by Jacky Gray
New Kid in Town
Bryant Rockwell #1
Jacky Gray
Bryant Rockwell - A pitch-perfect blend of drama and romance for fans of “10 Things I Hate About You,” “Glee,” and “13 Reasons Why.”
“Snappy, well-pitched and edgy. An enjoyable read which will appeal to anyone who has a sense of humour and an ear for the ironic.” – BV
"Funny, intense and endearing. Wish I had such a group of friends." – MM
"Cool! I like the way the characters show their human frailty with jealousy and feelings of inadequacy.” – HS
To Hannah – for polishing my stories until they shine
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events other than those clearly in the public domain are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Jacky Gray
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Front coverCopyright © 2017 Icy Sedgwick
http://www.icysedgwick.com
First published in March 2017
Second edition August 2017
Found out more at:
https://twitter.com/jacky_gray
http://hengistpeoplehorse.blogspot.co.uk https://www.facebook.com/HengistPeopleOfTheHorse
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Contents
1 Life on Planet Liv
2 Jude’s International Man of Mystery
3 Kat’s Beauty and the Beast Tale
4 Liv’s Personal Hell
5 Ray: An Honorary Girl
6 Luke: The Boy Next Door
7 Joyriding is No Fun at All
8 That’s Some Eyebrow Action
9 Fox in the Henhouse
10 Jimmy: The Leader of the Pack
11 Boy Trouble
12 All the World’s a Stage
13 French Class
14 Brotherly Love
15 What Happened to Luke?
16 If you Can’t Stand the Heat …
17 Fatherly Love
18 Skating on Thin Ice
19 Not-So-Timid Terry
20 Ray’s Big Secret
21 Who’s Zooming Who?
22 The Race is On
23 That Awkward Age
Glossary and Note about UK Schools
More in the Bryant Rockwell Series
Also by Jacky Gray – Hengist: People of the Horse
WorldWiseWriters
1 Life on Planet Liv
“Blast!” Liv scowled at her blouse as the thread, whose sole job in life was to attach the top button to the white cotton, broke. The button executed a perfect suicide dive, bouncing under the desk. A festering heap of junk welcomed it in, closing ranks to protect it from the humongous Wrath of Liv. Spoken in her head by Voice-Over-Man, like a movie title.
“With a large helping of double drat.” She giggled at the hoops her mother had the whole family jumping through. It was a futile attempt to reduce the number of nasty swear words eight-year-old Davey was exposed to.
Vicky, Liv’s ultra-cool older sister, had tried her best to educate. “Mum. You do know the language in the playground at St Barts is way worse than anything he’ll hear at home.”
Her father frowned. “St Barts is a junior school. Surely ten year olds aren’t swearing that badly?”
“Oh, Dad. Times have moved on a lot in the past decade.” Vicky patted his arm, a gesture which should have wound him up something rotten, but somehow, she got away with it.
Before he could start on a “kids today” rant, their mother stepped in. “I’m sure you’re right. But it’s not only for his benefit. Your father and I would rather not be exposed to such venomous energy.” Recently, she’d started talking about everything in terms of its energy.
This was the first time Liv registered her sister’s ingenious version of the eye-roll. Instead of raising her eyes heavenward, in the hackneyed teenage cliché guaranteed to cause offence, Vicky flicked them down and to the left
Realising she’d seen this before, Liv demanded an explanation next time they were out of hearing.
“It’s the reverse-eye-roll or RER. We developed it a couple of years ago to get ourselves out of trouble when adults say something dorky. You should try it. But don’t spread it too far or people will catch on.”
Liv found plenty of use for the RER – not the French train! – A side-effect of living in a world inhabited by half-wits, planks and wazzocks. Not her words, but Mel’s – the girl who’d been her bestie since they recognised their identical foot-shaped mouths in year seven. That would be, like, sixth grade in America, her inner voice snarked in an accent developed from watching too many US-teen movies. Her number one had to be 10 Things I Hate About You; she embodied the acerbic spirit of Kat Stratford. Ok, it was a stretch, but she lived thirty-three miles from Stratford, and her friend was called Kat, so close enough.
Leaving aside visions of a young, hunky Heath Ledger with a sigh, Liv discarded her favourite blouse, the only one which came vaguely close to fitting, and opened the wardrobe for a clean one. She averted her eyes from the mirror so she wouldn’t have to observe the nightmare Liv who lived there and popped out, gloating, every time she glanced at it. The clean blouse told its own sorry tale of one-too-many choccy bars, but did it have to be every hour? She swore as the two sides refused to meet over her boobs.
Really? Looking down at the offending articles, she cringed at the memory of her one-and-only boyfriend in year ten calling them “well developed.” On their one-and-only date, he tried to get inside her bra to check out exactly how well they’d developed. That was the end of him. According to Vicky, boys were intimidated by her intelligence and sharp tongue. Liv suspected news got round quickly and the threat of a stinging slap did the rest.
