Welcome to Oceanside Surf: Rescuing the Bully (An Oceanside High Romance Book 2) Read online

  “Then, maybe some heavy metal screaming?” I chuckle.

  “I wish we could fall asleep on the blanket at the beach right now.”

  I sigh. “I know. Sucks we have school tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, but the best part is I get to see you.”

  “True.” I smile to myself, twisting over onto my back and wrapping the blanket over me. I feel the cold air coming out of the vents. Dad’s cranked it down to freezing, but we both sleep best like this. It is South Florida, after all. Hot nights, hotter days.

  “I’m almost home. You going to kiss me goodnight?”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Make out with the phone, how else?”

  “Have you any idea how much bacteria is on this thing?”

  He laughs, “Maybe just a smooch?”

  I hear his truck cut off, and his key fob jingle.

  “Oh…well, in that case.” I pucker my lips and make smoochy noises. “There,” I say with a sultry tone. “You like that big boy?”

  “Um. Hello?” I hear a woman ask.

  “Hey, mom,” Travis says, uneasy.

  “Where have you been? And who’s that?” She sounds like she’s only two feet away from his truck, and of course he had to have his window down because he loves the smell of the ocean air at night. So do I.

  “Sorry, I was at John’s,” he tells her.

  “You know it’s close to when your father—” Her words cut off. “I just get worried.”

  “Ma, chill out,” Travis says, his voice is low now. “Britt, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, somewhat concerned, and then I call out through the phone, saying, “Goodnight, Mrs. McDurn.”

  “What did I say about calling me Brianna?” Her tone is warm and gentle but I can hear that she’s irritated.

  “Oh. Sorry, I meant to say Brianna.” I chuckle.

  “Goodnight, Brittney,” she says just as the line cuts off.

  I put my phone on my charger and I roll over, tucking myself under my covers, and lay my head onto one of my fluffy pillows.

  I wonder what his mom meant about this time of year but suddenly, like Travis had said, so much sun, waves, and swimming, it gets to be too much for a guy. I can feel it now as I take a big yawn, and notice how it gets to be too much for a girl too.

  And I fall asleep.

  It’s Monday morning and Annabelle honks her horn in the driveway. I look out the kitchen window and see her face looking down, her fingers tapping at her phone’s screen. She and Carlos have been going out for a while now and even though he parties more than she does, I think she likes that he gets her to go places, so she’s not such a homebody anymore.

  “Don’t forget your bacon,” Dad says behind me at the stovetop. Now he’s pushing around some eggs in a frying pan.

  “I definitely won’t,” I reply, grabbing two slices off his plate.

  He glances back at me, leaning over the counter, stealing his last piece. “Hey! Those are mine—”

  “Coach needs me to keep my strength up!”

  “Where’s your bacon then?”

  I rub my belly like Galecki. “Deep in the depths of its destruction.”

  He sighs, nodding his head. “Fine. I’ll just make some more, I guess.”

  “Sound good!” I shout grabbing my backpack and heading for the door. As soon as I hop out the front door Annabelle calls out her window at me, “Hey bacon grease!” I strut down the steps to the car, chewing on my crisp bacon. If there is one thing I can trust dad to do it’s cook bacon just right.

  I jump into the car and toss my backpack in the backseat. “Hey, period breath.” I say. We both laugh.

  She narrows her eyes. “Where did you learn that one, Twitter?”

  “No, you know I’m not on that shit.”

  “Yeah, or any shit any where. You’re one of those stealth mode bitches who say they’re not on social media but you stalk everyone with blank profiles.”

  I give her my side eye like she could possibly be right. But she’s not. Social media gives me anxiety and I’m pretty sure it’s all just fake curated bullshit anyway.

  We get near Oceanside High and I notice Annabelle’s car hasn’t lurched, coughed, or spewed any fumes. “Hey, what’s up with the car? Did you switch it on some old guy in a parking lot who had an identical one?” A part of me thinks that’s totally impossible with this vintage automobile.

  “Uh, no. Carlos’ dad actually has his own shop where he works on hot rods. When he saw me pull up one day he couldn’t believe his eyes. He just had to get his hands on it.”

