Devil's Beach

Devil's Beach

Chapter 1: Cassidy Ruston

It was hot out. Too hot. The sticky kind of hot where you could feel the wetness in the air from the nearby ocean, and the tiny droplets stuck to your skin, leaving a trail of sweat trickling down your back.

The midday sun shone high over the identical stucco ranchers, baking the road paint so that it faded into the light gray asphalt, and sending mirages onto the desolate road in front of me.

A tear slipped down my cheek as I stared in defeat at what was to be my new neighborhood. The houses were spread far apart—I could only see four or five, and they were small. We seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, not near any urban cities, and certainly not on a bright sandy beach as I’d imagined from the town‘s name--Devil‘s Beach. Our new house, a crackling stucco rancher with what looked like maybe half of a second floor, backed up to a densely overgrown forest, green with wet moss and crawling vines snaking up the trees, threatening to take over.

Behind me, I could hear my mom and Peter unloading the car.

“Cassidy,” my mom grunted. “Come help!”

I ignored her, my back still turned to the car, staring blankly down the street. I didn’t have the heart to move.

“Cassidy!”

I whipped around and glared at my mom as she dropped yet another duffel bag by my feet, pulling her short, curly blonde hair back into a ponytail.

“I’ll get it!” came a shrill voice from the other side of the car as Justin, my new eleven-year-old stepbrother, a short little boy with spiky brown hair in desperate need of a haircut, ran excitedly around to the trunk. He bent over to pick up the heavy bag and stumbled backwards, knocking into me. I turned away as Danielle and Billy, two more younger step-siblings, came to help.

I sniffed as I watched them drag our belongings across the sandy gravel and up the driveway. “Welcome to hell,” I muttered to myself, my lower lip trembling again. It was a running joke between my mom and myself the past few weeks, but now that we were actually here, it was a different story—it wasn't so funny anymore. If anything was hell, Devil’s Beach was the closest I’d ever been. And I’d only been here a total of ten minutes.

“So you must be Cassidy, another fine Ruston woman,” I heard a lower voice say, and I broke from my daze as Peter and my mom took a break from unloading. Of course I was Cassidy. I didn't have any siblings, so, yes, I was the only other new addition to the house.

Peter smiled and wiped his dark hair from his forehead. “Peter Hewitt,” he introduced himself formally. My mom nudged me, giving me a look, and tongue-tied, I held out my hand.

Peter, on the other hand, shrugged. With an even wider grin, said, “Aw, what the hell. You're family now,” and enveloped me into a suffocating bear hug. Caught completely off guard, I gasped for breath and then cautiously hugged the wiry man back. I was expecting the mean fairytale stepfather, the one who would make me do chores and keep me from going to the ball. But really, Peter was just a skinny guy with a constant smile on his face. As I peeked around to my mom and gave her a secretive thumbs-up, she suddenly looked happier than she had in a long time, her wide forehead creasing into such a large smile that I'd never seen before. Maybe it was worth it.

After lugging some of my bags up the long driveway, my temporary contentment ended when I took a look around the first floor of the house. It was furnished nicely, if not a bit eccentrically, with wood floors and tables and paisley patterned upholstery. But the house wasn't terribly large, and with only four rooms on the first floor including my parents' bedroom, I didn't know how our large family would be able to fit.

My worries were deepened when I dragged my bags upstairs to the kids' floor.  Three rooms were on my right, a bathroom at the end of the hall, and the left side of the hall consisted of a wooden railing which looked into the family room and dining room. The first room I came to had a kid-sized bunk bed and a small cot, with toys and books and clothing strewn across the floor and beds. It had to be the room that Billy, Justin, and Danielle shared. Three kids in one room? There had to be sanitation rules against that. The last room down the hall had a sign taped to the door that read “Carson's room. Knock first. And that means you, Justin!” The paper was faded and ripped and looked like it had been made years ago. Still, I didn't dare open the door. Carson was my new older stepbrother that I had only heard about from my mother. She'd said he seemed charming, polite, and easygoing. So that meant he was probably loud, obnoxious, and uptight. No use getting in his way on my first day.

I dropped my bags by what was presumably my room in the middle, saving it for last, and ventured over to the bathroom. One sink, a small bathtub shower, four toothbrushes. The toilet was seat left open, towels were hanging on the rack, on the shower door, on pegs, balled up in the tub... I stared back at my gaunt reflection in the mirror in dismay. My straight red hair looked even floppier and limper than usual, if that was possible.

Sighing, I trudged back to my room. Life here was already so different than our apartment in Los Angeles. At least there was breathing room there.

I opened my door and dragged my bags in. The room wasn't terrible—at least I had enough space. There was a quilt of all shades of blue on the twin-sized bed in the corner, and an old wooden desk and chair was next to the closet. Above the desk hung a plain mirror, four small paintings of lighthouses, and a needlepoint scenery of a rocky beach, which I guessed was the infamous Devil's Beach that I hadn't even seen yet. The room was plain, but that's how I liked it. A few boxes had already been sitting by the door, which my mom had driven up last weekend. Already tired, I sat down on the floor and began the long process of unpacking.

