Bitter Sunshine

Sweetheart

Hudson's POV

I used to give these things the benefit of the doubt.

"Of course," I'd say, "every town is different."

"Every school is different."

"Every kid is different."

Bullshit. South Bay High is my tenth high school, and just looking at the entrance I'm unimpressed. The same faces I've seen from Texas to Iowa flood in and out of the large black doors.

"Every kid is different." That's the one I held on to the longest.

It's a somewhat beautiful ideology; no matter what, you'll never see the same thing twice. Not everyone is an asshole, not everyone is a deadbeat, etc. But seeing so many things twice in such little time shatters that hope. Everyone is the same, including me.

We're all shitty.

Enough of my depressing rant. I have to go out and face my fresh set of classmates for the next- three? four?- months.

I flip my hood up, head down, hands in pockets. If I weren't so tall, I'd crawl inside my hoodie. I prefer attention when purely necessary. Hopefully, people would get the memo and f**k off. I feel like headphones in is the universal code for "recluse."

I guess I'm wrong.

A hand slapping my shoulder makes me fight the urge to punch the culprit. Whoever did it is lucky, my reflexes are hard to control.

A boy, blond and tan, appears to my right, a Brady Bunch smile plastered across his features. Judging by the jersey, he was a football player. I'll pass.

"Hey, you're new!" he begins. Rolling my eyes, I rip away from his grip.

"No s**t Sherlock."

I expect him to get a hint- perhaps understand what I freak I and run away. But this kid was damn persistent. He merely laughs off my response, keeping up with my pace.

"Funny. I hate to be a bother on your first day, but it's my job to recruit new players for the team. You play football?"

I scoff.

"No." He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "And I don't intend to either."

Preppy doesn't even falter; that stupid toothy smile is practically glued or something. Maybe I was losing my touch. I've had several schools to perfect my loser persona, designed to ward off meatheads and bitches.

"Callum," he continues.

"What?"

"That's my name. Hence, this is an introduction. So now you say your name to complete this transaction." The smile shifts into an amused smirk.

"I'd rather not. Stranger danger," I state flatly. I quicken my pace in a final attempt to lose this kid. Sadly, Callum refuses to take a f*****g hint. Like a lost puppy, he follows as I push through the crowded halls.

"That's a shame. First you reject my offer, then you deny me your name after I so graciously offer mine?" He feigns a hurt expression by clutching his heart. "I'm beginning to think you don't like me sweetheart!"

I gruffly turn towards him. "Don't f*****g call me sweetheart."

"You should probably tell me your name then."

I roll my eyes and run my hands through my hair. I have to admit, this conversation was much more interesting than I expected. But that doesn't mean it wasn't pissing me off. No, it was doing that with flying colors.

Room 221 appears as I round the corner. My first stop in Hell.

Callum seems to take notice (go figure) and begins to walk off, but I call after him.

"Hudson."

He spins around so fast it was as if he was expecting this. From the guy I've come to known in the last five minutes, it wouldn't surprise me.

He smiles. "Sweetheart suits you better."

With that, Callum disappears into the sea of people. I guess he had a backbone, that was fine at least. I have no intention of befriending him- he's way too charismatic- but having a source in this school isn't the worst possibility.

No matter how much I wish I could, I can't be completely alone.

The classroom was basically full by the time I actually made it in. Thankfully, the teacher wasn't there yet. I'd rather avoid a lecture before I can even get food in my stomach. It would've been Callum's fault, anyways.

I scan the room for an extra seat. Everyone is fixated on each other, huddled in their own worlds. Except for her.

My eyes meet the gaze of a girl seated in the middle of the classroom. Her look is curious, intrigued. There was no judgement. It was purely innocent.

She was cute, I guess. Big bright green eyes, dirty blond hair, a slight sheen of freckles across her nose. A tiny scar adorned her cheek right below her eye.

Curious.

