by Rachel Kiss
He said it matter-of-factly, as though he’d been quite willing to take that chance—which he obviously had been. Which was heartbreaking and disturbing (which actually summed the guy up pretty well: Heartbreaking and disturbing).
I quickly opened the door to leave class. “Sorry if I didn’t want you to die,” I muttered.
He grinned. “Again, I’m touched.”
Walking down the hallway, him right beside me, I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want snakes to die either—doesn’t mean I like them.”
His eyes twinkled. “But would you pay triple to keep them alive?”
“No, I wouldn’t pay anything to keep them alive. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t actually have the money to keep you alive either.”
His grin twitched with amusement. “No. I didn’t figure you did.”
Then he added, “And just so you know, I didn’t expect you to actually pay anyway—since I’m a ‘monster’ and everything.”
I winced at the word. A tangle of emotions crashed through me remembering I had called him that the day he first punched Blake.
A strange heart-stabbing feeling washed through me that he remembered it as well—me calling him a monster.
It did crazy things to my heart—squeezed it and ripped it to shreds.
However, I quickly—determinedly—reminded myself he had laughed about me to his friends that day—and, yeah, he had punched poor innocent Blake in the nose! He was a monster.
So, with a large amount of chill I quickly said, “Look, don’t read anything into it. I just didn’t want you to die and ruin play practice—our biology teacher is in charge of it today.”
Shane groaned around a sardonic grin. With a faint smile he said, “Yeah. Well. Couldn’t ruin that for you—you up there on stage, singing with your scum-bag boyfriend.”
I tilted my head. “Why do you hate him so much anyway?”
He stared into my eyes. “Figure it out, cheerleader.”
Um … er—???
The way he was suddenly looking at me had me on fire. “I—I should go.”
I stammered the words out quickly, not actually really, truly wanting to say them. At all. Shamefully, I just wanted to stare back into his eyes the way he was staring into mine. But he’s a monster, I tried to remind myself, and he’s Blake’s total enemy.
So, I quickly took a giant step away from him.
A low discouraged grunt noise came from Shane when I did that—stepped away from him. But our eyes remained locked on each other’s. I couldn’t move. I’m going to faint!
Shane’s lips parted slightly. Maybe he could hear my wildly pounding heart.
Only then he said softly—
“I’m sorry about your mom.” He said it so softly.
My eyes instantly welled with tears. Oh! Why did he say that? How did he even know?
I swallowed hard. My voice hitching I choked out, “My aunt told you?”
He tilted his head, his eyes still intently on me. “Who’s your aunt?”
My mom had always made my aunt promise not to tell her foster kids that I was related to her. I guess my aunt kept her promise. Also, my aunt never showed up at any family events. Even now they were “at odds.” Though now my aunt came over every day. Brought us food, cared for my mom as best as she could, when my mom would let her.
But my mom really, really didn’t want me to associate with my aunt’s ever transient foster kids. Now she would want it even worse—since she couldn’t watch over me.
Instead of answering Shane I blinked up at him. “H—how did you know?”
His sad dark eyes went all soft. “Your poem.”
My stomach dropped. My poem! He had figured it out from my poem?! I’d had to read the torturous thing in front of the whole class the other day. I had made it all cryptic and purposely unrecognizable. But he figured it out? He was probably the only person on the face of the planet that did. After I had read it, practically crying, the teacher had asked people what they thought of it. Most had liked it, and said it sounded sad. But no one “got” it. They all asked me about it—what it meant. No one got it at all … except Shane. The monster.
My lips parted.
Before I had time to say anything Shane inched closer to me and quickly sniffed the curve of my neck.
He did it right as Blake turned the corner and saw us together.
Blake raced to us, quickly pulling chuckling Shane away from me.
They started throwing punches and fighting. As usual. I tried to get them to stop, but it took a teacher to pull them apart. He dragged them down to the principal’s office.
I watched them go with my heart pounding violently against my chest. Apparently Shane had only sniffed my neck because he saw Blake coming and he knew it would make Blake ballistic. Which it did.