The first box held a bunch of winter sweaters and socks which I pushed to the closet. I wouldn't need them for another few months. The second held piles of old memorabilia, mainly photos, ranging from vintage to recent. Flipping through a few on the top, I glanced with annoyance at a picture of my mother and my birth father on the beach in Los Angeles. He was thin and freckly, just like me. But besides that, we bore no resemblance. It was hard to imagine him as real—I never knew him and he made no effort to know me. At one point, my mom suggested I think about meeting him. But he never wanted to be a part of my life, so why should I be a part of his? I tossed the photo back into the box and pushed it into the hallway. They were mostly my mom's, anyway.

As I returned to my room, I heard the patter of light footsteps and turned around as Danielle, my new eight-year-old stepsister poked her head in.

“Cassi-dy!” she sang, her chin-length brown hair flopping behind her as she ran over to my bed. The little ball of energy began jumping up and down on my neatly made quilt.

“Danielle!” I exclaimed. “Don't--” I started, but she interrupted me.

“Daddy said that once my big sister came, she would paint my nails!”

“Um...” I stuttered. I really wasn't in the mood; all I wanted to do was unpack and go to sleep. “Now?”

“I dunno,” she sang, still bouncing.

I whipped my head around as Justin skidded to a stop outside my door. “Bill-y!” he yelled in his shrill little-boy voice. “Give it back!”

“Not until you give back my doggy!” Billy, at six years old, didn't seem like he could take Justin. But remarkably, the six-year-old was able to successfully pry his stuffed animal from Justin's arm. He stood for a minute, smoothing down his bowl cut, only to have it recaptured seconds later.

The screams continued, and my head began pounding with annoyance. It had been a long day. We had left Los Angeles around ten o'clock, which had meant waking up at seven, before we had dragged everything into the car. Then the was the long car ride, and more dragging of stuff. “Guys, stop!” I yelled from where I was watching inside of my room. The two of them froze, their eyes wide. “Go... play outside or something.” I turned around to Danielle. “You too.” I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from full-out yelling. The three kids stood frozen outside my door for a moment, so I walked them to the stairs. “Come on, let's go,” I said a bit harsher than I'd meant. But they didn't notice.

As I turned around, I almost got run over again, this time by a tall teenage boy who looked somewhat around my age. It had to be Carson, my other new stepbrother. He ran his hand through his short hair, spiked in the front, the same medium-brown as his other two siblings.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly, hiking up the backpack that was slung over one shoulder.

I moved to the right to give him room to pass, just as he moved to his left, which left for a rather awkward situation as the dance repeated in the other direction.

“Carson,” he said shortly, holding out a hand as he introduced himself.

“Cassidy.” Well, there was the handshake I had been waiting for.

“Welcome to the Hewitt house,” he said with an eye-roll. “It's a riot here. Well, I gotta go...” he trailed off, bounding down the stairs without a look back.

Ruston-Hewitt house, I corrected in my mind. Even though there were only two of us Rustons, we were just as much a part of this family as any of the Hewitts, and I wasn't about to let them take over.

Trudging back to my room, I dug further into the second box, past the photos and to some old school memorabilia of mine. Old reports. A third place track and field award. Freshman and sophomore yearbooks. Flipping through, I glanced at all the sickly sweet notes, which I now knew to be fake.

My mom had made the announcement a week before school ended—she'd be marrying her long-time boyfriend, Peter Hewitt, whom I had only heard about from her glowing recounts after a date. I didn't know much about him, just that he lived in some remote beach town an hour north and owned the town's only hardware store, Devil's Beach Hardware. That meant I would have to move, too, which I had at first been distressed about. But when I saw how even the thought of Peter lit up my mom's eyes, I gave in. She was, after all, the ultimate mom: laid back yet organized, not too intrusive, and always there to talk to. She was more like a friend than a mom. And I'd move for a friend that close.

So I planned it all out. After a routine movie and dinner outing on the last day of school with a bunch of my friends and my four-month boyfriend, Alex, I made the announcement that I was moving to Devil's Beach, a few hours away from Los Angeles. Let's just say my friends weren't really... interested in staying in touch. They threw me a small going-away get together, but then after that, I was on my own. I'd barely heard from any of them in the past week or two, least of all Alex.

Just then, there was a knock on my door as my mom poked her head in. “Can I come in?” she asked quietly. I nodded.

My mom walked over to my bed, smoothed out the quilt, and sat down. “Nice, isn't it?” she mused. I nodded again, biting my lip. I didn't want to be here. Not at all. What I'd give to be back in Los Angeles with my friends and boyfriend. Well, ex-friends. And ex-boyfriend. “Have you seen Carson?” she asked suddenly.

“Yeah, I ran into him.” Literally. “He was leaving. I dunno.” I sighed. I wasn't really in the mood to have a chat with my mom about how perfect this house and family and town were, because I simply just couldn't agree less. I turned back to unpacking. I didn't mind the company, but I didn't want to talk.

“Cassidy,” my mom tried again. “Are you okay? Have you tried to talk to Alex?”

Yeah that's right, Alex dumped me later that night once we were alone. Guess he didn't like me as much as I'd thought. I found that I wasn't too upset about it, though, I was more upset at myself for thinking he actually liked me. I was done now. Sworn off boys for a little while. They played too many games.

“Nope,” I said shortly.

“You know,” my mom started, curling her feet under her. “When I would date in high school, I always found that it was best to—”

“MOM!” I yelled. “Stop! I can deal with it!” I gnashed my teeth together. “I can deal with everything, okay? I just need some quiet in this house!”

