Hopeless: A High School Bully Romance (Playa Del Mar Book 1) Page 14

  Blake’s in my face a minute later. “Bitch, you are so going to regret that,” he growls before sprinting off to find his phone.

  I smile.

  I don’t think I’m going to regret it at all.

  Chapter 39

  Turns out I was wrong.

  Sitting in Principal Strong’s office two hours later, I’m kind of regretting firing Blake Vintman’s phone into the woods.

  “I understand you’re new here,” Principal Strong says, peering at me over her zebra-striped reading glasses. “But destruction of another student’s property is not acceptable, nor is it something we take lightly here at Playa Del Mar.”

  I sink lower in my chair. The principal isn’t a formidable physical presence—she’s small and rather frail, easily pushing sixty—but the look in her eyes and the pinch of her lips still makes me squirm.

  She folds her hands on her desk. “Do you have anything to say?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The silence that follows is awkward and painful. The clock mounted on the wall above her door sounds like a bomb. I kind of wish it was so it could detonate and put me out of my misery.

  “Why did you do it?” she asks.

  I glance down at my own hands. Mine are gripping the edges of the chair. “I…I don’t know. He said something that upset me.”

  “What did he say?” When I don’t respond, she adds, “I can’t help if you won’t tell me what happened. And I certainly won’t be able to understand your actions if you don’t share your side of what happened.”

  I understand all of this. But telling her why I ripped Blake’s phone out of his hands would unleash an avalanche. Not just about me, but about Ben, too.

  So I don’t say anything. I glance around the room, taking in the books spilling off the bookcases, the army of family photos lined up on the window ledge behind her. It looks like she has quite a few grown children, and even more grandchildren. A smattering of cards peek out between the photos, thank-yous and birthday cards, and I wonder if today is her birthday.

  She sighs and shuffled a few papers on her desk. “I’d hoped you would have a smoother start to your senior year, Sydney.”

  “Me, too,” I mutter.

  “How has the transition been?” she asks. “I understand you grew up here and then moved away for a few years?”

  I nod.

  “And you were in New Zealand?”

  I nod again.

  She smiles. “I bet that was quite the experience.”

  “It’s a nice place to live.”

  “How did you feel about moving back here?”

  I can’t tell if she’s making conversation because she’s genuinely interested in learning about a new student, or if she wants to turn this into some sort of pseudo-therapy session.

  “It’s fine,” I tell her.

  She adjusts her glasses. “And I understand your grandfather recently passed away?”

  Is all of this info in my file?

  “How did you know that?” I ask.

  She offers a small smile. “Lyle and I used to play tennis every once in a while. Years ago, when he was in better health, and when I actually had time to hit up the tennis club in Canyon Ridge.”

  “You knew my grandpa?”

  “He was a good man,” she says. “I met your mom once, too. I’m sure it’s hard to be back here under such difficult circumstances.”

  I nod.

  She straightens the papers she’s holding and sets them back down on the desk. “Be that as it may, I still need to address what happened this afternoon. We have strict rules here, Sydney, rules that I expect all students to follow. Those rules make our school a safe and welcoming place for everyone.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Safe and welcoming? They seriously need to work on who they assign as their Welcome Ambassadors.

  “An infraction like this could result in a one-day suspension.”

  That gets my attention. “Suspension?” I immediately think of the ramifications of this: one, my mother will know, and two, that goes on my permanent record, which is something every single college I apply to might see.

  “However, I have some discretion when it comes to disciplinary action,” she says. “I’m giving you detention. Today, after school.” She looks at the Apple watch strapped to her wrist. “The bell rings in just a few minutes so you need to head directly to Coach Kaufman’s classroom.”

  I have no idea where that it is but I just nod, relieved that suspension is off the table.

  “If you fail to show up, you’ll be suspended,” she says.

  I scramble to my feet. “I’m going now.”

  “And,” she says, removing her reading glasses and setting them on her desk. “If there is another incident—of you destroying another student’s property or any harassment of any kind—I’ll have no choice but to give you a suspension. Do you understand?”

  Chapter 40

  Coach Kaufman’s classroom smells like stale B.O., despite the open windows allowing fresh air to circulate through the room.

  It’s going to be a long sixty minutes.

  The coach is short and squat, with a body that probably used to be all muscle but that now just looks bloated. I hand him my detention slip and he barely glances at it before tossing it in an empty wire basket on his desk.

  “Sit wherever you want,” he tells me. “No talking and no devices. I’ll let you know when the hour is up.”

  I mumble a thanks and slide behind a desk in the row furthest from his desk. I am the only one in the classroom, which is probably a good thing. No eyes staring at me.

  I unzip my backpack and pull out my school-issued copy of The Scarlet Letter. I’m determined to use my detention time wisely and figure knocking out the two chapters we were assigned as homework should be easy.

  I find the spot where I left off and start to read.

  The door to the classroom opens and I lift my book higher, not wanting to be seen.

