Aggro - CoraLee June

Breeze

I loved how unforgiving the ocean was. She demanded respect and drew people to her dark depths with beauty. She was terrifying and exhilarating, yet gentle when she wanted to be. My mother used to tell me that the ocean was a woman, and living on the island taught me she was right. Who else could hold life in its murky depths while being a temperamental bitch?

Tonight, instead of an ocean, I felt more like a muddy puddle. Bland, inconvenient, and something people avoided. I never fit in at these parties, nor was I ever popular or memorable enough to be on the invite list. I wasn’t like my best friend, Violet, who was always the vibrant life of the party. And tonight, her house was filled to the brim with people and alcohol. I wanted to spend my night watching surf clips on YouTube, but it was Violet’s eighteenth birthday, and she had begged me to come. Not that she necessarily had to, I wasn’t going to miss her birthday party. I just liked to make her work for it.

Practically everyone on the island was here to drink cheap beer and make poor decisions. Love—or better yet—lust was in the air. February was perfect for finding someone to fuck. The music was thumping, and someone opened all the windows, letting the salty, humid air coat our sweaty skin. There was a smoky haze surrounding me, and I breathed in the skunky smell of pot. A guy with red eyes kept blowing smoke in my direction, laughing at whatever his buddies were saying. People crowded the chairs and couches. Coolers packed with beer lined the walls, and the floors were sticky. A girl wearing tall wedges that made her feet wobbly slumped past me, laughing as trash can punch splashed over the rim of her red cup. Some of it landed on my feet, and I was glad I decided not to dress up.

Back home, hanging in my closet was a sleek, black dress that was gorgeous and revealing. It clung to my slender body, creating the illusion of curves. When I tried it on, it didn’t feel like me. Violet had brought it over earlier, insisting that I wear it. Part of me wanted to, but I changed my mind last minute. When push came to shove, I always preferred comfort over glam—always preferred hiding in the shadows to standing out.

I wore an oversized teal T-shirt and cutoff shorts that showed off my long, tanned legs. My blond, sun-kissed hair fell in natural waves down my back, and I barely brushed on some mascara to frame my deep blue eyes.

Minimal. Effort.

Violet was off somewhere doing a keg stand or making out with her boyfriend. We were complete opposites, and many people didn’t understand our unique friendship, not that we ever cared. She was there for me when my dog, Sally, died. She was there when I got my period in Mrs. Huckey’s geometry class. She helped me study for English and would read books out loud to me when my dyslexia made it difficult to comprehend the jumble of words. And when my dad bought the surf shop on the beach, she made flyers and handed them out to all the hot surfers I was too scared to talk to.

Violet Jones was my best friend and the only reason I begrudgingly attended this party. It wasn’t so bad. I just leaned against the wall, people watching and counting the seconds until I could go home.

“Surprised to see you here, Breeze,” a voice with a low timbre said beside me. I bristled at the tone and turned to look at the handsome face invading my bubble of anonymity. Chase Jones, Violet’s twin brother, was looking me up and down, a smile on his thick lips. Like his sister, Chase was well-known at school. He had the face and body you couldn’t help but worship and stare at. With brown hair that was naturally lightened by the sun and a perfectly symmetrical face, he had his fair share of attention.

I’d had a crush on him since I realized I might like boy cooties. Chase and I were inseparable as children, but as we grew older, we grew apart. Violet became my other half, and he became a boy I was desperately infatuated with. “You know how convincing and relentless Violet can be,” I joked, trying not to let my voice shake. You’d think after fifteen years of sleepovers and friendship, I wouldn’t