Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  I "Get" To Be The New Girl

  Insert Choice Expletive Here

  He Might Be A Man-whore

  The Events Of Today Pertaining To Tristan Daniels

  That's Real Dedication To The Cause

  Everyone Has A Skeleton Or Two

  Nippley New Girl

  A Serious Waste Of Good Lip-gloss

  An Open Invitation To Take My Clothes Off

  Water Is Life Indeed

  Oh, No He Isn't!!!

  Why In God's Name Is There So Much Glitter In Here?

  The Worst Sort Of Vengeance

  In Totally Uncharted Waters

  The Wall Of Infamy

  A Piece Of Red Licorice

  The Difference Between Manslaughter And First Degree Murder

  Just Beggin' For Trouble

  I'll Need Some Gum

  Single Or Double Digits?

  There Was Voting?

  A Definite First

  A Beautiful Morning For Baseball

  God Has A Wicked Sense Of Humor

  I'd Like To Thank The Academy

  Do You Wanna Tell 'Em or Should I?

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon!

  Kool-Aid & Honey

  About the Author

  Shark Bait

  A Grab Your Pole Novel

  by

  Jenn Cooksey

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, locations, and events that are portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously solely for the express purpose of telling an entertaining story and are not to be taken otherwise.

  Shark Bait. Copyright © 2012 by Jenn Cooksey All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  http://jenncooksey.blogspot.com/

  Twitter: @Jenn_Cooksey

  Facebook: Jenn Cooksey Novels

  For Davey.

  Sorry about the laundry.

  Acknowledgments

  There are many people without whom this book and the series on a whole wouldn’t have been possible. The list is long and the reasons for inclusion are varied, so, let’s gets to it...

  *My husband, Davey, and our three minions, Alison, Faith-dizzle, and Erin – You four have shown me what unconditional love is, seeing as how despite many a night of “on your own dinners,” you guys still haven’t voted me off the island. You all are my joy and my life would be empty without you.

  *Mommy - Because you know, you gave birth to me and have put up with my shit for the last [REDACTED] some odd years. Not only that, but your genuine love of these stories and your passion for reading them makes me want to keep going. And don’t worry; Book 4 is on its way. I promise.

  *Bapa -You’re my hero.

  *My beta-readers: Alison, Gloria, Miranda, Karen, and Becky - With comments like “Omgosh! So good!” and “This is the best thing I’ve ever read,” I feel I can blame some of you for my inflated ego. Just kidding, I’m honestly just tickled that you guys were gracious enough to share your opinions, and your feedback has been invaluable—even if it wasn’t always glowing.

  *My in-laws: Suzanne, Jerry, Mike, Kellie, and Karen - You guys go above and beyond, far surpassing what family does. That’s all I’m sayin’.

  *My BFFs and BFFLEs both past and present and in order of when I met them: Derek, Billy, Tanya, Rachel, Renee, Becky, Melanie, Mike, Monica C., Karyn, Amy, Jeff, Tisha, Shawn, Stacy, Treena, Karen, Kristina, Cris, Monica S., Crystal, Tonya, and Stefani – Some of you are family, some of you are family in heart, and still some of you I haven’t seen or spoken to in what feels like a millennia, but regardless, you have all helped to shape me into who I am today. Whether the result of your influence is a good thing or not has yet to be determined. :-P

  *My Facebook Poll Participants in no particular order: Dave, Alison, Faith, Stacy, Stefani, Becky, Karen, Noah, Brooklyn, Tyler, Miranda, Gloria, Brittany, Diana U., Jill, Kellie, Seth, Jon, Natalie M., Diana B., Kristina, Violette, Natalie L., Martin, and Sara – By taking time out of your day to vote on those 18 chapter titles, you all played what might seem like a small role, but it was a vital roll in the production of this book. I hope that by participating in a debut novel in that way, that you all had fun—I know I certainly did, and I still think some of you are going to be surprised…

  *And last but nowhere even close to the realm of least, someone who rightfully belongs in a few of the lists above, however, she’s so incredible, she deserves a special shout-out. K-E-L-L-Y – I’m rarely at a loss for what to say, but I honestly don’t have the words. Seriously, no one will ever truly understand what a special and integral part you’ve played in the lives of these characters. We’re all better for knowing you...including me. (PS. Here’s my official $20 I.O.U. for the sweet find on the cheerleader ornaments.)

  So to sum it all up, thanks guys, you’re the best.

  ~Jenn

  Prologue

  God, I love the beach.

  But, I’ve never given much thought to the perfection of God’s creations before now. I gotta tell ya though, He does some damned fine work. I’ve also never really considered the whole “God has a plan” thing.

  Until now…

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Huh?” I did hear a voice…I’m just not sure who it belonged to. Even though He’s never talked to me before, not that I’m aware of anyway, I was kinda thinking God might’ve been trying to tell me something.