Shane really was a monster.
It was disturbing that I had adored him being so close to me.
But I did.
***
End of peek.
Hope you liked it.
Please Love Me Back is available now.
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Note: The author’s newest book is: Jane’s Air.
There is a peek at Jane’s Air at the end of this book after the following romantic teen story on the next page. (The story is a two-hour read.)
Note from the authors, Melanie Marks and Rachel Kiss
We hope you enjoyed Maybe Me
Thanks so much for reading it
If you would like to contact us, or be notified of our newest books email:
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Melanie Marks newest books:
Please Love Me Back:
https://www.amazon.com/Please-Love-Back-Melanie-Marks-ebook/dp/B01M8N203J
Jane’s Air:
https://www.amazon.com/Janes-Air-Young-Adult-Romance-ebook/dp/B01LX3ZDBC
Books by (pen-name) Rachel Kiss:
My Best Friend; Stepsister; and Kissing Girls.
(Each are a dollar, or you can read them for free if you have unlimited.)
Note: The next page has another story.
HIS BEST FRIEND
NOTE: Below is Melanie Marks’ story “His Best Friend.” No book needs to be read before it. The companion book to His Best Friend is a bonus story added as a bonus in Melanie’s new book: Please Love Me Back. (Neither book needs to be read before the other. They are both standalone stories.)
HIS BEST FRIEND
By Melanie Marks
CHAPTER 1
They tell me I’ve been in a coma. It’s weird because I think of comas as things you don’t come out of. I guess that’s because in the fourth grade I had a friend that fell off a horse and went into one. She never came out of it. I wasn’t in mine that long, though. Only a week. Still, it was long enough to scare my mom. My friends too.
And not just them.
Random people.
It was weird.
When I woke, my hospital room was packed with flowers and cards. Strangely, gobs of them were from people I hardly ever talk to, some I’m pretty sure I never talked to. Ever. I guess the cool thing around school was to be friends with the girl in the coma, at least that’s what my friend Luke tells me.
Speaking of Luke, he comes around a lot lately, sticks to me like glue. I’m not complaining. I secretly love Luke. I always have, always. It’s just weird to suddenly be getting such devoted attention from him. Until I had my car accident and went into that coma he treated me like a bud. Like I was worthy of his friendship, since we live right next door to each other and we’ve been friends our whole lives (and I can totally kick his butt at video games).
But that was about all I ever was to him—his little buddy. It was almost like, to him, I was a grouchy younger brother. (Only, we’re the same age … and I’m a girl.) (And, you know—I love him.) (But that’s why I’m ‘grouchy’—because I want to yank out the hair of all of his m
any, many Barbie-doll girlfriends.)
But now, sometimes, I catch Luke looking at me. Actually, full-on staring. I would get psyched about it, only I’m not sure why he’s staring. Is it love? Or is he just worried about me? Probably it’s just the worried thing. Most likely. He keeps acting like I’m going to disappear from him again—go back into another coma. He said me being in the coma had annihilated him, and given him nightmares every single night. Now he always scoots really close to me, his eyes drinking me in.
Sadly, it almost makes the whole coma-thing worth it—Luke now staring at me like he does. Okay, not going to lie, it’s totally worth it. Totally. But that’s just … pathetic. So, shhh.
As an interesting side note, I should maybe mention that Luke isn’t the only guy that has gone all soft on me since my big ‘Is-she-ever-going-to-wake-up-again scare’ that— apparently—everyone was going through.
See, since I woke from my coma I’ve been getting “Love letters.” They’re from the guy whose car crashed into mine—Jonah Michaels. Okay, here’s the thing about Jonah: he’s super hot. (Smokin’) Soooo nice to look at. But still, he’s freaking me out. Big time.
Jonah has gone to my school since the fourth grade. He keeps telling me that he liked me even before the car crash. Maybe he did, who knows? I’m actually pretty cool. But now, since the car crash, he’s turned … psycho.
