Tyler's POV
"Sabe, get up. We're going to the cove again." I inform, pounding on Sabree's door. I don't get a response, I assume she's just sleeping late at per usual. "Sabree, get your lazy ass outta bed!" My hand wraps itself around the door knob, turning it until the door opens. I was welcomed into an empty room. The covers on her bed a mess, as I'd pictured it to be, clothes, clean and dirty alike, scattered on the floor.. I've never been in Sabree's room before, but I also never paid attention to unorganized she was for a chick. "Fuckkk." I groan, slamming my fists into her wall. She's gone, again. Again. What could have gone wrong this time? She was perfectly fine last night, after Stacy left, after the scare from my parents. If I would have known they were just coming back so my dad could get his briefcase, Sabree and I would have easily gotten away with hoarding the Z-Boys in our house.
I kick a few articles of clothing out of my way, leaf through a pile or two to see if she'd left a note, or anything. No luck there. I give a frustrated sigh. I tore the sheets off her bed, tossing them to the floor. Still no note. My investigation dives deeper, as I dig through her drawers. I find some, what I think to be interesting, things. Pictures of her as a little girl, pictures of her with another girl around our age, both too stoned to think straight, letters between her and some girl named Karlee, letters from her father. I took a seat on her bed, scanning over a few letters collected in my hand. Many of her fathers' letters trying to convince her to come home, how badly he misses her, how sorry he is for hurting her, things of that sort.
I pull out a notebook next, and flip through that. I'm surprised by the contents of it all. It holds poems, journal entries, little drawings. A new side of Sabree shines out to me. The side she lets no one see. I read one of the journal entries, explaining about the first time her father had beaten her, the first time he'd gotten her high. One sentence from a later confession caught my eye.
My dad beat me again today. I hate him. I don't know what I could have done to make him so mad. I don't know what I could have done to my mom. Was it so horrible that she chose to take Karlee over both of her daughters? I feel smaller than I really am. I feel like a little mouse; an insignificant creature. I always try to get away from my father when he takes a swing at me, but I always seem to back myself into a corner, like a frightened mouse. No thirteen year old deserves to be treated like this. I wish I could go back to the foster home.
I let the words soak in my mind. I snap the book shut and toss it back into the drawer. It's creepy to see how horribly her father treats her. It's ever creepier to see that she preserves these memories in ink. I shake my head, hoping what I just read would come flying out of my ears before I continue to the next drawer.
In the next drawer, I pull out a small bag of weed. That doesn't surprise me. What does is that she's managed to keep it hidden for so long. The next thing I pull out is a large shard of glass, blood staining the sharpest tip of it.
"What the hell? Why would she have this lying around?" I question myself, returning everything back to its proper spot. I throw the covers back on her bed, looking for any trace of blood. My mind races back to the day before, when she didn't want to go surfing with us. I search her room for the jacket she was wearing that day. She was wearing it last night, too. I turn it inside out, scouring the sleeves for blood. I pull and trace along the fabric, where it would rub against the skin on your wrist. My heart stops when I come across dried blood. My stomach churns at the mental image I get. I may just be jumping to conclusions, but Sabree wouldn't hide a wound from us unless it was self inflicted.
"No…th-that's crazy. Sabree wouldn't do anything like that to herself. She knows how to deal with things better than that." I talk myself out of the idea, but know it's a jumble of lies. I keep telling myself that I'm letting my imagination run wild, but that doesn't settle my stomach, doing flips, and squirming around inside me.
Tony pounds on the door, yelling at me, asking me if I'm ready or not. It scares me enough to drop the glass. "Shit…" I get down on all fours and scramble around the floor to find it. Once the glass is back in my hand, I toss it on her night stand.
Tony hollers again, "I'm coming!" I yell, exiting Sabree's room. "Okay…Okay...calm down Tyler. You're just being paranoid. Sabree's smarter than that…" I breathe deeply, repeating the phrase to myself until I let the boys in, trying to retain my cool.
"Finally! Jesus what the hell?" Tony asks impatiently, Stacy follows him while laughing.
"Calm down, Tony. We won't miss the swells; it's big out there today." He says, and looks around, "Where's Sabe? She is coming with us, isn't she?"
