Blinded: A High School Bully Romance (Del Sol High Book 1) Read online

  Blinded

  Del Sol High Book 1

  McKayla Box

  Blinded

  Del Sol High, Book 1

  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.

  Blinded

  Del Sol High, Book 1

  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

  Contents

  Other Books by McKayla Box

  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

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  End Notes

  Other Books by McKayla Box

  The Sunset Beach High Series

  Fall

  Winter

  Spring

  Summer

  Chapter 1

  They are looking at me.

  I'm standing on the sand, covered in sweat, breathing hard, and they are looking at me. My hair has to be a mess and my face has to be red because it's hotter than hell outside.

  But three guys are standing in the ocean and they aren't bothering to hide the fact that they are looking at me.

  It's the day before the start of my senior year except I'm not where I thought I'd be. Two weeks ago, I moved from Florida to California to this little beach town in Southern California. Del Sol. Where even the poor people are rich. I'm living with my grandparents who I barely know and I'm starting classes at a school where I don't know a soul.

  Graduation can't come fast enough.

  I bend down and unlace my sand-covered shoes. My grandfather told me I should run barefoot on the sand, but I tried and it felt weird, so I kept my socks and shoes on. I've never been able to run on the beach before, and if there's a silver lining to having my entire life turned upside-down, it's running next to the Pacific Ocean on a hot August afternoon.

  I saw the three of them when I took off for my run. They are impossible not to notice. Big, shirtless, tan, wet. I watched them as I stretched, gliding over the water on their surfboards like aquatic gods with magical powers. I can barely swim but after two weeks of watching people surf in the ocean, I have a burning desire to learn.

  But there's no one to teach me.

  I glance back down at my shoes. I did five miles in about an hour, which isn't bad. I'm a part-time runner, meaning I don't run to compete or anything like that. I just like to run when I feel the need. There's probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but I don't want to look too hard for it. In Florida, I ran through my neighborhood in the central part of the state, sucking in the humidity and dodging bugs the size of birds. Running next to the ocean is nicer.

  Except when you are being ogled by a trio of surfers.

  As I pull off my shoes and socks, they walk slowly out of the water, their boards tucked under their arms.

  Toward me.

  I sit down and pretend not to notice them.

  But I do.

  The one on the left is maybe six feet tall with shaggy blond hair and a square jaw. He wears red board shorts and his mouth is moving constantly. I saw him talking when they were on the water. He's not as muscled up as the other two, but he's lanky and moves easily and throws his wet hair back every so often.

  Hotness factor: 8.5.

  The one on the right has hair nearly as black as mine, but it's cut super short. He's taller than Red Shorts and walks upright like he's modeling or something. His shoulders are broad and his arms ripple with muscle. His white board shorts look brighter against his tan skin. His head is tilted to the side like he's amused by something as they come closer.

  Hotness factor: 9. A solid 9.

  The one in the middle is taller than both of them. Thick brown hair with waves for days. Green eyes that sparkle. A tan so deep and dark that it almost doesn't look real. He's perfectly proportioned and the muscles that dance across his mid-section flex each time he takes a step. His black board shorts cling to him in all the right places. He's not smiling or talking or looking amused. He's just looking at me, those green eyes washing over me.

  Hotness factor: a fucking 12 out of 10.

  I look down and mess with the laces on my shoes.

  “Yo, track star,” Red Shorts says. “Who are you?”

  “Uh, I'm me,” I say.

  Red Shorts laughs. “Yeah, but who are you? You've been running up and down our beach for a couple of weeks now and we don't know you.”

  “Your beach?” I say. “I don't think you can own the beach in California, dude.”

  Red Shorts laughs again. “Wow. Kinda mouthy, aren't you?” He looks at his friends. “What do you think, Nick?”

  “I think she still hasn't answered the question, Aidan,” Nick answers, the one in the white shorts. He tilts his head a fraction more. “And, we do, in fact, own this beach, sweetheart.”

  I clap the bottoms of my shoes together. “Really? Can you show me some papers? Like, a deed or something? Or did you guys take out a mortgage?”

  Aidan laughs some more.

  Nick fights off a smile. “You really wanna do this, honey? Start off on the wrong foot? With us?”

  I don't know what he's talking about. I tuck my socks into my shoes and stand up.

