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

  I walk outside to wait for my ride. The morning is crisp and cool and the sun is already bright in the sky. One thing I don't miss about Florida is the humidity. I can actually breathe here, even when the temperature soars.

  I sit down on the front steps to the house. The front yard is this wide, emerald green carpet of grass that looks like it's taken care of by someone who takes care of a football field. It's literally perfect. Just like the flowers in the planter that run along the front of the house and the big glass windows in the living room that are so clean you almost can't see them. My grandmother's red Mercedes gleams in the driveway that curves in front of the lawn.

  Nothing is apparently dirty in Del Sol.

  I look toward the road, wondering when Reese will be here and trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. It’s just a ride to school.

  But after fifteen minutes of waiting and not seeing her car, I start getting nervous.

  After twenty, I am full on nervous.

  I glance at the time on my phone for the fiftieth time. My ride is thirty minutes late. She's either not coming or she's forgotten. Either way, I'm screwed.

  My stomach lurches as I stand. I can't believe I'm going to be late on my first day. I quickly type the school name into my phone and the maps app tells me it's going to be a twenty-minute walk.

  Shit.

  Even if I call my grandparents and tell them I don't have a ride, by the time they get back to the house, I'll be late.

  “Perfect,” I mutter.

  As I pull the other strap of the backpack over my shoulder so I can start my jog to school, a rickety old pickup truck pulls into the circle drive. At one time, it was black, but it's now closer to gray, as the paint has faded significantly. The back is loaded up with all sorts of lawn equipment—rakes, buckets, clippers, hoses. It's been at the house several times since I moved in and I recognize Miguel, the man who takes care of my grandparents' property.

  The driver's side door creaks open and Miguel gives me a confused look from beneath his straw hat. “Miss Nola. Today is first day of school, no?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Mr. Fred and Ms. Sally take you?”

  I shake my head. “No, they went to play tennis. Someone was supposed to take me, but they didn't show up.”

  He looks at the big, black watch on his wrist, then at me. “If you do not go now, you will be late.”

  “I know,” I say. I point off to the right. “The high school is that way, right?”

  He nods. “Yes, but you will be late.” He gestures for me to come to the truck. “Come. I will take you.”

  “Oh, no, you don't have to do that,” I say.

  He gestures again. “Yes, yes. Come. You do not want to be late today. I take you now.” He jogs around the front of his old truck and opens the passenger door for me. “Hurry. We go now, you will be okay.”

  I hesitate for a moment.

  Not because I don't trust Miguel. I do. Each time he has been at the house, he's said hello to me and made polite conversation. My grandparents adore him. He's not a stranger.

  I hesitate because I'm an asshole.

  Because I don't want to show up in a barely running old pickup on the first day at my new high school.

  “I drive fast,” he says. “I will get you there in time, I promise.”

  I glance at my phone.

  There's no chance I'll make it, even if I run.

  And I'm not an asshole. I don't want to turn into one of these rich kids who think they're too good for everyone else. I don't want Del Sol rubbing off on me like that. That's gross.

  So I jog across the lawn to Miguel's truck and let him drive me to my first day at Del Sol High.

  Chapter 4

  Miguel does drive fast. The pickup may not look very nice, but it runs just fine, and he gets us into the parking lot with more than a few minutes to spare.

  He pulls to the curb and smiles. “You make it in time.”

  “You saved my life, Miguel,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

  “You welcome,” he says. “And you have a good day, Miss Nola. Okay?”

  I slide out and close the door. I smile at him through the open window. “I'll try.”

  He smiles back and pulls away from the curb, the rakes and buckets rattling in the back of the bed as he drives out of the lot.

  I take a deep breath and turn to face the school.

  The lot is full of shiny cars, most of them as expensive-looking as my grandmother's Mercedes. People are tan and dressed in clothes that fit them perfectly. The girls all look like models and the boys all look...well, like models, too.

  I take another deep breath and tell myself it'll be alright.

  And that's when I see them laughing.

  At me.

  The girl in the middle has long blonde hair that's so yellow it's like every strand was spun by the sun. She wears a denim skirt like mine, but it looks better on her. Tighter and a little shorter. She has blue eyes and thick lips and perfect skin, and she's one hundred percent, most definitely laughing at me. Her friends are clustered around her and they are giggling and looking in my direction.

  What a phenomenal start.

  Before I can move, the blonde strides over to me, her little gang of friends trailing behind her.

  My stomach tightens.

  “Was that your...dad?” she asks. “That just dropped you off?”

  Her friends giggle some more.

  “Uh...no,” I say. “A friend.”

  The blonde's eyes twinkle. “A friend? Wow. Your friend drives a super kick-ass truck.”

  The friends giggle some more.”

  “And I didn't know you could be friends with the help,” she says. “Weird.”

  “The help?” I say.

  She looks me up and down and the expression on her face tells me she doesn't like what she sees. “You know. The lawn jockey. Your...friend.”

  “His name's Miguel,” I tell her.

  “Of course it is,” she says. “I think mine's is Enrique. I've never spoken to him, so I'm not really sure and I don't really care.”