Eventually, we both break the gaze. I decide just to take the seat in front of her, figuring a seat in front wouldn't be too bad. Personally, I prefer the back to just sink in. Dressing almost emo has its perks; you blend in. That's my thing: Blending in. I'd like to say I'm the epitome of a wallflower.

Except my version of a wallflower does not include Percy Jackson or Hermione Granger.

The teacher makes his grand entrance, a smug smile painted on. Either this man had his large dosage of coffee this morning, or he was living to make this experience Hell. My money's on option numero dos.

He begins his opening monologue of bullshit that any teacher with a five o'clock shadow just has to give. I swear, it's encoded in their DNA or something.

Whatever happened to the "good old days" where a teacher didn't even say anything? It was a pure work relationship. That's my kinda teacher. I don't need this syllabus crap- it's a pointless outline that this guy won't follow.

Sorry, I hate time wasting. I could be working right now instead of going through the year's plans.

My focus snaps back when the class starts to laugh around me. I look up to see everyone's attention on the mystery girl before. Her skin was flushed as Mr. Brooks smirks at her cowering form.

Prick.

This guy talks about "disrespect" and "effort" or whatever when he pulls that stunt. Already, this school was proving to be on the bottom of my list.

"Anyways, I like to have my new students introduce themselves. So, Mr. Powell, please come to the front."

His voice takes a minute to sink in. f**k no, I hate introductions. It's the same in every damn school- no not just school, classroom.

"Hi, my name's Hudson Powell. I moved here from California-"

"-New Jersey."

"-Iowa."

"-Texas."

I snap my eyes to Mr. Brooks, willing my ice-cold stare will give him the hint that I'm not interested in such an activity. Of course, because humanity is the absolute worst, he doesn't take it.

Bitterly, I get up from my desk. Making my way to the front, my comfort levels drop. Tons of eyes bore into me. Like they're waiting.

For what?

I clear my throat and switch my nerves with my anger. It's easier that way; better be the scary one than to be scared, right? Makes plenty of sense to me.

"I'm Hudson. I moved here from like ten other states. And I f*****g hate introductions. Was that introduction to your satisfaction, sir? Might I add I put in maximum effort," I smirk.

Even if it may not be possible, Mr. Brooks' face was redder than a stop sign. That color suits him. As I thought, I got sent to the office by the living tomato. Whatever. However, I didn't leave without getting the last word. Oh no, that would be merciful.

"You're lucky I'll tolerate your disrespect, Mr. Brooks!"

Some days I even shock myself with how clever I can be. It's like this superpower locked within me, only accessible during the perfect situations. If it were a girl or my dad I was talking to, that circumstance would go completely different.

The door slams shut, in turn releasing me to the empty hallway. The kids previously crowding it are replaced by rows of blue lockers. You can tell how old this place really is by the blood stains and scratches on each door.

Typical, but expected.

I have no idea where the hell the office is, so I guess blindly wandering this place is my best option. Fine by me. Anything sounds more enjoyable than a lecture.

I did not find the office.

Whoops.

However, I had no trouble getting to the cafeteria. Funny how that works.

I quickly find an empty table, pizza slice in hand. This s**t looks like it'll give me cancer, but I'll take my chances. A boy's got to eat.

Of course, no one sits next to the new loner.

"He looks like a freak."

"Heard he punched Mr. Brooks today."

"Bet you he's secretly hot underneath that hood."

"What?" I bite out at the hand on my shoulder.

Callum makes his way next to me, hands up in mock surrender. A part of me- the part that fights my choice to stay hidden- is glad that his eyes hold amusement instead of disgust.

"Chill, man. I was just checking on my new best friend."

I roll my eyes. "Since when was this discussed?"

He shrugged.

"Since now."

I don't want a new best friend. I'll stick with my diseased pizza.

"I could be a murderer for all you know," I grumble. Callum merely smirks.

"Are you?" he asks.

"No."