My mom sighed, a worried look on her furrowed brow. She got up and stopped by the doorway, turning around. “Why don't you take a nap or something, okay? I'll call you when dinner's ready.”

I nodded, and despite how angry I was, put down the piles I had been sorting, kicked off my socks, and jumped into my new bed. I didn't realize how tired I was until that moment, as I floated in subconsciousness, somewhere between sandy beaches and overgrown forests as I drifted off to sleep.

“Cassidy!”

“Mmmmm!” I moaned. “I'm sleeping!”

“Cassidy, dinner,” my mom said quietly, her head poking through the doorway. “You feel better?”

I shrugged. My headache was gone, but that didn't mean much. “I guess.”

“Come on,” my mom motioned, barely able to hide a smile. “Peter made it a celebration.”

And a celebration it was. A vase of flowers sat in the middle of the table, and Peter had apparently cooked the entire meal himself from scratch, which was apparently a big deal.

“Da-ad!” Billy yelled. “I want my spaghetti!”

“It's coming!” Peter yelled back from the kitchen. Pots and pangs clanked and it sounded like he was having a little difficulty.

“Shhh...” my mom hushed as she pushed in Billy's chair and made her way around to the other head of the table. “No need to yell, he's just in there.” But apparently there was a need to yell, because that's all the kids were doing.

I sat down on my mom's left, with Carson on my other side, who was grumpily eying the spot my mom was sitting in. Tough luck. There were two parents in this family now, and he would have to get used to us being here.

As the six of us sat at the table waiting for Peter, I began to feel increasingly awkward. “Did you shower, Carson?” My mom asked, noticing his wet hair. He nodded. My face burned in embarrassment for the two of them. What an awkward question. It still felt weird; the Hewitts still felt like mere acquaintances. It was strange to suddenly be on such personal levels with an entire new family after just having met them hours ago.

Finally, Peter brought in spaghetti and garlic bread—the classic messy meal.

“Yay!” Billy exclaimed, and began stuffing his mouth.

“Hey Billy,” Justin said, smirking. “I bet I can finish my plate faster than you!”

“Uh uh!” They stared at each other for a moment and then each began shoveling forkfuls of spaghetti in and around their mouths, smearing sauce everywhere.

“Peter!” my mom gasped.

“Aw, come on Lyn, let them—” but he stopped as he saw the expression on my mom's face. “Right. Boys,” he said sternly, which for him, didn't even seem stern, with the way his eyes still seemed to smile. “Boys, cut it out.”

“Dad!” Justin whined.

“Kids, we have company,” Peter said, smiling up at Lyn.

“They're not company!” Danielle said defiantly, crossing her arms.

“Danielle, watch it,” Peter said, shaking his fork at her.

Breaking myself away from the “fun,” I finally took a bite of spaghetti and nearly choked. How could you possibly ruin pasta? But this tasted absolutely terrible. The noodles hadn't been cooked long enough and the sauce tasted like raw tomatoes. I glanced over at my mom, who raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Hey Carson,” Peter said a few moments later. “It was really nice of you to help with the unloading earlier.”

“Dad, I told you,” Carson said, his mouth full of pasta. I cringed, not wanting to see the entire contents of his mouth. “I was at the beach.”

“Yeah, like you are every day. You couldn't spare just one to greet your new family?”

“Oh, come on,” he said, blatantly ignoring the fact that we were sitting right there. “I've got the rest of my life to live with them.”

Well, thanks. Way to make us feel welcome in your home.

My cheeks burned. Suddenly, the phone rang. “I'll get it!” My mom jumped up, probably just to end the current conversation.

“Ruston-Hewitt house!” she sang into the receiver, obviously relishing the sound of the combined names. Carson, next to me, choked on his pasta. Truthfully, it sent a shiver down my spine, too. It was official. I'd moved out of LA, to Devil's Beach, and I had five new family members.

That night, after an intense argument about who would do the dishes (which was decided on Billy and Justin, as punishment for their behavior before dinner) I was only too happy to go hole myself up in my room and do some more wallowing. I wasn't even in the mood to unpack; I just kind of sat in my bed, trying to make peace with my surroundings.

The next morning, I was woken up around 8:00 to a bang on the wall.

“Billy, stop!” came Justin's voice faintly through the wall.

“I can't help it!” he moaned.

Still groggy with sleep, I tried to hide my head under my pillow and savor the last few minutes of rest I could get. However, less than a minute later, I heard the patter of feet as my door creaked open and Danielle stuck her head in.

“Cassidy?” she asked tenatively.

“Go away,” I groaned. “I'm sleeping.”

But unfortunately, I was awake now. Grumbling, I decided to make the best of it and take a shower to wake myself up. Grabbing a towel and a pair of shorts, I stumbled over to the bathroom in a daze.

I had to run the shower for a good five minutes before the water turned even relatively warm. While I was waiting, I sat on the closed toilet, an old '60s style with a cushy blue seat, reading the labels to the various bottles of shampoo and soap lining the shower. Either my hair was going to smell like bubblegum or “Downpour Rain,” whatever manly scent that was supposed to smell like. I decided to use Carson's, because at least I knew I would get somewhat clean—who knew what was living in Billy and Justin's hair.

No sooner had I stripped naked than came a bang on the door.

“Uh... I'm in here!” I yelled over the shower, panicking. I grabbed my towel and covered my body, just in case.