  “Jesus, dude, pay attention. I asked if you’re ready...”

  “Oh, yeah. Gimme a minute though.” I am ready. I’ve been waiting for something like this for a long time.

  Unfortunately, I think God was telling me now’s not the right time and I have to keep waiting. Which sucks because I’m not all that patient. That’s why, if I could get away with it, I’d stay here forever just staring at the aforementioned damned fine work of His creation.

  “What for?”

  I jerked my chin in the direction of the ocean.

  “Oh, that.”

  Yeah, that. I think I’m hooked. I feel like a drug addict. The problem is, I don’t know anything about my pusher or when or even if I’ll get another fix.

  “You know if you take a picture it’ll last longer.”

  That’s a horrible joke.

  On second thought though…it’s not a bad idea.

  Aim and click.

  Beautiful. Now I have Def Leppard’s song “Photograph” playing in my head. Not only am I an addict, I’m turning into a stalker. That’s just great. And really, it is, because I am ready. It just seriously freaks me out to admit it.

  I really hope God knows what He’s doing…

  1.

  I “Get” To Be The New Girl

  Cancer sucks.

  And you know what? It can kiss my almost sixteen-year-old ass.

  Now don’t get me wrong, I do
n’t swear. It’s just not who I am or how I’ve been raised. I haven’t been sheltered or anything like that, I’m just really awesome at self-censoring. See, I’m the good girl. You know, prays before she eats, gets good grades, keeps her room clean, does what she’s told, is always polite…that kind of stuff. Yeah, I know. That’s me, Cameron Ramsey, AKA: Miss “Goody Two Shoes.” I swear Adam Ant wrote that song back in the ‘80s specifically about me even though I wasn’t a twinkle in my dad’s eyes yet. Recently though, I’ve come to understand that, now and then, there are some situations in life that really do deserve a choice expletive.

  Like right now. Standing in my bathroom getting ready for my first day of high school, you could definitely say I’m pretty fucking pissed off.

  Technically it’s not my first day of high school, but it is my first day at a public high school. My sister and I were homeschooled until about three weeks ago when my mom’s cancer made it too much for her to keep up with…even after the double mastectomy. Her oncologist said they got it all, but the meds she has to take make her really ill and totally exhausted; because you know, losing her breasts—one of the major symbols of womanhood—and facing her mortality at the age of thirty-six wasn’t enough.

  If all that wasn’t just dandy on its own, the icing on the suck-cake was moving last spring. My mom’s name is Mandy and she got sick about five months ago but at the time, she was able to keep up with the important things in her life, those things being my sister, Jillian, my dad, Kevin, and myself. However, about a week or so after my mom got the diagnosis, my dad called a family meeting to explain we would be moving back to San Diego. We have a ton of family here and everyone felt it would be easier for them to support us if we came back. Doing so was made possible by the company my dad works for. The head honchos there truly treat their employees like family and when the owner and managers heard what was going on, they totally got on the “Support the Ramsey Family Bandwagon” by giving him a transfer, and a cost of living raise.

  At first Jillian and I were thrilled to be moving back where we were born. Every time my family visited our hometown, we would whine and complain about having to go back to Arizona; we being my sister and I mostly, but sometimes my parents would join in the grumbling. So that being the case, you’d think we’d be happy with finally having that long-time prayer answered, right? But you have to understand, we’re typical girls. Girls are allowed to be fickle. Especially me, since I’m the angst-ridden teenager.

  It didn’t really sink in until our last day with our homeschool group. I didn’t know it was going to be so hard. None of us did. Everything was happening so fast and we were all so excited and busy with packing and stuff, that when it came time to actually say goodbye to our friends and the great people we’d spent the last nine or so years with, Jill and I were totally unprepared for how it would affect us. I guess I did okay. I held my tears back until I was in bed that night and quietly cried myself to sleep. I hadn’t done that since I was like six or something. Jillian on the other hand…well, she was a train wreck. She’s a twelve-year-old genius and normally has no emotions to speak of, but I haven’t seen her bawl like that since the cat she paid for with her own money—the one she actually threw a first birthday party for—got hit by a car when she was four. When it was time to leave the park, my mom had to pry Jill loose from her best friends and carry her to the car. Jillian sobbed the whole way home. She didn’t come out of her room for dinner that night and even though her door was shut and the radio was on, we could hear her crying her eyes out. We left the next morning.

  The drive from our old house to the new one only took about six hours and by the time we crossed the California State Line, everyone had mostly gotten over the misery of leaving. This was thanks in large part to the seldom sight of lush green grass and being able to roll the windows down in the car. Two things that definitely won’t be missed about Arizona are how close the weather resembles the Seventh Ring of Hell and how everything is some shade of beige. Actually, there isn’t all that much we’ll really miss except for our friends, and thinking about how short a drive it is, it’s easy to tell yourself you’ll get to visit them all the time.