  “Uh huh, I bet he wanted to get his hands on something.” I press my tongue between my teeth and smile.

  “Whatever, he is kinda cute for a dad.”

  “Ew. What is it with you and dads?”

  Annabelle laughs, “Chill, he’s married anyway.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and don’t forget he’s your boyfriend’s dad.”

  “Don’t remind me, you’ll spoil my fantasy,” she teases.

  I flinch at the idea and quickly push it out of my mind.

  We pull into the school parking lot and immediately I see Lindzey’s little red Porsche. This time the top is up and I see a seat cover over the driver’s seat. I smile to myself, and at the same time feel like a horrible vandal. It’s a reminder to never let my emotions get the best of me again.

  “You think she’ll ever know?” I ask, pointing it out.

  Annabelle looks at Lindzey’s Porsche and understands what I mean. I told her all about it after she’d missed the embarrassing celebration where Lindzey and her squad, and Billy and Donny, had their videos leaked on the projection screen. It’s not like it was all that bad, it was more so to scare them into wondering what else we could possibly have on them. Lately it felt like it had worked since Lindzey only shot me the occasional Evil Eye, and Donny would grunt when he passed me in the halls, grunting is easy to ignore, it’s words I mind. As for Billy he always kept his head pointed in the opposite direction and his eyes never met mine, keeping his cold shoulder at the point of freezing.

  “I think it’s in your best interest to never tell another soul that you burned the hole in her seat.”

  I nod in agreement. I grab my backpack and get out of the car and admire how the door hinge doesn’t squeak anymore. “Wow,” I say, moving the door left then right before I shut it. “He oiled the hinge up too!”

  I look at Annabelle over the hood which still needs a new paint job. “Yeah, it’ll get us to work on time from now on.”

  “Ugh, please don’t remind me.”

  “See you at lunch?” Annabelle asks me like it’s somehow not going to happen.

  We bump our fists and I tell her, “Yeah, lunch time it is.”

  The halls of Oceanside are packed with bodies and the walls are being decorated with banners of fall colors, cutouts of smiling Jack O’Lanterns, bleach-white skeletons, and sometimes a kid jumps out of the hustle of students with a werewolf mask on and scares the shit out of some poor girl.

  It’s strange for it to be this way when it’s still so freaking hot outside.

  When I lived with mom in our mobile home in New York by now the air outside would be chilly and the leaves would be falling and I’d kick up big, crispy maple leaves along the road where we lived. Here the yards are almost always manicured, the bushes always trimmed and symmetrical, and hardly a leaf to crush under foot. So that’s South Florida for you.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” says a deep and deliberately husky voice. I turn to see Travis dodging a couple backpacks which look like they’ve been stuffed with every textbook they could carry, and come up to greet me with a kiss.

  “Hey now!” Mr. Scowlard walks by, grabbing Travis’ shirt collar from the back and pulling him off me. “None of that on school grounds.”

  “Yes sir,” Travis replies. Mr. Scowlard eyes him and then looks at me.

  “Don’t think that doesn’t apply to you
either, Miss Bahalia,” he shakes a rolled up sheet of paper at me like I’m a fly he’s trying to swat. “Women are held just as accountable.”

  I nod at him. “Yes, Mr. Scowlard.”

  He takes off down the hall after the kid in the werewolf mask, terrorizing some freshman cheerleaders, and Travis grabs me and kisses me anyway. I kiss right back, harder. Travis moves his hand from my waist down into the little back pocket of my shorts, his hand cups my cheek down there, and I love it. I still get that little anxious feeling about everyone seeing us, but when I make myself look around, nobody seems to give a damn. Travis is so right about tearing down our emotional walls. It’s just so fucking hard to let it go no matter how much he touches me when people are around us. I guess because I never let anyone see this part of me in the past. Not even with Donny. But Donny was, and still is, a desert of emotions.

  Travis is smirking when we finally stop kissing. The sounds of lockers slam closed one after the other, signaling us that we both will be late to our classes.