  “You’re late,” Coach Kaufman says to whoever just walked through the door.

  “Sorry.”

  I recognize that voice.

  Ben is standing in front of the coach’s desk, holding out his own pink detention slip.

  The coach takes it without comment and deposits it in the basket. He waves a hand dismissively toward the rows of empty desks.

  Ben starts to walk but he moves slowly, his eyes locked on me.

  I immediately look back to my book.

  What is he doing here?

  He sits down directly in front of me. If I wanted to, I could reach out and touch his curls, he’s so close.

  I reposition my book, sitting at an awkward angle so that the pages completely block him from view. Only fifty-five more minutes to go.

  As much as I try to focus on the words on the pages, I can’t. I’m consumed with what has happened, of course, but I’m also curious why Ben is in detention. He flies lower on the radar than anyone I know. What could he have done to get himself detention?

  The door opens again and I peek out from behind my book. A short kid wearing basketball shorts and a tank top is standing in the doorway.

  “Hey, Coach, there’s something wrong with the pull-down machine,” he says.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The kid shrugs. “I don’t know. I think a cable snapped or something.”

  “You tell Coach Hurley?”

  “I couldn’t find him.”

  Coach Kaufman gets to his feet, adjusting the elastic waistband on his athletic pants. “Where the hell is he?”

  The kid just shakes his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. But we all still have reps to do and I can’t get the machine working.”

  The coach mutters something under his breath. Then he looks at me. “You two.” His voice is sharp. “You stay put. No talking.”

  Ben and I both nod and, after another withering glance in our direction, the coach follows the kid out of the room.

  As soon a
s the door closes, I find my place in my book. My plan is to just keep reading.

  Ben, however, has other ideas.

  He spins around to look at me. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I have detention.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Clearly. But why? What did you do?”

  “What did you do?”

  He bites his lips together and then says, “I saw them. The pictures.”

  So he’s seen them now.

  “Oh?”

  “Some asshole showed me in the bathroom.” He smiles grimly. “Decided I didn’t want to look at them. So I grabbed his phone and tossed it in the toilet.”

  I cover my mouth.

  His smile grows. “Tried to flush it but the toilet backed up. So I’m here for destruction of student property and something about mischief. I don’t know. I didn’t really listen because I didn’t care.”

  “Wow.”

  He props his elbow on the back of my desk. “Why are you here?”

  “Pretty much the same reason,” I admit.

  “Really? You flushed someone’s phone, too?”

  “Not quite,” I say. “Blake and Lucas were harassing me and pulled up the pictures on Blake’s phone. So I grabbed it and threw it into the trees. I don’t even know if he found it.”

  Ben laughs. “If anyone deserves that, it’s Blake.” His laughter dies and he gives me a sobering look. “Do you know who took those photos?”

  “No, but I have a pretty good idea.”

  “Who?”

  I pause before answering. “Charity. She’s the one who showed them to me yesterday, remember? And she’s the kind of person who would probably get off on circulating that kind of shit. I don't know if she was stalking me or what, but I'm not sure who else it would've been.”

  Ben is quiet for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, Sydney.”

  I shrug. “Why? You didn’t take the photos. And I kissed you, remember?”

  He winces. “Yeah, I remember. I just mean that I’m sorry about everything, about all the shit that’s happened. But mostly I’m sorry that we fought last night. The last thing I want is to make you mad. Or to lose you as a friend.”

  I can tell from his voice that he’s sincere. “We both said some pretty shitty things last night.”

  He nods and goes quiet for a minute. Tentatively, he says, “Have you…have you decided what you want to do? About all of this?”

  “No.” It’s the truth.

  He exhales.

  “I don’t know what there is to do,” I admit. I set my book down. “Even if I try telling the truth, who’s going to believe me? And what does that ultimately accomplish? Except hurting you.”

  “So does that mean…” He swallows. “Does that mean you’re not going to say anything?”

  I don’t get a chance to respond, because Coach Kaufman barges back into the room. Ben whirls back around and I grab my book and we sit in silence for the remainder of detention.

  I think about what Ben asked me.

  I’m glad the coach came back in when he did.

  Because I don’t know what my answer would have been to Ben’s question.

  Chapter 41

  I hustle out of detention as soon as Coach Kaufman gives us the okay. Ben is still repacking his backpack—I think he took out every homework assignment he had—which means he can’t follow after me and demand an answer to his question.

  The campus is practically deserted, save for some students out on the football field and tennis courts. I stop at my locker, grab the books I need for homework, and then start my walk home.

  The house is empty when I get there and I wonder if my mom is working or out running errands. She sent me a text earlier in the day, letting me know she’d be home late, but she didn’t tell me what she was doing. And because I was completely absorbed in my own drama, I didn’t bother asking.

  I grab a granola bar and force-feed myself and then unpack my books on the kitchen table. I have homework in nearly every class and I know I’m going to need a few hours to get it all done.

