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

by McKayla Box

“No, I know,” I say. “I'm just not sure I'm all that interesting.”

  Ricky nods. “Everyone says that. But you don't have to be.” His cheeks flush again and he adjusts his glasses. “That came out wrong, too. Look, all I'm saying is that you have kind of a cool story and it might play pretty well for the paper. So I was just hoping we could sit down and I could ask you a few questions. It would take like maybe twenty minutes, half an hour tops.”

  “Uh,” I say, glancing toward the dancing cheerleaders. “I'm not really sure it's my thing.”

  “They'd be pretty basic questions.” His words come out in a rush, and there is an earnestness to his expression that wasn’t there before. “Nothing you'd have to think too hard about. Where you're going to school next year, how it felt to win the homecoming thing, when you moved to Del Sol. Just that kind of thing.” He holds up a hand. “And I totally get it. That doesn't feel interesting to you at all.” He smiles. “But I'll work my magic and make it interesting. It'll be cool, I promise.”

  I didn't doubt that he could work his magic or make it cool. I just didn't want to be the subject of anything that forced me to answer too many questions.

  “I don't think so,” I tell him. “I appreciate you asking me and all, but I...I don't know. It's just not something I'm really interested in. And I'm not trying to be rude. I just...don't think I really wanna do it.”

  He frowns at me and readjusts his glasses again. “Seriously? It's really no big deal. I mean, I could even send the questions over email or something if you don't have time to sit down.”

  “It's not that,” I say.

  “Then what is it?”

  I look at the cheerleaders. They appear to be making an invisible snowman. Or something.

  “I don’t know. I guess I'm not crazy about being the center of attention,” I tell him. “Just makes me a bit uncomfortable.”

  He pulls off his cap and scratches his head for a second. “Okay, here's the thing. I sort of already told our advisor that I'd do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Interview you,” he says. “We had to get our assignments in and I listed interviewing you as one of mine for this next issue. And I'm already sort of behind.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say. “I really am. But it's just not my thing.”

  He stands there, still frowning at me.

  I know what he's thinking. Why am I making such a big deal about it? Why don't I want to help him out? Who really cares about an interview in the school paper?

  I do.

  Because he's going to ask questions that will lead to other questions and I don't want to give the answers.

  He'll want to know when I moved to Del Sol. And then why. And then he'll ask about my parents. And when I give him vague answers, he'll get curious. And who knows what he'll do then.

  I don't want to know, and I don't want to give him the chance to get curious.

  He puts the cap back on his head and adjusts the glasses one more. “Just think about it, okay?”

  And before I can tell him I don't know need to think about it, he turns and walks away.

  Chapter 4

  “Who's your new boyfriend?”

  I'm at my locker at the end of lunch, grabbing my stuff before I head to class, when Reese's voice pierces my ears.

  I pull my bag out of my locker and turn around. She's standing there with Bree and Fallon, all three of them in their cheer outfits, all of them with their hands on their hips. They look like a really bad cartoon.

  “I don't have a new boyfriend,” I say. “Just the same one I've had for a while now. Archer.” I smile at her. “I think you remember him, right?”

  Her ugly little mouth flattens into an angry line. Of course she remembers him. It galls her that we're together. He was supposed to be hers, but she blew her shot well before I got to Del Sol. Somehow, that's become my fault.

  “Well, I guarantee he remembers me,” she says, sneering at me. “Should ask him sometime.”

  “We don't do a lot of talking,” I tell her. “We're too busy doing...other things.”

  Her jaw quivers, it's locked so tight.

  “God, he must be desperate,” Fallon says. Her boobs strain against the fabric of her too-tight cheer outfit and I am more convinced than ever that she had a boob job.

  “Seriously,” Bree adds. “I wonder if he's going blind.”

  “He called you two Stain One and Stain Two the other day,” I tell them. “So I think his vision is just fine.”

  They both glower at me.

  “I mean the nerd in the glasses,” Reese snarls.