“Cassidy?” a low voice grumbled. It was Carson.

“I'm taking a shower!”

“Well, hurry up!” he snapped. “The rest of us need some water, too!”

Flustered, I took a record-breaking shower and was dried and dressed within a few minutes. I bolted out of the bathroom so Carson could use it in peace and refrain from bothering me. Downstairs, I heard the sounds of silverware clinking, and peering over the railing, I saw that the table hadn't been set yet, so I laid on my bed for a few minutes while breakfast was being made.

At breakfast, Peter brought in a platter of steaming hot pancakes as we all sat down in the same seats as the night before. As he placed the pancakes down, the kids raced to be the first to get a one.

“I want some!” Billy exclaimed, reaching over Danielle to stab a stack with his fork.

“No!” she whined. “Billy, move!” Danielle pushed Billy's arm out of the way just as my mom intervened.

Next to me, Carson sniffed. “Cassidy, you smell like...me. Did you use my shampoo?”

I nodded, avoiding his gaze. Well, this was awkward.

“Yeah, you smell like guy,” he commented, wrinkling his nose. “Have fun attracting the boys smelling like that!”

I rolled my eyes. “Please, because that's exactly what I'm worried about right now.” Carson shrugged and continued shoveling the pancakes in his mouth at record speed. “And,” I continued with a sly grin. “If it's that bad, it's what you smell like anyway!”

“Yeah, ok,” Carson scoffed. “But girls like it. Trust me.”

I looked around the table, but everyone else was having their own conversations. “And you would know because you're suuuuch a girl magnet,” I drawled.

“Hey!” Carson exclaimed, mildly offended. “You don't even know. You don't even know anything!”

“You know what? Shut up!” I said, stabbing my pancake a little too fiercely.

“In a hurry, Carson?” Peter asked as Carson got up to clear his plate before the rest of us had barely even touched ours.

“Yeah, we're going to Sarai's and then we'll be at the beach all day.”

“Well that's new,” Justin said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up,” Carson muttered.

My mom glanced at Peter, who cleared his throat. “Hey Carson,” he started. “Why don't you take Cassidy with you? Introduce her to some of your friends?”

I had shoved a bite of semi-cardboard-tasting pancake into my mouth, but choked a second afterward.

“Um--” we both said simultaneously, but that took me aback. Was he making an excuse not to take me, too? I didn't want to go because of the thought of how awkward it would be, after this morning and yesterday, and I didn't want him to feel like he had to bring me everywhere. He, on the other hand, apparently just didn't want to bring me along. Well, if he didn't want me there, I sure as hell didn't want to be there.

“No, I'd really rather not,” I said with my mouth full. “But thanks.”

“Cassidy,” my mom said, nudging me. “Don't talk while you're chewing!”

“Mom!” I exclaimed, turning on her. “Have you seen them?”I nodded toward the Hewitt kids. Before I had the chance to explode completely, I slammed my fork down and brought my plate to the sink.

Slightly embarrassed at my outburst, I couldn't face going back into the dining room, so I angrily began scrubbing my dishes. A minute later, the rest of the Hewitt kids brought their plates into the kitchen and left them next to me by the sink. Guess I'd just volunteered myself for dish duty. Great.

Twenty minutes later, after I'd finished doing the dishes for our family of seven, I fled upstairs, only to find Billy and Danielle in my room, rummaging through one of the now opened boxes.

“Out!” I yelled, tugging at the ends of my my hair which reached just below my shoulders. “Out, out, out!”

Clenching my fists, I fumed my way down to the kitchen to sit for a while, where at least there was some quiet and no kids around. A few minutes later Peter walked in, and, sensing my frustration, asked if I'd like to walk into town with him.

“I'm going to the hardware store,” he said. “You're welcome to join me.”

I nodded, a smile forcing its way out at the unexpected gesture. My mom was having enough trouble keeping track of where the Hewitt kids were, so I left a note, and slipped a pair of sandals on as we shut the door behind us.

Peter wasn't much of a talker, but he still wore that perpetual smile. Side by side, we crunched through the sandy gravel, which was a sort of tannish-grayish color, as we walked to the end of our street. As we neared the intersection, the trees began to thin out and I could see what looked like a boardwalk and small town up in the distance.

Palm trees dotted the side of the road as we neared the beach, but the greenery was mostly forest trees. Peter didn't say a word as we shuffled down the road and onto the boardwalk where the main road turned. There it was—the beach.

“I'll catch up with you later,” I muttered.

“Okay,” Peter said, smiling, with his hands in his pockets. “My shop's down the road if you need me. You know how to get home.” He pointed to the right where small wooden buildings lined the boardwalk. I nodded, and turned back to the beach, breathing in the salty air. Kneeling down to slip off my sandals, I tiptoed onto the sand. A few people sat on the sand here or there, but I still felt almost guilty for disturbing the peace. Gently, I padded towards the water. The sand was fine in some areas, a bit gravelly in others, but large gray rocks protruded into the ocean. I hopped up on one particularly flat one and stared out into the depths of the gray foamy sea.