“Liv, you’re going to be late.” The thud on her door as her dad passed by sparked her into action. Retrieving the first blouse from its resting place on the floor, she sent up a prayer of thanks for the cool weather. It meant she could wear the V-neck jumper which would hide the missing button until she could sort it out. Grabbing her school-bag, packed last night because she knew too well how much she didn’t do mornings, she clumped down the stairs.
Her mum held out a cereal bar which she stuffed in her pocket, and a piece of toast which she crammed in her mouth, while simultaneously attempting to shove her arms into her coat sleeves. Doing this without transferring a single glob of melting butter onto any part of her clothing would normally have presented no problems, but today it simply wasn’t happening. Mum appeared with a goodbye kiss and a paper towel as though she’d predicted it.
Closing the door while swiping at the shiny yellow gloop on her coat took all of Liv’s attention, so she didn’t see the postman until she lay on the floor, utterly mortified, gawking at his hairy knees.
“Sorry, love. Let me help you up.” He held out his hand and she grabbed it, more than happy to accept his aid with a humiliated-but-grateful smile.
“I think this one may be for you.” He held out a pastel pink envelope, letting go before she’d managed to get a firm hold. It hovered for a moment as she clutched at it, then eluded her and fluttered to ground.
“Thanks.” As she bent to retrieve it from the mercifully dry path, her mind insisted on snarking, That’s what you call proper butterfingers, then. Trying to suppress the groan in case the postie thought she needed immediate hospitalisation,
she dusted off the envelope. No need to read the name, she instantly recognised the Cute-Kitty motif in the corner. Mel! Talk of the devil or, in this case, think of her. Liv’s gran quaintly insisted they should “Speak of an Angel and hear the flapping of her wings,” but Mel was definitely no angel.
Liv had no time to muse as her bus trundled round the corner. The next couple of minutes featured an embarrassing amount of wobbly bits topped by a beetroot red face as she ran to catch the bus before it left the stop.
Panting and wheezing, Liv climbed the stairs and slid into an empty seat, trying to pull off unobtrusive and failing miserably. Her glasses had steamed up and she cleaned them with a tissue, then scrabbled in her bag for her iPod until she remembered. She cursed the recent school rule which declared any piece of electronic equipment would be confiscated on sight.
Nothing new there, but the deputy head, Mr Frearshall, had given teachers the right to inspect bags without a search warrant. All they needed was “reasonable doubt,” and this led to a series of subtle inducements to anyone willing to “dob in” their friends. Unfortunately, every year group had at least one nasty stool pigeon happy to rat on a perceived enemy. Like DD, the spiteful snob Mel had labelled Dirty Diana. Liv shuddered.
During a special assembly, Fearsome – another Mel-based nickname – introduced the initiative, displaying stats which showed how phone bans at several schools led to an improvement in exam results. A hideous twist decreed the item would not be returned until the responsible parents – or carers – had endured an interview with the deputy where their child signed a no-devices agreement. Ugh!
Her mum insisted she follow the rules, but her dad had been cannier, suggesting she ride it out for as long as it took before the teachers got fed up trying to enforce an unreasonable rule on the older kids. Good old dad!
As her fingers brushed the pink envelope, she grinned at the memory of Mel insisting they buy matching Cute-Kitty stationery when her family moved down to the south coast last June. After Mel’s poor showing in the end-of-year English exam, her mum suggested the two girls might become pen friends, in an attempt to improve Mel’s writing skills. She’d only written two letters since moving, in response to the five Liv had sent.
Twirling a strand of hair round her finger as she read the note, Liv couldn’t help but snag at every one of Mel’s errors:
Dear Liv,
Are you missing me as much as I’m missing you?
I know I should be greatful – at least that’s what Mum’s always telling me – but it’s worse now I’ve started at Kingston High. Portsmouth’s ok but the other kids are dead snobby. Most of them ride horses and all their dad’s own they’re own companies – it’s like having class full of Dianas.
Two others have started in my class, Lucy and Karl. He’s really quiet, but she seems lively. She even spotted that our initials are KLM. I won’t say anything about us till I get to know her better, but what a coincidence, huh?
It’s really hard trying to get used to a new home, new school, new friends, new teachers, AND GCSE’s!!! OMG, only 9 months ’til the actual exams – how scary is that? They have a different syllabus for Economics and Biology, so I’m having extra lessons to catch up. To much like hard work, but you’d love their science department – so-oo high tech.
Must go now, say hello to Jude and Kat, tell them I’m missing them too.
Keep In Touch
Lots of love
Mel XX
Still nowhere near perfect, but she’d improved a lot. Mel was top of the heap when it came to using all manner of complicated graphic design tools. A social media whiz, she’d mastered the art of txt spk and knew her way round various apps, but was pretty hopeless when at spelling and grammar. Particularly when it came to putting pen to paper; she was lost without a spell-checker.
Liv grinned at the sticker at the bottom. Mel had been the driving force behind the JKLM gang they’d formed in year seven, designing the logo and even getting stickers printed. It all seemed ridiculously juvenile now, but the bond of friendship had been so tight, it still persevered many years later.