I shake my head, and Stacy's features shift into a disappointed, almost heart broken, look. "She's not here, man. I don't know where the fuck she is. No note, no anything."
I hear Jay scoff, "Who cares about her, man. She'll be fine for fuck's sake. Let's just go and charge those huge swells before it goes flat again. She'll turn up sooner or later."
In his own way, Jay's right. "Jack ass here is right. We just have to hit the waves. She'll come to us."
…
Stacy's POV
After a few hours of surfing, we all go to up to the Zephyr shop. It's practically our second home. Sabree still hasn't show up, but it's still light outside. There is still hope for her appearing.
"Hey, ya little maggots, it's about time you clowns got your asses here." Skip slurs and staggers from the back room. I turn to face him. As usual he has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a glass of alchohol clenched in one fist.
"Hey, Skip." I wave, adding a smile to greet the 'master' as he loved to refer to himself as. He silently counts us, and gives off a confused look.
"There's only five of you grommets today. Where's the other one?"
Tyler shrugs, leaning against the counter, "Fuck if we know. She ran off this morning, haven't seen her since."
Tony chuckles, tossing a worn out clay wheel up in the air, "We just gotta think like the chicka. If I were Sabree, where would I be?" he jokes. "Hope she turns up, soon, though. She said she had some shit to tell me."
My heart sinks, thinking it could be what happened at the party. But it can't be, she told me she told him. I hope she turns up, too, but another part of me wishes she wouldn't. Thinking back on it, I'm not sure if kissing her on the cheek was the best move to make. I think she likes me. I think I like her. I could swear I like her. Maybe it was just bad timing?
We all form a circle around Tony watching the attempted balacning act. Sometimes I question Tony's actions but it's funny to watch him do stuff like this. The wheel stays balanced for three, four, five, six seconds before Jay purposly shoves his lanky body into Tony's back. The wheel crashes down to the ground.
At that moment, Sabree and Biniak burst through the door, laughing like maniacs, pushing their way through our crowd, booking it to the back room. What are they doing? We all watch as a local cops flashes past the open door.
Sabree poked her head out, giggling, "Is he gone yet?" I nod, and Sabree and Biniak come from their hiding spot, laughing harder. "Dude! That was fuckin' insane, bro!" Sabree exclaims, high fiving Biniak.
"Sabe, where have you been all day?"
Sabree got out the last of her laughs, and shook her head, "Just fuckin' around with Biniak."
I look her over one last time. Her hair is still damp, falling into controlled waves past her shoulders, and she was dressed in nothing but a flimsy pair of her pajama shorts, her black hoodie, and her bathing suit lying underneath.
"Yeah, man, we got fuckin' high as hell, crashed some gnarly swells, fucked around with a ' 'hacky sack' until it busted the window of a fuckin' cop car and that lead us here." Biniak explains, and I feel a heat rise to my cheeks.
Sabree, herself, shrunk down a bit, cursing out Biniak in her mind. I guess I can't be mad at her; she wasn't all over Biniak half way drunk on top of being stoned. At least, not that I know of. Damn it, Stacy. Stop thinking like that. Sabree's not that type of girl. Not that type of girl…those words echo in my head, and my thoughts travel to Kathy. Kathy wasn't that type of girl, either. I shudder at the thought, watching as Biniak snoops around for a spare Zephyr tee for Sabe.
"I'll be back." Sabree announces, clutching a small bag in her hands, and the black Zephyr tee Biniak found for her. She stumbles into the back room, forcing Montoya and Chino out.
She returns minutes later, tying her tousled beach soaked hair into a sad excuse for a bun. The much too large Zephyr shirt had been secured in a knot in the back, fitting accordinly to her shape.
"Alright, so, Sabree's here, what now?" Jay spoke, tapping his foot against the ground, louder and louder each time to signify his patience is wearing thin.
We look to one another, and shrug, nothing immediately coming to our minds. Honestly, I think this is the first time that we have had nothing to do. On a normal day, we'd be zipping between cars in built up mid day traffic, running from cops after getting busted from an illegal pool session, or gathering at Tony's house, while we all waited for his party to begin.
But today was different somehow. We always had an alternative after surfing. The room stayed silent for a few passing moments, awkwardness filling the air.