  “What?”

  “That little dipshit you were getting cozy with at lunch,” she says. “I saw you bail Archer to go talk to that guy.” She shakes her head, her long hair swinging against her shoulders. “You're so sorry. Probably cheating on Archer with that guy.”

  I laugh. “Hardly. I don't even know him.”

  “Lucky for him then.”

  The first bell rings and I throw my bag over my shoulder. “I'd love to stay and chat, but...actually, no, I wouldn't. So I'm leaving.”

  Reese slides in front of me, blocking my path. “If you're cheating on Archer, I'm gonna find out. And I'll tell him.”

  The thought is so ridiculous, I laugh. “Yeah, okay, you do that,” I tell her. “Make sure and spend lots of time thinking about it. I love living in your head, Reese.”

  “You aren't living in my head,” she says. “But I'm gonna find out the truth. Everyone thinks you're too good to be true. I know better.” She leans in closer, and the smell of her perfume assaults my nostrils. “I know better.”

  “Get out of my way before I slap you so hard your ribbons come undone,” I say.

  She stands there for another moment, then steps to the side.

  I walk past her and don't look back.

  Because I can't.

  I can feel the panic rising up inside of me, bubbling to life. It feels like she knows something about me. It feels like she knows my secrets.

  I know that's impossible because if she did?

  She would've already spilled them. She'd never keep things like that to herself.

  I know she doesn't know anything.

  Yet.

  So I just keep walking toward class, hoping Reese doesn't find what she's looking for.

  Chapter 5

  “I saw Reese bugging you at the end of lunch,” Mercy says. “What was that about?”

  It's later that night and we're going down to the beach. There are supposed to be some bonfires and casual parties to kick off Winter Ball week and I'm antsy, so I'm happy to get out of the house when she texts and asks if I want to go.

  “Her being Reese,” I say. “Just hassling me to hassle me.”

  Mercy laughs. “She's such an ass. She wouldn't know what to do with herself if she didn't have someone to bother.”

  “I wish she'd pick on someone else. I'm tired of it.”

  And I am. I'm tired of being her target and tired of feeling wary every time she comes in my direction. I know there's one giant thing I can do that would help alleviate that fear, but I'm still trying to figure out how to do that.

  “Your parents get along, right?” I ask, glancing at her.

  She side eyes me. “Uh, yeah. That's random, Nola.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I was just...wondering. Like, if your parents like one another. Do they do stuff together?” I hesitate. “I never saw my parents together.”

  She nods, but doesn't say anything.

  Which immediately makes me self-conscious. When the story came out about my father and the fact that I lied about him, I wasn't sure how she would react. But after telling me she was disappointed that I felt like I couldn't be honest, she stuck by me. She asked me questions, nothing that was too invasive, and I was as honest as I could with her. I was so grateful that she didn’t held it against me.

  And I want to be honest with her about my mother, too.

  The words just won't com
e to me.

  “Yeah, they do,” she finally says. “Like, sometimes, it's enough to make you gag. But they really like one another, I think. They like doing stuff together. They argue sometimes, but it's not anything serious, you know? Like, I don't worry about him leaving her or anything.” She sits up straighter in her seat behind the wheel. “Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

  “It's okay,” I say. “Really.”

  She grunts. “Me and my big mouth.”

  “Seriously. It's fine. I didn't take it that way.” I look out the window, watching the houses and businesses blur as she cruises down the road. “No, I was just asking because I wondered what that would be like. To have both parents at home and to have them get along. I never had that.”

  “Did your mom date or anything?” she asks.

  “Yeah, but nothing serious,” I answer.

  Which is true.

  Lots of guys.

  But no one serious.

  Not ever.

  “Well, I don't know if I can explain it well enough,” Mercy says, coasting to a stop at the stop sign. “It's just always been that way for me. It's been...secure. Comfortable. I've never even thought for a second about what it would be like with one of them out of the house.”