  It was the beginning of May when my dad pulled the U-Haul truck into the driveway of our new house, which so happened to be in the same neighborhood my family lived in before we relocated to the Northwest region of Hades. Honestly though, the move couldn’t have been timed better. In Arizona it’s usually so hot by May, everyone already has their A/C units cranked up and running 24/7 in preparation for summer hibernation like confused bears. Not in San Diego though. The weather here is just about as perfect as it can get. I can’t even begin to explain how awesome it is to have the windows in the house open and being able to breathe the fresh air everyday—like it’s some kind of big treat or something. I guess you could say it is for someone who previously risked choking on sweltering heat just walking to the mailbox.

  Before we even got settled, my mom sent in the required paperwork so she could continue to legally homeschool us, and she didn’t skip a beat in resuming our educational regime. Now, let me just explain something; my mom isn’t a schedule kind of gal, so when I say regime or schedule, I just mean we didn’t get a moving break or anything like a summer vacation. We did have the chance to do school at the beach when my mom felt up to it though. My parents are big on learning from life and they call those opportunities “teachable moments.” We brought books to the beach and talked about tides, the coastal eco-system, and the chemistry of salt water. The highlight for me was getting to drool over all the hot surfer guys. I’d like to go on record right now by saying that in addition to beautiful weather; San Diego also has a plethora of saliva producing boys.

  That’s partly why I’m so mad about going into public school. Sure, I didn’t get to see my friends everyday like normal kids, but I really loved sleeping in until 9:00 or 10:00, doing school in my pajamas, and being done with all my subjects by lunchtime. We’d get to learn from experience, too, which is actually lots of fun. Now however, I need a freaking alarm clock to wake me up because my first damned class is at (now get this…) 7:15 in the morning! I mean what are we? Chickens? Seriously, who in their right mind can even think straight that early, let alone do math? Not this girl, that’s for sure. On top of that, I get to worry about what I’m going to wear so I can fit in with the hundreds of other kids who’ll most likely pass judgment on me based on whether I’m wearing last year’s nail polish color or something shallow like that. Plus, I won’t get home until sometime around 3:30 after being imprisoned in classrooms for seven hours. Oh and here’s the kicker; I “get” to do homework. The classes are so crowded that the teachers don’t have enough time to ensure every student understands the material during the fifty some-odd minutes of class, so they have to rely on homework and tests to know whether the kids have learned anything from the textbook and their lectures. And it’s not like I have any friends here to make all this worthwhile anyway. I was too young when we moved away to have friends I’d remember or who’d remember me now, so here I am…back in sunny San Diego and all alone.

  I’m also pretty pissed about my mom being forced to let go of the one thing she loves doing with all her heart and soul; the one thing she and my dad always sacrificed so much for.

  When I was born, my parents decided one of them would always stay home with me, which meant we had to live on one income. That’s not the easiest thing in the world to do and it got even harder when Jillian was born. My mom and dad made some hard choices and went without a lot of things their friends had or got to do, just so my mom could be home with us. That’s also why we moved to Arizona. My parents say that’s probably the hardest decision they’ve ever made, leaving their family and hometown. They felt it was the right thing to do, though, because it was so much cheaper to live. Anyway, after we were there about six months and it was time for me to start first grade, my mom met some women at the park and discovered they homeschooled. Right away she was
hooked on the idea. She came home and convinced my dad she should do that with Jill and me and the rest is ancient history, which I’ve already studied extensively. Heck, my sister and I have even mummified chickens a couple times. And really, even though mummification isn’t a skill set one might build a résumé around, it’s still pretty freaking cool being able to say you know how to do it.

  I loved being homeschooled.

  So, that brings me back to staring at myself in the mirror, trying to figure out what to do with my hair. I have wavy—okay, maybe it’s not so much wavy as it is curly—medium blonde hair that goes just past my bra strap, and I do not have bangs. I tried them when I was eleven and discovered bangs look ridiculous on me, and after claiming to have a bad hair day for the more than 365 days it took me to grow them out, I vowed never again. Anyhow, my hair is actually pretty easy to do, but I want to look as good as possible because my new high school has the unfortunately intimidating nickname “Soshmont.” From what my parents say, a “sosh” is a stuck-up or conceited person; like they think they’re better than everyone else. Most of the kids who go there have money, drive cool cars, and live in huge houses. Then there are the rest of us “poor folk.” You know, those of us who live in a two-story house with four bedrooms, four baths, a pool, and a three-car garage. There’s a lot of tradition and sentiment attached to the school because it was the first ever in the district and opened sometime in the early 1920s. My parents, who were high school sweethearts, went there and—if you can believe it—their parents before them. To make matters worse, school started four weeks ago in the beginning of September. That means I get to be “the new girl” everyone will gawk at when I walk into my classes. Seriously, ugh.