Eclipsed: A High School Bully Romance (Del Sol High Book 3) Read online

  Eclipsed

  The Del Sol High Series

  McKayla Box

  Eclipsed: A High School Bully Romance

  Del Sol High, Book 3

  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.

  Eclipsed: A High School Bully Romance

  Del Sol High, Book 3

  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

  Burned

  Eclipsed

  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

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  I'm alone.

  And I don't want to go in.

  It's Monday morning. I'm sitting in the school parking lot in my car, watching people stream onto campus at Del Sol High. It's like this every Monday now. I have to talk myself into getting out of the car and walking into the building like everything is normal. It's been this way for several months now.

  But there's nothing normal about any of it.

  I have no friends.

  I have no boyfriend.

  It's just me, myself, and I.

  I pull my backpack off the passenger seat and put it in my lap. The interior of the car still smells new. Once I stopped riding to school with Mercy, my grandparents were kind enough to buy me a car so I'd have something to get around in. It’s a little Honda Civic, nowhere near as fancy as almost all the other cars in the lot, but it’s far nicer than any car my mom ever owned. My grandfather ever put a rack on top of it so I could put my surfboard up there. I appreciated it and tried to make sure that I sounded grateful when they brought it home.

  But it's been hard to be enthusiastic about anything since the Winter Ball.

  Because everyone now knows about my mother…and what she did. I'm sure lots of people have spent lots of time deep diving on Google, looking for the news stories, trying to find a few more details. And I assume there's plenty to find.

  But I've never looked.

  Because I lived through it.

  Why would I need to read about it?

  I push open the car door and get out. It’s another beautiful day, just like the day before, and the day before that. The warmth of the sun and the crystal blue skies feel especially cruel, offering up this false sense of happiness that simply doesn’t exist for me. I sling the backpack over my shoulder and stand there in the sunshine, willing anything to happen so I won't have to go to school. An earthquake. A giant meteor. Anything that will let me get back in the car and drive home.

  Like always, though, nothing happens. The sun keeps shining, cars keep pulling into the lot, and all the pretty faces of Del Sol keep walking into school.

  This week promises to be worse than all the others, though.

  Because it's prom week. The banners will be strung from the ceiling, there will be posters, and everyone will be talking about what they'll be doing on Saturday night.

  Except for me.

  I see Mercy's silver Jeep Cherokee pull into the lot and my stomach flip-flops. She and I haven't spoken since the Winter Ball. There have been multiple times I've thought about texting her, but I don't have the courage. I remember the way she looked at me that night, like she couldn't believe we'd ever been friends. I won't ever forget how it made me feel.

  Embarrassed. Ashamed. Sad.

  Because I hadn't trusted my best friend with my biggest secret.

  She parks in her normal spot and gets out of her car. If she sees me, she doesn't look over. She tugs her bag over her shoulder, adjusting her strawberry blonde hair so it doesn’t get trapped under the strap, and hustles through the parking lot. The coffee cup in her hand is a subtle but sharp reminder of what my mornings used to be like. She would pick me up, and if we weren’t running late, we would stop for coffee, talking about school and boys and everything in between before arriving at school.

  I think about those drives as she crosses the parking lot and hurries to catch up with Brooke and Dylan on the sidewalk.

  They stop for a minute. Dylan is saying something. Brooke shakes her head, Mercy smiles. Then they move together toward the building and disappear inside.

  Three.

  Not four.

  Heath Rogers comes up behind them and says something. Dylan says something and the three of them walk off, leaving him there, laughing to himself.

  He is still an asshole. He's no different than the night he came after me in his car. I do my best to avoid him at all times.

  I glance over to the far side of the parking lot, the area where Archer always parks his truck.

  It's not there this morning, and I feel a flutter of mixed emotions. Disappointment. Relief. Concern.

  It's been gone a lot over the last couple of months.

  I haven't spoken to him, either. I've only seen him a couple of times at school. I'm not sure if he's avoiding me or if it's coincidence.

  I don't put much faith in coincidence, though.

  I miss him. I hate to admit it, but it hurts to not be with him. I thought I might be able to blow it off, but the ache inside me is real when I want to text him or see him or touch him. I can't walk anything back, but I wish I hadn't been afraid to tell him about my mother. I wish I’d found the courage.