  I nod. That makes sense.

  “Are you close to your mom?” The light turns green and she accelerates through the intersection. “Since it was just the two of you?”

  It's the kind of question that should be the open door to really telling her about my mom and what she's like and what's happened with her.

  But it's like I can't find the knob to the door to open it.

  “Sort of,” I say. “But...not really. Or, not like you'd think, I guess. I don't know.”

  “So it wasn't hard to leave?”

  “No, not really.”

  Because I didn't have a choice.

  “Gotcha,” she says.

  And just like that, I know we've wandered into super awkward territory and I don't know how to bring it back to my mom so that I can spill my guts. So I move away from all of it entirely.

  “So is this like the kickoff thing at the beginning of the year?” I ask.

  She laughs. “You mean, are you going to have to swim out in the ocean?” She shakes her head. “No, nothing like that. Just a bunch of people hanging out at the beach.”

  “Good,” I say. “I didn't bring a change of clothes.”

  She laughs again. “You should be good.” It's quiet for a moment. “You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Your parents,” she says. “I mean, anything, really. But I just meant since you were asking about my parents and stuff. If you ever want to talk about it, I can listen.” She smiles. “I have big ears.”

  I laugh, but my stomach is a jumbled mess. “Thanks. And you have gorgeous ears.”

  She pulls us into the lot and I turn toward the window so she won't see the tears in my eyes.

  Chapter 6

  The beach is packed.

  Mercy finds a parking spot and we get out. The sky is navy blue over the black ocean, streaked with ribbons of thin gray clouds. The bonfires on the sand provide the only source of light along the shore, and kids walk in and out of the shadows, most of them holding red cups. Music drifts over the top of everything.

  We leave our shoes in Mercy's car and cross the lot toward the sand. Brooke and Dylan are already there, each of them with a drink in their hands.

  “What's up, bitches?” Dylan asks up, throwing an arm around Mercy's neck. Her hair has grown out a little since the beginning of the school year and the breeze teases a lock of blonde hair across her cheek. “We thought you were bailing on us.”

  “Never,” Mercy says.

  Brooke puts her arm around my shoulders. “I never doubted either of you.”

  We find our way to a makeshift bar that consists of a couple of card tables jammed into the sand with tons of bottle on top. Two stacks of red cups are in the middle of the bottles, where a guy is filling them with ice from the cooler by his feet and setting them out for people to grab. Mercy snags two of the cups and fills each with a good amount of vodka and Sprite. Then she hands me one.

  I stare into the cup, the familiar revulsion at the thought of drinking alcohol rising up inside me. The bubbles fizz and I swirl the ice, listening to the clinking cubes.

  I'm tired of feeling stressed and afraid and worried.

  And I’m tired of pretending.

  Fuck it.

  I take a long drink. The Sprite tickles my nose and the vodka burns a trail down my throat and into my stomach. I wince and fight back the urge to cough.

  I hold out the cup to Mercy. “More.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Someone came to party,” Dylan says, tapping her cup with mine. “You heard the girl. Fill her up!”

  Mercy chuckles, grabs the vodka bottle, and dumps more into my cup.

  And that's pretty much how the next hour goes. We move around the sand, we talk, we laugh, and I refill my cup. I'm buzzed pretty quickly and I'm feeling pretty good. My stress from when we arrived is gone.

  I feel an arm snake around my waist and it takes me a moment to realize it's Archer's.

  He smiles down at me. “Been looking for you.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say, turning into him. I reach up with my free hand and weave it into his hair, pulling him down to me. I kiss him.

  After a moment, he pulls back. “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

  I giggle. “My mouth, silly.”

  He laughs. “Someone decided to have a good time tonight.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  He laughs again. “You.”

  “And then some,” Dylan chimes in from behind me. “Chica is hydrated for real.”

  Archer laughs again. “Sounds like an understatement.” He studies me for a moment. “You okay?”

  “I'm great,” I say. “So great.”