  Aidan lets out a low whistle, looking me up and down. “I like the outfit. Purple jog bra, black shorts. Shows off everything in the right way.” He smiles at me. “What's your name, babe?”

  His smile is excellent and if I didn't think they were being such pricks, I would tell him. But I don't like arrogant guys. They think they own the world.

  Or, in this case, the beach.

  “My name is fuck off,” I tell him.

  He cackles and throws his head back like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

  “Weirdest name ever,” Nick says. “Your parents hate you or something?”

  The mention of my parents is like a quick punch to my gut a
nd I can't find any words to throw back at him.

  “Isn't that weird, Arch?” Nick asks, looking at the one in the middle.

  The fucking 12 is named Arch.

  “You're new,” Arch says.

  “Am I?” I say.

  He runs a hand through his thick, wet hair. Beads of the Pacific glisten on his chest like water on a slab of granite.

  Maybe he's a 13.

  “Definitely new to Del Sol,” Arch says. “We're, like, the welcoming committee.”

  Nick chuckles.

  Aidan takes a step toward me. “You wanna be welcomed, honey? I'll be happy to welcome a hottie like you with my own personalized greeting.”

  “I'd rather drown,” I say. I glance at his shorts. “Maybe welcome yourself. Bet you do that a lot.”

  His smile fades a bit, not looking terribly happy about being made fun of in front of his pals.

  Good.

  “You should be careful,” Nick warns. “You want us as your friends. Not your enemies.”

  “And you should be careful,” I say. “Because you talk like you're in a bad movie.”

  He glowers at me.

  I look at Arch. His gorgeous eyes are just bearing down on me.

  My stomach does a little flip-flop.

  “How about you?” I ask. “You have any warnings for me? You wanna make any threats to make yourself sound tough?”

  He laughs softly, but he doesn't smile.

  My stomach flip-flops again.

  He runs a hand through that hair.

  Possibly a 14.

  “I don't need to make threats,” he finally says. “If I want something, I just take it.”

  He finally smiles at me and his teeth are dazzling in the afternoon sunshine.

  He leans in closer to me. He smells like wax and the ocean.

  Definitely a 14.

  “And that includes you,” he says.

  His buddies chuckle.

  I swallow hard. They've formed a semi-circle around me, a pseudo pack of surf wolves surrounding their prey.

  Me.

  But I'm not prey.

  Not ever.

  “News for you, Aquaman,” I tell him, backing up, the sand soft and warm beneath my feet. “I'm not one of your little surf girls. I'm not here to be taken.” I pause. “Maybe take one of your pals here, instead.”

  I turn and walk up the sand before any of them can respond.

  Chapter 2

  “Nola! I've got breakfast ready for you!”

  I slip a silver hoop into my left ear lobe. “Okay. Be down in one second!”

  “You said that five minutes ago, dear,” my grandmother says.

  “I'm coming!” I say and slip the other hoop into my other ear.

  I take a step back from the mirror and do a final assessment. Denim skirt, green top, silver sandals. My hair is pulled back away from my face in a single braid. It's damp from my shower and black as night. I go light on the makeup.

  Not terrible, but I'm not sure if not terrible will cut it on the first day at Del Sol.

  I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. Both of my grandparents are sitting at the table in the sunlit room, steaming cups of coffee in front of them. They are both in what looks to me like tennis attire.

  My grandfather sets down his iPad. “Good morning, Nola.” He smiles. His salt and pepper hair is cut short and his blue eyes practically twinkle when he looks at me “Are you all ready for school?”

  I sit down in the chair across from him. “I guess so.”

  My grandmother stands, goes to the counter, and returns with a plate of eggs and toast. “Here you are, dear.” She pats my shoulder.

  “Thanks,” I say. My stomach is too nervous to eat, but I don't want to be rude, so I take a few bites of each and wash it down with the orange juice in the small glass on the table.

  “I talked to Ruth McClure,” my grandmother says. “I told her all about you and she—”

  “All about me?” I say, my stomach seizing. “What did you tell her?”

  She gives me a quick smile and pats my arm. “Poor choice of words, Nola. I'm sorry. I explained to her that you were living with us now and haven't had a chance to meet anyone your age. Her granddaughter is also a senior at Del Sol and she offered to have her come give you a ride on the first day. So you won't have to walk into school alone.”

