The Girl of Sand & Fog Page 5

  Bobby’s story has the unexpected power to hurt me. So they all travel with their dads now. Except me, the daughter of the prick who won’t even acknowledge her.

  I find Bobby staring at me and something must have slipped onto my face, because he says quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. Just trying to explain.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “It’s OK. You’ve got me confused with someone who gives a shit.”

  “Then I’ll go.”

  I settle in my seat in a less combative way. “No, I really want to know.”

  “I stopped traveling with my dad at thirteen. I practically don’t talk to him. I avoid it at all cost. I don’t want to hurt my mom any more than she’s already been hurt. It’s why they moved me to the pool house. My ‘hostility’ issue. Privacy to deal with my anger.”

  “So what did he do to you?”

  “Nothing. It’s lame, OK? Don’t expect some big tragedy, because there isn’t one. It’s just when I was thirteen, one night when we were traveling, he took me to the lockers alone, locked the door, and there were women waiting in the showers. He told me to have at it. They’d let me do anything I want to them. An initiation, he called it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as normal and horny as any guy, and until that night it seemed like a really cool thing, getting to hang alone with Dad, traveling all over the place and getting fucked if I wanted to. But it was my first time, get it?”

  His green eyes fix on me, waiting until I nod.

  “I was thirteen,” he continues. “I didn’t want it. Not like that, with a drunk man cheering me on. I left the showers still a virgin. But that’s not the part that pissed me off.”

  He is quiet for a moment and I let him be. That story may not have pissed Bobby off, but it sure as hell pissed me off, because beneath his tough-guy exterior of indifference, even after one day I can see that he has a sweet kind of sensitivity to him.

  “My dad thought the whole thing was hilarious,” he explains, his voice rough and angry. “He didn’t even get he’d just humiliated me. It was my dad’s laughter that I can’t shake off about the experience. That stupid, drunken laughter. Not cool at all. Get it?”

  I nod.

  “I wouldn’t talk to Len after that. I didn’t want to blow up in front of Linda. But Linda somehow knew something had happened that trip because she went off on him, tossed him out and it was like divorce was imminent. She was standing on the front porch, his clothes on the lawn doused in barbecue fluid and on fire, screaming, ‘I know you did something to him! You don’t fuck with my boy. You don’t fuck with my children!’ She was hysterical and half out of her mind. That’s when I realized how all right my mom is. Len got sober then. He’s been an OK guy since then. But I still don’t want anything to do with him. We sort of all live in neutral corners now and pretend to get along. It’s the only reason why I’m still there. For Linda’s sake.”

  I lean into him and this time the kiss I give him is light on the cheek. “I’m sorry. Why did you tell this story to me when you’ve never told anyone before?”

  Bobby shrugs. “I figured you’d get it. Everyone thinks it must be so cool being Len Rowan’s son. I figured you’d get it. And then figure out that I’m not a jerk. I’m not like ‘all guys.’ I get where your attitude comes from. If I wanted an easy hookup, I don’t need to mess with you.”

  I turn to stare out the front window so that he doesn’t have a clear view of my face. Bobby’s sensitive heaviness burns like a glaring spotlight on my own self-absorption. Even in this ugly pit, he thinks of others, namely his mother and, strangely, me.

  I am more myopic in my anger, more intense, and less reasonable. It’s something I’m going to have to give thought to later. The difference between us in that and what it makes us. Right now, what it makes me doesn’t seem at all fair to Bobby and, hell, I’ve only just met the guy.

  “Text me later?” I say. “Maybe we can Skype while I do homework.”

  “I was planning on de-friending you once I got home.”

  “Bullshit. You are not going to do that.” I laugh, leaning across the center console so he can see me from outside the car. “I’m incredibly hot. Remember?”

  He slams the car door without answering me. I watch for a while as he settles on his bike and turns the ignition, and then follow the puff from his exhaust as he leaves the parking lot.