Liv sighed. Everything about her life had dimmed since Mel left; they’d been true partners in crime, sharing a wickedly cynical take on life. Kat and Jude were great friends and lovely girls, but neither of them understood the constant need to snark. Liv wasn’t complaining; they both tried hard to make sure she was never excluded from anything they did. But they didn’t have Mel’s eye for a put-down or her recall of several hundred witty retorts; she had one for every occasion. Mel’s parting gift included a book of insults which she’d used to hone her skill for causing mischief. She’d written an inscription: “Study it well, these people were masters of the craft, I’ve learned a lot from them.”
Following her friend’s advice, Liv had done exactly that, recognising that so many of the one-liners worked because of their timing and a certain rhythm. Many of them turned reality into something shocking. The trouble was, people got hurt when they heard the truth, and usually reacted badly. Liv felt sure at least half the class thought of her as Queen B. As in Super-Bitch.
As the bus parked outside the school, Liv returned the letter to her bag, resolving to ask Jude to keep an eye on her pithy retorts and point out when she overstepped the mark.
Joining the mass of kids heading through the gates, she wondered if her sporty friend might break the habit of a lifetime and make it in on time.
2 Jude’s International Man of Mystery
Late again. The third time in two weeks. Jude’s mission, should she choose to accept it, was to creep past Fearsome’s office without being spotted. A task made harder because the guy had installed some kind of Jude-radar. He’d really got it in for her after her dad told him to “Chill a little” at parents’ evening. Nice one, Dad. Just the way to get the deputy head on your side when you want a concession.
As the Mission Impossible theme tune played in her head, Jude crouched down in an attempt to slide past the half-open door unobserved. She concentrated so hard there was no possible way she could have seen the wheelchair parked by the notice board on the opposite wall.
“Watch where you’re going. Clumsy git.” The guy’s voice wasn’t loud, but it echoed round the corridor, filling every cubic centimetre with sound.
The deputy head appeared at the door, swooping like a stealth bomber. “Judith Briskell, you know the penalty for thrice in a fortnight. You choose, lunch or after school.”
Really? A choice? “Lunch, sir. Can we make it tomorrow, please?”
“Certainly not. My office, twelve-fifteen, sharp. Bring some work.”
Wonderful. Thanks a bunch, pal. She glared at the stranger in the wheelchair, outraged to find a knowing grin plastered over his absurdly perfect features.
Fearsome, aka Mr Frearshall, the rule-bound deputy, sneered at her like something a dog had left for him to step in. “You can redeem yourself a little by taking Raymond over to registration. Miss Leon is expecting him.”
Yes-sir, no-sir, three bags full, sir. Smiling her sweetest smile, Jude did the most politically incorrect thing she could think of, grabbing the handles and pushing the chair down the corridor. Surprisingly, the guy let her push without a fight; sitting back, folding his arms, and making no comment as she struggled to turn it round the corner. Without actually seeing his face, she reckoned it sported the smuggest of grins.
When they reached the classroom, the door hung open and there was no escaping Lenny’s – sorry, Miss Leon’s – anything-but-dulcet tones.
“... so he’s going to feel even more awkward than a normal new starter. Please can you all try extra hard to make him feel at home and try to forget ...”
The new boy grabbed the wheel rims and turned them so hard Jude had no choice but to let go. He zoomed in, heading for the startled teacher, as he challenged her statement. “That he’s in a wheelchair? Is that what you were gonna say?”
The guy’s irritation was understandable and Jude could
n’t help but wonder if she’d contributed to it. She entered the room as he executed a precision turn, inches from Miss Leon’s feet.
With a gesture at the chair, he swapped annoyance for an ironic tone. “As if anyone could forget this heap of machinery.”
Give Lenny her due; she was cool as a cucumber. “Good morning, Raymond. Class, I’d like you to meet Raymond Donelly, he’ll be with us this year.” She waved her hand in the vague direction of the space which had been cleared for him on the front row.
Scanning the class with the expertise of a professional speaker, his smile softened the obviously-rehearsed speech. “The name’s Ray. This is my one-and-only warning: You can forget any rubbish you’ve heard about treating me like I’m special. Patronise me, and I’ll do it right back.”
Without missing a beat, he wheeled the chair to the empty place, but of course, the table-top was too low to get the chair underneath. He sat back with a cheeky grin and gestured at the useless desk. “I rest my case. It’s not wheelchair friendly, just like the rest of this ancient establishment.”
For the second time, Lenny handled the situation with impressive calm. Definitely on the up in Jude’s estimation of tutors in general and Miss Leon in particular. With an efficiency the class had never previously witnessed, she organised a tall, skinny girl, Becky, to clear the display table and a couple of strong lads to move the boxes underneath to make room for his chair.
The woman showed more cool in those few minutes than in the last two weeks since she’d nervously introduced herself as the class tutor. Finally some evidence of why she’d beaten the seriously hot Mr Johnston to the deputy head of year. The fact she’d been at Bryant Rockwell High School five years longer had nothing to do with it; his English classes were a blast. Even the real numpties – you know who you are, Nelson! – would sit up and take notice when he did the voices like a Robin Williams’ clone.