  I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, I don't want to walk into a brand-new high school by myself. But, on the other hand, I'm not sure I want a pre-arranged friend.

  “I could always take you,” my grandfather offers. “If you'd like.”

  “Fred, don't be silly,” my grandmother says. “She doesn't want her grandfather dropping her off for the first day of her senior year. And we need to be at the club by 8:30, anyway.” She pats my arm again. “We've met Reese before and she's a lovely girl.”

  “Reese?”

  “Ruth's granddaughter,” she says, nodding. Her thick hair is cut into a bob, the white-silver color a shade that girls my age pay heaps off money at the salon for. Who knows? Maybe she does, too. “We've known their family for years.”

  “Bob's a bit of an ass,” my grandfather mumbles.

  “Fred.”

  He winks at me. “Rest of the family is okay, though.”

  I smile. I have learned over the previous two weeks that my grandfather is very funny. I barely know him because we didn't visit when I lived in Florida with my mother.

  I look at my grandmother. “What did you tell them? About me moving here?”

  She sits up a little straighter in her chair and clears her throat. “I just explained that you moved here because Del Sol is a terrific high school and your family all agreed that a change of scenery to a new school would do you some good. And that by living here for your senior year, you'd be able to look at California colleges, too. I told her we were more than happy to have you come live with us.” She smiles at me. “All of which is the truth.”

  It was true.

  It just left out the other parts of the truth.

  Which is what I didn't want Ruth McClure or Reese McClure or any other living human being to know.

  My grandfather stands. “Anyone gives you any trouble, Nola, you let me know. I'll be happy to handle them.”

  I know he means well and I'm sure he could. He and my grandmother have lived in Del Sol for nearly fifty years and seem to know everyone in town. He's an attorney and the way my grandmother tells it, he knows everyone's secrets in town because they've all had to hire him for one thing or another. So he's rich in both money and knowledge. The money bought them this gorgeous house four blocks from the beach, which is the single nicest house I've ever set foot in. A far cry from the apartment my mother and I shared in central Orlando. Everything about Del Sol is a far cry from where I've come from.

  “Do you need any money?” he asks, pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his shorts.

  “I'm fine,” I tell him.

  “Give her some cash, Fred,” my grandmother says. She smiles at me. “You never know. You and Reese might want to go to lunch or something. Or out for ice cream after school.”

  I doubt both of those things very much, but I force a smile as my grandfather slides the twenty-dollar bill across the table. “Thank you.”

  He winks again and pats my shoulder. “You're welcome.” He looks across the table at my grandmother. “Alright, Sally. We need to hit the road. Jack and Eleanor will never let us hear the end of it if we're late. He thinks he's entitled to penalty points if we are even a minute late.” He pats my shoulder again. “We old people take our tennis seriously.”

  My grandmother stands and folds her hands together in front of her. “Do you need anything else, Nola?”

  I need about a thousand things.

  But I barely know these people despite being related to them, so I don't feel comfortable asking for anything.

  “I'm fine,” I say. “Thank you, though.”

  “We'll see you
after school then,” she says. She hesitates, then leans down and kisses my cheek. “I'm sure you'll have a great first day.”

  I wish I was so sure.

  Chapter 3

  My grandparents leave and I check the mirror three more times before I force myself away from it. I grab the gray backpack my grandmother bought for me and look inside. A couple of notebooks, some pens, and an iPad. They presented me with all of those things a few nights earlier. It was an incredibly kind gesture, but all of it makes me uncomfortable. They're responsible for me now and they have lots of money and they have bought me more things than I count since I got to California. But it just doesn't feel right. It's like I'm borrowing things from a stranger.

  I zip up the bag and sling it over my shoulder. For a moment, it feels normal because it's the same thing I've always done on the first day of school: Check my bag and throw it over my shoulder. Ever since elementary school, that was my first day routine.

  Except my mom was usually there to get me into the car and drive me to school.

  Now I'm on my own.

  I take a deep breath and pick up my phone, another gift from my grandparents. My grandmother put a bright pink case on it and I didn't have the heart to tell her how much I hate pink. I figure I shouldn't complain, though, since all I had in Florida was a cheap iPhone knockoff with no case.