  It is after eleven when I pull into my driveway at home and if there is a God in Heaven Chrissie will be in bed. I wasn’t kind to my mom today, but that doesn’t mean that I want to suffer the shitstorm I deserve because of it.

  The house is quiet when I enter and I make a fast beeline to my bedroom without bothering to check on Chrissie.

  I’m still lying in bed awake shortly after 2 a.m., trying really hard to focus on an Econ paper due in the morning, when I hear a beep on my cell phone. I pick it up, read the text then shut off my phone. It was a nice touch that Bobby didn’t text me the moment he got home, but that he’d waited three hours. It would make it seem like I waited up for him if I answer now.

  Good try.

  Won’t do it.

  I turn off my light and go to sleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  I wake up early the next morning, shower, dress, and quickly get out of the house before Chrissie can catch me.

  As I climb into my Lexus, I feel a little crappy about not sticking around. But not bad enough to stay and face my mother directly.

  Nope, not up for the lecture I’m definitely going to get since yesterday I blew the fucking lid off my mother’s carefully guarded secret. First with Bobby and Zoe. Then with Linda Rowan. It’s not going to go good for me when my mom finally catches me.

  I stop at a fast food drive-thru window, order breakfast, and then park in the school lot to eat it. I grab my burrito from the bag. School is nearly deserted but, hell, I’m an hour early. I chomp on my meal and watch the students arrive.

  An hour later every parking space is filled. I’m just finishing my coffee when I notice it’s 8:15. Oh fuck. I got here early and somehow I’ve missed the first bell and am going to be late for zero period. That’s all I need. Only two months into the school year and I’m already teetering on being put on probation for my tardiness and bad attitude.

  Jeez. That will look great on my college applications. And I definitely don’t want a lecture from my advocacy teacher again, though why it should matter being late to show up for that circle-jerk is anyone’s guess.

  It’s just a bunch of bullshit about planning your academic future, as if nailing that one will make everything perfect for the rest of your life. And really, do they actually expect us to make good, life-altering decisions in a full classroom in thirty minutes a day with the help of some overeducated, underpaid, middle-aged woman who thinks education is the solution to every problem in the world?

  My dad is Alan Manzone. Try fixing that one by getting a college degree, Mrs. Advocacy Teacher. It’s not the idea of going to college I have a problem with. It’s the simplicity of thought that seems inescapable here.

  I toss my cup into the bag and scrunch it up.

  I do another fast scan of the lot.

  His motorcycle isn’t here.

  Where’s Bobby?

  The walkways are empty as I hurry toward my first classroom of the day. I slip in the back door and sink down in the last row of desks.

  The teacher pauses mid-sentence and stares at me. I smile at Mrs. Trent. A pink slip is dropped onto the desk in front of me.

  Great. My twentieth late slip of the quarter. Couldn’t she be cool just once? I can already tell this day is going to be another fucking winner.

  By lunch period, I’m debating cutting my afternoon classes. I’m anxious and pissed off. I haven’t seen Bobby all day and he hasn’t searched me out.

  Strange. Very strange.

  After I ignored his text last night, I expected Bobby to be hot on my trail first thing this morning. It’s how it always works when you ignore a guy. Th
ey come after you. But maybe I judged Bobby wrong. Maybe he’s not into me.

  I remember the taste of his mouth and how his kiss moved with my own, never altering the pressure or the flow. Somehow just matching my lips. I’ve never been kissed that way before. It was hot. A freaking turn-on. The way he matched me without ever taking the lead.

  I certainly liked his body pressed up against me. Feeling what I haven’t seen completely yet. How his muscles tightened—he must have one fucking great physique under those clothes because he is nothing but a tight collection of cut parts. Long and strong without being like the Hulk—and long and strong in his jeans if I’m visualizing right what I felt as he hardened against my panties.

  Oh, he’s into me.

  He’s just playing it cool.

  Jerk.

  I step out into the quad—the patio area with benches, tables and trees in the center of the four school buildings where most of the students gather for lunch—and I stare.

