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

by McKayla Box

  Our server comes and my grandfather makes small talk with him for a moment, giving me a chance to decide on what to eat, which is no small feat, given that I'm worried my stomach won't retain anything I put in it. I opt for some eggs and a bowl of fruit. If my grandparents think that's unusual, they don't mention it.

  There is no mention of my bruised jaw as we wait for our food. They ask me who was at the beach and about my classes, mostly harmless things. And I'm grateful. They truly seem to care about me, something I still find hard to believe at times. They agreed to take me in without really knowing me and they've been nothing but kind to me. More than kind, probably. And they haven't been helicopter adults, hovering over me. They've given me space and not inundated me with questions and opinions. I've been able to breathe.

  And they are funny. My grandfather is goofy and my grandmother acts like it drives her nuts, but I really think she likes it. They seem to like one another. They sit near one another. They hold hands. He still opens doors for her. She brings him coffee when he's reading the paper. They go for walks together. I don't know exactly how long they've been married, but they seem to still love one another.

  As our food arrives at the table, I realize that's something I've never witnessed in my life. My father was never around and my mother just ran through a small string of men who were faceless and nameless to me. They all blended together. But there were no relationships to speak of, there was no caring for another person. Half the time, my mother was oblivious to me.

  So being around my grandparents is a new experience in so many ways.

  I look up from my food. “Thank you.”

  Both of them look at me.

  “For brunch?” my grandfather asks, chuckling. “Well, you're welcome, Nola. As always.”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean, yes. For brunch and all of the meals and stuff. But for everything you've done for me. I don't know if I've said thank you enough.” Tears sting my eyes. “I'm sorry if I haven't, but I just wanted you to know that...I know how lucky I am right now, and thank you for letting me come here and live with you and for taking care of me.” I shake my head, suddenly feeling silly. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying.”

  My grandmother reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Nola. You do not have to thank us for any of it. You are our granddaughter, we love you, and you will always have a home with us. Always.”

  I wipe at my eyes with my free hand. “Thank you.”

  My grandfather clears his throat and is wiping at his eyes, too.

  “You've made your grandfather cry,” my grandmother says, smiling. “That is quite an achievement.”

  “I'm not crying, Sally.” He clears his throat. “I just...I think I got something in my damn eye!”

  She rolls her eyes, then squeezes my hand again. “He's crying. Don't believe him for a second. But, Nola, you do not have to thank us. It is a pleasure to have you with us and no matter the circumstances that brought you here, your grandfather and I are both thrilled to have you at home with us. Truly.”

  “Okay,” I say, wiping at my eyes again. “But thank you.”

  We both laugh.

  “Dammit, Sally, I'm not crying!” my grandfather says again.

  We both look at him and he can't help but laugh.

  We keep eating and even though my head hurts and my body aches and I don’t want a single bite I’m forcing myself to swallow, I feel pretty good.

  So even when Reese McClure walks into the dining room, my mood isn't spoiled.

  She's with her grandparents and they are seated at a table in the middle of the room. She's wearing a pink sundress and when she sits down and flips her hair back, I can't help but smile. The black and blue bruise on the side of her face is visible even at a distance, and the split in her lip looks like a bloody crevasse.

  I look down at my hand in my lap. The three knuckles in the middle are cut, each with a red line running across them.

  I smile.

  I look up again and Reese is looking at me.

  She is most definitely not smiling.

  Which makes me smile more.

  I love that her bruises and cuts are worse than mine. I don't know if she hurts as badly as I do, but I'm so glad that it looks like she got the worst of it. And I'd love to know what she told her grandparents.

  She glares at me, then goes back to looking at her menu.

  My head may hurt and my body may ache, but, for the moment, I feel just fine.

  Chapter 10

  I spend the rest of Sunday with my grandparents and catching up on homework. I text with Archer and Mercy, but I want to be at home. My grandfather teaches me how to play chess and my grandmother pulls out some old pictures of me when I was little that I've never seen. It ends up being a really nice Sunday and I'm still feeling that when I get to school with Mercy.

  Until I see Ricky at my locker before classes.

  Mercy heads off toward her first class and I hesitate for a moment before going to my locker. He's wearing the same baseball cap as before and his backpack is strapped over both of his shoulders.

  He holds up a hand. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say, opening my locker.

  “So. Did you have a chance to think any more about that profile thing?” he asks.

  “I did.”.

  “Cool, cool.” He nods his head. “So when do you think we might be able to chat?”

  I pull my math book out. “I meant, I thought about it and I'm sorry, but I really don't want to do it.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nod. “Yeah. It's just not my thing. I'm sorry.”

  He frowns and adjusts his cap. “Are you messing with me?”

  I close my locker. “No. I'm really not. I don't want to do it.”

  His frown deepens. “Why not?”

  I shrug. “It's not my thing, like I said. I don't like being the center of attention.”

  “It's the school paper,” he says. “Half the school doesn't even read it.”

  I shrug again. “Still. I'm just not crazy about it.”

  He studies me for a long moment, then adjusts his glasses. “I don't think I've ever had someone say no before.”

