Don't Kiss the Quarterback: Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 5

by Catelyn Meadows

  I fluffed my long, white-blonde hair, letting its waves trail down my back. I always loved that I looked like Luna Lovegood. Fantasy was my thing, and this whole experience was more like Harry Potter than I expected. Living in the dorms. Going from class to class. All I needed was a magic wand and I’d be in book nerd heaven, but as it was, I gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror.

  “This is it,” I said.

  I had an hour to grab breakfast and find my first class. Starting the day off right with a little Calculus, followed by French. I’d wanted Italian because many of the arias I hoped to sing this year were in Italian, but the language wasn’t offered. I figured any romance language helped.

  My relief at having only a few books in my backpack instead of twenty thousand was monumental. With it securely in place, I ventured to the bistro.

  It was more like a restaurant than a regular cafeteria. Men in chef’s caps bustled behind a rotund counter. Kids with trays and wearing uniforms like mine lined up for options of cereal in dispensable containers or made-to-order eggs, sausage, waffles, and pancakes. There were also bowls stacked with fruits, towers of Danish pastries rimmed with frosting, bagels, and tiny tubs of cream cheese.

  “Whoa,” I muttered, my stomach gnawing at the tantalizing smells. “At least I won’t go hungry.”

  I retrieved my tray and hesitated. Several girls who either already knew each other chattered happily near the offerings of sausage, bacon, and pancakes. One offered her plate to the chef.

  If this were any other universe, I’d step in behind them, dish what I wanted and wait to order my eggs too. Instead, I hung back, waited for them to find their seats, and then approached.

  “What’ll it be?” the chef asked kindly.

  “Scrambled, please,” I told him. Receiving my food, I turned. Plenty of empty seats awaited, including some at the same table with the girls who’d been standing here earlier.

  Fear struck in an instant. I couldn’t walk up, uninvited, and ask to join them. Sitting alone was preferable to rejection.

  Attempting to steady myself when I felt my confidence crackle, I headed for an empty table and stared out as I ate in solitude. After a few bites, I peered toward the bistro entrance, hoping Tate would wander in soon. Like it or not, he was the only person I knew here.

  He never appeared, though his girlfriend, Charly, with her tight curls bouncing with every step, appeared long enough to grab a pastry and a banana before ducking out. She wore the pleated skirt, which I suspected she’d hiked a little higher to display more of her thigh than where it should have landed at her knees.

  Billionaire Academy wasn’t a typical high school. I’d been to four different schools in the last two years, and there were some similarities. Jocks, cheerleaders, hallways, and teachers. But the classrooms here were infinitely superior to any classroom I’d ever been in. Being in such a bright, energetic setting helped with my concentration. The classrooms back at Madison High in Idaho were ordinary at best, though I still missed the teachers I’d gotten to know and the friends I’d made.

  Classes went by. I was invigorated by the syllabus of AP English Literature. We were going to be studying critical theories for analyzing neoclassical literature. The words analyze, critical, and literature were like candy to my brain.

  I was excited about the prospect from A-PUSH (AP United States History) and others too, but by far, my favorite class was choir. Professor Granger was her blog personified. It was one thing to sit and read her methods and advice from a computer screen, and quite another to sit in a room with her as the teacher and soak in her mastery. And she sang—ohhhh, she sang like an angel, demonstrating methods and liaison in connecting one word to the next. My first lesson with her was later that afternoon and I salivated for some one-on-one time.

  Music folder in hand, I walked out into the hall a little taller than I was before. Carson stood right there, across the hall, laughing at something a girl with spiky hair said. In an instant, my heels sank back onto the carpet and I hugged my books to my chest. Our school uniforms weren’t exactly the most attractive thing out there, but he made the sweater vest and tie over a white-sleeved collared shirt look like someone designed it just for him.

  With the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Carson ran his hand through his hair for good measure. The gesture did something to my lips. They parted, and I had to breathe through my mouth, praying my knees wouldn’t give out from beneath me.