  But instead of cracking open a textbook, I just sit there, my gaze fixed out the window at the slice of beach visible from my spot at the table. The sky is azure blue, not a single cloud in sight, and I know from my walk home how warm it is and how good the breeze blowing in off the water feels.

  Maybe what I need is a quick walk on the beach, a few minutes to not think about school and all the shit that it seems to represent.

  I down a quick glass of water, change into shorts and a tank top, and leave the house for the beach.

  Fifteen minutes.

  Just fifteen minutes to walk down on the sand and gaze out at the water and breathe in the briny air. To feel part of something way bigger than the drama currently engulfing my life.

  I kick off my flip-flops the moment my feet hit the sand. The beach is mostly deserted, which isn’t surprising considering it’s late afternoon on a weekday. The tourists have already gone home, to school schedules and to work, and the locals who walk or run or exercise their dogs on the sand usually don’t show up until after dinner. There is an elderly couple walking along the water’s edge, their eyes trained on the sand, probably looking for shells, and a few guys are out on the water, hoping for some good waves even though the water pretty much looks like mush.

  I sink down to the sand, feeling the warmth of the sun in those grains as they press into the backs of my thighs. I dig my feet under and then pop my toes back up, my nail polish little red dots in an ocean of beige.

  And then I close my eyes and tilt my head toward the sun and just breathe. Breathe in the scent of salt and seaweed, the faint aroma of fried food from one of the restaurants further down the beach. I focus on my inhales and exhales and, for the first time in two days, finally begin to relax.

  But then a shadow crosses in front of me, something that darkens the blankness behind my eyelids. I open my eyes and see Xander, Hayden’s friend, standing in front of me. He’s holding a surfboard and water is dripping from his nose. His short brown hair looks like small spikes.

  I instantly tense up, expecting a verbal barrage of abuse from him, but he just eyes me and says nothing.

  “What?” I snap.

  With his free hand he wipes his face. “Nothing,” he mutters.

  “Bullshit.” I glare at him. “You stopped for a reason.”

  He hesitates. “I…I thought you were different.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  His mouth twists into a frown. “You cheated on my friend. That’s bullshit, man.”

  “Isn’t that what he does?” I ask. “Or does he just use girls and then dump them? I guess I don’t really know.”

  “You don’t know Hayden.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. All I know is that he saw something and heard something and believed it. He never even asked me what happened.”

  Xander glares at me. “He saw what happened. You got together with that...guy. Ben.” He practically spits his name. “I always thought he was gay but then it turns out, no, he’s fucking around with my best friend’s girlfriend.”

  I don’t feel like I owe an explanation to this asshole, but part of me feels like I at least need to defend Ben. “That isn’t what happened.”

  He scoffs. “Oh, really? So what happened?”

  “Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “So the picture of you kissing that douche was somehow fake? Yeah, right.”

  “Who showed you the picture?” I ask.

  “Who the fuck cares?”

  “I do,” I tell him. “Who showed you?”

  “Hayden.”

  “And who showed him?”

  He stares at me for a minute.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Charity. Right?”

  He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. I know I’m right.

  “She’s had it in for me since day one,” I tell him.
“Remember? You were there at Donatelli’s that night. You saw how she acted toward me. And everyone knows she and Hayden dated earlier in high school.”

  He shifts his feet in the sand.

  “Do you think it’s at all coincidental that she’s the one sending this picture around?” I ask. “That maybe she has some reasons for trying to bring me down and trying to drive some kind of wedge between me and Hayden? That maybe there’s something missing from this bullshit narrative she has going?”

  “What’s missing?” he asks.

  I just shake my head.

  “What?” He frowns. “If there’s something missing, tell me what it is. Hell, tell Hayden. He deserves to know, too.”

  “Fuck you,” I tell him. I get to my feet. He’s taller than me but I don’t stand down, don’t cower. “And fuck Hayden. I shouldn’t have to explain or defend myself, especially after the way he’s treated me.”

  “He was pissed. And hurt.”

  “Yeah? Well, guess what? I’m pissed and hurt, too.”

  Chapter 42

  It’s Friday night and I’m parked in front of my grandpa’s tiny flat-screen television, binge-watching my way through The Office. The last three days of school have been a hell of solitude and isolation. I am a pariah at school. No one talks to me but everyone looks at me and whispers about me. I should probably just change my name to Hester and pin a letter “A” to my chest.

  My mom walks into the living room. “You’re not going out with your friends tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” She smiles, a little worriedly. “It’s Friday night.”

  “I’m tired,” I tell her. “And burnt out from school work. I just want to sit and relax.”

  This is true. I’ve spent hours reading and studying and working through the extra credit in calculus. If there’s a silver lining in what’s going on, it might be the fact that my current GPA two weeks into the quarter is a 3.9.

  “Is that your dinner?” She eyes the almost empty bag of Doritos and the opened package of gummy bears propped next to me on the couch.