  “I'm sorry,” I tell him. “I really am.”

  “Most kids are like 'sure cool.' We talk for like half an hour, I take a picture, and that's it,” he says. “They can take it home to their parents or whatever.”

  I don't say anything.

  “But I don't think anyone's ever said no,” he says. “I've been doing this for a couple of years now. Most people are happy to do it.”

  I get what he's saying. He's annoyed and saying I'm not being cool. But it's not my fault he already told the paper he'd do the story before asking me. And I have the right to say no, even if it makes me less than cool.

  “I'm sorry,” I say again. “I don't know what to tell you.”

  He laughs. “You can tell me yes. It's really not that big of a deal.”

  I'm not apologizing to him anymore. “It is to me. And I gave you my answer.”

  We stand there for a moment, neither of us making any move to leave.

  “Actually, you know there was one kid,” he finally says.

  “One kid what?”

  He pushes his glasses back toward his eyes. “One kid who said no. Football player. Two years ago. Turned out he'd gotten a public intoxication ticket the summer before and he'd managed to keep it from his parents somehow. He was afraid I'd find out and put it in the article. I wouldn't have done that because who gives a shit? But when he told me no, I thought something was up, so that's when I found out about the ticket.” He pauses. “He just didn't want me to know.

  I tuck my book under my arm. “Okay.”

  He chews on his bottom lip for a moment. “So it makes me think it's the same for you.”

  I laugh. “What? That I got an alcohol ticket?” I shake my head. “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, I don't mean the exact same thing,” he says. “But it f
eels like there's something you don't want me to know.” He pauses. “Is there?”

  I fight desperately to keep my cheeks from flushing. “No.”

  He doesn't say anything and the first bell rings.

  “I gotta go,” I say.

  “You sure?” he asks.

  “Uh, yeah. That was the bell for class.”

  Ricky shakes his head. “No. I meant are you sure there's something you don't want me to know about?”

  I look down the hallway. “Yeah. Positive.” I look at him. “I really gotta go.”

  He pushes off the wall of lockers and adjusts his cap. “Okay. See you around, Nola.”

  I turn and walk down the hall, trying to calm my nerves. When I get to the end of he hallway, I turn and look back toward my locker.

  Ricky is still standing there.

  Staring at me.

  Chapter 11

  I make it through the morning without seeing any more of Ricky and by lunch, my nerves are a little calmer. I'm hoping that he's just mad that he's going to have to tell the journalism advisor that he can't do the article. I'm hoping he won't do anything else.

  “Saw you talking to that little fucker from the paper again,” Dylan says as we sit down at George's, a little burger place two blocks from the high school. “He still bugging you?”

  I shrug. “A little, I guess. I told him no, so hopefully he leaves me alone now.”

  “He's kinda creepy,” Brooke says, reaching for a napkin. “Like one of those little garden gnomes.”

  We all laugh and grab our food off of the orange tray.

  “So, guess who got her letter of acceptance to Berkeley this weekend?” Dylan asks, smiling.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Mercy yells. “You got in?”

  “You don't have to sound so surprised.”

  Mercy laughs and reaches across the table to try and hug her. “I meant I'm so excited for you!”

  Brooke puts an arm around her shoulders. “Our little Dylan is all grown up and going to a kickass school.”

  “That is awesome,” I tell her. “Congrats. Seriously.”

  She smiles again. “Thanks. I read it like six times because I was sure it was fake. Then I started screaming. I wanted to tell you guys in person.” She looks around the restaurant crowded with students. “I cannot wait to ditch all of these morons.” Then she looks at us. “Except for you guys.”

  We all laugh.

  “I got my letter from Arizona last week,” Brooke says. “I think that's it for me. Mercy, what did you hear?”

  “Fat, hard no from Stanford,” Mercy says, laughing. “Yes from Washington, yes from UCLA, yes from a bunch of others I don't really care about. I guess I'm going to decide between those two. I'm sort of ambivalent.”

  “What about you, Nola?” Dylan asks. “Anything yet?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet. Applying late didn't do me any favors.”

  It's a subject I've been avoiding. Because I'd moved to California so late in the summer, I didn't really have a chance to think about schools until we were well into the fall semester. My grandparents and I agreed that unless I had a burning desire to go elsewhere, applying to schools in California made the most sense because I could still be close to them. So I applied to UC San Diego and UCLA, to San Diego State, and the University of San Diego. I still don't feel very strongly about any of them.

  I just want to know I'm getting into one of them so I know I'll have a place to go.

  Mercy puts her arm around me. “You'll hear soon.”

  “You guys,” Dylan says.

  We all look at her.

  “That means we are all gonna be separated next year,” she says, looking at each of us. “No more lunches. Or parties. Or beach days.” She frowns. “That makes me fucking sad. I like you bitches.”

  We all laugh again.

  “We'll be home at breaks,” Brooke says.

  Mercy holds up her phone. “And we have these little things.”

  Dylan pushes her food away. “Yeah. And then we are all gonna graduate and get married and have babies and be old women and never see each other anymore.”