  A low, seductive voice muttered in my ear. “Let me guess. The hottest guy you’ve ever seen.”

  Tate’s taunt was a slap. I jerked as if awakening after falling asleep in the middle of class and gaped at him. He looked equally handsome in his uniform. Dark hair swooping into his hazel eyes, attractive lips pouting slightly, head cocked to one side. He was taller than Carson, and his tie was undone beneath his sweater vest.

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

  Textbook in one hand, he gestured with his chin. “Carson doesn’t have a girlfriend,” he said. “You were making it obvious you wanted to fill the role.”

  “I was not.”

  “Whatever you say.” He strutted off toward Carson. I prayed he wasn’t about to mumble some kind of hint at how I was feeling. Then again, what did Tate care that I thought Carson was cute?

  A voice rang over the intercom.

  “Bailey Monroe, would you please report to the office. Bailey Monroe to the office please.”

  “Who is Bailey Monroe?” a girl with two long French braids belted loudly, to the laughter of her friends.

  “Beats me,” her friend replied.

  Their flippant questions stung more than they should have. Shrugging it off, I checked my watch. Biology was next, but whoever my teacher was would forgive me for being late if I got called to the office, wouldn’t they?

  Mrs. Partridge greeted me. Glasses perched on her nose, she wore a bright yellow cardigan over her flowered shirt. At least the staff didn’t have to wear uniforms.

  “Hey, you called me in?” I placed my choir folder on the counter.

  She smiled at me and gestured to the small bouquet of yellow roses and a decorative box. “Those arrived for you.”

  My heart clenched. The roses were lovely, but who were these from? My first thought was Chravis, but he wasn’t the type to send flowers, whether it was my first day of school or not, especially not when I lived a state away from him. He wasn’t the type to show affection at all, really. Having this distance from him made me wonder what I’d ever seen in him.

  I checked the small card. Good luck on your first day of school! it read. I love you. Dad.

  This was a thoughtful gesture, but he couldn’t keep thinking he could buy his way back into my affections. I wanted to stay angry at him. Caught between frustrated and flattered, I opened the box.

  Inside was a beautiful bracelet with elongated links and a single, silver heart charm. A diamond glimmered in one of the top curves of the heart. It was the prettiest thing I’d ever owned. I couldn’t begrudge him completely, could I?

  I wasn’t sure what to think.

  “Better take those to your dorm and get to class,” Mrs. Partridge said. “Hurry along now.”

  “Thanks,” I told her, doing exactly that. Dashing to my room, I placed the flowers and the bracelet on my room’s low coffee table and scurried to class, feeling more conflicted inside than ever.

  THE MUSIC HALL WAS equipped with an entire line of practice rooms. Each was no larger than five feet squared, and each came with its own piano. I scheduled my practice room and time while waiting for my first lesson with Professor Granger.

  Nerves tighter than cello strings, pulse racing, I paced the hall outside her office, simultaneously checking my phone to see if time was going any faster since I last looked. Then the door opened.

  I braced my shoulders. Excited, ready to step in. Except Tate’s girlfriend, Charly, in all her cheerleader, curly-haired glory, stepped out.

  “Oh,” I said,
nearly colliding with her.

  “Watch it,” she said with a scowl.

  I dipped my chin to my chest. “Sorry.”

  She strutted off, hair flouncing with every step. Stomach clenching, I pushed into Mrs. Granger’s office.

  Mrs. Granger had graying blonde hair, a plump physique, and a cheerful countenance. She gave me a stiff nod of acknowledgment. In a dramatic gesture, she sat at the piano, wafted her hands above the keys and said, “Gee, gee, gee.”

  “Excuse me?” I’d hoped to introduce myself and maybe fan girl just a little over how much I’d admired her for years.

  Instead, she began to play and demonstrate the warmup. I caught on fast, following the line of her notes with the directed enunciation. We moved from one exercise to the next. She circled me, correcting my posture. We sang; she gave powerful instruction on proper practicing techniques, assigned a few of the arias I was interested in, and by the time we finished, I knew I’d never had a lesson pack more punch.