  I stare at her for a long moment. There were crappy girls at my old school because there are crappy girls everywhere.

  But this one seems special.

  “Is it hard?” I ask.

  She raises a perfect eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “Is it hard?” I repeat.

  “Is what hard?”

  “Is it hard being such a bitch?” I ask. “Because you're making it look easy.”

  Her friends gasp and her expression sours in about half a second. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me,” I say.

  She purses her red lips and looks me up and down again. She sneers at me. “I knew I made the right decision not picking you up. You would've left a stain on my seats.” She stares at me. “Because you have to be Nola Murphy.”

  It takes a moment for me to realize what she said and then it dawns on me. “And you must be Reese Whateverthefuckyournameis.”

  The friends gasp again.

  “You better watch yourself,” Reese says, stepping closer to me. “It's just your first day and you're already pissing me off. You really don't want that.”

  “No?” I say. “Let me tell you something I really don't want.” I smile at her. “A ride from your sorry ass in whichever sorry ass car your daddy bought for you. Ever.” I let the smile fade. “Because I don't ride in cars driven by bitches.”

  The friends gasp again and I turn and walk into the school before Reese McClure can say another word.

  Chapter 5

  My heart pounds as I push through the doors to the school.

  “Hey.”

  I whirl, my hands balled into fists, ready to fight whoever wants me now.

  It's a girl wearing this gorgeous orange sundress. She has shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair and freckles across her nose. She holds up her hands like she doesn't mean to offend me.

  �
�Sorry,” she says. “Didn't mean to freak you out.” She nods at the door I've just come through. “I saw what happened out there. Reese McClure sucks.”

  I like hearing that she thinks Reese sucks, but I'm still wary.

  “Friend,” she says. “Not foe. I swear.” She holds out her hand. “I'm Mercy King.”

  I hesitate, then shake her hand. “I'm Nola. Murphy.”

  She nods. “I figured. My mom knows your grandma and she said to keep an eye out for you today. Because you just moved here, right?”

  I nod.

  “That's kinda cool,” she says, smiling. “Getting to move to California for senior year?”

  I'm not sure how to answer that, so I just say, “Yeah.”

  She winces. “Sorry. That was dumb. I'm sure it was hard to leave your family and your friends to come out here.”

  It was hard, but not for the reasons she thinks. “Yeah.”

  She nods at the doors I came through. “I saw you outside with Reese and her little gaggle of bitches. She's like the anti-welcoming committee. Sorry I didn't get to you first. I could've provided some cover.”

  “It's okay,” I say, feeling myself relax. “Better to figure out who to stay away from right away.”

  Mercy nods. “For sure, and she is definitely in that category. I'm not sure what it is about cheerleaders. I think there's poison in their pom poms.”

  For the first time all morning, I laugh. “Maybe so.”

  The bell rings and people start to scatter around us.

  “Hey, where's your first class?” she asks.

  I pull out my phone and find the picture of my schedule. “Math. In 3404?”

  She nods. “Okay. Straight down the hallway behind me, then go right. It'll be on your left.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And you're coming to lunch with me,” Mercy says. “Meet me back here at the start of lunch okay?”

  “You don't have to do—”

  She waves me off. “You aren't eating alone on your first day. We're seniors. We get to go off campus. You're coming with me.” She smiles. “I promise. We aren't all as awful as Reese.”

  I watch as she walks off into the sea of humanity that is filling the halls as everyone shuffles their way toward class.

  I take one more deep breath, relieved that I found at least one person who seems to not want to torture the new kid.

  I just hope I can find a couple more.

  Chapter 6

  I'm exhausted by the time I get to history, my last class before lunch.

  My classes are way different than at my old high school in Florida. The teachers are organized and I already have homework. The kids, for the most part, pay attention. There's just this feeling that it's competitive. In Florida, we did virtually nothing in our classes and I didn't have to work hard to get good grades. And I was one of the few in my small circle of friends that did actually get good grades. Based on how people are taking notes and listening in these classes, I wasn't going to be the exception here if I was able to get A's. As I slide into a desk near the back of the room, I'm already feeling nervous and out of place.

  A boy in a letterman's jacket saunters into the room, a pencil tucked behind his ear. Sandy blond hair, brown eyes, a small scar on his chin. He's tall and broad and good-looking and walks like he knows it. He fist bumps a couple of guys as he makes his way toward the desks, then eyes me for a moment, and walks toward the back of the room, taking the desk next to me.

  “This seat taken?” he asks, sliding into it.

  I shake my head.

  “You're new, right?” he asks.

  There is something about being called new that just rubs me the wrong way.

  “It's my first day here,” I tell him. “Yeah.”

  He laughs. “Right, right. Cool. What's your name?”

  Like he has some right to it or something.

  “What's yours?” I ask.

  He laughs again. “I'm Heath.”

  “Heath,” I say. “Like the candy bar.”

  He leans into the aisle. “Yeah. Because I'm super sweet.” Then he laughs and leans back into his seat. “That's a terrible line. Sorry.”

  I laugh because it is a terrible line. “Yeah it is.”

  “Are you gonna tell me your name?”

  “Nola,” I say.

