Though there is one thing I’m almost certain of. The actions I take, the choices I make, the decisions I come to, will all amount to one thing.
Utter-fucking-chaos.
* * *
“So,tell me again how you’re not high on Xany or drowning in the bottom of a bottle of Hendricks?” my best friend inquires, not bothering to hide the judgmental sneer in her voice. She’s standing before me, Parisian Pink lips gaping open, baby blue eyes shot wide, and a rose gold vape pen stuck in her hand while a cloud of cotton candy scented smoke floats between us.
It’s the normal reaction I’ve been getting from everyone around me after what happened earlier this summer. I should have expected no less from her.
I take a deep breath, my annoyance resting on the tip of my tongue, but hold back, trying not to sound like a total bitch as I answer. I mean, she’s only asking what everyone else is too scared to ask.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to calm my displeasure. “Because, Dee, I refuse to end up like my mother stuck in a rehab facility or like my brother pretending nothing’s happened,” I scoff, angrily slamming the door of my locker, making the others beside it vibrate with the force of the bang. Around us a few gazes turn our way, but soon enough they drop to the floor, knowing better than to be caught staring.
Shrugging my bag over my shoulder, the weight of it makes me hunch to one side. Thank God for lockers. There is no way I’d be able to carry all the textbooks I’m required to lug around for my senior year. Instead of taking it easy and enjoying the last of my teenage years, skipping class and spending my afternoons at the beach like my rest of my friends, I’ll be drowning myself in every AP Honors class hoping to get into a college as far away from here as possible. Because there’s no way I’m taking any of my father’s money.
My best friend leans back against her locker clutching her English Honors textbook against her chest and taking in another puff of candy scented smoke. The teal shade of the metal door behind her blends in with the color of the brand-new outfit she purchased when she forced me to go shopping with her at The Village this weekend. Apparently the other twenty outfits she purchased throughout the summer weren’t good enough for the first day of senior year. Instead, the cashmere shorts and off-the shoulder crop top were the perfectfit.
“I’m sure Brooklyn is dealing with everything in his own way,” Donovan replies, tucking her hair behind her ear, oddly understanding of my brother’s nonchalance. She nips at the edge of her bright pink bottom lip, a telltale sign she’s nervous and unsure if she’s spoken out of line. The old me would have given my bestie hell for taking his side instead of mine, but like I promised myself just last night, the old me is now dead.
What was ittheincomparable Ms. Swift once said,“The old me can’t come to the phone right now, oh why? Cause she’s dead.”
I roll my eyes at Donovan’s refusal to say anything negative about my dear brother, who she’s not so secretly been in love with since before she could walk. Typical of her, but for once I thought my best friend would take my side.
I meet her anxious pink pout with a stern and irritated scowl that lets her know exactly how her previous statement made me feel. “No, Brooklyn is acting like a total asshole and prefers to put all the blame on my mother instead of the fucking sleaze of my father. Everyone else already does.”
More heads around us turn our way when my voice reaches a higher octave, but my indignant glare is quick to make them turn away. It’s the first day of school, so obviously the hall is buzzing with teens hugging as if they didn’t just see each other every day this summer. Well, some didn’t, those who spent their summer vacationing in the Hamptons or down in Key West and have just arrived back with the same golden, glowing tans the California sunshine gives you. I’ve never understood the reasoning behind vacationing to a faraway beach when the ocean is our front yard, but come to think of it, spending the summer anywhere but Malibu Cove has its appeal.
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with the snide stares and conniving snickering from those who stayed home and witnessed my downfall, also known as the end of my life, and the beginning of something I’m not sure will end any differently.
Of course, when news spread about my father’s affair with our equally married neighbor, everyone started talking and speculating about my parents’ marriage, coming up with their own conclusions about their liaison. It's funny how many people became experts and marriage therapists suddenly voicing their unnecessary and unsolicited opinions on the subject.
Mainly, the rumors said my mother was an inattentive wife who drove her perfect husband to cheat. After all, a man could only endure so much negligence, he has needs. What they don’t know is that my whole life, mom’s been struggling with demons of her own, which were summoned thanks to daddy dearest’s humiliating infidelity.
That’s what life is like in the suburbs off the coast of Southern California. Never a dull day, and rarely a moment of happenstance in paradise.
Donavan slams the door of her locker, waving her hands in the air, exasperated. “I’m sure he doesn’t blame her. I mean, why is it always the woman who gets blamed when her husband cheats? It’s either she’s not satisfying him in bed, or spending too much time with the children, or my personal favorite,has let herself go.”
I laugh, not because what Donovan is so passionately expressing is funny in the slightest, but because the irony of it is sadly almost comical. “Because we live in a patriarchal society full of misogynistic assholes who believe women as a whole are to blame for everything wrong in the world.” I roll my eyes just as the first bell rings, giving us a five-minute warning to get to class. It’s the first day of school so obviously nobody moves, expecting to use the overused excuse they couldn’t find their homeroom.
It’s bullshit, but the teachers won't dare say anything about it.
As for Donovan and me, we don’t move, both having AP English right across the hall for our homeroom.
Malibu Cove High is exactly what it sounds like. Located at the top of a pristine cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, MC High is everything you’d expect from a school off the wealthiest coast of California. Pristine white marble floors, state-of-the-art school facilities, including university grade lecture rooms, a modern gym and equipment room for MC High’s pro-level sports teams, and everything you’d expect from any Hollywood Film portraying flawless high school students using gorgeous twenty-five-year-old actors.
Salty air, sandy beaches, crystal blue waters, and never-ending sunshine surround us daily. Combine that with impeccable blonde babes always in bikinis, weekly bonfires on our finest beaches, unfairly gorgeous jocks who live and breathe football, and disreputable scandals knocking down everyone’s door.
That’s what it’s like to live the life of Malibu Cove’s Elite.
Here, secrets run deeper than the tides of the Pacific Ocean, and they drown us just the same.
However, with power and prestige comes a giant price to pay, and mine might just be my sanity.
“So,” Donovan asks, changing the subject once she’s realized I’m done chatting about my current situation. “Have you seen him?” She innocently twirls a strand of beach blond hair in between her fingers.
Donovan’s your typical affluent SoCal blonde babe, always in a bikini, a hot pair of Daisy Dukes, or a cheer uniform. I also happen to be a blonde and an ex-cheerleader - I’ll have to break that news to Dee at some point - but after this summer, things feel different. My priorities have somewhat shifted.
Though I don’t have to ask whathimshe’s referring to, it’s blatantly obvious. The bane of my existence, my beloved new stepbrother.
