Celadon Bay - Book One

The Durham Effect

"You're such a jerk!" And while the girl's voice is kind of muffled by the waves crashing on the beach behind Martin and I, her anger is palpable.

"Hey! At least I'm being honest with you," Martin says in his own defense, although this isn't worth much, because, of course, the girl is right: Martin is a jerk.

So, this girl whose name I'm never going to remember, also known as Martin's girlfriend-for-almost-a-full-day, slaps him hard. To his credit, Martin takes it like a man, not even flinching. Then he watches her walk away, balled fists swinging at her sides, grazing her wide hips (Martin's only reason for dating this girl). He glances at me and shrugs, his signature devilish grin spreading across his face. Once again, he got things to go his way. Big surprise.

"Seriously, brother? I'm hoping with all my might that one day you change your ways with the girls," I tell him, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. "You're not a bad guy once you get past the whole, 'girls are the enemy' hurdle."

"It had to happen, dude," Martin says. Of course, he is referring to breaking up with Unnamed Girl, and unfazed, starts walking home, as close to the shore as he can get without wetting his shoes. I follow him silently, however, silence is not something Martin appreciates the same way I do. "This is it, Johnny," he says suddenly—his catchphrase whenever a girl pings the right way into his radar. "I probably imagined it," he continues, "but if I didn't, I'm pretty sure I'm about to score with Leslie Durham."

"Sure, you are," I say, not bothering to conceal my sarcasm. Because Leslie Durham is two years older than we are, and is known as the ultimate Tenth Grade Bombshell. Period. She's also known as the ten-out-of-ten CJ High School girl almost every guy would definitely bang. Well, make it nine out of ten, actually. I'm not so into her. But for the average teenage guy, the girl is a freaking dream come true. Martin can believe he is the Casanova kid he thinks he is, but this girl has no reason to date an eighth grader. "She's way out of your league, Martin."

But Martin is on a roll. "I'm ninety percent sure I saw her ogling me in the cafeteria today."

"Not a chance," I say. "I mean, it would be awesome if you dated a girl like her. Maybe that would put an end to your dirty womanizing tendencies, when all that matters to you is how hot the chick is." This is wishful thinking, I know, and I doubt if Martin even heard me, but let me indulge for a moment.

"One can't possibly get any hotter than Leslie Durham, right?" Martin says, a look of concentration on his face.

"Maybe," I say, "but she can date juniors and seniors. Why would she bother with you?"

"Cause I'm hot stuff, bitch!"

"Yeah, right."

He keeps walking without looking at me, his grin firmly in place. Then, out of nowhere, he chucks the metaphorical ball right at me.

"What about you, Johnny?"

"What about me?"

"Are you ever going to date a girl?" He raises his brows, letting me know he's dead serious about this.

"Eh. Not right now," I say, trying my best to sound dismissive. But I should know better than this.

"That Garcia chick from classroom seven is into you."

"What? Who's that?" Sometimes I wonder about myself. Two different questions in quick succession and neither of them are questions I really want to ask. "Why?"

"On the why, I wonder that myself," he says, stuffing his hands in his jean's pockets. "I mean, you're the blonde guy with big, soulful blue eyes, all right? But other than that, you could be a generic print duct-taped to the wall and nobody would be able to spot the difference. No offense."