Burned: A High School Bully Romance (Del Sol High Book 2)

by McKayla Box

  Burned

  Del Sol High Book 2

  McKayla Box

  Burned: A High School Bully Romance

  Del Sol High, Book 2

  By

  McKayla Box

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Burned: A High School Bully Romance

  Del Sol High, Book 2

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2020

  Cover design by McKayla Box

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Other Books by McKayla Box

  The Sunset Beach High Series

  Fall

  Winter

  Spring

  Summer

  The Del Sol High Series

  Blinded

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  The breeze whips across me and I shiver.

  I pull Archer's sweatshirt tighter around me and push my feet deeper into the sand, trying to keep them warm. The wind coming off the ocean is cold, and not just by February standards in southern California. A thick layer of gray clouds hides the sun and the water looks dark, angry.

  But Archer is out there, cutting through the waves like it's the middle of summer. No wetsuit, just his trunks and nothing else, attacking the water like he's trying to teach it some lesson. I suggested we go get coffee and he said that sounded good.

  As long as we made a quick stop at the beach first.

  Which has now turned into an hour.

  I see him paddling in and butterflies rattle around inside my stomach. He slides off the board and stands next to it. He shakes the water from his head and runs a hand through his hair. He picks up the board and tucks it under his arm, striding out of the water and up the beach toward me.

  Things are good. We've been solid since the beginning of the school year. It's been easier to be a couple than I thought it would. He doesn't suffocate me. He lets me be me. We aren't an old married couple.

  But we are a couple, and every time I see him, the butterflies take flight.

  Right now, as he gets closer to me on the sand, they are doing laps inside my stomach.

  He drops the board and sits on the sand next to me. He takes a deep breath, exhales. “That was pretty good.”

  “Was it?”

  He nods. “Sets were consistent. About three feet and heavy.”

  “I have no idea what any of that means.”

  He laughs. “It means the waves were good.”

  “Good. Can we go now? I am freezing.”

  He wrinkles his nose and wipes at his face. “It's not even that cold.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I say. “It's like fifty out here and the water was probably like below freezing. Or something.”

  “So dramatic,” he says. He grabs my arm. “Come on. It's not bad. I'll show you.”

  I yank my arm away from him. “Not a chance.”

  He laughs. “I'm kidding. I know you're delicate.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He looks down the beach. “I mean, I guess we could. Beach is pretty empty.” He turns back to me. “But I think you'd be cold if I took your clothes off.”

  I shake my head, but can't help laughing.

  He leans over and kisses me. His lips are cold and taste like salt.

  And I so don't care.

  “Alright,” he says. “I promised you coffee. Let's go get it before you freeze to death here at the Arctic Circle.”

  I punch him in the arm, then stand up. He picks up his board and we walk to his truck, me bundled up in his sweatshirt, him walking with barely any clothes on. He pulls a towel from the bed of his truck and dries himself off. There is a pair of sweats from inside the cab and he pulls those on, along with his T-shirt. He stomps his feet on the pavement, steps into a pair of beaten-up flips, and slides in behind the wheel.

  I immediately reach for the heat and fire it up when he turns on the car.

  He laughs. “Oh, come on.”

  “I'm cold. I'm not sub-human like you.”

  “That hurts my feelings.”

  “Nothing hurts your feelings.”

  “So I'm like a superhero?”

  “Sure. From the Arctic Circle.”

  He laughs and backs out of the spot, then gets us out of the lot. The heat kicks in and I hold my hands in front of the vents to warm them. Slowly, but surely, they start to thaw out.

  “I saw your grandpa taking down the Christmas lights yesterday,” he says. “When I was leaving your house. I offered to help, but he waved me off.”

  I laugh. “My grandma made him take them down. If he had his way, he would've left them up until April. He loves Christmas.”

  “I know he used to do super crazy lawn stuff.”

  “Yeah, but my grandma made him stop a couple of years ago, I guess,” I say. “She said it was taking too much time. So what he does now is way less.”

  “Oh yeah,” Archer says. “He used to have sleighs and reindeers and stuff. You didn't ever get to come out here as a kid and see it?”

  The tiny knot that usually appears when the past is brought up shows up right on schedule. “No. I mean, I've seen pictures, but that was it.”

  “Total bummer,” he says, stopping at a red light. “It was killer. I'm sure your mom loved it as a kid. She might've been disappointed if she'd been able to get out here for Christmas this year.”

