Ali & the Too Hot, Up-to-No Good, Very Beastly Boy: A Standalone Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 1)

by M. L. Collins

  The team suited up in the locker room, everyone going through their usual pre-game routines. Pump-up music from Garcia’s phone, a little smack talk about how we were going to chew up the other team, and then we circled in for Coach.

  “Don’t think about next week. Or the next game. It’s only tonight. Only this game.” Coach Devlin ran his steely gaze over all our faces. “Stay focused, play clean, and give your best effort on every single play. It’s as simple as that.”

  There was nothing like running onto the field on a Friday night in Texas. Nothing. The air was electric, the fans rabid for the team, and the marching band pulling everyone together and building up the crescendo of excitement.

  That excitement stayed high as Travis matched us score for score throughout the whole game. Yes, I had one bad throw that led to a Travis interception and touch down. I also had two stellar passes that scored for us. The game was tied with less than two minutes to go when our TE Jacoby fumbled the ball on a hard tackle. Travis recovered the ball and ran it down to their nineteen. It was an ugly final two minutes. Standing helplessly on the sidelines watching them score in the last thirty seconds was the worst. The final whistle barely penetrated my brain.

  “You were great out there, Dax.” Kev smiled and raised his hand in the air for a high five.

  “Thanks, Kev.” I slapped my hand against his. Needless to say it lacked Kev’s enthusiasm. “But we lost.”

  “Only by a field goal. It was close, and we’re still going to the playoffs.” Kev gave me a pat on my shoulder pads. “Plus, you’ll be crowned Mr. Jackalope at the dance tonight. You get to wear the crown and the sash. It’s exciting.”

  “Hey, it might be one of the other guys,” I said.

  “I voted for you.” He smiled and adjusted his ball cap. “You deserve it.”

  Deserved it? For what? Not for my play as quarterback. Not lately.

  “Thanks.” It was almost impossible to stay down around Kev. If his grin didn’t get you, then his positive attitude would. But even Kev’s positivity wasn’t helping.

  I didn’t like eating a loss. Not a single serving of it. Not when our team was out-matched or out-played. Not when a ref’s bad call went against us. Not when one of my teammates made a costly mistake. But the worst loss to choke down was when it was my fault. Like tonight.

  When I arrived at the hotel where the dance was being held, I texted Ali. We’d agreed she’d catch a ride with one of her friends and I’d meet her here after running home to shower and change. By the time I opened the doors to the hotel ballroom, I still hadn’t locked down my disappointment. Until I saw Ali.

  Wow. My girl was gorgeous. She stood waiting for me near the door, a tentative smile on her face.

  “Sorry about the game,” she said.

  “You know what? I’m not letting the loss ruin our night. So we don’t have a perfect record. Like Kev reminded me, we’re still heading to the playoffs, right?”

  “R-right.” She bit her lip and nodded.

  “Besides… Look at you. You’re beautiful. When you said you were wearing pants—I didn’t imagine this.” Her silky pants and matching top were the same midnight blue of the sky we’d lain under. They were soft and flowing and totally her. Unique in a sea of sparkly, strapless gowns. Her red hair was loose and curling over her shoulders and down her back. “Very hot.”

  “I’m not hot.” She blushed and gave me a soft punch in my biceps.

  “Sorry. Overruled.” I took her hand and led her out to the crowded dance floor, pulling her into my arms. “Come on, gummy bear, let’s dance.”

  Ali laughed up at me before settling against me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Okay, Kevin Bacon.”

  “Hey! You joke, but wait until you see my dance moves. I guarantee you’ll be impressed.”

  “Guarantee, huh?”

  “Yes. If you’re not impressed, I’ll give you a kiss. But if you are impressed, you can kiss me.”

  She shook her head with a smile. “So, I kiss you either way? Something sounds wrong about that.”

  “It’s a win-win for us both.” I winked since by now the wink was an old joke between us. Sure enough, she snickered. “And if that’s wrong, I don’t ever want to be right.”

  26

  You Know Me

  Ali

  We danced. We laughed. We had the best time. The most fun moment? Seeing Dax’s football players mixing it up on the dance floor with the bowling nerds.