  I was filled with a rush, rejuvenated, hyped, and soaring. Little time was wasted with talking, but before I left, she said, “You’re capable of a lot. If you follow my blog, you know that I feature one of my students every quarter.”

  “I—yes, I knew that.” I didn’t realize they were her students, though. Her blog had a Laude section where prominent musicians were featured like case studies, showing where they started from, the work they put into things, and ended with a video of them singing at the end of the post. Often those who were featured were granted visibility and renown they wouldn’t otherwise have had. One of the featured soloists went on to be selected for a part in a movie.

  “If you put in the work, you could be next, Miss Monroe.”

  I gripped my folder to my chest. “I—wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  She didn’t let me say anything else. Hand waving, indicating the door, she said, “Don’t waste my time and I won’t waste yours. See you next week.”

  Okay then. Message delivered. She was my teacher, not my friend. Too bad the first real connection I’d made with someone during school had only come because I was paying her for her time.

  Still, her confidence in me sent my ambitions skyward. To be featured on Patricia Granger’s singing blog was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Trying not to let her dismissal get to me, I thanked her and left the room.

  Except the minute I stepped out, Charly was in the middle of the hall with her arms folded.

  “Whoa,” I said, nearly walking right into her. Did she often linger that close to doors during other people’s lessons?

  “Don’t you feel special?” she said with a wicked twist to her lips.

  “I—what?” Had she been listening in on my lesson? Why would she do that?

  “I know you think you’re all that and the cat’s pajamas, but I intend to be featured on Mrs. Granger’s blog this semester. Got that?”

  Without letting me reply, Charly whipped her curly mop around and strutted toward the stairs at the end of the hall, arms swinging at her sides.

  “Uhhhh—okay then,” I said to the empty hall. “Nice chatting with you too.”

  I called Camryn once my music lesson ended and spilled the whole layout of events so far, things I decided not to mention when we chatted last night, from meeting my tour guide while he was making out, to Carson helping me, to how nasty Charly was to me after my lesson and the fact that I felt more alone here than I ever had my whole life.

  “I’m not kidding,” Camryn said, her pretty face filling my screen. Her brown hair was tied into a messy bun on the top of her head, and she wore a black t-shirt with the outline of a flower on it. “Beckham and I will drive there and pick you up. We’ll bust you out—I’ll bring Carter with me to distract all the female staff.”

  I laughed. Her older brother, Carter, was trying to form a life outside of military service since his time in Afghanistan. I had a teeny bit of a crush on him until I met Chravis.

  “Seriously, Bail,” Camryn said, “it’s not the same without you. Chravis walks around like a little lost deer.”

  The mention of Chravis only made me feel worse. I didn’t miss him at all. In fact, the more I thought about him, the more I wondered why we didn’t break up before I left.

  “Did you just compare me to Bambi after his mom gets shot?” I asked.

  “Actually,” Cam said pensively. “I think you would be Bambi’s mom. Chravis would be Bambi.”

  “Cam,” I said, fighting my own incredulity at the conversation’s turn.

  “Okay, okay. Maybe not the best analogy, but you know what I mean. Tell your dad it’s your senior year and you want to spend it with your friends.”

  “Been there. Tried that. This school is the opportunity of my life, don’t you know?”

  “Fluff. He’s just trying to control you.”

  Camryn meant well, and usually she was dead on, but something inside me pitted an argument. After our dinner and his gesture with the flowers and the bracelet, I couldn’t help but feel like my dad was being genuine. This suspicion was the last thing I wanted to admit to anyone. Right now, after my singing idol’s abrupt dismissal, I just needed to pout. I knew Cam would listen, and that was all I needed.

  I made my way back to my dorm. Never mind that this campus was more high-end than any school I’d ever been to. Never mind that I had my own dorm room, and with smaller classes, the teachers had given me more direct attention than I’d ever had. Never mind that I’d just had private voice instruction like I’ve always wanted.

