Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University 1)
“Reynolds––everything alright?” Coach Becker’s voice breaks into our quiet moment.
“Yes, sir.”
I glance behind me for a split second and that’s all it takes for Brian to make a run for it. He’s wired, hopped up on meth, and after playing a tough game, I’m exhausted. I take off after him, booking down the grassy hill, but he easily leaves me in the dust. I watch him disappear down the rolling lawn that abuts the highway.
“Brian!” I yell. I don’t know why. All the screaming in the world hasn’t gotten through to him yet. I should know better by now.
Chapter 10
Alice
“Which one of you two wants to be designated driver?” Zoe asks me and Dora as we pour out of her car.
Dora and I exchange a look that says you do it and not because either of us was planning to get wasted tonight but because neither of us want to be responsible for driving a car that costs close to four years of our college tuition.
I glance at Blake and she raises her wrist and jangles her gold medical bracelet. “I don’t drive.”
“I’ll do it,” Dora pipes up and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Music can be heard over the busy traffic racing up and down Pacific Coast Highway. A heavy bass pours out of the house and fills the air around us, making my blood hum. Cars are parallel parked up and down the street, signaling the party is well underway.
Zoe insisted we come to this party. Insisted is putting it lightly; she practically dragged Dora and me by the hair and threw us into the car.
The only reason I’m here is because of what I witnessed at the end of the water polo game. One minute I’m laughing with the girls, having a great time, and the next I’m fighting tears. Because the look on his face, of utter devastation when he saw his brother standing at the side of the pool surrounded by people mocking him…that look split my chest wide open and ripped my heart out.
I’m worried. I know I shouldn’t be––he’s not mine to worry over. We barely know each other––and yet I can’t seem to stop.
Walking down the narrow street, we pass house after house crammed together side by side and hidden behind security walls. Each one bigger than the next.
We finally reach our destination and it’s not a house. It’s a freaking mansion––on the beach. Light pours out of every floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the road. People smoking loiter on the front steps. A group I recognize mill about the small patch of front lawn.
“Stop gawking. It’s only a house,” Zoe commands. Easy for her to say. She’s been around this all her life.
Blake pats my arm and smiles softly. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Doubt it,” I tell her as we file into the jam-packed foyer after Zoe.
“W-what’s that smell?” Dora demands to know, her face twisting in a disgusted grimace.
Zoe’s feet halt in their tracks. She glances over her shoulder with an expression of utter shock. “You can’t be serious?” Her face changes from dubious to confused. “Can you?”
“It s-stinks. I think someone got sprayed by a s-skunk. What’s there to joke about?”
“Were you raised in a time capsule from the eighteen hundreds? It’s pot, Ramos. You’ve never smelled pot before?”
Dora’s eyes practically bug out of her head and she swiftly pivots on her borrowed heels and turns to leave. Not fast enough, however. Catching her by the shoulders, Zoe stops her before she can make it down the front steps.
“My father’s a DEA agent!” Dora whisper-hisses. “I’ll get high off the secondhand fumes. We all will!”
“With any luck,” is Blake’s quick comeback and Zoe and I snicker.
On level ground Zoe has a good four to five inches on Dora. Tonight she’s wearing four-inch Louboutin booties with the spikes on them so the disparity is hilarious. Ducking down so they’re face-to-face, Zoe calmly says, “First, let’s scale down on the melodrama. Second, you’re not leaving, Red. You’re going to board that courage train and ride it all the way inside the party.”
Dora glares. There’s a moment of silence, in which Zoe feels compelled to add, “Do you want to be the 40-Year-Old Virgin? Is that on your vision board?”
Without another word, a sullen Dora drags her feet back into the house, a hand covering her mouth and nose.
“Outta the way, crutches coming through,” Blake yells as she splits the crowd. Her long braids swaying down her slender back. She’s wearing a body-hugging white t-shit dress that hits mid thigh and tan high-heeled sandals. The stark white against her brown skin makes her look like a living statue. Too good to be real. Necks snap as we follow her across the living room. She’s got so much natural, unintentional sex appeal that it’s impossible not to stare at her.