Falling For My Nemesis

I glared at him. “Thanks a lot. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”

“Hey, in all seriousness, Carson isn’t terrible. Working with him isn’t the worst punishment.”

I shot him a skeptical look.

“Really. Maybe this little assignment will finally help you two get along. It would be nice not to have to hide you when we’re hanging out at my house all the time.”

“Doubtful,” I muttered. “I’m supposed to meet him tonight at seven.”

“Why don’t you come over early and have dinner with my family, get out of your house, away from your parents?”

Away from the war zone. He didn’t have to say it for me to catch his meaning.

“You don’t think your mom and dad would mind?” I asked, hoping he’d say no, because a decent dinner without the loaded silence settling between my parents sounded like heaven.

“Are you

kidding? My parents love you. They’d adopt you if they could.”

I smiled and slung my bookbag back over my shoulder when Ethan wrapped his arm around my shoulders. Already things were looking up.

“And, hey,” he said, nodding to me, “don’t worry about the dance. You’ll get a date, I promise. Then we’ll double and have a blast.”

“Easy for you to say. You have a hot date.” I pouted.

I knew Ethan would cancel his plans if I asked him to. He was that loyal. But I would never do that to him. There was no point in ruining his life just because mine sucked at the moment. It was bad enough he had to live with Carson and see him every day. I wouldn’t spoil his love life, too. He’d been stoked when Beth said yes to going with him.

The bell for the final period rang, and so I started to back away. “I’ll see you tonight,” I said and walked off.

I’d work this all out. Somehow.

CHAPTER THREE

After giving Ethan a ride home, I headed down Tidewater Street toward my own house. The scent of the ocean permeated the soft breeze off the water. Though it was cool, the air was damp and the sound of the gulls in the distance weirdly comforting. My family didn’t live right off the beach, but we were only a short ten-minute drive to the waterfront. Our location had its perks—far enough off the main drag we didn’t deal with the summer traffic on the way to the beach, close enough we could go swimming any time we wanted, yet only a short drive to downtown Sweet Water as well.

This time of year, everything was dead. Come November, a good majority of restaurants and little shops in Sweet Water were boarded up, lights off, closed down for the winter. Even the little bowling alley and the mini golf closed its doors for a few months. The weather was colder and the local business wasn’t enough to keep them alive. It was a relative ghost town compared to mid-summer. If it weren’t for the coastal air and the beautiful weather, I would’ve probably gone stir crazy long ago. Sometimes quiet was good, and other times, it let your thoughts circulate way too easily.

I arrived home quickly since there was no traffic, a side effect of December in Sweet Water and not the time of day. Tourists wouldn’t start coming to town until May. Even then, the majority of vacationers stayed June through August, with a trickling of tourists throughout September and October. In July, the route from Sweet Water High to home could take more than twenty minutes due to traffic. Today, it took less than ten, which meant I found myself to and from Ethan’s, back at home, far too soon.

I got out of my car, unlocked the front door, and headed straight for my room. It wouldn’t be long until my mother arrived home, and I wasn’t exactly looking forward to our impending conversation about my little trip to the Principal’s Office. Mrs. Parks was nothing if not thorough, and there was no doubt in my mind she had informed my parents of my antics.

I dropped my bookbag by my bedroom door, then opened it up, removing the file folder with the information Mrs. Parks gave us on the Angel Project. Stopping at my dresser on the way to my desk, I assessed my appearance with a grimace. Some swelling had gone down, but the area surrounding my eye was undoubtedly bruised and puffy. The contrast to my milky skin was startling. Unfortunately for me, I was one of those people who barely got a tan. I went from white to burnt like a crisp in the blink of an eye. And I hated when I got sunburned because it brought out the red in my hair, giving it this weird pink lemonade appearance, while I much preferred to emphasize the blonde.

The damage could be worse, I supposed, but I was half tempted to grab my makeup bag and do a little concealing before I realized my appearance would only help plead my case of temporary insanity to my parents.

I didn’t know when Carson and I became rivals. Okay, that was a lie. It’s funny how the mind worked. I couldn’t remember what I had for lunch three days ago, but I had a very distinct memory of the day I first met the Brooks boys—polar opposites in personality, as well as their impending roles in my life—one destined to be my best friend and the other my nemesis.

Although they lived around the corner from me, we met on the beach. I was only nine years old at the time. My mother started talking to their family first. They were new in town, moved here from Chicago in search of surf and sand and the temperate weather North Carolina had to offer. Theoretically, one would think I would’ve gravitated toward Carson since he was my age, doomed to be in the same class for the rest of our Sweet Water years. Our mothers even remarked on it. But the way things are supposed to work out and the way they actually do are often two very different things.

I remembered noticing Carson in the water. Even then, he was a veritable fish. He flopped around, dove, and splashed in the waves like a dolphin, while Ethan and I played in the sand. Eventually, the ninety-degree heat and the blazing sun took their toll, and I needed to cool off, so I ventured into the water cautiously, dipping down in a soft swell, allowing the saltwater to cool me. But before I could run back out of the surf, a hand caught my leg. I looked back into Carson’s smiling face. He was floating on his red boogie board with a crooked smile. His dark hair was a little lighter and a little longer back then. It always hung in his eyes, and I found myself continually wanting to brush it away.

The sun glistened off his boyish frame, yet to be broadened and muscled from puberty and years of swimming. He had a small smattering of freckles just over his nose. Ones I knew only cropped up in the summer. But it was his eyes that transfixed me, even then—all that vast blue.

I hadn’t seen the wave coming. It crashed down over me just as Carson pushed off, propelled by the momentum on his board, riding the wave, while I practically drowned in it. The undertow sucked me down until I rolled over the sand, the waves tumbling my body like a piece of shale. When I finally surfaced, gasping for air, I pushed the hair out of my face, coughing and choking up salty water. My belly burned from its brutal encounter with sand and shells. My throat was raw, my skin red, and when I looked up at Carson, lying peacefully on the sand, still on his board, blissful after his ride on the waves, I frowned. He glanced back at me and laughed. LAUGHED!

Now, I was no expert at nine, but I was pretty sure laughing when someone nearly lost their life because of you was not the proper way to make friends. Call me crazy.

“You were supposed to swim,” he said.