’s, I was up just after sunrise ready to hit the road and move further up the coast when my world came crashing down once more. Indie was packing her things, and I loaded up her car with my stuff. Christina had packed the night before and had disappeared before we even woke up, which was a huge surprise if you knew Christina.

  “I’m going to grab some coffee and look for Christina. You want some?” I asked Indie.

  “Yes. I’m dying,” she said, rolling up another swimsuit to shove in her bag. How one person could make so much mess, I would never understand.

  It was three days after Ryder had first offered to pick me up, and I was feeling a little better. I had only cried for two hours the previous night before falling asleep, which was an improvement on the previous few weeks. I had even attempted to do something with the bird’s nest in my hair, which was almost impossible. My hair seemed to have a mind of its own when I slept.

  I made it through packing without crying and even made it to the coffee shop without a single tear escaping. Things were looking up, although I still had a lump in my throat and was trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

  And then I saw Chace—well, Chace’s back—leaning against the corner of the shop, and I realised something wasn’t right. From that distance, I couldn’t quite make out what he was doing, but I knew I didn’t want to be caught alone with him. I was sure I would have had a breakdown or something, and I didn’t want him to see me cry again. He’d seen enough of my tears.

  A knot formed in my stomach. I didn’t want him to see me, so I approached the door of the coffee shop taking slow, deliberate steps and trying as hard as possible not to make a noise. I hoped I could slip inside and get my caffeine hit without having to stop and speak to him. Not that he’d probably even talk to me. A few people exited the cafe and gave Chace a weird look. Some even rolled their eyes at him.

  When I did reach the door, I felt my heart shatter. Time stopped. The sounds of chatter and excitement became muffled. My vision blurred. All I could focus on was Chace pressing Christina up against the wall, kissing her like his life depended on it. My best friend and my ex-boyfriend.

  I didn’t know how long I stood there watching—stuck to the spot. They seemed to have no idea I, or anyone else in the immediate vicinity, was watching. They were in their own little world. Time passed, and my vision cleared. I snapped out of whatever daze I was in and turned and ran. I ran back to the hotel, my heart shattering and crumbling into dust. I screamed as loud as I could.

  It was surprisingly refreshing and made the pain a little better, but the tears I had managed to keep back still spilled over. How could they do that to me? How could she? Christina was my best friend. We’d been friends since we were eight. We’d done everything together. She had been my biggest support over the last few weeks, reassuring me that Chace was a moron, that I was better off without him, and how I didn’t need a man when I had my friends. She lied. She was a liar. A backstabber. A bi—

  Indie came running out of the room to see what I was yelling about, but I couldn’t speak. I slumped to the ground and pulled out my phone. I sent a simple text to the one person who could help me.

  Me: Chace is an arse.

  Ryder: On my way.

  Ryder’s reply was almost instant. I had to get away from them. From everyone.

  And then I cried. I tried to compose myself, to pull myself together before they returned, but I couldn’t do it. Instead, I blubbered to Indie that I was leaving and grabbed my stuff from her car. She tried to stop me, but it was useless. I told her what had happened, but I was too humiliated and beyond gutted that my best friend would do something like that to stay any longer. Indie understood. Well, I thought she did.

  Ryder was going to be hours, and I couldn’t be there with Chace and Christina, so I said goodbye to Indie, ignored her protests, and walked down to the beach and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  When Ryder pulled up on the side of the road late that afternoon, he climbed out of the car and came down to the sand to get me. I felt awful asking him to drive interstate to pick me up. I was so far away from home, but he was my only option. I didn’t have any other choice.

  “What happened?” He frowned when he saw my bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. I was almost positive I had snot everywhere too. I couldn’t stop crying, but I told Ryder what I had seen and why I needed him to come and get me.

  “I’m sorry, Bailey.” His voice was just above a whisper as he threw an arm around my shoulder. He sat with me on the beach and let me cry until my throat was hoarse and my tears ran out.

  Chapter Three

  My holidays sucked. Instead of being on a road trip with my boyfriend and best friend, who I’d heard from Indie were now officially together, I spent every day lying on my bed listening to heavy metal music as loud as I could.

  I made it through the first week by avoiding people, mainly my mother and Ryder. I couldn’t face him after that uncomfortable ride home. Since no one else was talking to me, avoiding people was pretty easy. Even Indie had stopped calling and texting after she’d told me about Chace and Christina being in a relationship.

  Seriously, you would think that I had done something wrong, that I was the one who’d betrayed my boyfriend and best friend, not the other way around. I was sick of my mother asking if I was okay or if I wanted to talk about it. No, I wasn’t okay. My first boyfriend had broken up with me and got with my first ever best friend only weeks later. You don’t get over that quickly.