  To say that event blasted shockwaves through the popular clique would be an understatement. Some of them (aka Paige and her gang) stood staring from the edge of the dance floor. If their eyes had been laser-guided missiles, everyone on the bowling team would be history. For the few minutes that they weren’t at the top of the social pecking order they were lost. They had no idea how to just “be.”

  I spent half a second thinking about them before jumping onto the end of the dance train weaving its way around the room to “Love Train.”

  “I need some water,” I said, happily out of breath from dancing non-stop since Dax had arrived. I blotted my damp overheated face with a napkin. “And a chance to catch my breath.”

  Dax wrapped his arm around my shoulders and steered us through the crowd over to the refreshment tables. In the time it took me to drink half a water bottle, Dax downed two.

  We nibbled on pretzels, mini cupcakes, and M&M’s before Dax pulled us back to the dance floor.

  “Dax, seriously, I need to rest.”

  “I know,” he said. “Which is why I requested a slow song.”

  “Oh, nice.” I stepped into the circle of his arms and rested my head on his shoulder as some country singer sang, “Baby, I’m Crazy ‘Bout You.” I wanted to capture this perfect moment in a bottle. The feel of Dax’s strong arms around me and the press of his lips to my temple. My heart floated like a shimmering bubble rising on a whisper of a breeze. Every color of the refracted rainbow shining brightly. It had been so long since I’d had this feeling. So long that I’d forgotten what it felt like—but I was happy.

  I tilted my head back to look at Dax. He must have sensed it because he opened his dark fathomless eyes and the air between us sparked and sizzled.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He didn’t ask for what. He simply smiled at me. Not his cocky grin, or his wide flirty one. It was small and real and went all the way to his eyes. I lifted up onto my toes and pressed my lips to his.

  It was the best kiss ever. A hot, firm, breath-stealing, heart-pounding kiss. The top of my head tingled like I was blasting through the atmosphere. It was all rockets and fireworks and—

  “Break it up, Ms. Frost.”

  Coach Diamond?

  “Eeep!” I pulled my lips from Dax’s, heat flushing into my cheeks.

  “Sorry about that,” Dax said.

  “Hey, I kissed you. I’m not sorry.”

  The microphone sounded that high-pitched screech, getting everyone’s attention to the front stage. Mrs. March, the hardest English teacher in the school and the faculty mentor for our senior class, stood waiting for it to get quiet.

  “Good evening, Jackalopes! It’s time to announce this year’s Mr. and Ms. Jackalope. Without further ado, please welcome Paige Smith, the head of the Winter Dance planning committee.”

  There were claps and whistles from around the room. Some woo girls woo’ed.

  “Hello, party people! I hold the envelope with the names of the winners in my hand!” Paige raised the envelope over her head as kids screamed. “But first… It’s tradition that each nominee makes a short video. So here they are in their own words—and of course, mine—the winter court nominees!”

  A large screen lowered behind Paige and one of the techie computer kids worked the equipment to start the videos. First, and probably the most popular, were the videos for Mr. Jackalope.

  Dax flashed up on the screen, standing on the football field in his practice jersey looking hot and sweaty like he’d just finished pract
ice. He smiled into the camera and said, “Hey guys. I’m supposed to tell you why I deserve to be crowned Mr. Jackalope over the other nominees. To be honest, I can’t do that. I can think of a lot of guys equally, if not more, deserving. But I do consider the nomination an honor. Thanks.” He threw in a wink that had the girls sighing and cheering for him.

  Up next was Grady, standing in his garage holding his precious Fender guitar. (Yes, the one I almost ran over.) “Grady here. You know, I know DeLeon, and I’ll bet he’s going to pretend to be all modest and say he doesn’t deserve Mr. Jackalope. First of all, don’t fall for his modest act. Second, I hope you all voted for me. I may not be a top student and I may have skipped a class or two—kidding, Mrs. Baxter. I’d never skip your class—but, let’s just say DeLeon wouldn’t look as good on the field if I wasn’t so good at catching his lame passes. Plus, I play a righteous guitar. Rock on, my people.”

