Sicko(6)

“Stop jinxing her!” Storm shoves at Orson, leaving his shirt unbuttoned but keeping it secured. Storm never goes without a shirt. He doesn’t talk about it and Royce said I’m never to ask, but he always wears a shirt. Even in the water. Even shredding.

I take the handle and throw up hang loose again, my tongue sticking out at Royce.

“Because you look extra mischievous today, I’m going to go slow!” he yells, the boat slowly pulling away from me. I feel the tug on the rope and chuckle.

“Oh yeah? I’ll remember that when it’s your turn!”

“Why can’t you be like all the other girls and sit up on my shit and look all pretty, huh?” Royce throws me a smirk. I can’t answer him now because he’s too far away. He’s right. I am the only girl who shreds with the guys, but it’s their fault. They created the monster and then asked why I bite. The boat kicks up speed and I’m up, the board skating over the water like butter. Once he picks up more speed, I twist to do a few surface tricks, a relaxed smile on my face. I love being out on the water. The reason why I didn’t want to come today wasn’t because I didn’t want to go out on the board, but because I didn’t want to deal with the partying that happens afterward at Orson’s cave.

Yes, his actual cave.

Royce turns the boat fast and I kick up, landing a Big Worm. We spend another twenty or so minutes while I do all of my tricks and exude my energy, before I’m being pulled back into the boat with a frown on my face.

Orson picks me up from under my arms. “Stop being sad, girl. You know damn well you get more time than any of us.”

“This is true.” I chuckle, unzipping my life jacket and leaving me in my two-piece. I dry out my hair with a towel, just as Royce hands me a bottle of water.

“You good?”

Annette comes up behind him, wrapping her skinny arms around his stomach.

“Yup.” I nod, heading to the front to sunbathe on the hood. The rest of the day burns away as they all take turns on the board while Storm throws out his fishing line. The sun is sinking behind the clouds in the sky when Royce finally cracks open his first drink.

I know that I shouldn’t, but I’m jealous. This once. Sure, I’ve never actually been drunk before, and sure, Royce would never allow me to have too much alcohol, but a girl can dream, right?

I make my way to the front of the boat and we lead the convoy toward Mount Aetos. Orson’s last name is Aetos, so yes, Orson’s mountain. It’s just a plain old island in the middle of the ocean, where his parents own a billion-dollar mansion built on top of boulders. Because Orson’s home is where you have to get to by boat, he usually crashes at Royce’s—hence the basketball court. The cave curves off of the island in an arch before you arrive right on the white sand beach. The water is still, motionless, and the sand is infinitesimal enough to sink between your toes.

We anchor up just as the sun has set in the sky. Storm pulls out his archery set, lighting the tip of the stick and aiming it to the pile of bush wood on the shore. He releases his finger and the bonfire explodes in a surge of flames.

Everyone at school knows about the weekend hangout spot and who attends. It’s exclusive, but that’s not because people aren’t invited, it’s only because not everyone has a boat and you can only fit so many on one. When Orson brings his dad’s out, then that’s a whole different story. The multi-million-dollar power yacht named Vegas is exactly what its name implies. It’s a whole party on a yacht themed and painted in Sin City. Orson’s father is the Greek to his American mother who is no longer with us. Since his mom’s passing, his father hardly ever occupies this house, leaving Orson alone.

Clutching my flip-flops and hoodie, I slip into the water and make my way to shore, needing to be as far away from Royce as possible while he has Annette all over him. I can’t deal with it, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why my stomach convulses every time she puts her hand on him, because he doesn’t put his on her. The PDA is always her, not him. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about that.

“Hey!” A girl with long curled hair and a couple of piercings in her face waves me over. She’s in cut-offs, a plaid shirt, and are those Doc Martens? I love Docs, but near the water?

“Hi!” I make my way to where she’s seated alone, smoking a cigarette. She’s gorgeous, that much is obvious, but I’ve never seen her here before. Ever, actually. Not even at school.

“Are you new?” I ask, taking a seat on one of the stumps that are surrounding the raging fire. It crackles in the background, warming the side of my cheek.

She nods her head, raising the bottle of champagne. “Sure am, and I gotta say…” She looks around, pausing every couple of seconds. “There’s not a girl that I see here that I would want to be friends with.”

I chuckle, shoving my arms into the sleeves of my Calvin Klein hoodie and zipping it up. I’m glad I slid into my black short shorts earlier, but now I wished I had brought some skinny jeans. I usually head up to the main house when things get rowdy down here—by Royce’s orders—so I rest in the fact that I won’t have to freeze my tits off for too long. “They’re not all that bad.”

“Sure they are…” the girl says, flicking off the ash on the tip of her smoke. She sticks her hand out in front of herself. “I’m India, you’re?” she asks, and I look from her face to her hand. I’m not one to make friends. That’s not because I don’t want to, that’s because no one wants to make friends with me. Never understood why, and by the time Sloane figured out I was a weird one, it was too late, we were already friends.