  “My dad keeps getting me stuff,” I told her, unlocking my door and heading inside. “He bought me this fancy bracelet.”

  “Um, that sounds amazing.”

  I shook my head and flopped onto the bench beneath my loft bed. “I know. I’m so torn about it. Part of me loves it, but then it’s also like he’s trying to buy me off. Like he didn’t like the way our dinner ended last night and so giving me a pretty bracelet will make everything better.”

  “Tell him your affections aren’t for sale, but make sure you keep the bracelet.”

  I slumped against the cushions. “I wish I was as strong as you are.”

  “What are you talking about?” Camryn asked. “Bailey, after all the bricks your parents have thrown at you, you could give the Hulk a run for his money. Listen, who’s the most intimidating guy at your school?”

  The incident in the hallway earlier, where Tate basically announced I was crushing on Carson, replayed in my mind and made me feel more exposed than an underwear commercial. “Tate Ingram,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “New homework assignment,” Camryn said. “Bailey, you have to introduce yourself to this tater tot and sing to him. Ooo, or better yet, kiss him!”

  “Are you nuts?” What was with everyone telling me to sing?

  “It’ll prove how brave you are.”

  I shook my head, seeing Camryn’s concerned expression from her side of the screen. I also decided not to tell her that I’d already met Tate and that he happened to be the stepbrother I didn’t know I had. “I don’t sing for other people. You know that.” I’d given in and sung to Camryn one night about a year ago, when we’d first become friends. But that was after I’d spent time with her and knew I could trust her not to crack jokes or make fun.

  And as far as kissing went...well, that hadn’t ever happened for me. I was hoping Chravis would kiss me before I left, but he didn’t.

  “You sang for me and I was instantly awestruck,” Camryn argued. “He’ll be an idiot if he doesn’t feel the same.”

  I rolled onto my side and kept my phone aloft so I could still see her. “Cam, I’m stressed out enough being here and it’s only the first day. I have no friends. The only family I have close by I can’t stand. You’re the only person I’ve talked to besides the teachers. I hate my life.”

  A long pause strung between us. I chanced a glance to find Camryn staring at me.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, because
I want you to come back to Idaho more than anything, but maybe you need to give this Billionaire Academy a chance.”

  My head snapped up. “What?”

  Cam lifted a hand. “Hear me out. If you’re so set on how awful it is, all you’re going to see is awfulness. Try making a friend. Step out on a limb, do something you’ve never done before. Who knows, it might turn out amazing.”

  “That means I have to put myself out there.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Camryn argued.

  Yeah, for her, Miss Spunky Daring. I lifted the phone as if that would put her more directly in line with my expression. “We’re talking worst nightmare here.”

  Camryn laughed. “You can do it, Bail. You’re freaking adorable. Show those rich kids that.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. Camryn was the first person to ever tell me I was awesome, to ever include me in her life like I mattered. Camryn was the first real friend I ever had. Opening up was easy for her. She’d reached out and included me without question. I wasn’t like that. I couldn’t just talk to people, like I’d already been friends with them for years.

  If Camryn hadn’t talked to me during class back at Madison High and taken me under her wing, including me in the drama between her brother and her boyfriend, Beckham, we wouldn’t be friends now. She’d been crushing on Beckham big time, but when her brother had warned her against him, it had only made Camryn all the more interested in finding out why. Things turned out okay, and they were still together now, but for a while there, it was complete drama with all the suspicion floating around.

  “I’m not like you, Cam,” I reminded her.

  “You don’t have to be. Be you. You can do it, Bailey. Your success there doesn’t depend on anybody else.”

  Her encouraging words only added to my uncertainty, but I did my best to shove it aside. Sing at random to the quarterback—who seemed, so far, like an incredibly hot-headed and prideful boy? Sure, he’d been decent during our drive back to campus, but he’d gone back to prideful jerk wad the minute we’d returned.