Love Notes: A Rivals Series Prequel

by Lawson, Piper

He catches me staring and smirks, those hazel eyes too intense for comfort. “Anything else I need to know?”

  I force my brain to work. “The cliques don’t like outsiders.”

  “You’ll protect me.”

  “Carly and her minions can be vicious.”

  Tyler lifts a brow and I continue.

  “We just finished our annual charity drive, which means Oakwood kids getting their parents to write big checks and posing with them in designer dresses at the holiday gala for the society section. This year, I suggested we actually go into the community and work for a day on the front lines: cleaning up municipal parks of trash, soup kitchens, literacy programs for at-risk youth.

  “Carly lobbied against it on the basis that it would pose a health risk to students to be in environments with ‘substandard sanitation’. And because her dad’s the head of the board, she got her way.”

  Tyler shakes his head and I hold up a hand.

  “It gets better. Her minions also filled my locker with the smelly contents of a days-old dining hall garbage bag, and a note saying ‘if you want to hang with trash, here you go.’ I’m still scraping rotten banana out of the edges of my locker and fantasizing about spreading it into her blond hair.”

  "Damn.”

  “You asked.”

  “I did. Okay, tell me about the music scene."

  A little thrill works through me. "There are some bands at school. The best one is Brandon Bowers’, but there's no way he'll let you in."

  “Sign, join, or jilt?”

  My chest expands as I remember our old game.

  When we discovered a new band, we’d have to say whether we’d sign them, join them, or leave them. It was our own version of “Kiss, Marry, Kill” and worked way better since Tyler’s into girls and I’m into guys, meaning our preference gap on the dating front was irreconcilable.

  I tap a finger against my lips. “Join. Those guys are going into banking or something serious, so there’s no point signing them. But they’re pretty good.”

  Tyler tosses me a reckless smile before crossing to the desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a notebook and pen Haley must’ve stashed in there. “How many of these boys have you kissed?”

  My jaw drops. “None of your business. Besides, musicians are arrogant and smug and unattractive.”

  He leaves the notebook on the desk and crosses to me, lifting up the hem of his shirt to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of cut abs, and holding out the pen.

  “What are you doing?” I mutter, my breath catching.

  “Always wanted a tattoo. Seems like a good one to keep me grounded.”

  Oh my God.

  He’s so hot.

  Honestly, he was always smoldering, but it’s as if turning eighteen set him on fire.

  I call his bluff, starting to scrawl a happy face on his chiseled stomach, but he laughs and grabs my wrist before I can finish.

  “You didn’t answer me.” He doesn’t release me, just strokes a thumb down my wrist in a way that makes me step closer. “How many of those guys did you kiss?”

  “I told you. No musicians. I’m saving myself for the head of debate team. He has a 4.0 and a crew cut.”

  His eyes change color. “That’s a damned waste.”

  The pen hits the floor and I curse, dropping to my knees to retrieve it. I scrub at the invisible smudge on the bare floor with my thumb.

  “So what’re you screwing around with? Musically, I mean,” he goes on with a grin when I gawk up at him.

  “I spent last summer working on an essay for this statewide competition on the decline of social mobility—how the rich stay rich and the poor stay poor.”

  At least, most of the time. There are exceptions. Like my dad. Like me.

  “Essays instead of music.” Tyler shakes his head. “You’re dead inside.”

  There’s no reason for those words to land heavy on my heart.

  They do anyway.

  Maybe because he talks about music like my dad does. Like it’s not a choice, it’s part of him, and like they’re part of the same exclusive club.

  I can’t help wondering what it would be like to be part of Tyler, to be something so important to him.

  I clear my throat. “You can ride to school with me.”

  Tyler shrugs out of the jacket, hangs it in the closet. “I’ll take my bike. Unless parking’s an issue.”

  I ignore the hit of disappointment. “There’s enough asphalt at Oakwood to service a shopping mall. Ironically, fewer oaks than you’d think.” He laughs. “When did you get the bike?”

  “Spent the summer building it from parts so I’d have wheels when I moved out.”

  That grabs my attention. “You moved out?”

  Being friends with Tyler has always been easy. Maybe because after a few months in the same city, we were long distance, existing on texts and emails and the occasional call that left me grinning for a week after.

  But though he didn’t expect many things from me, there was an implicit rule, always: we never talked about his home life, not even when we both lived in Philly.

  Now, my heart thuds dully in my chest, a new kind of uneasiness working through me. “Tyler… where have you been living?”

  “Around.”

  It didn’t occur to me he hadn’t answered because he had his own shit going on. Shit that might have been worse than mine.

  My heart aches, and I know what I’m thinking is plain on my face because he reacts too, shaking his head as if he can ward me off even as those eyes darken in warning. “Annie…”

  Without thinking, I throw myself against him, and I feel him inhale in surprise. As if maybe he would’ve dodged me if he’d seen me coming.

  He’s so strong, but I wish I could tell him he doesn’t have to be. That I’ll be strong for both of us.

  Even if he feels different, smells different than he used to.

  Even if he went from handsome to the kind of hot that makes my body tighten just being in the same room as him.