  Actually, I did find it. I was prepared to tell him. That night, at the dance.

  I just never got the chance.

  Reese beat me to it.

  But as much as I miss Archer, I'm angry with him, too.

  I want him to understand why it was so hard and why I wouldn't have just showed up in Del Sol, telling everyone about my parents and my past. I want him to give me some of that latitude. I want him to love me enough t
o allow me to have made that mistake and to forgive me, to recognize that it had nothing to do with how I feel about him.

  But that looks like it's too much to ask.

  The first bell rings and people start jogging across the lot toward the building. I close the door to the car and take a deep breath. I'm in no hurry. I'll wait until the very last second to walk into my first class, and then I’ll slide into my seat and keep my head down. Just like I’ve been doing for weeks.

  I've thought a lot about what it would've been like if I'd just stayed in Florida. Yes, I would've had to deal with everyone there knowing about my mother, but at least it would've been consistent. At least I wouldn’t have had to deal with feeling like I'd tried to be someone else and failed. I could've done the same things there that I'm doing here. It might've sucked, but it wouldn't have hurt as badly.

  I take another deep breath, exhale.

  I just need to get through the day.

  And then the next.

  It's what I've been doing for the last couple of months, and it's what I need to do just to get to graduation.

  So I can get out of Del Sol.

  Chapter 2

  The waves are good, but I am not.

  It's after school. I made it through the day without having to say a word to anyone. I consider those days small wins now. I rushed to my car after the final bell, sped home, changed my clothes, put my board on top of my car, and drove to the beach.

  The ocean has become the one thing I can count on. The soft sand, the salty air, the waves that keep coming, one after another. It's always there for me and it never judges me. Getting out on the water at least gives me a chance to get out of my own head for a while.

  But I'm still not great on a surfboard.

  I can get up on the board now, but I can't do much after that other than hope I don't fall. I always feel like I'm teetering on the edge whenever I get to my feet. Maybe there's a metaphor in there somewhere.

  But I keep trying.

  Today, the waves are solid, heavy two-footers that are coming in nice and slow, which is exactly what someone like me needs. I can paddle to the break line without any problems, I can paddle in front of the oncoming waves, and most of the time, I can get to me feet before the wave breaks behind me.

  After that, though, it's a crapshoot. Sometimes, I can stay up and manage to ride the board in a straight line toward the shore. Other times, it's like I'm on roller skates and end up going right off the stupid thing. I know I probably look ridiculous, but I've gotten over that. I don't care what people think. I need something to care about in Del Sol and surfing has become that thing for me.

  After almost two hours in the water, I drag my tired body to the sand. The sun is still shining, there's no wind, and the air is warm. One of those days that probably reminds people of why they moved to Del Sol in the first place, I assume.

  I lay my board next to me and lean back on my hands, watching the waves and catching my breath. The sun shines across the top of the water and the surface sparkles. The white water looks like bubbles in a bathtub.

  I watch the guys in the water out at the break near the pier. It's the area I stay away from because those guys are good and I'd be in the way over there. I always find an empty spot on the water where I'm not bothering anyone.

  But the lineup near the pier is full and guys are waiting their turns as the waves roll in. Each one takes a few powerful strokes through the water, then hops to his feet and carves across the face of the wave. It's like they are participating in a different sport than what I was trying to do.

  I scan the lineup, looking to see who is up next.

  And it's Archer.

  My stomach knots.

  He's straddling the board, looking behind him, watching the water. Nick and Aiden bob in the water off to his left. The ocean starts to rise and Archer lays down on the board, drives his arms through the water and then he's up on his feet as the wave rises. He guides the board down the face of the wave, then turns hard to his left, picking up speed as the wave pushes him further. He crouches down as he races across the water, then pivots hard and charges back up the face of the wave. He reaches the top and turns the board parallel to the shore again, floating across the top of the wave before falling back to the base of it. His moves are easy, relaxed, always in control. Then he pivots hard again and snaps the nose of the board through the top of the wave before turning again and dropping back to the water. It's a move that defies gravity and one I've seen him do a hundred times before, but it's no less impressive. The wave starts to collapse on itself and he glides over the top of it, drops to his stomach, then paddles back out to the lineup.