  The last video was from Zaevion, the senior class vice president and captain of the debate team. Nerdy, cute, and concise. “I’m not a hot jock like DeLeon or a cool rocker like Grady. But one day I might perform life-saving surgery on you, so be smart and vote for me.”

  While everyone cheered for all three guys, I nervously ran what I’d said on my video through my head for the thousandth time. I remember filming it last week with Rowena’s help. I’d meant to keep mine short and sweet but then something else had erupted from deep down.

  Hi. I’m Ali Frost. I’m honored for the nomination, although I know so many girls at Jackson more deserving than I am. But if I were to win—I’ll accept it for all the bowlers, the nerds, the geeks, the wallflowers, the rejects, and the outcast. The ones who aren’t afraid to be different.

  See why I was nervous? I know. I’d gone full Breakfast Club. You should never go full Breakfast Club. But it was too late to change it now.

  “Here we go! Equal time for the ladies,” Paige said into the mic as the next set of videos started.

  First up was Paige. She managed to wear three different outfits in her one minute video. Of course she looked stunning in each. She didn’t actually say anything but did a quick cheer for herself which ended in the splits. Lots of kids cheered for her.

  Next up was Lacey Trueheart. Lacey was the captain of the pep club. She was smart, popular, and nice. She waved and smiled into the camera. “Hi, gang. Thanks for the nomination. My goal every day is to spread school spirit and kindness around like confetti. You can never have too much of either, right? No matter who gets crowned Ms. Jackalope, all I have to say is… Go Jackson!!” Huge applause for Lacey followed.

  Then it was my turn. My stomach twisted and my mind readied. Hi. I’m Ali Frost. I would…

  Only that wasn’t what I said. Not. At. All. No. The Ali up on the huge screen pointed directly at the camera and said…

  “It doesn’t matter what other kids think. I like myself and that’s enough. You’ve got this, Ali Frost.”

  What? No. This wasn’t my video. I mean, it was, but not the one I’d turned in.

  My stomach twisted and my mind scrambled to grasp what I was seeing—heck, what I was saying—as kids laughed and giggled at my video.

  “Who does Dax DeLeon think he is? He’s too cocky by far.”

  Oh no, oh no, oh no.

  The laughter grew around the room like a wave about to break as apparently everyone thought this was a joke. Even Dax laughed and gave my hand a squeeze thinking it was funny. This was so not funny. This was wrong. These were clips from my private video diary. There was no way I’d turned in the wrong video. These clips were cut and spliced together.

  “If I had a way to knock that cheeky, arrogant, swaggering smirk off his face, I’d do it.”

  The mood turned in the ballroom. My confusion morphed into shock. My heart raced like I was standing at the edge of a cliff with the earth crumbling beneath my feet. The light-hearted laughter shifted around me. To uncertainty. To disquiet. Whispers and mumbles rippled through the room.

  “Mission accomplished. I gave Dax’s playbook to a rival team.”

  The last video clip faded into a photograph. A zoomed-in photo of me handing the playbook over to the goon. Only the goon didn’t make the photo other than his hand. It was just me. And my voice repeating over and over…

  “If I had a way to knock that cheeky, arrogant, swaggering smirk off his face, I’d do it.”

  Pandemonium broke out and Dax’s hand jerked away from mine. The atmospheric pressure rose as the whole place sucked in a collective gasp. Angry faces whipped toward me. But I didn’t care about any of those faces. There was only one face I cared about.

  I looked up at Dax and saw him process everything as if in slow motion. Confusion slid into pain and pain hardened into anger until his eyes blazed down on me.

  “It’s not what it looks like, Dax. It’s not.”

  His eyes chilled to an arctic frost and he took a step back from me.

  “You can’t believe that,” I said, my voice shaking. “You know me.”

  “I don’t think I do,” he said.

  “You do. You know me. Only you have to trust yourself to see it.” I paused, waiting, but all he did was shake his head and take another step back. And another.

  Anger pushed in at me from every direction. My worst nightmare. But I’d been here before. I’d been crushed under the weight of it once. I refused to do it again. I clenched my jaw, lifted my chin high, turned, and walked out of the dance.

