The breeze rushes through my hair, lifting the sea of curls off my shoulders as drops of water fade into my skin. My bare hands face down into the sand, each grain pressing closely against the folds in each palm. The scent of sandalwood brushes past my nostrils with an echo of cinnamon, forming a heavenly aroma. Each intricate, warm amber note expels a hint of nutmeg, further thrashing inside my heart, one inhale at a time.
I force myself to ignore the sigh that escaped his lips a second after he processed my question. Or when he starts to shiver, sinking his fingers further into the ground until he repeatedly crushes the sand. I watch his chest rise and fall as he glares at the sunset.
"My father's not coming," Brandon whispers.
"I'm starting to think I'm never going to see him," I say, debating whether to continue.
"I never met a friend from Tracy's childhood, so I thought it would be nice to hear what he was like growing up."
The truth is I wanted to talk to someone who knew my mother back when she was a hell-raiser. I thought the homecoming queen knew how to dodge a few punches from the Jockstraps and the Next Top Nutjobs. I would give anything to learn something about her or to talk to someone who's not afraid to speak her name. Is it wrong I want to speak to a person who's not too frightened to remember she existed?
"The way you talk about him," Brandon confesses. "He's not your friend, Ebony. He's your dad."
"Well, Brandon," I laugh harshly. "Everything isn't as obvious as the waves rolling towards the shore. Some things you have to figure out yourself."
He thinks momentarily, watching me as he tugs at the towel wrapped tightly around my waist. "Is that an invitation? Because I'm sure I can figure out what's underneath this towel."
"No, perv," I blurt out, swatting his hand away. "I will gladly lay down my life before I ever let anyone see what's underneath this towel. Gl-ad-ly."
"There are practically enough boobs on this beach to shoot girls gone wild, and now you're shy. I hope your nipples are made of solid gold."
I try to play nice and hide a smirk instead of rubbing my hands in the sand and slapping the smug grin off his cute face. But it's hard to stay mad at someone with the most beautiful eyes that reflect all the calm waves in the ocean. As I look at Brandon, my heart pounds inside my chest, and the sound of his laughter buzzes inside my eardrums.
"While my boobs aren't worth a shit ton of money, that doesn't mean my self-esteem is low enough to strut around a million-dollar beach house in a loin cloth." I chirp, smiling as I roll my eyes at him.
I know the sound of his laugh will forever haunt me, but I can't afford to lose him. So I'll pretend his smile doesn't affect me. I won't catch my breath when he raises my chin to meet his intrusive gaze. And I refuse to press my lips against his until he pulls away with my heart on his sleeve. I will avoid him even if it kills me.
I won't fall for you, Brandon Lockwood.
"That kiss," Brandon falters. "I was blown away."
I turn my head to him. "I almost ruined everything you were better off leaving me to the darkness."
"That's not it," Brandon whispers. "I couldn't see myself with someone thats so different."
"You mean you can't see yourself with a retard." I cross my arms, searching his soul for an ounce of doubt.
Is it crazy I never expected to hear those words from Wonder Boy? I felt it, but somehow, when I'm with Brandon, he makes it easier to forget. My gaze burns into his cerulean blue eyes, and the only emotion lurking behind them is guilt.
"Ebony, that's not what I meant," Brandon says, shaking his head.
"Then look me in the eyes and tell me the first time you spoke to me, you didn't think I was some helpless retard."
Brandon curses under his breath. "You only spoke in synonyms the entire conversation. I didn't think you understood what the hell was even going on."
"Donovan may be a first-class jerk, but at least he had the balls to say whatever he feels," I say as my body trembles.
"Damnit, wake up, Ebony," Brandon yells. It wasn't like you didn't wear the same sweater to school every day. Either way, you're still part of a class that can barely read and write their own names."
I stand up, throwing the blue beach towel in his face. "I hope you never meet someone you obsess over only for her to break your heart, not because of your personality. But because you're broken, she can see every last shard. And still, you're beyond her repair."