As I sat there, the tide crashed around the rock, spraying my face with a mist so fine that I flicked out my tongue to make sure I wasn't actually dreaming. The spot I had chosen was so serene—the ringing silence pressed into my ears and the waves chugged back and forth, back and forth, spraying me with the same mist every few seconds—that I almost forgot where I was. After a while—I couldn't tell you if it was minutes or hours—my back began to hurt, so with a sigh, I gathered my sandals and hopped off of the rock. To my right, I heard the screams of teenagers as a group of kids tossed around a frisbee. Behind them, I saw what looked like a familiar head bobbing up in the ice-cold ocean: Carson. Quickly, I turned my back, even though I know he wasn't looking, and sped up back to the boardwalk. I didn't need him ruining my one quiet moment of the day.

Back at home, after I had finally finished unpacking, moving all the empty boxes to the hallway, and holing myself up in my room while the rest of the household went crazy as usual, dinner was finally ready. As I bounded down the stairs, starved, I stopped short when I saw a pretty blonde girl with long wavy hair setting the table as Carson argued with my mom.

“I can't believe you didn't tell me we were having company!” my mom complained. “We would have made something other than leftovers!”My mom crossed her arms, and even though I knew she was trying her best to seem more laid back like Peter, I could tell that she was quite irked.

“Come on, Lyn,” Carson said. It sent shivers down my back, hearing him call my mom by her first name. It probably felt the same when I referred to his dad as Peter, though. “She's here all the time! It's not a big deal!”

“Yeah, really,” Peter said, taking his place at the head of the table. “No big deal.” I looked over at the girl, who was blushing slightly.

“It's still company,” my mom grumbled.

“It's nice to meet you, uh...”

“Lyn,” my mom offered, smiling. “Lyn Ruston. It's so nice to finally meet you, too. I've heard a lot about you.” Did she know how creepy that sounded?

As Carson and I went into the kitchen to grab the dishes, I cornered him. “So who's the girl?” I asked.

“Rose. My girlfriend,” he nearly snapped.

Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that. Not that I cared that he had a girlfriend, he had license to do what he pleased, but why did it seem like he was the kind of guy who got everything he wanted? Without a word, I swept out of the kitchen and plopped down at my seat, not giving Carson time to introduce me to her.

“So Cassidy, what did you end up doing today?”Peter asked, trying to lighten up the conversation.

“Went to the beach,” I said shortly, looking down, stabbing viciously at my leftover spaghetti. “That's about it.”

“Did you see Carson?”

“Nope.”

“I see,” he trailed off.

“Well, today I was at the grocery store,” my mom began, and I tuned out the rest of her story about the moms she met until “...and then she said that what they were really lacking was a book club. And that's perfect, because I've always wanted to start one! So I invited a few of the mothers over tomorrow to get started.”

“Very nice,” Peter said.

“Can I help?” Danielle asked.

My mom swallowed. “Well, I'm going to need you and Billy and Justin to be on your best behavior. We'll talk about it later.” She gave a special secret smile to Danielle, who was appeased, and I zoned out most of the meaningless chatter that filled this dinner. Rose didn't say much either, which was comforting.

As dinner wound down, I picked up another snippet of conversation I was interested in.

“So kids,” Peter started, and everyone looked up. “Your mother and I are going to the Fitters' for drinks so I can introduce Lyn. So,” he turned to my mom. “Someone's going to have to watch the kids.

“Cassidy can,” my mom replied without a missing a beat.

I crossed my arms, annoyed that she had volunteered me without asking. Did she even know me anymore? “Well, what if I have plans to go out?”

My mom raised her eyebrows. “Well, do you?”

“No.” I scowled. Not like I knew anyone, anyway. But for all she knew, I could have.

“Good,” my mom said, smiling, not taking any of the cues I had been sending. “So you'll stay?” Before, she would have noticed how upset I was. But now, with so many other things on her mind, my mom could barely even keep track of where everyone was.

“Hey,” I complained. “Carson's the big sibling, too!”

“Yeah,” Carson scoffed. “And Carson has big plans tonight!”

Frustrated, I scraped my chair across the floor on purpose as I stood up. “Whatever, I'll stay.” I turned on my heel and stomped up the stairs a little too noisily. I felt a little bad for Rose, but not bad enough to do anything about it. She was stuck dating Carson, anyway. Apparently, my role in the family was watching the kids, doing the dishes, being the older sister. His was shirking responsibilities. I normally wasn't one for responsibilities either, but if I was going to be the only one held to them, that's when it got to be a problem. Why did he always get what he wanted?

The next morning was a Monday, and since Peter had to leave early for the store, there was no celebratory family breakfast. Thank goodness.

I thought I was safe in the shower, with Carson still presumably asleep, but as soon as I stepped in came the knocking that I could sense was going to become routine.

“Cassi-dy!” he yelled groggily.

“Yep, that's my name!” I yelled back irritatedly. “I'm in here!”

“Hurry up! You're been in there forever!”

“Calm down, I just got in!”

“Okay, well can you get out? I need to use the bathroom!”

“What,” I yelled, flustered, stepping out and wrapping myself in a towel just in case he somehow came barging in, so I could yell through the door easier. “Do you want me to check with you every single time I'm going into the bathroom to make sure you don't have the slightest urge to use it first? Huh?”

“Well yeah, that would be ideal!”

“He spoils you, doesn't he?” I yelled without thinking. “You get whatever you want!”

“Oh, I'm spoiled?” Carson yelled back. “I'm not the one who complains about every little thing! You'd think this town was a jail or something!”