  “How was the call with your mom?”

  I shrug and reply, “She might be okay. I’m not sure yet.”

  “Not sure yet? What did she do?”

  I huff. I’ve never told him the whole shenanigans with my mom. No reason to really. “Long story. But she at least calls now and I guess that’s what matters. But we…I haven’t called her. I will, though.”

  Travis reaches down and grabs my hand. “Walk you to class?”

  “Are you being serious?” I ask. “You’re joking right?”

  “Would you like me to push you in a wheelchair instead?”

  I punch him in his shoulder. “Dick.”

  “Ow, careful. You’re the only girl I’ve ever dated who has biceps.”

  “Every girl has biceps, mine are just used to punch. But don’t undermine my slap.”

  Suddenly a rolled up piece of paper slaps Travis’ shoulder. Mr Scowlard scowls and says, “You both will need to get moving if you want to make it to class in time. Just because you gave me tickets to your last, and might I add, amazing game, Mr. McDurn, doesn’t mean you get to bend the rules!”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis replies, flexing his jaw as he clenches his teeth. I remember a time when he’d have crumpled that rolled up paper and threw it back in Mr. Scowlard’s face. I’m so glad times have changed.

  We split up and head to our classes and already I can’t wait until I get to see him again.

  I turn the corner outside the gym which crosses a small grassy section next to the tennis courts and freeze in my tracks.

  My stomach cramps suddenly like in that old movie where Buffy the Vampire Slayer always got cramps whenever a vampire was around. But it’s not vampires I see, it’s Lindzey Wellenberger and her Bitch Squad.

  Maybe she’s close enough to a bloodsucker as I’ll possibly get but I also might be getting my fucking period.

  Lindzey brings out the worst in me.

  I dodge through a group of students giggling about reruns of Twilight, and talking about how Edward was a sparkling wet hunk of a vampire, I want to stop and tell them I agree but I have to keep going. She spots me, her eyes narrow into slits before I make it through the two doors inside. But I don’t stop, I turn around and keep going.

  Even though it seems like she’s kept her distance, after the last shit that went down, I’d rather not get caught alone with her and her squad. Who knows what she might want to say to me when she knows Travis is nowhere to be seen. And who knows what I might do. I’ve made it a couple months into the school year, not expelled, no suspensions, so that’s a good thing.

  Lunch time couldn’t come soon enough. Dad’s greasy bacon wasn’t settling too well in my gut. After standing in the long lunch line, by the time I sit down to eat at the table I’m holding my hand over my gut.

  “Hey, you okay?” Annabelle asks, munching on a thin crust of pizza.

  “Yeah…I think so.” I hold my stomach. “I don’t know if I can eat this. My period is—”

  “Oh well, I guess it’s Karma for calling me period breath, huh?” she says with a little smirk.

  I push my platter away. “Yeah, I guess.” I don’t really feel like being sarcastic, or joining in witty banter with her right now. “So much for standing in the lunch line.” The look of the mashed potatoes make me feel woozy.

  Annabelle smoothes her hand over my shoulders trying to comfort me. I shrug her off. “I’m okay. Geez. Don’t give anyone any ideas that I’m dating you and Travis.”

  “Badass Bahalia becomes Bisexual Bahalia?” she snorts.

  “Whatever, I don’t care.”

  “Geez girl. Sorry, I was just trying to console a friend. You’re such a bitch on your period,” Annabelle takes a big bite of her pizza crust and a slop of cheese squeezes out from the stuffed crust onto her platter.

  “I’m just not feeling up for eating.” I grab my stomach and feel something else beginning to tense and contort. “Uh…I think it’s started.”

  “What?” Annabelle munches between words. “You—” she swallows. “You’re not going to eat your potatoes?”

  “You’re so lady-like.” I say and shake my head in answer.

  She shrugs and guzzles down some of her milk. “What’s up for tonight?”

  “My period, it seems.”

  She almost spurts out a stream of milk from her nose. I clench my teeth against the small startled laugh that wants to come out, and the discomfort in my stomach.

  “Do you have a tampon?”