  "I'm glad you're here, and tomorrow’s going to be great. Promise,” I murmur against his chest. ”I should let you unpack."

  "Yeah. It could take all night." His dry tone as I pull back has me glancing at the single bag he brought with him.

  “Need anything before your clothes get here?”

  “I might need some tights. A pink skirt. A pastry hat.”

  The smirk on his face makes my heart lift in my chest. “Fuck you,” I retort.

  But there’s no bite in it.

  I head for the door but turn back at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Annie.”

  Tyler stands next to the bed, his duffle on top. His hair is messier than it was a second ago, as if he ran an impatient hand through it.

  “I missed you too.”

  For the first time since arriving on my doorstep, he doesn’t look smug. He looks lost. Like someone who’s been running toward something a long time.

  Or running from it.

  I haven’t answered a single one of the questions spinning in my mind. But tonight, the only thing that matters is the way Tyler’s looking at me—as if I’m the answer to every prayer he’s ever had.

  3

  Annie

  “What the hell is that?” I demand as Pen shifts into my car in the morning, dropping into the passenger seat. The huge cardboard box she was carrying is in the back seat of the Audi.

  “Props for civics class. We have a debate today.”

  I eye up the box. “Is that full of hammers? Is your strategy literally beating them over the head?”

  “Funny. Let’s talk about you. This hot guy friend I’ve never met is suddenly living at your house? If we weren’t friends, I’d call you a liar.”

  “You can see for yourself. He’s going to be at school.”

  “What?”

  I laugh as I navigate the roads from Pen’s place to school. I tell her what I know so far, and she grills me.

  “So, the last time you saw him was—�
�

  “My dad and Haley’s wedding.”

  “Dammit, I knew I should’ve flown back from Barcelona for it! Did something happen between you?”

  I steer into the parking lot, thinking of twinkling lights, a gazebo, my dress flowing around my feet, Tyler’s arms around me.

  “We danced. That’s it.”

  She lets out a sound of approval. “Like, ‘your dick is so far up my crack we should have a condom for this’ dancing?”

  “No,” I say, laughing. “Like... my arms around his neck dancing.” Her mystified expression makes me go on. “It was sweet,” I decide, though it’s not the right word.

  “I bet.”

  My gaze lands on his motorcycle. There’s a spot next to it, but I park a dozen spots away.

  Our private school is big and new, not like the ivy-covered ones from the Northeast. But what this school lacks in ivy, it makes up for with stone and glass and other foliage. I can’t imagine what the landscaping costs here, but every inch is green despite the fact that it’s the middle of January.

  Every time I catch myself getting used to the surroundings, I snap out of it.

  Oakwood is not real life.

  I get why I’m here—my dad values his privacy and wants me to have the education he never got, but sometimes I miss public school.

  The one time I brought it up, my dad reminded me of all the reasons I can’t go.

  But I can’t help wondering if the reason I’m thrown every day by the parking lot of expensive cars, the floor-to-ceiling glass and mature trees that have no business being at a brand new school is the same reason I can’t fit in with Oakwood’s occupants.

  This isn’t where I belong.

  Fortunately, Pen dulls the edge of the discomfort. We met last year during a campaign to eliminate packaging waste from the dining hall and have been inseparable since. Her parents are wealthy, but like my dad, they made it all themselves through hard work. Her dad emigrated from China and met her mom in California before starting a software company.

  My friend enjoys nice things, but she also calls it like it is.

  Pen and I cross to the front doors, me carrying her bag so she can haul her box. Packs of uniformed students laugh and shout in the halls.

  On the way to our lockers, my gaze lands on a poster. “Musical auditions are happening next week. The Little Mermaid.”

  “You gonna do it?” Pen asks, dropping the box on the floor and yanking open her locker.

  I recall Tyler’s incredulity that I haven’t been doing any music lately. I love music, and I have a decent voice. As a kid, I took the entire conservatory piano curriculum. And I can mess around on guitar, though not “win a Grammy every other year” well, which seems to be the median in my household.

  But there’s something different about being on stage. It always seems reserved for people like my dad, people with charisma and charm and fearlessness.

  “Maybe I will audition,” I hear myself say. The words send a little thrill through me.

  Pen squeals in delight. “You should. You’re better than all of them.”

  “Carly and her minions have a lock on theater. Auditioning would not endear me to them.”

  “She’s a bitch, but what can she really do, taunt you to death?”

  “We both know it’s more than that.” She rules the school with an iron fist and sharp, airbrushed talons. “Her dad’s head of the school board. She gets away with murder while the rest of us play by the rules.”

  What I want is to get good grades and get out of here. I can go somewhere that people care about the world outside of money and success, somewhere I’m out from behind my dad’s mile-long shadow.

  I open my locker, pull out my phone, and dash off a text.

  Annie: Saw your bike in the parking lot. Gold star for making it to school.

  I drop the notebooks for my afternoon classes and grab my pencil case. My phone buzzes, and the response makes me smile.

  Tyler: Thanks for checking up on me. At the office finishing a mountain of paperwork now.

  “Good luck in civics,” I tell Pen as I tuck the phone away. “Need help with your box?”