Sabree raises her hand sheepishly, and we all turn our attention to her, "Let's go fuck around at the beach and raise some hell for some Vals?"
There was a plan we could all agree with. We all clamor, flooding out the front door, with a final 'see ya Skip' from the six of us.
Sabree's POV
I don't know how long we've been at the beach. I don't even know how long I was with Biniak, but that's just happens when your high; you loose all your inhibitions, priorities, and everything that once worried you disappeared if only for a few hours. That's why I love it; I don't have to worry about anything. Looking back at my life, I think that's the only thing I'll ever thank my dad for. As usual, I have myself poised away from the boys, laughing, and running around, kicking sand at each other, screaming at the Vals that dared take even one step on the beach, it was like they turned into little kids again. My foot pops up, resting itself against the decaying wood rail I lean my back into.
It's at least been a few hours, and for once, Tyler and I are free to rome around with no strict 9:00 curfew Mia and Larry unfairly brand us with. Mia and Larry. I refer to them so formally. The foster homes I've been in over the years were nothing compared to Mia and Larry's home. They've welcomed me with open arms, watched over me, and haven't treated me as some problem child. They see me as an actual teenager, not some kid whose father is screwed up enough to beat her, and buy her pot and alcohol. I feel…at home with them, like I belong there. The whole thought both terrifies and comforts me at the same time.
I'm glad that I'm not binded to a curfew tonight. I would hate to miss this view. A sunset is usually just a sunset to me, but over the cove, in Dogtown, it's so much more. For once, the ghetto of Santa Monica isn't looked down upon as a city of drugs and hood rats. I close my eyes, enjoying the last rays of sun beaming against my face.
The nearly at its end wooden railing shakes behind me under the presence of another's weight. I crack one eye open to find none other than Stacy Peralta standing next to me, squinting slightly as the disappearing rays shine brightly in his eyes.
"Peralta, what brings you here?" I ask in a friendly matter. Really, I'm overjoyed to have Stacy next to me. I have a feeling things are going to get awkward soon; I still haven't reacted to his little present to me before he left the other night. In reality, I haven't processed it myself. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm attracted to Peralta, and Stacy isn't the type of guy to pull a bold stunt like that and not mean it. Maybe it's not so bold; maybe it's not as extravagant as I'm thinking it to be, but to me--it's the greatest thing in the world.
He shrugs, "What, I'm not allowed to make casual conversation with a friend?" he jokes right back, nudging me with his elbow gently.
"Of course not. Because boys are just so icky to me; they have cooties." My voice takes on a child like twist, and I stick my tongue out at Stacy.
"Ouch, that hurts." He feigns a distraught look, covering his heart with his hand. He and I both laugh, and I let a giggle slip. I'm slightly disappointed with it, I only giggle drunk, stoned, both or just plain out of it.
"Don't sweat it, kid, you've got good cooties."
"Kid?" He gapes at me, in total shock. It's all fun and games but if we hadn't been together, I would have taken it seriously. "First I have cooties, and now I'm a kid to you?" he exclaims, moving his arms around my waist. His moves are hesitant, so he must by as weary of this as I am. Not so much as weary, but shocked, this was another daring move on his part. I try to move myself free but he just pulls me closer to him, just close enough to kiss if that's what he's planning. We both laugh again.
"I should get brownie points. I said you have good cooties." I laugh, and bit my lower lip.
He sighs in defeat, "Alright, fine, brownie points because I have "good" cooties." He forms into fingers into quotation marks and I draw away from him. We're both apparent to how this must look to on goers, aka our friends.
I lean into the railing again, raising my fingers to my lips, "Alright, so, spill Peralta. You couldn't have come over here just to be with me."
He shakes his head, "Nah. Well, that's a lie. I did come over here to be with you, but I guess I do have an alterior motive."
"And the truth comes out," I chuckle, bumping into him playfully, "And that motive would be?"
His face gets serious and he stares out into the sunset, "Why didn't you tell us about your dad? That he wanted you to come home. That you are going home with him?"
I knew that was coming, there's no way around it, so I might as well come out and say it. "I don't know…because I didn't want to get too attached. Because I knew if I told you guys, it'd just make it harder to deal with than it is already. And I might not be going home with him. La- Mom and Dad can take him to court, and if we win, I get to stay with them." I explain, but the truth is leering in the air. The side unspoken still lingers in the air, making it quite awkward.