That hit a hard note. “Shut up!” I yelled. “I'll be done in a minute, okay?” With the shouting match over and a few tears leaking out of the corner of my eyes, I returned to the shower and lathered up.

Once I had washed and pulled myself together, I left the bathroom and kicked Carson's closed door on the way to my room.

“Your turn for the bathroom, Your Highness.”

Carson opened up just as I was kicking, so I almost fell forward. He swept by me, flipping me the finger as he hurried to the bathroom.

Fuck you, I thought. Fuck you.

But maybe he did have a point. I had been doing an awful amount of complaining—it was starting to annoy even myself.

Sufficiently hungry, I bounded downstairs. Ready for some leftover pancakes, I stopped short.

My mom sat at the dining room table with three other women about her age, happily drinking coffee and perusing through a stack of books. It was as if they had known each other for years. My mom had probably just met them last night. Why did even my mom suddenly have friends here? We really were stuck, weren't we. Devil's Beach sure had a way of sucking people in.

As I unsuccessfully tried to sneak by them and into the kitchen, my mom looked up from the table and motioned to me.

“Perfect!” she beamed. “This is my daughter Cassidy,” she introduced. I gave a small wave and a forced smile as my mom introduced the other women. “Jody Fitter, Marjorie Adams, and Amy Bernstein.”

I nodded in acknowledgment to all the “Nice to meet you”s, smiled back like I knew I was supposed to, and sidled into the kitchen. “I'm going outside,” I muttered, grabbing a pancake, and ate it plain as I slipped my shoes on, rushing out the door. 

I practically jogged down the deserted street, kicking up clouds of gravel as I made my escape. After about ten minutes, I made it to the boardwalk and kicked off my shoes so I could feel the warm wood beneath my feet.

Well, this was just fucking wonderful. I really did hate this place, there was really nothing to do. I hated that stupid house, where there was no fucking space for two, let alone five hyperactive kids, plus two parents. I hated the stupid quietness of this town. There was nobody around. I hated those stupid rocks on the beach. I hated the stupid boardwalk, too. I hated--

“Ow!” I exclaimed, grabbing my bare foot. “Ow, ow, splinter!”

Sighing, I sat down right where I was and began to pry the rather large splinter out of the sole of my foot where it had lodged itself quite firmly.

“Are you okay?” came a raspy low voice from behind me. I jumped and turned around to find an old man with a scraggly gray beard and a fishing hat looming over my shoulders.

“I'm fine,” I muttered, embarrassed, putting my shoes back on. “Stupid town.”

He chuckled. “It'll grow on you. We're all still here, aren't we?” And with that, he turned around and shuffled in the other direction. Deranged old man.

Determined to find something to do, I trudged down the boardwalk, glancing at the small shops on my left and beach on my right. I passed a bookstore, coffee shop, toy store, chocolate shop, bait and tackle store—all small family-owned businesses like Peter's. Finally, I approached a dark wooden shop with a hand-painted “Devil's Beach Hardware” sign. Curious, I opened the door, which sounded the bells on the handle. I was greeted by rows and rows of hardware supplies and tools that I'd never even heard of. It was like Home Depot, only ten times more inviting.

To my left was a counter, behind which Peter was doing some bills, a grave look on his face as he stared at the calculator. He looked up as the bell jingled.

“Nice to see you!” he exclaimed, smiling again, as he saw who had entered. “Looking for something to do?”

In fact, I was. “Sure,” I said, shrugging.

“Okay,” Peter said, finally looking up from the bookkeeping. “Why don't you go into the back room.” he pointed down the middle aisle, where I could see a small metal door at the end. “Max is unpacking new shipments, ask him for box number two.”

Slightly puzzled, I made my way to the metal door at the other end of the store and pushed it gently open, sticking my head inside. A tall boy knelt down, unloading boxes of tools.

“Um...” I said tentatively, clearing my throat. “Hi, I'm supposed to ask for box number two?” It came out more like a question.

The boy looked up and cocked his head, rumpling his dark hair, causing it to stick up in the back. “Do I know you?” I shook my head. “I... really haven't seen you before, and I kind of know everyone. Are you new or something?”

Well wasn't he cool, Mr. Popular. “Yeah, I'm new. Cassidy Ruston,” I said. But then again, there weren't that many people in this town. It was totally possible that everyone knew everyone else.

His mouth formed an “O” with recognition. “So you're Peter's stepdaughter?” he asked.

“Yep, that's me.”

“Nice to meet you.” he smiled. “I'm Max.”

“You too,” I said. “So I'm looking for box number two...”

“Right,” he said. “The stuff's over here.” He reached over for one of those empty milk crates that we used to sit on in elementary school, which was filled with tools. “I think he just wants you to stock these on the shelves out there.”

I nodded, lugging the full crate out to the main shop. Peering inside, I saw that it seemed to be filled with wrenches, so I dragged it to the corresponding aisle. Plopping down on the dusty floor, I began sorting through. What the hell was the difference between a monkey wrench, a combination wrench, and an alligator wrench? This was definitely not my thing. Figuring out the different types took a while, so while I sat there in the middle of the aisle, I unintentionally had the chance to eavesdrop on various conversations as customers came in and out.

“Thanks for your businesses,” Peter would say as the customers paid. “And how's the family?”

Peter seemed to know everyone. Or rather, everyone seemed to know everyone. Once or twice he called me up to the front to be introduced to a customer who had asked about Peter's family.