  “I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself,” Mercy says.

  “Feels like it's all just rushing at us,” Dylan says.

  I'm with her. That's exactly how it feels to me. For the first time ever, I feel like I have real friends that I can count on and that I like being around. I feel part of a group, something I never felt when I lived in Florida. And it feels as if just as I'm setting in, we're going to go our separate ways.

  And I don't know what that means for Archer and me.

  I've never had a real boyfriend until now. I've never wanted one. I've never felt close enough to a guy to want to be in a relationship. But now that I am?

  It may all go away before I know it.

  “Who says I'm having babies?” Brooke asks, shaking me from my own thoughts.

  “You don't want kids?” Mercy asks.

  “I don't know if I do or not,” Brooke says, plucking a fry from the carton on the tray. It’s the only thing she ordered for lunch “But I'm not assuming I'll just start popping them out.” She points the fry at Dylan. “And even if I do have a bunch of little squealers, why are you assuming we all won't be living in Del Sol together, doing the things our parents do? Going to lunch, meeting for drinks, bothering our kids?” She smiles. “I don't know what's gonna happen in college, but I'm planning on coming back here. This is home.”

  Dylan grabs her around the neck and hugs her. “I fucking love you. You always know how to make me feel better.”

  “If you choke me, though, nothing will happen other than my funeral,” Brooke says, frowning.

  Mercy and I both laugh.

  “Yeah, I know I'll be back here,” Mercy says. “I really can't envision living anywhere else, and I know my parents will want to be involved grandparents. I know you can't predict the future, but it's really hard for me to think I won't be living here after school and stuff.”

  “What if your husband wants to live in, like, New Jersey or something?” Dylan asks, letting go of Brooke's neck.

  “Uh, then he won't be my husband.” Mercy wrinkles her nose. “I'm a West Coast girl and I'll let any guy that wants to put a ring on it know that up front.”

  Dylan holds up her hand over the table and Mercy slaps palms with her.

  The four of us laugh, but I feel unsettled. The three of them see Del Sol as their home. Because it is. They've lived her their entire lives.

  I've been her for about six months. I don't really have roots here. Sure, it seems like a place I'd like to live for the next fifty years, but I don't have the same kind of relationship with the town that the three of them do. I'm open to living somewhere else. And if I did that, then I know that I really do only have a limited window of time to be friends with these girls.

  And that makes me sad.

  Mercy puts her arm around me. “You'll come back to Del Sol, right, Nola?”

  I look up and all three of them are staring at me, their expressions hopeful.

  “Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Why wouldn't I?”

  The only problem is that I can think of about a hundred reasons why I might not.

  Chapter 12

  We finish our lunch and my afternoon classes are boring. The only thing that gets me through them is that I know I'm meeting Archer after school to go to the beach.

  I find him out in the parking lot with Nick and Aiden after the last bell. Aiden is sitting on the tailgate, eating an apple, and Nick is standing next to him. Archer is in the bed, rearranging the surfboards.

  “There she is,” Aiden says, his mouth full of apple, pointing at me. “There's my girl.”

  “She's not your girl, dumbass,” Nick says, then holds up a hand. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I says, smiling.

  Archer turns around and grins down at me. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say. “And now this feels like a Saturday Night
Live skit.”

  He laughs. “Fine. Hello.”

  I laugh, too. “Hello.”

  “Hey, I have a question,” Aiden says, pushing his mop of hair away from his face. “Do you think Dylan might go out with me?”

  “Why don't you ask her?” I say.

  “Because he's a chicken shit,” Nick answers.

  “Fuck off,” Aiden says, frowning at him before turning back to me. “No, I just mean ... hypothetically.”

  “Emphasis on the pathetically,” Archer says.

  Aiden holds his middle finger high up in the air and Archer chuckles.

  “I don't know,” I say. “Honestly, I don't know. Do you like her?”

  He takes a bit of the apple and takes a moment to answer. “Well, sure, who doesn't? She's hot and funny, and I've known her since we were kids.”

  “Here's what he's not telling you, Nola,” Nick says, shaking his head. “He's had a crush on Dylan since, like, second grade.”

  “Bullshit,” Aiden objects.

  “Bullshit nothing.” Nick laughs. “Arch, what grade did we catch him drawing her picture?”

  “Sixth,” Archer says, still shuffling the boards. “In the back of his math notebook. I think there might've even been a little heart around her name or some shit like that.”

  “Oh, fuck both of you,” Aiden says. “You're both full of shit.”

  Nick and Archer laugh.

  “I honestly don't know,” I tell Aiden. “And I don't wanna be some messenger. So if you like her and wanna ask her out or something, then you should do it.”

  “Please,” Nick says. “He hasn't been able to do it for eighteen years. He can't do it.”

  “I can do it,” Aiden protests. “I can do it if I want to.”

  “If you want to?” Archer says. “You've wanted to for forever! So what's the holdup, dude?”

  Aiden's face reddens. “I'm just...I'm waiting for the right moment.”

  “And that's why you're asking Nola to pass her a note at recess,” Archer says, laughing. “Got it.”