  I look out the window. “Yeah, totally.”

  “Still sucks she couldn't make it,” he says. “With the flight getting canceled and everything.”

  The knot grows a little larger. “Yeah.”

  He reaches over and grabs my hand. “But I'm glad you weren't gone for Christmas.”

  The light turns green and we start moving again.

  No.

  I still haven't been able to tell him about my mother.

  I don't have a good excuse other than I'm terrified to do so. Every time I convince myself to share with him both the fact that I haven't been honest with him about her and what's happened to her, I end up finding a reason to chicken out. When he started asking questions about where I was going to spend Christmas, I blurted out one afternoon that she was coming to Del Sol instead of me going there. And then, when we got to the holid
ay, I had to make up a story about her flight getting canceled and explain how she wouldn't be coming after all.

  None of it made me feel good. None of it ever makes me feel good. But I feel like I've gone down this rabbit hole that I can't dig my way out of. I know that I have to tell him, but I can't seem to find the courage to do it.

  But I also know that the truth is out there.

  Lurking.

  And waiting for me.

  Chapter 2

  “Does every school have a Winter Ball?” Dylan asks. “Or do we just happen to attend the assholiest school on the planet?”

  It's Monday and I'm sitting at lunch with the girls on the quad in the middle of campus. Mercy went out during her free period and got us tacos. We are spread out on the grass, eating our food, and watching the kick-off celebration to what is apparently Winter Ball Week. The cheerleaders are on the stage in the center of the quad, Reese McClure right in front, doing some sort of cheer that involves rhymes that reference the upcoming dance. I'm doing my best to tune it out, but it's nearly impossible.

  “Pretty sure we're the assholiest,” Brooke says, adjusting her sunglasses and then reaching for a slice of her quesadilla. Her long brown hair is twisted into a complicated braid I would never know how to do. “I mean, the cheerleaders are cheering for...a dance. I can't think of anything much dumber.”

  We all laugh and I bite into my carne asada taco. The four of us – Mercy, Dylan, Brooke, and myself – have bonded into a fairly tight squad. We eat lunch together nearly every day and spend at least part of every weekend together. I never had friends like them in Florida and I try not to take their friendships for granted. It's rare that girls make friends in a group and manage to avoid creating drama with one another, but we all just fit together. We help one another, we tease one another, and we have fun.

  And I need to tell them the truth, too, because it's weighing on me like a ton of bricks. They are the best friends I've ever had, but I haven't been able to pull back the curtain on the ugliest thing in my life because I'm afraid of losing them.

  The hole.

  It keeps getting deeper.

  “How much would you pay to see Reese fall off that stage?” Mercy asks. She brushes a strand of strawberry-blonde hair away from her face and takes a sip of her soda. “I'm not sure there's an amount I wouldn't pay.”

  “I'd rob a fucking bank to make it happen.” Dylan leans back on her hands. “Assuming I'd get to see it before I went to jail.”

  We all laugh again. Reese is leading her troops around the stage, prancing and preening in their little uniforms and shimmering ribbons. She's stayed away from me for the last few weeks, but I'm not sure that's a good thing. Keep your enemies closer and all that. I have no doubt, though, that she is plotting...something. She doesn't have it in her to leave me alone for long.

  “You guys didn't do this in Florida, did you?” Mercy asks, looking at me.

  I shake my head. “No. Good god, no.”

  “Didn't think so,” Brooke says. “We really are the assholiest.”

  “That's not even a word,” Aidan says, dropping to the ground next to Dylan. “I know all the bad words and that's not one.”

  “You can barely read,” Dylan says. “How would you know?”

  “He can read,” Nick says, sitting down beside Brooke. “Sort of.”

  I’m sure Aidan can read, even if his shaggy blond hair completely hides his eyes.

  “Fuck off,” Aidan says. “And that is a bad word, by the way.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” Brooke says. “I had no idea.”

  I feel hands on my shoulders then breath against my ear. “Is this seat taken?” Archer slides in behind me, his legs on either side of me, and his arms snaking around my waist.

  “Oh my god,” Dylan says. “Do not start fucking out here. None of us wants to see that.”

  My cheeks warm, but I laugh.

  “I'd watch,” Aidan says. “Not even gonna lie. Just wouldn't look much at Arch.”

  Now everyone laughs.

  “Don't be gross,” Mercy says. “Either of you.”