I guess he kept sneaking into my hospital room while I was in my coma—to ‘visit’ me. Which is more like stalk me. You know, since I was unconscious. I mean, I probably didn’t add much to the conversation—or tell any awesome jokes or … anything. So, it’s creepy. To me. But to be fair, I get creeped out easy. Then again, come on—the guy hardly knows me, yet the hospital staff had to make him leave my room—a bunch of times. Then, when he kept showing up anyway—despite them kicking him out—they banned him from my hospital floor. But they would still catch him in my hospital room.
“I’m in love with her,” he would tell them.
“Love her from your own house,” they would tell him back.
Seriously.
It’s all pretty stalker-y … right?
Still, I tried to tone Jonah’s strangeness down with my mom. Like convince her that Hot Jonah isn’t as much of a stalker as it seems. Because, well, (okay, this is really shallow of me, I know) but Hot Jonah is, well, HOT.
So, though it creeps me out that he’s gone psycho on me—still, in a way, it’s … um, sweet (?) sort of … (?). I mean, he keeps saying how he would have killed himself if I died. Seriously, he says that. Hm. Okay, well, now that I’m actually saying it out loud, I guess the word I was looking for a bit ago isn’t ‘sweet.’ No. I guess I have to stick with ‘psycho.’
But anyway, I didn’t tell my mom the complete lengths of Jonah’s stalking, because, as it was, Mom was already considering getting a restraining order against the guy. But I’m sure he’ll calm down now that I’ve been out of my coma a while … right?
I mean, right???
He probably just felt guilty about the car accident, right? And it made him think, for a moment, that he … uh … loves me.
… Okay, admittedly, I have no clue what’s going on in Jonah’s pretty head. But I know he must have felt horrible about the accident and that he ran into me, and I went into the coma and might have died.
That would freak anyone out, right? Make them crazy with guilt. But he doesn’t have to be crazy now. Or feel guilty. I’m fine now. Well, basically. I guess I have ‘internal injuries’ and I’m still healing. I wasn’t supposed to come back to school until next week.
But here I am this morning—at school. Even though Mom told me not to come. She hasn’t let me come for the past two weeks, not since I woke from the coma. It’s because I’ve been really weak and frail and dizzy, all that sicky stuff. But see, Mom works and I couldn’t take another day of being home. Alone. I miss people.
But now that I’m here at school, I know I’m not up for it. Healthy people are loud. And the sun is really bright. I need to sit down before I fall down.
There’s no way I can go to class, listen to teachers … even pretend to listen. Just the thought makes me nauseous. I decide to sneak into the school nurse’s office and take a nap instead. The nurse is never in there. She hangs out in the front office, filling out paperwork and … well, I don’t know what else she does but she’s never in the room with the cot.
Standing in the crowded hallway, I’m torn. Go straight to the office, or drop my books off at my locker? Both are in different directions, both too far.
“I’ll take your books—if you want.”
Startled by the unexpected (male) voice, I whip around. Then my heart freaks. Thumps wild against my chest.
Because it’s Jonah.
Staring into his beautiful blue eyes, my heart stops. Not exactly in an I-love-you way. More like slightly in a Yikes!-Scary! I-need-to-get-away way.
I mean, the guy has done some freaky things lately.
So, I stumble back a bit.
Jonah notices my panicked reaction. The corners of his lips go downward slightly, but he tries to act all friendly, like he’s oblivious that I’m suddenly a shivering wreck. But I can tell he notices … and he’s frustrated/sad about it. “It’s good to see you back, Jazz,” he says. “Did you get my texts … and gifts?”
He gave me lots of gifts. Strange gifts. Not just flowers. But jewelry. He would leave them on our doorstep. But the thing is, Jonah is poor. I mean, I’m sorry to say this, but dirt poor. He lives in a ‘boys home’ because his dad is schizophrenic … and killed his mom. And tried to kill him.
So, yeah. Jonah has issues … and he can’t afford jewelry.
“Um, yeah. I got them, Jonah. Thank you. But like I told you in my last text, I can’t accept them.”