  “Maybe you need to slow down a bit?”

  I wave my hand in the air. It feels light and feathery. “I'm fine.”

  He keeps his eyes on me for a moment, then nods. “Okay. If you say so.”

  “I do,” I say, tapping his chest. “I do say so.”

  He laughs and shakes his head.

  The party goes on and I do slow down.

  For a while.

  The buzz starts to fade and I realize that's probably a good thing. I'm not used to drinking so much – or at all – and I don't want to come off as obnoxious. I fear I may have already headed down that road.

  The boys drift away for a bit and I'm with the girls. We make conversation with other kids and it's all light and easygoing and fun. I still have trouble remembering people's names, but I try to put a name with every face in hope that I'll remember them the next time I see them.

  And then a hand pushes me in the small of my back.

  It's not hard, but I stumble forward a bit, my feet heavy in the sand. I lift my drink up so it doesn't spill. I turn around.

  Reese is standing there, her hands on her hips, glaring at me. Bree and Fallon are on either side of her. Bree is holding one cup, Fallon two. I assume one of those cups belongs to Reese and she wants her hands free for a reason.

  “You were in my way,” Reese says.

  I laugh. “Oh, okay.” I make a big show of stepping to the side and sweeping my arm across my body. “Right this way, your bitchiness.”

  Dylan howls loudly. Brooke and Mercy giggle.

  Reese doesn't move. “You're still in my way.”

  I laugh again and rub at my eyes like I'm sleepy. “Reese, are you losing your vision? Is all the bullshit that comes out of your mouth finally filling up into your eyes?”

  The girls laugh again.

  Reese continues to glare at me.

  The alcohol emboldens me. I feel fearless.

  And obnoxious.

  “Maybe use one of those stick figures behind you
as a cane,” I suggest.

  There are more laughs this time and I look around. A crowd starts to gather around us. It makes me laugh again.

  Maybe the buzz hasn't worn off that much.

  “Just fucking do it,” Bree mutters under her breath.

  Reese's fists are clenched at her sides.

  “Do fucking what?” I ask. “Drown yourself? If that's what she means, Reese, I would definitely do what she's suggesting. Definitely.”

  She takes a couple of steps toward me.

  I've never been in a real fight. Sure, there's been some arguing and stuff like that, but most of that was in middle school and it never resulted in anything. And the incident at the beach, where Reese ran into me and then I reciprocated, didn’t really fall into that definition.

  But this feels different.

  “I'm gonna take this,” Dylan whispers in my ear, and the cup I've been holding disappears from my hand.

  The corners of Reese's mouth twitch. “You think you are so awesome, don't you?”

  “At least I can think,” I answer.

  Her hands unclench, then clench again.

  She takes another step toward me.

  An ugly smile creases her face. “Maybe your dad was never around because he couldn't stand you. Have you ever thought of that before?”

  My heart hammers inside my chest and my own fingers curl into fists.

  She puts her index to her chin like she's thinking. “I wonder if he just thought you were such a waste of space that he didn't want to deal with you.” Her ugly smile grows. “Maybe he thought he'd just get out and try again. To actually get it right.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I whisper.

  She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, did I hit a nerve? What? You can't find a super smart comeback for that?” She leans closer to me. “Probably because the truth really fucking hurts, doesn't it?”

  I swing wildly for her face and my hand connects with her chin, but not as hard as I would like. She jerks her head away, takes two steps back, then charges at me. I can't get out of the way fast enough and she crashes into me, her shoulder digging into my ribs, and we tumble to the sand.

  I'm on back and my hands find her wrists just as she goes for my face. She's straddling me across my waist and she's stronger than she looks. Her hands are getting closer to my face, her nails spread out like claws. I slide my thumbs under her wrists and jam my nails as hard as I can into her skin. She screams and jerks her arms back. I use her own momentum to push hard at her and she loses her balance. I pull her hard to the left by her arm and she slams into the sand next to me.