  “By seventeen, a woman should be able to take care of her own box.”

  I laugh. “I’ll see you second period.”

  I leave my friend and take the long way to class.

  My choice is rewarded when I see Tyler emerging from the headmaster’s office.

  He looks out of place here. He’s too big, too graceful, too composed. It’s as if he’s not really interacting with this world but living in another one inside himself.

  Tyler’s gaze locks on mine, and he grins, hitching his bag over one shoulder. “Hey, stranger.”

  Damn, he looks hot in that uniform.

  I’m no artist but I suddenly feel moved to draw him, paint him.

  Possibly with my tongue.

  “Hey, I was just on my way to English. Need an escort?”

  “I might. How’d you know my bike was here?”

  “It’s the only one in the lot.”

  He tells me about the drive in, jokes about the cars in the lot, and as we walk I realize how good this is going to be.

  Last night, I lay awake staring at the lights of the pool house, and decided that no matter what’s between us, Tyler’s here and I’m so damned glad.

  Because he’s not affected by money or egos or any of the bullshit. I love that about him.

  We round a corner, and I’m so focused on Tyler that I run smack into a body on the other side.

  Tyler grabs me with steadying hands I feel through the fabric of my jacket and shirt.

  “Watch it,” the girl snaps, and I murmur an apology before I realize whom I’ve had the bad luck to run into.

  The Queen Bitch herself.

  Carly’s tie is done up tight, but her shirt’s a size too small, stretching over her boobs and leaving little to the imagination. Her skirt is rolled at least three times, and she’s the only one in school who gets away with doing it more than twice. (Pen and I roll ours once because whoever designs these uniforms still hasn’t learned knee length isn’t flattering for anyone.)

  Carly's gaze roves over Tyler. “Who are you?”

  Tyler moves to step between us, but I shift to keep him behind me.

  It’s instinct, not deliberate. Physical fights are a rarity at Oakwood, but the way she’s inspecting my friend, I’d take her on in a heartbeat.

  “He’s new. Back off.”

  I expect her to snap back at me but her attention stays on him over my shoulder. “From where?”

  "Philly,” Tyler answers, but there’s an edge to it.

  Carly circles us both, eying him up. “Roman College. I have a cousin who goes there."

  "Public school."

  Aaand it’s on.

  With Carly, you either join her court, which means kissing her feet, or you’re her enemy.

  Tyler’s not the feet-kissing type, and the fact that there’s nothing in his family connections to make her give him a pass puts him squarely in the second category.

  Welcome to door number two, Tyler.

  She folds her arms over her ample chest. “Your parents get you in here on scholarship?”

  “My dad and I parted ways last year.”

  “He’s dead.” Her lips curve meanly, but Tyler doesn’t flinch.

  “Just an asshole. But he got the house.”

  From her fascination, one would think he’d told her he’d discovered life on Mars. Even her minions, normally loud and mean behind her, are silent and still, waiting for something to happen.

  Carly steps closer to Tyler, close enough she could touch him if she wanted to.

  I don’t want her to.

  “You know who I am, poor boy?” she asks, her voice fake-sweet as she tilts her chin up at him.

  But Tyler glances down the hall as if he’s already bored with this conversation. Carly’s minions exchange a look of shock at his audacity.

 
; “No,” he answers at last. “Do you?”

  The easy retort has my breath sticking in my chest.

  The bell rings, cutting off the audible gasps from Carly’s minions, but it can’t mask the disarmed look on her face.

  I grab his jacket, jerking my head down the hall toward class.

  The hit of pleasure knowing Tyler and I will be outcasts together is short-lived.

  Because at Oakwood, things can always get worse.

  * * *

  “You really fucked yourself,” I tell him as we head for our class. “Carly’s in AP English with us, and she won’t forget what you did.”

  “My bad. I’ll try to follow your cues in the future.” He sends me a wink that makes me want to squeeze my bare legs together.

  “Whatever. Let’s get through one period, okay?”

  Tyler shifts into an empty seat at the front with Kellan Albright and Brandon Bowers.

  The teacher glances at the tablet on her desk. “I understand we have a new student. Would you like to introduce yourself?"

  Necks crane, expressions conveying the mild curiosity that’s appropriate when you’re bored and rich.

  Tyler strolls to the front of the class.

  I look over at Carly. She doesn’t look pissed, she looks… wary. Like she’s anticipating something she knows she needs to witness.

  "I'm Tyler Adams. I moved here from Philly last night.”

  Murmurs go through the room.

  I expect him to say he’s staying with me, living with us, but he doesn’t.

  “The bike in the parking lot. It’s yours?” This is from one of the minions, and I wonder if she had permission from Carly to open her mouth.

  “I built it myself.”

  The buzz in the classroom is instantaneous.

  “Will you take me on it?” Another minion blurts, and alarm has my body tightening.

  “Don’t be a slut,” Carly snaps.

  I’ve seen how the social dynamics play out at this school.

  But watching it unfold with Tyler at the center makes me squirm in my seat.

  He’s not mine, but I hate that he’s on display for these people.

  “I also play guitar." Tyler’s voice cuts into my thoughts.