"Perfect!" He clasps his hands together, replacing the smirk with a real smile. How a hormonal, high school adolescent manages to smile as much as him is beyond me. "Anyways sweetheart, I came here to graciously offer a spot with me and my crew. You know, so you don't have to sit alone with that crap."

Callum points to the food on my plate.

"I'm not some charity case," I snap.

"Never said you were."

I'm going to hurt someone if this boy doesn't shut his trap.

He finally realizes what my silence means: Not today. There was no convincing he could do to make me get out of this seat before the bell rang. While standing, he sighs, tugging at his blond hair.

"Fine. Stay here in your new kid pity party. But tomorrow-" Callum narrows his eyes "-you are sitting with me. End of discussion. Have fun with your pizza, sweetheart."

"Still not my name!" I call back.

He turns around, once again smiling. "You should've told me your real one before it stuck then." And with that, my pest returns into reality. His reality being an onslaught of jocks waiting for him like dogs.

That reality does not include a weird kid from no where. So why does he persist on making this "work?"

It won't.

My appetite has vanished. Great.

Then I feel a gaze.

No, gaze is too casual. Dozens of kids have given me glances, looking over the new addition. This was a stare- something analyzing in a way. I look up and meet the bright eyes of the girl from before. Her eyes are squinted, partly covered by a few loose strands of hair.

We meet stares.

But just like before, it's gone in an instant.

Her cheeks flush; she whips around to her friends, avoiding my still penetrating gaze. I take my turn in studying her.

She hunches over, shoulders set back casually. Everything about her screamed innocent.

It was kind of cute.

A figure approaches mystery girl and I already hate him. He has one of those faces that make me want to punch him. Just the way he stood makes him seem like a cocky-ass bastard. It also seems she's not too keen on this dude as well.

Her casual positions tenses at the sight of him.

Although I'd love to watch this s**t show, a thought hits me.

Why am I here?

I get up, toss my food in the nearest garbage bin, and leave.

I leave the cafeteria.

I leave the building.

I leave the parking lot.

It's me, my 1979 Ford Fairmont, and this sleepy town. I ride along the beach, taking in the scenery South Bay had to offer. In all honesty, it wasn't half bad. It was right on the coast and constantly smelled of sea salt.

I've never really been a "beachy" person.

I once lived in North Carolina- right on the edge. My house was hanging on its last thread there. It leaned dangerously over the water, like a collapsing pile of bricks. The wind was a b***h and constantly shook us around.

One day, when Dave was out god knows where, it just gave out. I was in my bedroom doing my homework when the walls started shaking violently. It didn't surprise me, but it did take me off guard.

At the time, I figured getting downstairs was my best option. Now I know I probably should've just jumped out my window. It's not like my window was very high up. But of course, I ran downstairs, and was right on the "x" once the floor collapsed on itself.

With me underneath the rubble.

Because life is out to get me- that son of a b***h- I was stuck there for hours. I had full control of my arms, which had pushed off the planks covering my face, but my legs were stuck underneath my dresser. The dresser that was previously in my bedroom.

Dave came home drunk off his ass. It took him 30 minutes to understand what was happening. Long story short, I broke my leg, bruised my rib cage, twisted my ankle, and had a major concussion.

All the while I had the salty taste of the ocean in my mouth, mixing with the blood I coughed up. We moved to Iowa after that and left behind the ruins of our shack.

But I kept the memories in my back pocket.

That was my last memory of any type of beach. From Iowa came Texas. From Texas came California. From California came here.

South Bay, Maine.

Honestly, the lack of beach visits was completely my own doing. We lived in an apartment in Shasta. I actually loved Shasta.

I made actual friends- my closest one being Drake. He had a beach house in Humboldt and invited me with the rest of our group. I had no problem sitting it out. That quickly changed, however, when we moved in the middle of their trip.

I didn't have to text Drake; he'd know where I went once he returned.

So, beaches and I don't have a great history.

But driving here, no sound daring to break my comfy silence, I stare out my window and actually admire what I see.

This beach wasn't the beach back in Currituck.