He swallows, like he’s hurt. He tilts his head. “Why? Why can’t you accept them?”
“Because. They obviously cost a lot of money. And—and I know you just gave them to me because you feel guilty. But look, you don’t have to feel guilty. It was an accident. Everyone knows that. I know that. It was an accident. And I’m fine.”
Jonah shakes his head slightly. “I’m glad you’re fine. But I didn’t give them to you because I feel guilty—I mean, I do feel guilty. But I gave them to you because I like you.”
His words melt my heart. Seriously, aww. I’m practically a puddle. (Strangely, I’ve always been slightly drawn to Jonah’s strangeness—and not just because of his pretty eyes.)
My voice comes out all hitchy, “Jonah, thank you. Really. I appreciate the gesture—and the sentiment. But you don’t know me. You just feel this way because you were worried about me. You thought I might die and you thought it was your fault—and it gave you undue feelings for me. But even if I would have died Jonah, it wouldn’t have been your fault. I’m glad I lived so I could tell you that—it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”
He smiles slightly. “Really? That’s why you’re glad you’re alive—so you could tell me that?”
Okay, whoa. My heart gets all spazzy over his smile. And his twinkling eyes. (I’m such a FREAK Girl!!!) (Well, more like Hormone Girl, actually.) But whatever. It’s crazy. I have such duel feelings about this guy it’s insane. I mean, he’s a criminal (well, there are rumors that he is—and the jewelry kind of helps perpetuates that line of thought) and there’s also the fact he is a stalker. (I mean, okay, let me just add right now, not all of his gifts were left on our doorstep … and not all of his gifts were jewelry. He left me lingerie. In my bedroom.) (So, eeek!) (And probably, I should think ‘yuck,’ right?) (Only … have I mentioned that he is totally hot?)
So ... yeah. Duel feelings up the wazoo.
Before I can say anything—since I can’t say anything. (His smile does that to me.) He says, “By the way, I don’t want to freak you out—but I’m now your locker-mate.”
I choke on my gum. “My what?”
“Well, locker partner. Your old partner, Destiny—she l
et me switch with her. Don’t be mad at her, though. I told her not to tell you.”
Destiny!!! Grr! Of course she would totally go along with whatever Jonah asked of her. She probably thought it was romantic that he wanted to be my partner. No matter how hard I try to convince her that Jonah has truly turned into a psycho stalker, she just thinks it’s something to be jealous about. (I mentioned Jonah is hot, right?) She keeps saying she wishes he had crashed into her.
I really, really need my best friend, Ally, around. Ally would understand—unexpected lingerie left in your room equals big time scary stalker. Not romance. But Ally has her own problems at the moment. She had to leave our school to go to one in a totally different state. Just to get away from the boy she loves, Griffin. (Her parents made her break up with him, and it broke her heart. Griffin’s too. It’s all very heartbreaking. But, well, at the moment, my heart has it’s own problems. It’s freaking out. Big time.)
I can barely get my mouth to work. “You’re my locker partner?”
Jonah nods, his gorgeous eyes staring into mine, like he’s gauging my reaction.
But I don’t know how to react. The dude is quickly trying to force his way into my life.
Jonah brushes the bangs out of his eyes, watching me. He keeps flicking quick looks to my lips then my hair, then back to my eyes, like I’m a piece of candy and he’s really, really hungry. Like it’s taking great effort for him not to lunge at me and plant his mouth on mine. (Which if it wasn’t for the lingerie, and breaking into my room, I probably wouldn’t mind. But, well, there are those things. So, cringe.)
After a moment of searching my every nook and cranny, he goes on talking, like we’re having an ordinary conversation and he’s not ravishing me with his eyes, “Yeah, sorry if you didn’t want that,” he brushes at his bangs again, “—me as a locker partner, I mean…. It’s just, like you said, we don’t know each other that well.” He moves in closer. “I want to get to know you.”
His eyes glued to mine, he edges even closer, “I want that a lot.”
