Breathless - Chapter 1 to 23

Chapter 1

Only three more hours until my curfew. Three long hours of biting my tongue and pretending I wanted to be on the boat when, real y, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

Marty Sherwood, my horrible mistake of a date, ran his hands along the edge of my swimsuit, pul ing me from my thoughts and making my body grow rigid. Before he could shove his fingers underneath the elastic, I quickly crossed my legs.

He laughed, resting his hand on my thigh. “God, Edith, when I asked you out I had no idea you emo-types were so uptight.” His lingering touch, along with the smel of his breath—a combination of beer and cigarettes—fil ed my stomach with something sour.

I shrank back against the side of the speedboat and brushed away the dark hair that the wind was whipping across my eyes. “I’m not uptight,” I yel ed over the roar of the motor. “I’m cold.” But that was a lie. The truth was, the only thing keeping me from diving off the boat was the growing distance between me and the shore.

He shrugged. “Sure. I stil think you’d have more fun if you’d drink a beer.”

Actually, I’d have more fun letting a dentist pull out all my teeth. Only two hours and fifty-two minutes to go . . .

Russel Talbert twisted in the captain’s seat to look back at me. “I’ve got some weed if that’s more your thing.”

Huh. High school quarterback and a pothead? Shocker.

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around the plain black Speedo clinging to my body, desperately wishing I hadn’t abandoned my jeans in Marty’s trunk.

Marty dropped his hand from my leg and huffed. “I can tel you’re going to be a lot of fun.”

“Wel , if she doesn’t want to smoke, I do.” Gabriel e glared at me from behind sunglasses the same bubblegum pink color as her swimsuit.

I marveled at the fact I’d managed to end up on a boat with the kind of girl who color-coordinated her sunglasses to her outfit.

“Where’s your hitter, Russel ?” Gabriel e asked.

“Atta girl!” Russel took his hand off the wheel to swat at her butt. “In the bag with the beer. Inside the side pocket.”

Gabriel e raised her pointed nose in the air and trotted past me. She was the captain of our school’s equestrian team and played the part wel . I wondered if the bouncing walk was something she picked up after riding al those horses. But—if the rumors of her reputation were true—horses weren’t the only things she rode regularly. She grabbed a red duffel bag off a bench and rummaged through it. “Here it is!” she said, pul ing out a smal wooden box and a plastic bag of weed. She stood and tucked her streaming blond hair behind her ears. “Who wants to pack?”

“Give it here.” Marty reached his hand out.

Gabriel e smirked at me as she handed him the box. “Maybe we can find you a box of razor blades if that’s more your thing?”

Right. Because I wear black I’m automatically a cutter. I sucked in a gulp of salty air and held it until my boiling anger reduced to a simmer.

When I felt I could safely answer her without saying something that would get me in trouble, I stil had to force the words through clenched teeth. “I’m fine, thanks.” But, truthful y, if she had a box of razor blades, I wouldn’t turn them down. I could tape them to my swimsuit and maybe then Marty would stop trying to feel me up.

Gabriel e shrugged. “Whatever.” She turned to Russel . “We’re far enough from the shore, and I don’t see the Coast Guard. I think it’s safe to light up.”

Russel nodded and eased the boat to a halt, then kil ed the engine. He left his seat behind the wheel and crossed the boat, kicking several beer cans out of his way before sitting beside Gabriel e.

I pretended to study the distant shore of Florida’s Destin Beach, where we’d come from, as Marty ground the metal pipe against the weed in his palm. I pul ed my legs up onto the narrow plastic bench and hugged my knees against my chest. If only Sir could see me now. My stepdad would total y have a heart attack, but it would serve him right.

Before the move to Eglin Air Force Base, Sir had made it clear that when we arrived, I was to do things differently than I had at the last base. I wasn’t to stay in my room scribbling emo poetry in my notebooks.