  I knew she meant well and was concerned about me, but I just wanted to wallow in my grief and self-pity. I didn’t want to go shopping. I hated shopping. I only ever went shopping because Christina loved it. I didn’t want to go to the beach because, you know, that’s where it’d happened. I didn’t want to have mother-daughter game nights, bonding sessions, craft time, yoga classes, or meditation sessions. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to eat my body weight in ice cream and peanut butter.

  I knew it was wrong, but I ignored Ryder whenever he texted or called. I told him I appreciated the ride home, but I just needed to be alone for a while to get my head together. He understood that, though he still tried to contact me. He was great about the whole thing, which made me even more curious about what he was up to.

  About two weeks after the road trip from hell, I was lying on my bed alone blaring loud, angr
y rock music through my stereo with a jar of peanut butter resting on my stomach. It had become quite a regular occurrence in the solitary life of Bailey Mitchell. So typical, in fact, it seemed my mother had finally got so “sick of hearing that trash every day and night,” as well as buying me copious amounts of peanut butter and ice cream, that she decided to put a stop to it.

  “That’s it, Bailey. I’ve had enough. I know you’re hurting, sweetheart. I do. But moping around listening to this crap and eating junk isn’t doing anyone any good. Particularly you. You need to snap out of it. Contact Chace and get some answers. Get some closure and move on,” she said, storming through my door in a bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her hair. I started to protest as she went to switch off my music, but she held up a finger to stop me.

  “You’re a beautiful, fun, friendly girl. You don’t need them. What they did was cruel. They apparently wanted to see you get hurt; otherwise, they wouldn’t have done it. They’re not worth your tears. You are so much better than they are. Sweetheart, you’re in a funk, and you need to get out of it. Show them you don’t need them, that you are better than them.” She grabbed the jar of peanut butter, and just as quickly as she had entered my room, she left—without letting me speak.

  She was right. I knew she was. I was in a funk and needed to snap out of it. But it didn’t make it hurt any less. I was almost eighteen, and this was my summer holiday before my final year. I should have been enjoying myself, having fun, partying with my friends—if I had any—and not locking myself away in my room.

  Had Ryder been right a couple of weeks ago? Just like him, my mother said I needed to show them I didn’t need them. Because I didn’t. Who needed toxic people like that? Toxic was exactly what they were, and I didn’t need them. I was better than that. They would be the ones alone and miserable. Not me!

  After my mother’s outburst and giving myself a little pep talk, I knew what I had to do. It was going to be a challenge, but by the new school year, I would be over Chace Stephens. I would be happy. I would be better than ever. I could do it.

  But first, I needed the truth. Shaking, I reached for my phone, hardly believing I was going to do it, but it was necessary for me to get closure and move on.

  I sent a text to Chace.

  Me: Chace, I need the truth. Why did u break up with me? No BS, just b honest pls. U owe me that much.

  I didn’t want to be one of those bitter girls who pined over their exes forever, so I pressed send before I had a chance to chicken out. I didn’t expect him to reply because he was having fun with his new girlfriend on their summer holiday, so I was surprised when my phone beeped almost immediately after I sent the text. Was he sitting on his phone?

  Chace’s response made my stomach drop.

  Chace: B…U don’t want the truth.

  I saw red. He knew I hated that. Nothing pissed me off more than being called “B.” It wasn’t a name. It was a freaking letter. Call me Bailey or Mitchell. They are names, and they are mine. Not B.

  Me: Don’t call me B…u know I hate that. I want the truth.

  I replied and waited with bated breath for his response.

  You stupid, arrogant jerk. I didn’t text that, but I wanted to. Was he always like that?

  My phone buzzed with another text message. I felt sick. Did I want to know the truth? Did I want to know why he did what he did? Why he chose Christina over me? I opened the text and took a deep breath.

  Chace: Fine. At first, we were great then I realised u were boring n predictable n awkward n u don’t fit in with any of us. Hanging around Christina showed me that u 2 are so different. She knows how 2 have fun n take risks n u don’t. I wanted her for a while but she said no, not while I was with u. Oh, n the sex wasn’t that good either, sry.

  Okay, wow! Don’t hold back there, Chace. What a jerk. Was that what he thought of me? I wasn’t boring and predictable. Okay, yes, I liked routine and for things to be organised, but I could have fun. Awkward? Of course I was awkward. I had a hippie for a mother. I knew I didn’t fit in with my friends. I didn’t like fashion and gossip because they were a mindless waste of time. And the sex? Well, maybe it wasn’t that great because we’d only done it a few times. I was a virgin until just before we broke up. It wasn’t that great for me either. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing. Stupid, self-obsessed loser.