  What the fuck am I doing here?

  I never stay on campus at lunch. I usually cut out and eat alone.

  I scan the crowd. All the popular kids are here. The ones that like school because they have no life outside it.

  Be honest with yourself, Kaley, I chide myself. You don’t really have a life outside school either. You just avoid being here to avoid them. You’re as pathetic as they are. Get over yourself.

  I walk toward the table where Zoe Kennedy is sitting alone, chomping on raw carrots, with a paper lunch bag lying in front of her.

  Christ, does she bring a lunch from home?

  She couldn’t advertise being a loser any more clearly.

  Maybe she’s just dieting. A couple of pounds off would do a world of difference. She is a pretty girl. Just a touch overweight.

  She smiles enthusiastically when she notices me.

  I smile back and drop down on the bench across the table from her, setting my chocolate shake and French fries—the only things I stomach from our lame snack window—in front of me.

  I crinkle my nose. “Is that all you’re eating?”

  She nods. “Carrots. Vitamin water and a lettuce wrap. My mom thinks I’m fat.”

  I squirt the contents of a ketchup packet onto a napkin. “That’s way harsh. Does she actually say that?”

  Zoe nods.

  What a bitch. “Who cares what your mom thinks? And she definitely shouldn’t say it. I think you look good as you are. What do you think?”

  She smiles. “I think I’d like to be tall and thin like you. But I’m short and bouncy and I don’t think the carrots are going to make much of a difference with that. But heck, it makes my mom happy. Like she’s doing something. So I take the lunch and eat it every day.”

  I laugh. “I’d rather be short. It’s hell finding guys to date when you are as tall as I am.”

  She gives me a knowing sort of look. “Bobby’s tall. Six-two.”

  Well, that was subtle. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Zoe laughs.

  I dab my fries in the ketchup. “Where is he today? I haven’t seen him on campus all day.”

  Zoe pulls her lettuce wrap from her bag and starts to unwrap it. “Surfing. There was a surf advisory. A high tide warning. Didn’t you notice? There isn’t a surfer in the senior class here today. High tide warnings are senior surfing ditch days. Tell them it’s too dangerous, that the beaches are closed, and every one of them races for a board. Guys are so stupid at times.”

  Surfer, huh? “So Bobby likes to surf.”

  Zoe nods enthusiastically. “He’s amazing. He competes all over the world. Wins everything. He also does motocross, mixed martial arts, rock climbing, snowboarding, runs and lifts weights every freaking morning. That’s why he’s got such an incredible body. He works out every day.” She crinkles his nose. “He’s into extreme everything.”

  My eyes widen.

  Yep, Zoe has got a crush on Bobby.

  Fuck. It’s definitely a violation of the girl rules if I decide to make a play for him. She’s so sweet. I wouldn’t want to do such a shitty thing to her. Damn, and Bobby was the first interesting guy I’ve met since starting school here.

  I reach for my shake. “It seems like you know everything about him. Why haven’t you made a move on him?”

  She blushes dark red.

  “Me? I am so not Bobby’s type. Besides, it would almost be like dating my brother. We’ve been friends that long.”

  I slowly study the girls surrounding us. “So which girl here is his type?”

  Zoe perks up.

  I cringe.

  Crap, can I be any more obvious?

  She meets my gaze evenly. “I don’t think any of them are his type. What he’s got going on in the girl department, you won’t find here. Like I said, Bobby is into extreme.” She gnaws on her lower lip. Her eyes start to sparkle as she looks at me. “You. You are Bobby’s type. Yep, I can see you two together.”

  I choke on my drink.

  I don’t know which part of this conversation is worse: the girlieness of pumping another female for facts about a guy, Zoe thinking for some reason I’m extreme, or that I just got a pity prop from a girl lower down in the female pecking order than I am because I was stupid enough to betray an interest in a guy.

  Fuck. Good one, Kaley.

  The bell rings.