  Did I think Dax would run after me and give me a chance to explain? No. I didn’t. Because one year ago I’d learned how hive-minded people were. Even the people you thought you could count on. It took courage and strength to break from the pack.

  I guess even the great Dax DeLeon wasn’t strong enough for that.

  27

  Blindsided

  Dax

  Crash & Burn @ the Winter Dance, 10:38 p.m.

  What the hell just happened? Ali had stolen my play book and handed it over to a rival team? I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it.

  Except she’d been caught. She couldn’t lie because the photograph revealed the ugly truth. Yet she tried to. It’s not what it looks like, Dax. Talk about being blindsided.

  Shit, it hurt. Like a punch to the face.

  A hand on my shoulder cut through my pain.

  “Dude, I’m sorry,” TJ said.

  “I think I’m the one that should be apologizing. To you and the team.” I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  There was an angry buzz of chatter throughout the place. A flurry of movement up on the stage, and then Mrs. March took control.

  “So, that was interesting,” she said. “Of course, Principal Barstow and Coach Devlin will be looking in to this situation. Let’s move on and announce the winners. This year’s Mr. and Ms. Jackalope are”—Mrs. March tore open the envelope and shook open the folded sheet of paper—“Paige Smith and Dax DeLeon! Come on up for your coronation!”

  Paige smiled like she’d won a million-dollar lottery, happily returning to the stage while her friends cheered.

  The last thing I wanted to do was walk up on that stage, but TJ’s hand on my shoulder pushed me forward.

  “Just get it over with,” TJ said.

  With a nod, I pulled myself together and made my way up next to Paige.

  “I had a premonition we’d both win.” She wrapped her hands around my arm and smiled up at me. There was an edge to her smile that I couldn’t quite interpret. Confident? Possessive? Smug? “And here we are. Together again.”

  Together again? The girl was delusional. I stood there, my jaw clenched, muscles tense, and my stomach heavy like I’d swallowed a boulder while Gwen slid the sash over Paige’s head and across her shoulder. Lacey Trueheart helped with the crown. Paige waved like an actual royal princess.

  Next it was my turn. Lacey and Gwen came over with the sash and crown. Instead of letting them place them on me though, I held out my hands for them. Looking at the sash in one
hand and the crown in my other, I nodded and stepped up to the microphone.

  “To me, being crowned Mr. Jackalope represents being a positive force at Jackson. I know a guy who’s a veritable tornado of positivity. His pride and love of our school could fill this room and it still wouldn’t all fit. He inspires and lifts up everyone in his path. He cheers on every sport—even the debate and chess teams. I dare anyone to talk with him and not walk away with a smile. He’s selfless, dedicating his time as the student manager of our football and lacrosse teams. If all that isn’t enough, he also pulled off a miracle. Because of him, we actually look forward to eating in the cafeteria…on Wednesdays.”

  “My stomach thanks you!” someone in the back yelled.

  Laughter blossomed along with some loud whistles.

  “This crown belongs to Kevin Grace,” I said.

  The room exploded in cheers. The football and lacrosse players chanted his name. Kev. Kev. Kev. Kev.

  “Get on up here, Kev.”

  Kev jogged up and onto the stage, accompanied by ear-shattering applause the whole way. Lacey helped me put the sash and crown on him, which was challenging because he kept pumping both fists in the air to celebrate.

  I left the stage as someone from the yearbook staff took pictures of this year’s Mr. and Ms. Jackalope. When I left, I didn’t wait around. I kept right on walking, past my teammates and straight out of the ballroom. Once in the wide hallway, I escaped out the closest door and found myself next to the outdoor pool.

  My phone was blowing up, so I turned it off, and shoved it back into my pocket. I needed to talk to TJ and then the rest of the team. But right now I needed a few minutes to myself. My head felt like a giant bell that had been clanged with Thor’s hammer and the reverberations were still pulsing through my brain.

  Feelings fought each other in my chest until they were a tangled incoherent mess. They wrestled and every few minutes a new one rose to the top. Shock. Pain. Anger. Confusion.