  I dig my fingers into the sand. It's the first time I've seen him at the beach in a long time and it sucks to feel like we are miles apart. I miss him teasing me when I topple over into the ocean, and I miss him congratulating me when I've done something right. I miss touching his wet hair. I miss just coming to the beach with him and having him drop me off when we're finished, staying in his truck too long, kissing him, running my hands over his arms.

  I look away because it's the only way for me to not miss him right at that moment. My initial instinct is to pick up my board and leave, but I fight against it. I'm not giving up the beach. It's the one thing I've hung on to and I'm not caving now.

  I keep my eyes glued to the north for a while. The water is calmer in that direction and uncluttered with surfers. There's a stray swimmer here and there, and a few people sitting on the sand, but it's quieter and less crowded in that direction. I think that if maybe I keep looking that way, Archer will be gone and I can go back to watching the surfers again.

  When it feels like it's been forever, I finally turn back.

  Just in time to see Archer, Nick, and Aiden trudging out of the water, their boards tucked under their arms.

  Archer doesn't look in my direction as he walks up the sand toward the parking lot.

  Nick doesn't, either.

  I assume they don't see me or they're ignoring me on purpose.

  But then Aiden, trailing the other two, glances in my direction.

  I don't move.

  He gives me a quick wave over his board.

  I'm so shocked by the gesture that I almost think I imagined it. But I know that I haven't and I wave back just as quickly. Something resembling a smile flashes through his expression and disappears just as quickly as it arrives. He puts his head down and follows the other two up to the parking lot.

  I resist the urge to watch them, instead turning back to the ocean. The sun is dipping a little lower on the horizon and the shadows are longer on the water. I hear their voices drift across the sand toward me. Then the truck starts and idles loudly for a minute, then roars off.

  And they're gone.

  Chapter 3

  I drive home, strip out of my wetsuit in the garage, and head straight for the shower. I rinse the ocean and sand off of me and the hot water feels good. I get out, dry off, and pull on sweats and a T-shirt, brushing through my wet hair as my grandmother calls out, letting me know that dinner is ready.

  I walk out to the dining room and the table is covered with cartons of Chinese food.

  My grandmother smiles at me. “Your grandfather wanted his sesame chicken.”

  My grandfather settles into his chair. “And your grandmother didn't object when I suggested picking food up for dinner and specifically asked me to get some lo mein.” He winks at me, his blue eyes twinkling. “Takes two to tango.”

  I laugh and my grandmother shakes her head as we sit down. We pass around the cartons of food and I realize how hungry I am after surfing.

  “How was school today?” my grandfather asks, forking a huge piece of sesame chicken from his plate.

  I wrap some of the lo mein around my fork. “It was fine.”

  My grandmother glances across the table at me, but doesn't say anything.

  “Big week this week,” he says. “Still haven't changed your mind about going t
o prom?”

  I shake my head. “No, I'm good.”

  “How was the beach, dear?” my grandmother says before he can ask anything else.

  Because she knows what it's been like. I told her what happened the night I came home from the Winter Ball. I told her that everyone now knew and that my secret wasn't a secret. And that my life was ruined.

  She sat with me for a long time that night, not trying to tell me everything would be okay, and that somehow made it better. It didn't feel like I was exaggerating anything. And she let me cry and get it all out. We haven't spoke much of it since, but I have this sense that she knows what I am going through at school and she always makes it a point to not ask me the kind of questions that might be hard to answer.

  “The beach was good,” I tell her. “The water was nice. Not crowded.”

  She chuckles. “I cannot believe how much you love the ocean. Your mother was loath to go near it.”

  I nod, but don't say anything. She and my grandfather chatter easily about their day, about tennis and the stock market, and someone’s granddaughter’s trip to Ecuador, and I'm content to eat noodles and chicken and listen to them. They do this almost every night, this routine of casual conversation at the dinner table, and it's become sort of comforting. They tease each other, they bicker a tiny bit, but mostly they just talk to one another. It's nice to listen to their dialogue, even if I'm not always sure who or what they're talking about.