After I finally finished the crate, I was exhausted, so I said goodbye to Peter and Max and walked back home. The moms had moved to the porch, so doing my best to avoid them, I entered through the back, where the kids were playing outside.

Finally, for once, the house was quiet. I made myself a quick sandwich and brought it upstairs with me, sinking onto my bed, my eyes drooping, the cool sheets inviting me to melt into them.

I don't know what woke me up, but when my eyes opened, it was dark out and I could hear crickets. I bolted upright and stared out the window. The moon shone bright over the treetops, sending a silver glow over the houses on our street.

I poked my head into the hallway, and I could hear light snores coming from the kids' room. Shit. I'd slept through dinner and nobody woke me up! Did they even care? My stomach was complaining, so I tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen to appease it. Nobody even saved any leftovers for me. Did I even exist?

Angrily, I threw together another sandwich, this time turkey and mustard, and brought it into the living room. There was no way I was going back to sleep now, after I'd slept all afternoon, so I sank into the large suede armchair which engulfed me in its folds, and turned the TV on low, so as not to wake my mom and Peter in the next room.

About twenty minutes later, the front door creaked open and I jumped up, startled. Brandishing the remote like a weapon, I cautiously tiptoed out into the hall, ready to face the intruder, only to find that it was Carson, stumbling through the door, his cheeks rosy, and a cheesy grin on his face. It didn’t even occur to me that he was still out.

He had clearly been drinking. Not that I cared—I was even a little jealous—but who knew about Peter, but my mom would certainly have a fit.

“Hey Cass, what are you doing up?” Carson asked, still smiling that cheesy grin. I narrowed my eyes at the nickname. Not even my mom called me that.

I thought for a moment. “Oh, you know,” I started, an impish grin spreading across my face, folding my arms. “Just waiting for you to get home so that I could tell mom what you were doing all night.” I had no intention of actually telling my mom—that would only call for him to attack me back—but a good scare was always worth it.

“Hey,” he drawled, scowling. “I wasn’t doing anything that you wouldn’t have done if you had a life!” He poked me in the shoulder, pointing at me accusingly.

“Please choose not to be a dick, okay? And what’s that supposed to mean?” I hissed, glancing back at my mom and Peter’s room. “How could I possibly have a life here in this fucking stupid town? If I was in LA—”

“Shut up. Just mind your own fucking business, okay?” Carson turned on his heel and padded upstairs, and now, thoroughly exhausted again, I followed him and shut my door.

The next morning at breakfast, we mutually avoided each others' gazes.

“So Carson, what did you do last night?” my mom asked, in a feeble effort to become closer to him. She was always doing that—Peter knew better than to ask, but my mom was so used to me telling her everything. I guess it was weird for her children not to readily volunteer information about whose house they went to, who was there, and who was dating who. Carson played along, though.

“We ordered pizza and then went to the movies.” He shrugged. “It was chill.”

Such a blatant lie. But Carson kicked me under the table when he saw my eyes narrow.

“Were you out late?” my mom pressed. “I was exhausted, we all went to bed early.”

I cleared my throat. “Nah.” I shook my head. “I went downstairs at like twelve-ish and he came home around then.” See? I glanced at Carson, whose eyes were wide—stunned that I’d covered for him. Yeah, that’s right. I could be cool. I could be a good sister. If I wanted to.

After breakfast, while Carson and I were stuck doing the dishes for “being up late” (whatever that meant—really what it had come down to was everyone making the most random excuses for others to wash the dishes) I decided to bring it up.

“You owe me one,” I muttered as I finished the last dish.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You can come with us today if you want. You know… meet some of my friends, I guess...” he stuttered. It was probably weird for him, being so nice.

I was stunned that he even offered, but it was probably only because I covered for him. If I was going to meet his friends, though, and make some of my own, it had to be on a day when we weren’t fighting.

“Not today,” I muttered. “Thanks.”

Carson shrugged, looking a little hurt that I hadn’t taken him up on his offer.

“Maybe tomorrow?” I added hopefully.

“Yeah, whatever.” He stalked out of the kitchen, leaving me with the dirty rags to wash. Man—I’d blown it.

And now I was stuck at home all day. After I had dressed and showered (I let Carson have the first shower today. Today only) I realized that the house was suddenly empty. I could hear the wind rustling through the trees through the open windows, but nothing else.

It was one of those mornings where Carson was gone, Peter was at the store, and my mom had taken the kids to play at the beach. Of course she had an awful lot more responsibility now, with more kids and a husband, but still, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually had a conversation with her that didn’t involve the move.

Bored, I stepped out into the hall and looked around for something to do. My eyes rested on Carson's door, which was shut, as usual. This was a golden opportunity to get some dirt—I was the only one here, and the “keep out” sign on Carson’s door only tempted me further. So even though I was alone, I tiptoed down the hall and cracked open his door ever so slightly. When no blaring alarms sounded, I pushed it open and stepped inside, a little shocked.

Sure, it looked more lived-in than my room did, but it wasn’t the classic clothes-strewn-everywhere-danger-zone brother’s room I had imagined. His bed was made—the same blue quilt as was on mine—and all the clothes were stuffed at least neatly in the closet. I circled around, opening various drawers, but all I found were pencils, socks, photos—that kind of thing. I was looking for something more interesting.

