Aussie girl, Leila, moves to America. Repeating her senior year brings much more drama than she bargained for.
Midway through the first semester, Leila joins the senior class at Westwood High.
Leila: "A fresh start, Dad said. New beginnings, Mum sa...
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She's driving me insane and she's not even in the fucking country! She's absolutely infuriating!... and I can't get enough.
All winter break I've been glued to my phone. More specifically, her social accounts. Road tripping with her friends. Her in a bikini. Her in a bikini cooking on a BBQ on a beach. Her in a bikini with a beer in hand. Because it's fucking summer over there. Drinking, dancing, swimming, laughing. Her. Her. Her.
Those 15 second videos of her and her friends looking fucking gorgeous, chilling on the beach, going to the pub, bush walks to waterfalls... All of them, and I mean all of them, include some tanned, athletic dude or a group of guys.
Does she even know them?
There's this one short clip of her cooking something on a BBQ clearly concentrating on the food even though you can't see her face, one of the girls must be filming her because it's a full head to toe view of the back of her in a red bikini. She has a hand up in the air and moving her ass from side to side in time to the beat of the music but at the last second, she turns her head, peers over her shoulder and grins.
Jesus Christ.
Her hair is a wet mess, her skin has a red tinge to it, probably burnt from too much sun, and sand covers half of her legs. It's fucking dumb how many times I've watched that one clip, probably contributing to half of the 85+k views.
It's seared into my brain now. Pretty sure when I'm 90 years old, I'm still going to remember it.
Fuck.
My sour mood wasn't helped when my parents bailed on me two days before Christmas. Apparently, dad just had to work and naturally mum would never push him to do anything she wanted to do. I guess I should be thankful that I received a phone call that morning. In all honestly, I could have done without it.
Sitting on my bed, I rested my elbows on my knees and answered their call. Forehead resting in my hand dad all but mumbled out a 'Merry Christmas' before jumping down my throat about how Football isn't a legitimate career path and lectured me about my half yearly grades. I'm surprised I didn't crush my phone.
Mum at least sounded like she wanted to talk to me, commending me on the comments I received from my teachers, in particular Coach Hale and Miss Jenkins, my English teacher. Mum's perpetually sweet but she always sounds somewhat guilty whenever we speak.
I guess I'd feel guilty too if I fucked off and left my only child in another state with another family.
Afterwards, all I wanted to do was talk to Leila, just like I did that night I got wasted and spilled everything to her in the back of Mica's car. That night she listened, held and comforted me.
My thumb hovered over the call button for a lot longer than I'd like to admit. If Mica hadn't walked into my room I don't know how long it would have taken me to build up the courage to call her. Maybe I would have given up on my own. Who knows.