  I rise from the bench and toss the remains of my lunch in the trash. Zoe immediately falls in beside me.

  “Do you want to hang out after school?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  By the time I get to my car after my last class, Zoe is already there, waiting. I frown. It’s almost like she raced to the parking lot to get here first so I wouldn’t ditch her.

  Poor girl.

  As if.

  I like her.

  Can’t she tell?

  I hit the button on my key to unlock the car. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere. Just not home.”

  She says that in an intense way that makes me laugh. My thoughts exactly. Even an afternoon with Zoe is better than home with Chrissie right now.

  I toss my tote into the backseat and climb into the car. I put the key into the ignition and wait as Zoe closes her door.

  “You’re going to have to help me here. I’m new to the area. I don’t know what there is to do. I haven’t really hung around with anyone at school. What do people do here to have fun?”

  Zoe brightens. “Really? You mean like I’m your first friend here?”

  I nod. It’s the truth. Pathetic, but the truth.

  She smiles. “We could go to Redondo Beach.”

  I pull out of the parking lot. “What’s there?”

  Her expression takes on an impish look. “Bobby. It’s where he’s surfing today. He texted me this morning to see if I wanted to go with, but I couldn’t. I had a test in my English class.”

  Really? He invited Zoe and not me? I’m not at all happy with that factoid.

  “So who did he go with?” I ask, then inwardly flinch.

  Fuck. Obvious again.

  Zoe doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Just his usual crew. Lots of hot college guys. Most of Bobby’s surfing buddies are college guys.”

  So Zoe doesn’t only know everything about Bobby, she knows his friends, too. Damn. Maybe Bobby is interested in her and she’s just too dense to pick up on it. A guy doesn’t introduce you to his friends and let you hang around with them unless he wants to make you his girlfriend.

  Crap, I so don’t want to be the odd girl out on this little adventure. Maybe I should cut out now. Stupid. Who cares if Bobby is interested in Zoe? They are welcome to each other. I wasn’t really interested in him anyway. I might as well go. Beach. College guys. It could be worse.

  Yep, still going.

  We stop at Zoe’s house to change our clothes. The bikini I borrow from her really doesn’t work well. I’ve got bigger tits than Zoe—they’re practically popping out—and
slimmer hips. I need to roll the bottoms to keep them up. As for the sweats, she had to grab those from her dad’s closet. Hers on me were so baggy and short in the legs they looked ridiculous.

  I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I look a little slutty, but I definitely have nothing to be ashamed about over my body. I scrunch up my nose. I’m not an in your face with my boobs kind of girl.

  Is this too obvious?

  Pathetic or hot?

  I groan. Why am I debating this? I’m not a chase-a-guy kind of girl either. Guys chase me. If Bobby isn’t interest, well then, that’s his problem.

  I leave my sweat top unzipped and step into the bedroom. Zoe is lying on her bed, staring at her laptop, dressed and waiting for me.

  She looks up and laughs. “I love your videos.”

  Oh fuck.

  I tense.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes brighten. “You’re Kaley’s World on YouTube, aren’t you? You are the one who makes the talk show videos with the messed-up Barbies dancing on the strings. It’s so fucking funny. Don’t pretend it’s not you. They’re epic.”

  Busted.

  No point lying about it now.

  But how the hell did Zoe Kennedy of all people figure it out?

  I drop down on the bed beside her. I shrug. “It’s just lame and something to do.”

  Her eyes widen. “It’s not lame. Have you looked at how many views you get on every video? It’s like, thousands. The most I’ve ever gotten on anything I’ve posted is forty-three views.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Would you mind not telling anyone I’m the one doing those videos? The point of posting them under an alias and never showing my face is so that no one knows. How did you figure it out?”

  She grimaces. “I sort of invaded your privacy by checking out your phone while you were in the bathroom. You should really password-protect your phone. I saw the Weebly web-hosting icon. I hit it. And, bam, up came Kaley’s World.”