Stacy only nods; I think that's all he can do.
I try to lighten the mood, but, knowing me, I'll end up saying the wrong thing, and make Stacy even more uncomfortable, "Why did you kiss me last night?"
I can feel Stacy tense up, despite the small space between us. He doesn't respond and I know I said the wrong thing, again. I have a horrible habit of doing that.
His teeth collapse over his lower lip, contemplating a few seconds longer, like he's looking for the perfect answer. I'm no longer looking at him, but instead our shadows. His shadow shrugs, and he answers simply, "Because I wanted to."
My face falls at that moment. Why did it? It should have been the right answer, and it was, but why didn't I see it? This should have made me jump out of my skin with joy, the boy I have feelings for has the same feelings for me; this should have been the part where we kiss; the fairy tale ending every girl dreams about. But it wasn't. Guilt wells up inside me. I'm a horrible person. All my thoughts trace back to the night I first began cutting myself, the night of Tony's party. I haven't even told Tony about that night, and he thinks I have. He doesn't know about my self inflicted wounds. I shake my head, fighting back tears, "No. No, you didn't." My voice calls out, softer than usual, with a slight quiver to it. "You didn't want to kiss me." I mutter one last time.
"W-what are you talking about? Of course I wanted to-"
"No! You didn't." I scream in a hoarse voice, "You don't understand, Stace. You didn't wanna kiss me, you didn't want to. You don't want to feel this way about me; you don't want me to feel this way about you."
Stacy's features take on a truly hurt look and he tries to capture my hands in his. He succeeds for a few moments, gently rubbing his thumb against my hand, trying to calm me down. He presses his forehead against mine, "Yes, I do. I want all of that."
I jerk back from him, tears I can no longer restrict drip down my face, "No, you don't. Stacy, you don't get it! I'm a horrible person, I'm broken."
He sighs, trying to get me closer to him. I know he just wants to help, I know he just wants to tell me I'm not any of those things, but he just doesn't understand. Tyler must have seen us, as he comes rushing behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders, "C'mon, Sabree, we gotta get home." He says, before pushing me in the direction of our house.
I think Stacy is the only one capable of making me breakdown so easily. I'm a very emotionally stable person. Mia and Larry had worried glances as Tyler ushers me upstairs, questions of if I was okay rising. Tyler hangs over the railing to inform our parents that I'd be okay, before he comes up again to attend to me.
My eyes burn from the tears, but new tears just add to the pain. He gingerly shuts the door behind him. I don't look at him. He doesn't try to say anything. He doesn't need to. I can tell in the way he carries himself, he knows. About everything. He takes a seat next to me, rubbing my back.
It's been an hour, and my tear flow starts to let up. Tyler paces around my room now, hands behind his back, brows furrowed in deep thoughts. It seems like ages before he speaks.
"Sabree, let me see your arm." I knew it. I knew what was coming. But my best bet right now is to play dumb. . .
"My—My arm?" I stutter, rubbing my upper arm. I've said it a million times, but I knew he knew about my arms. But how did he find out? I've only told Sid. . and Sid's the loyal type. The type that wouldn't tell a secret, even if his life was being threatened.
"Tyler, my arm is fine."
He sends me a bone chilling glare, "Then why won't you let me see it.
Damn. "Why won't you believe me when I say it's fine!?" Just give up Sabree. He knows, you know he knows. My augments are pointless at this time.
"If it is fine, then there shouldn't be a problem with you showing me." The tone of his voice was weak from arguing with me. He grabs my arm gently, forcing up my sleeves, reveling torn up flesh. This isn't how I wanted him to find out. I wanted him to hear it from me. I expect him to yell and scream at me; tell me how stupid I already know I am. Instead, his fingers brush over the ragged cuts.
The both of us sat there in silence, not daring to speak. By this time, my eyes sting like hell from crying so much, and all I really want to do is go to sleep and forget today ever happened. But I know I can't do that. Life's not so easy as just to go to bed and forget about all the bad things that happened in your life, wishing so badly for them to go away. I hear Larry's voice from down stairs, for both me and Ty.