  She nods. “It’s in my locker.”

  “What’s the combination?”

  “You didn’t bring any of your own?”

  “It’s three days early this time.”

  “Shit,” she gives me the combination on a small piece of paper and I shove the tray away. “Slide that platter over here.” she reminds me.

  “Go ahead, take it.” I grab my backpack up from the chair next to mine. “I won’t be back for lunch. I’ll see you after school.”

  “Suit yourself!”

  I begin to walk away, holding my womb from turning into a tight ball and Annabelle calls out, across the tables, “Oh, and don’t use them all! And there’s Midol in there too!”

  I stop in my foot steps. Closing my eyes and waiting to hear some sort of laughter or ridicule but thankfully the chatter of lunch breaks up her words before anyone else can notice. I roll my eyes and keep onward. Sometimes Annabelle just doesn’t know when to be a little more private.

  After I take care of business in the bathroom and stash some more of Annabelle’s Tampons in my backpack, I swallow a Midol. I’m strolling near the tennis courts waiting for lunch to finally be over, and my cramps to lessen, when I get a text from dad.

  Dad - Hope you’re having a great day.

  In between tightening cramps, and the frequent need to grab at my stomach, I manage to reply.

  Brittney - Not so much. What’s up?

  Dad’s mid-day messages usually mean something.

  Dad - Tonight, Katy and I were hoping you and Annabelle could join us for dinner.

  My heart stops, or at least it feels like it did. Did I take too much Midol?

  Brittney - HAHAHAHAHA You got jokes. BTW I’m not really laughing.

  Dad - Honey Bunches, I’m serious.

  Oh, yeah, he was serious. Honey Bunches—just like mom—is his go-to words when he is getting down to business.

  Brittney - I don’t know how I’ll feel.

  If there’s one thing about our relationship of father and daughter it’s the fact that I don’t like to announce the #1 reason why one week out of the month I’m not myself, or at least, un-bitch-like.

  Dad - Please? You promised. *Sad face*

  I huff at myself because I know I’m going to hate myself by tonight, more than I hate my own vagina right now but I text back with my answer.

  Brittney - No I didn’t! And you really need to learn how to use emoticons.

  Dad - You would’ve if I
’d mentioned it but I forgot. And emo-what? I don’t get what you kids are into these days.

  Brittney - Ugh. Okay, I’ll tell/ask Annabelle, but I’ve got work tonight. Both of us do.

  Dad - Tonight sounds great. Thanks a bunch, Honey Bunches.

  I roll my eyes, and gasp, when a pair of familiar strong hands wrap around me. I turn to find Travis. I let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t do that!” I slap his shoulder. The feelings of anxiety just complicate my current state of shit.

  “Hey, sexy girl. I’m sorry.” His eyes twinkle behind their green emeralds, and somehow they soften me.

  “Hey, sorry, today’s just not my day, or week it looks like.” I grimace at the pain in my gut.

  His brows arch with worry. “You okay?”

  I shrug. “I will be once this Midol kicks in.”

  “Midol?”

  I shake my head. “It’s for girl problems.”

  “Ah, yes, the infamous ‘girl problems’ excuse.”

  I slap his shoulder again. “Such a typical bone-headed guy reply.” I see he’s got his soccer jersey on and his shorts. “You don’t have a game tonight, right?” I would be sore if I missed seeing him play.

  “Nah, practice only. Got to be ready to beat Gulfside’s ass.”

  “The Gulfside Gullies?” I ask, I always get confused and call them the Gullies, though, I think it’s the local’s term for them, and it’s usually used in a derogative way.

  “The Gulls,” he corrects me and he follows it up with a light jab with his finger into my side. I reach up, split reaction, and grab his jaw in my hand, with a tight grip on him, I say, “Hey. Fuck off with the hokey-pokey. I hate that shit.”

  “Damn,” he releases me and steps back, admiring my newfound Level Three bitch mode. “I love it when you’re rough with me. That anger of yours.” He shakes his head. “Your eyes get so fucking fierce.” He quickly holds a hand out in surrender, “But I didn’t mean to offend you.”