I stood in the middle of the floor, thinking. Not that I knew what he was hiding, but everyone hid stuff at some point—I'd hidden a pair of lacy underwear that I'd bought for dates with Alex. And if Carson was hiding something, because everyone did, I could find out and use it to my advantage. I needed the upper hand in this house.

So if I lived in this room and I was hiding something, where would I put it?  Not under the bed—that was the classic spot. In my old house, if I had ever wanted to hide anything, I stuffed it in the back of my closet. That's where I'd put the underwear, in an old ratty little-girl pink purse at the back of my closet under a huge pile of clothing. So I knelt down and began digging through his, moving over shirts and pants that had fallen to the floor. Then, I came across a stack of shoeboxes. Now I was getting somewhere.

I opened the top one, only to find, well, shoes. Inside the second one was a bunch of old photos, and I smiled when I opened the third. Jackpot. A bunch of lighters and a pack of cigarettes sat inside, so just for kicks, I pocketed a cheery red lighter and a few cigs, restacked the boxes, and backed out of his room.

I made myself pizza bagels for lunch, watched a little TV, and decided I was thoroughly bored. Well, after that excitement of the day over, there certainly wasn’t anything left for me to do inside the house. Plus, I needed some fresh air. Feeling even more adventurous or maybe just bored, I decided to forgo my usual route of the boardwalk, and decided to explore the forest behind our house instead.  

Bad idea—after twenty minutes of trudging through dead leaves, mossy logs, spiderwebs, and curling vines, I was still getting nowhere. The forest seemed to be the outskirt of the town. I guess I was hoping that if I walked far enough, I’d end up someplace else. No such luck, though. I wasn't getting someplace else, I was getting nowhere. I was ready to turn around when suddenly a dark brown figure loomed through the trees.

As I ran closer, I could see an abandoned, run-down, rotting shack. Curious, I stepped through the doorway and peered inside. Holes gaped through the walls where there used to be windows. There was no furniture—just a deserted shack that smelled of pine, dirt, and old rotting wood.

Remembering my spoils, I sat down cross-legged in the middle of the floor and emptied my pockets. I’d never used a lighter before, and after three tries, I still hadn’t lit a flame enough to light the cigarette—not with my severely shaking hands, at least. The fourth time I finally got it, but my shaking finger got in the way.

“Ouch!” I cried, dropping the lighter to suck on my finger. “Goddammit!” I couldn’t even do that right! But apparently I had, because I watched with horror as the flame caught on the wood. Before I even had time to put it out or panic, a breeze blew through the open holes that used to be windows, causing the tiny flame to whoosh to the other side of the shack—it was no longer a tiny flame; it had magnified to a full-on fire in less that two seconds. And I was stuck in the middle. 

I coughed, the smell of burnt wood and smoke filling my airways, and involuntarily began sobbing as the fire spread even farther. There was no way I was getting out.

“Help!” I tried calling. “Help!” But who would be here? Who would hear me? The strain of yelling sent me into another coughing fit and I covered my head with my arms so I could breathe better. My head swam. This was it, I was dying. This was what I’d asked for, right? It was my escape from Devil’s Beach, this dreadful town. Maybe the devil was calling me down himself.

The fire had now taken over a good half of the shack—including the half with the door. My only hope for air was to poke my head out the window-hole, which I could barely reach, even straining my neck.

“Help,” I moaned to myself. “Help…”

“Oh my god!” I heard a low voice yell faintly, as if from the other end of a tunnel. “No!”

Looking down, I spotted a familiar face—Carson? Why was he here? What he was doing in the forest I didn’t know, but of course I wasn’t about to ask. “Help!” I called again.

Dropping his backpack, Carson bolted forward and began kicking at the one rotting corner of the shack that hadn’t caught fire yet. Finally, he kicked through the crumbling wood and I scrambled over, shielding my head against the falling debris. I stumbled out, falling onto the ground, sputtering and coughing.

Immediately I leapt up and enveloped Carson in a huge bear hug, just like the one Peter had greeted me with. “Thank you,” I whispered, crying, burying my face in his warm neck. After a minute, I felt his limp arms tentatively pat me on the back, and I unlocked my arms from his neck, clearing my throat.

Carson took out his phone and called the fire department, and we both knew we had to get out of there.

“So, uh, what were you doing all alone in the forest?” I asked shakily.

“Well, I used to go light up in that shack,” he muttered. “I guess not anymore.”

“S-sorry…” I stuttered, afraid Carson would be mad again.

“It’s all good,” he shrugged. “Maybe it’ll help me quit.”

I nodded. So that’s where had been disappearing to.

“But the real question is, what were you doing in the forest?”

“Um, you know…” I gulped. “I… borrowed a few cigs.”

“You smoke?”

I shook my head.

“You could have just asked, you know.” What a change from the Carson I’d seen before. I guess the scariness of what had just happened was enough to freak us both out. Carson glanced at me, his hands in his pockets. “So, uh, do I owe you anymore?”

I chuckled. “You’ve gotta be kidding. I think you’re off the hook.” I couldn’t help my lips from spreading into a wide grin.

“They’re gonna kick your ass if they ever find out…” Carson said, elbowing me.

“My ass?” I laughed. “They’ll kick both our asses, because you’re going down with me!”

“They’d probably lock me up in the house until I’m 30!”