  Dylan sticks her tongue out at me, then winks.

  It doesn't bother me, even if it embarrasses me a little. Archer and I are a couple and everyone knows it. I'm fine with that. I don't mind being teased a little about it. I can live with that.

  “What is all of this?” Nick nods at the stage. “For the damn dance?”

  “Yep,” Brooke says.

  Nick shakes his head. “This fucking school.”

  The cheerleaders are now throwing out white confetti, which is supposed to be taken for snow. Which is funny, when you consider it's almost seventy degrees out and the sun is shining. The cold snap is gone, replaced by the type of weather people come to California for. They unveil a logo for the dance, which is a giant snowflake with the name of the school emblazoned across the middle. “Winter Wonderland” begins playing over the giant speakers.

  “This is a bit much, isn't it?” Archer whispers in my ear.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  His arms tighten around my waist. “Somebody has their eye on you.”

  I twist around, confused. “What?”

  “Someone's been watching you,” he says. “I think I might be jealous.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  He lifts his chin off to his right. I twist in the other direction and search the crowd.

  And then I see him.

  He's short and stocky, with rimless glasses on his face. He's got a Del Sol baseball cap on his head. He's wearing jeans and a plaid button-down over a gray T-shirt. Beaten up black Chuck Taylors are on his feet. There's a pencil tucked behind one of his ears.

  And he's definitely looking at me.

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  “No clue,” Archer says. “But he's definitely...interested. Should I be worried?”

  “Ha. Funny.”

  He chuckles.

  Then the kid in the hat and glasses holds up his hand in a sort of half-wave.

  “Whoa,” Archer says. “Now he's not even trying to hide it.”

  “Stop.” I give the kid an awkward wave back, just like something you'd do to someone as they walk by you on the beach or something.

  Then he hesitates for a second, tugs on the bill of his cap, and heads toward me.

  Chapter 3

  “Hi,” the kid says when he reaches us. “I'm...Ricky.”

  All of us, the girls and the guys, are looking at him, curious.

  But he's talking to me.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Can I...could I talk to you for just a second?” he asks. “It won't take long, I promise.”

  “Ricky,” Dylan says, squinting at him. “We have econ together, don't we?”

  Ricky nods.

  “And you helped me with that graph curve thing a couple of weeks ago, didn't you?”

  Ricky nods again, his cheeks coloring red.

  Dylan looks at me. “Ricky is cool because he saved my ass before a test.”

  I get to my knees, stand up, and put my hand on Archer's shoulder. “Be right back.”

  “I'm watching you, Ricky,” Archer says, pointing at him.

  Ricky just stares at him, his eyes wide behind his glasses. It’s clear that isn't sure what to say or do.

  Archer laughs. “I'm kidding, man. Just kidding.”

  Ricky smiles nervously, seemingly relieved, then turns and walks toward the edge of the quad. I follow him. When we get there, he turns back around and clears his throat.

  “Hey, sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to be all secret agent back there.” He holds out his hand. “Ricky.”

  “Nola,” I say, shaking his hand.

  “Yeah, I know,” he says. “That's why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  He adjusts his glasses. “Sorry. That doesn't make any sense. Let me start again. So, I write for the school paper. The Sandcastle?”

 
“Sure,” I say, thinking of the school paper that gets published twice a month.

  “Yeah, so, anyway, I write for the paper,” he explains. “And I do a bunch of different stuff, but one of the things I do is features. So it's all stuff on people and things related to Del Sol.” He shakes his head and frowns. “Sorry. You don't care about any of this stuff and I'm not making any sense. This is the part of the job I'm really bad it.”

  I smile, but I'm not sure what part of the job he's talking about. “That's okay.”

  “I wanted to see if I could do a feature piece on you,” he says.

  “On me?”

  “Frosty the Snowman” blares through the speakers and the cheerleaders are doing a choreographed number to it, complete with top hats that somehow have magically appeared. Ricky motions for us to move a little further away from the speaker closest to us. I follow him and “Frosty” is now at a dull roar.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It would just be a basic interview kind of thing. A get to know you kind of piece.”

  “Okay. But why me?”

  “Well, you were the homecoming queen,” he says. “And you're new to Del Sol. Kind of interesting that someone new to school wins something like that. Not that I think it's a huge deal, but a lot of people do.” He gives me a nervous smile. “Not that it isn't a big deal. I mean, congrats and stuff. I'm not making fun of it or anything.”