  I decided to send him a simple thank you text. I didn’t want to send him an offensive one or not send one at all because then he would think that he’d got to me. He hadn’t. Okay, maybe he had, but I didn’t want him to know that. I deleted his number and then erased Christina’s as well.

  So if I was boring and predictable, that meant I needed to learn to have fun and let loose, and I only had the rest of the summer holidays to do that.

  Christina and I were very different. While I tried my hardest to fit in because I was finally accepted by her friends, I never actually felt like myself. Where she liked shopping and partying, I was quite happy to stay home and read books or watch movies. Don’t get me wrong; I partied but not every weekend. I had school to think about. And uni.

  I needed to show Chace he was wrong. I needed to show him I was unpredictable, wild, and fun. I needed to show him what he’d lost and was never getting back. I needed to get up from my bed, get out of the house, get some fresh air and a little sun, maybe a tan. It was summer after all. So, swinging my legs off the bed, I pushed myself up and walked over to my closet. I could hardly go outside in pyjama shorts and a t-shirt.

  Looking through my extensive collection of clothes, I realised I had nothing to wear. Everything in my closet was a replica of Christina’s, only much cheaper. Since I hated shopping, I’d let her dictate what I should buy and wear. Her style, and ultimately mine, had been preppy. My closet was overflowing with polo shirts, knitted sweaters, chinos, and tennis skirts. It was repulsive, really. No wonder I was awkward. Who the hell feels comfortable wearing plaid skirts and blazers to a high school that doesn’t have a uniform?

  Groaning in frustration, I decided I needed to get a job so I could buy my own clothes in my own style, whatever that may be. Pulling out the only dress that was decent—a simple white kind of shift—I applied a little bit of makeup and threw my blonde hair in a messy bun on top of my head, put on a pair of sandals, and grabbed my bag. I was ready to go.

  Instead of fresh air and sun, I was going job hunting. The sooner I had money, the sooner I could go and do the dreaded shopping.

  “I’m going out. See you later,” I called to my mother, who was in the kitchen making herbal tea as I bounded down the stairs.

  “You’re what?” She met me at the front door looking very surprised. “Good to see you up.”

  “I’m going to find a summer job.” I kissed her on the cheek and headed out the door before she could say anything else.

  After wandering around town for hours, it seemed as though no one was hiring. I was ready to give up and go home when I spotted a small sign in the window of my favourite quaint little bookshop. Smiling to myself, the first real smile since Chace and I broke up, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The musty smell of paper and ink hit me as soon as I closed the door. I loved that smell. Pausing to look around the store for a moment, I noticed the collection of books had increased since the last time I’d visited. Now this store was nothing like a Borders or any other large-scale commercial bookstore. The lighting was dull, making everything glow orange. Mismatched timber bookcases stacked right up to the ceiling stood against every wall. Books were piled onto shelves and stacked on the floor.

  I made my way through the store, the worn floorboards creaking with each step. I passed the couches and coffee table in the centre of the room and walked to the back, where a balding Mr. Romanov was standing behind his desk. He looked up as I approached.

  “Bailey, my dear. I haven’t seen you for a while,” he said, smiling and removing his glasses.

  “How are you?” I smiled and allowed him to
grasp my hand and shake it gently. “I know. I was busy at school with homework, but it’s the holidays now, so I have plenty of time. How’s Mrs. Romanov?” I asked. His wife was a lovely lady. She was like a grandmother to me. I loved going in there in my free time to read and chat about books over a cup of tea with them.

  “Well. Well. We’re very well. What brings you in today, my dear? I just received a new copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” He spun around and searched through a pile of books on the counter before pulling out a tattered copy of my favourite book. When he said new, he meant new to the store. Most of his books were second-hand. Some were new, of course, like new releases and such, but the majority of them were second-hand. There were some great finds in that store if you knew where to look.

  “Oh, thank you, but not today. I’m here about the job in the window. I’m looking for something over the summer and something I can do around school,” I told him, watching as his eyes lit up.

  “When can you start?” he asked, clapping his hands together. No interview. Nothing.

  “Don’t you want to ask me a few questions or something?” I tilted my head and watched him curiously.

  “What? No, of course not. You’ll be perfect. So when can you start?”

  That was easy. “Uh, tomorrow. Whenever, really.” I’d never had a job before.

  “Well, my dear Bailey, we shall see you at ten a.m. tomorrow for your first day of work.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and shook my hand.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Romanov. You won’t be disappointed.” I smiled back before leaving to go home to tell my mother.

  I practically skipped through my front door when I got home. The overpowering smell of incense burning stopped me in my tracks and made me cough. Sometimes I wondered if my mother had ever heard the expression, “Less is more.” Deciding to leave the door open to let some of the smell out, I went in search of my mother.