Finally, after centuries of being in a drought, a cascade of tears raced down my cheeks. This week, people have managed to attack me in ways I never thought were possible, but I came back every time. Even after I poured my soul out to him, the only thing he's capable of doing is drifting closer to the water in silence. Suddenly, Brandon jumps into the ocean, swimming further away.
"I hope Alexis never sees you the way you see me," I mutter, turning around into a crew of camera phones.
"Aww, that was so," Naija tears up, placing her fake blue stiletto nails over her heart.
"So so pathetic."
"Aye, zoom in and make sure you get the tears!" Sienna says, tapping relentlessly on her cell phone.
In an instant, the three Atomic Devils flank me from both sides, foaming out the mouth as they capture my meltdown from all angles. The hatred Naija feels for me practically radiates from her bones like the God Complex she lords over her friends.
Then there's Sienna practically zooming in past several feet of sand and miles of water to witness his back muscles. On the other hand, Roxane stares at the ground, distant from her two closest friends. The two girls she always takes on elusive all-expense paid shopping sprees. This way Sienna and Najia seem like they can afford Roxane's lavish lifestyle.
"What's the matter, Ebony," Naija questions. "Brandon doesn't like to fuck bitches. Well, bestiality is a sin."
Sienna forces her arm over my shoulder, switching to her front camera. "You can tell she ain't get none; she still looking all dumb and shit."
"Girls, she's hardly worth the time. Donovan and his friends are ten minutes away he'll be here at 9:20."
"Sweet Roxie," Naija rolls her eyes. "That's three minutes from now, so if Donovan said he would be here in ten minutes at 9:17, what time will they make it here?"
Roxane takes a moment to count on her fingers before she responds. "Silly me, I forgot when he sent the text. Guess I was too busy looking at my diamond anklet."
Naija holds out the palm of her hand until Roxane unlatches the jewelry from her ankle. She sighs in defeat, instantly handing over the diamond anklet into Naija's bony, Cruella De Vil grasp. My jaw drops in utter disbelief. Why is she so afraid of her best friend?!
"So when is Donovan going to arrive?" Naija steps closer to her, towering over her in six-inch heels.
"You know, at 9:22..." Roxane softly whispers.
"9:27," I announce, separating from Sienna while Roxane runs back to the rest of the group. "what's the matter? Did you pop so many pills today that you forgot how to tell time, Naija? Next time, just say no to drugs."
"It's cute; you're a big inspiration to the three thousand viewers I have watching the last seconds of the Ebony and Brandon saga. It's sad, though. It's so short-lived."
I curtsy, holding back tears. "As long as you get my good side."
Instead of displaying my signature closure to disagreements and letting the birds soar proudly in the nighttime sky. I scurry off into the darkest corner of the neighborhood, dodging every person in sight. It's a miracle I wasn't spotted in this ridiculous thong because I've never felt more naked in my entire life.
"I feel so fucking exposed!"
I fall on the steps of the beach house, feeling exhausted. In one hour, I've experienced every emotion under the sun. It only took one hour to realize that fairytale endings don't exist for people like me. Life will always be this miserable, and no one has been able to convince me otherwise. I'm only happy when I'm daydreaming about a kinder world.
"Wow," Chloe stares at my chest. "with those melons, I'm starting to like you a lot more now."
"How did you find me?" I mutter.
She plops down on the first step, staring into the horizon. "Your cries are practically a yellow brook road for unrequited love. I just followed the loudest scream."
"Then you should take a 360-degree turn and mosey on down the fiery red brook road. That's where all the stuck-up skanks and douches are roasting anyway.
"Are you always this inviting?" Chloe teases.
"Get over it blondie," My voice cracks as I sigh, tired of pretending. "Being around Brandon is like peeling back the layers of an onion. Just when I think I got the full picture, he shows me another side."
"Is that supposed to be good?" Chloe asks.
"The more I peel back, the smaller I feel," I say, sniffing. "The only thing the boy's missing is a cape."