  “Nola,” he repeats. “I like it.”

  “Thanks?”

  “It fits you.”

  “Well, I've had it my whole life, so I hope so.”

  He laughs and nods. “Pretty and a sense of humor. I like it.”

  “I'm so lucky.”

  He laughs again. “Come on. I'm just making conversation here. First day has to be hard, right?”

  I shrug.

  “You should come to lunch with me,” he says. “I can introduce you to people.”

  “I actually already have plans,” I tell him.

  He leans across the aisle again. “Yeah, but I'll be more fun.”

  He is very good-looking and a bit charming, as long as I look past the cockiness. “I doubt that.”

  He places a hand across his heart and feigns pain. “Nola. That hurts.”

  “The truth sometimes does.”

  He laughs and shrugs. “Suit yourself. But I'll be around.” He leans over again. “Do you like football?”

  “Not even a little bit,” I tell him.

  “But you haven't even seen me play yet,” he says.

  “My life. It's so incomplete.”

  He laughs. “So sarcastic. Alright, that's cool. But if your lunch plans fall through, I'm here for you, Nola.”

  The bell rings and the teacher pulls the door closed.

  “I think I'll be alright,” I tell him.

  He grins. “Oh, you're more than alright.”

  Chapter 7

  I make it through history without any more conversations with Heath and hustle to the front of the school to meet Mercy. I don't see her right away and I immediately wonder if she was messing with me like Reese did. Find the new girl, invite her to lunch, then bail on her. But then I see her scurrying through the crowded hallway and I feel a little better.

  “Sorry!” she says, taking me by the arm. “I had to stay after in math to arrange a tutoring time. I can barely add so trig is gonna kick my ass this year and my parents will freak if don't pass it.”

  “That's fine,” I say. “And I'm actually decent at math. I might be able to help.”

  She squeezes my elbow. “That would be amazing. It's truly impossible to convey how awful I am at math.”

  “As bad as I am at writing maybe,” I tell her.

  She squeezes my elbow again. “Which is my number one thing, so maybe we can help each other.”

  We push through the doors and she walks me over to a silver Jeep Cherokee that can't be more than a year old. She hits the clicker on her keys, the doors unlock, and I slide into the passenger seat, trying not to be envious of her car.

  “How was your morning?” she asks as she drives us out of the lot.

  “Fine, I guess,” I say. “People seem serious about school here.”

  “Totally,” Mercy says, nodding. “This isn't one of those breeze through public schools. It's sort of like a private school. Everyone goes to college and there's pressure. So it's not like the schools in those movies where everyone goofs around.” She turns left out of the lot. “Is it like your old school?”

  “Uh, no,” I tell her. “Not at all.”

  “Yeah, it can be a bit much,” Mercy says. “I read somewhere that Del Sol is, like, one of the wealthiest areas per square mile in California. So with all of the money and the houses and the cars and the school, it's sort of overwhelming.”

  “You can say that again.”

  She laughs. “But you've visited before, right? Since your grandparents live here?”

  I hesitate. “Only when I was little. I haven't been here in a really long time. So I don't remember it.”

  “Got it,” she says. �
�Well, hopefully, you'll like it. I know you got off to a rough start with Reese, but it'll get better.”

  I'm not so sure, but I do appreciate that she's trying to be kind about it.

  “Do you know a guy named Heath?” I ask.

  “Heath Rogers?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

  “I don't know his last name,” I say. “Big guy. Football player. Cute.”

  “That's him,” she says. “Was he holding a football when you saw him?”

  I laugh. “Not exactly. He's in my history class. He sits next to me.”

  “And of course he talked to you,” she says. “Probably hoping to get to you before anyone warned you off.”

  “He's a stay away?”

  She thinks for a moment as we stop a red light. “I've known him since we were little kids. Is he terrible? No. He can be alright. There are way worse; trust me. But he's this star quarterback and everyone has adored him since, like, seventh grade and it's gone to his head. He used to be nicer. Now? He's sort of full of himself.”

  “Yeah, definitely got that,” I say. “Just wondering.”

  “Definitely cute, though,” she says. “You got that part right. But you can do better.”

  I'm not sure about that, but I again appreciate that she's talking to me like we're friends.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Food truck park at the beach. Kind of a tradition for seniors on the first day. Everyone goes.”

  I am suddenly grateful for the cash my grandfather gave me at breakfast.

  And she's not kidding because it does seem like everyone is there.

  She pulls into a parking lot adjacent to the beach and we get out. In the next lot over, food trucks are parked on the outer ring of the lot and picnic tables are lined up in the middle of the circle. Lines are already forming at each of the trucks.

  “I told them to save us a table,” Mercy says, her eyes scanning the tables.

  “Them?”

  Then she holds a hand up and waves and pulls me forward. She leads me through the throng of people to a table near the center of the circle. Two girls are already sitting there. The one on the left has long brown hair, mirrored sunglasses, and a floral tank top that fits her like it was made specifically for her. The girl next to her has short blonde hair, black Ray-Bans, and is wearing a T-shirt that says “Grow A Pair” above what looks to be a cartoonish drawing of the uterus and a pair of ovaries.