Chloe tightens our embrace as my head rests on her shoulder. "You should call me bitch."
I scrunch my face up in confusion.
"To shake any hissy fits and temper tantrums from me inserting myself in your life, just call me a bitch. Don't let the weed kick in, or else I'll be ready to box."
My ears instantly focus on her voice, my heart beating outside my chest. "That would be bad if I actually had people in my life unless you want to play with yourself. But hey, get a room first."
"You went from antisocial to a plain old pervert. Nice, and when I'm comforting you," Chloe dramatically shoves me off her shoulder. "You have a life. Sometimes, you need a push or to be lifted over my head and thrown into peace."
Chloe stands up and breaks out with a contagious smile. She's quite the sight to behold in her silk black top with the breast cups the same mesh light gray pattern as her bikini bottoms. I swear she looks like a sexy pirate with the confidence of a supermodel. It's like she refuses to assimilate into the vast population of whores even if she was the first Atomic. I always admired her for staying true to herself even if she was in a room surrounded by people wearing paper-mâché masks.
"Come on out, tall, brooding and handsome." She calls out to someone behind the front door.
The light switch flicks on, and seconds later, Brandon steps onto the front porch with drops of water still clinging to his chest. The fluorescent lights outline his rock-hard muscles, gleaming on his massive pecs. It's like each part of his body was expertly hand-carved because he had the features of an artificial robot.
He had the heart of one too.
I glance at him blankly, then return to the silent street before me. "What's the matter? One public embarrassment wasn't enough for your humiliation, kink? Where are the cameras, star?"
"It's getting harder to be around you," Brandon confesses, gazing several feet above my head.
Chloe leans from the edge of the porch to catch a glimpse at me." I guess I'm not exactly doing any favors to your reputation just ask, The Ravenwood."
All of a sudden, a medium-sized rock is thrown directly at my head. I cover my forehead as Chloe throws her hands in the air in exasperation. She mouths, 'Shut the hell up!' My mouth twitches, and my lack of patience dares me to curse Chloe out. I only understand after she plays a messed-up game of charades. The results amount to a cheap threat that says, another outburst like that, and I'll start throwing stones. What a friend, huh?
Meanwhile, Brandon stands over me in perfect bliss, not noticing her petty antics. He analyzes his quiet neighborhood for another moment before he decides to respond. "I don't care about my reputation, Ebony. I care about you."
"I hate it when you woke up two fucking hours in the morning to avoid me." Brandon stares at me with a soft gaze. "In nine months, you'll have the house to yourself; I'll be in the military. I tried to get you out of my head, but it's still a lot of things I can't tell you."
"By the end of next year, you'll have hundreds of girls chasing you, and you'll be happy you got the hell out of Dodge. I know you'll do great wherever you go."
He sits beside me, taking Chloe's spot as he wraps his arms around my waist. "I was wrong about you." He speaks softly, and before I know it, I give in to the tranquil scent of water on his skin. I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to process every contradiction.
Once again, not even a syllable comes into my mind as Brandon's words float around me. I can't reach out and touch them because the closer I get, the further away his thoughts seem. Chloe would have said something to capture his attention. Roxane would have showered him with expensive gifts. Alexis would have given him a hug that told him how much she loved him.
I've never been good at expressing my emotions. Even when I kissed Brandon, I pretended it was a fantasy. I never had a boyfriend or a friend in a long time. So is it my fault whenever he looks at me with those eyes and says exactly how he feels I almost think he likes me. Besides my father, no guy has ever treated me this way before. They always overlooked me, so how am I supposed to tell the difference between friendship and love? Especially when my heart desperately wants it to be the latter.
This moment is where our conversation ends because, to be honest, I had no idea what the hell to do after I kissed him. This is where I bottle up my true feelings and hold on to them. Meanwhile, the boy of my dreams will leave for the military in nine months and drift further out of my grasp. Still, I wonder if anyone has the power to change Brandon's mind.