“You’ll need a partner to work with…” Mr. G scanned the room. It made sense as both Mr. and Ms. Jackalope responded to questions the student body sent in.
Please don’t pick Gwen. Please don’t pick Gwen. Please don’t pick Gwen.
At that moment, the classroom door opened and Grady Burnett strolled in as casual and laid back as you please. He wore faded blue jeans (that looked like he’d grabbed them up off the floor for all the wrinkles they had), a T-shirt that hugged his muscled chest. (He was on the football team, so he had plenty of muscles to hug—not that I noticed. Much.) I’m sorry, where was I? Uh… T-shirt. Right. His sun-streaked brown hair swooped across his forehead, wild and unkempt like a young Zac Efron.
“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Burnett.” Mr. Garrison arched an eyebrow, pausing to let Grady finish making his entrance. “Did you get enough beauty sleep?”
“I’m not sure I did, Mr. G.” Grady grinned when the girls in class whooped and whistled, a definite consensus that his good looks didn’t require a single minute more sleep. (Girls minus yours truly.) He slid into a seat in the back before adding, “Sorry to interrupt. Please go on.”
“Dude, Garrison is handing out the newspaper assignments.” Josh gave him a fist bump and a grin. “Sports reporter is still open.”
“Perfect timing then. Mr. Garrison, I’ll cover the sports column,” Grady said, shoving a hand through his shaggy hair.
“A generous offer, Mr. Burnett.” Mr. G rubbed his jaw as if considering but only for a second. “One I believe I’ll turn down. I’ve got something else in mind for you. Ms. Itzlrab, you’re on the sports beat.”
“OMG, yaaasss!” Gwen squealed. “I know just where to start. In depth, up close, very personal interviews with the football players. Grady, I’ll start with you.”
“What?” No, no, no. Please tell me I heard that wrong. My head swiveled around to Grady and our eyes locked. His face went from a frown to a slow sliding grin. Because, by my count, there was only one assignment left. Oh sure. As long as he knew it would annoy me, he was fine with it. Grrrr. I spun back around. “I’ll vouch for Grady’s sports knowledge. He plays football and lacrosse. I feel he’ll give the student body a very detailed and informed report of all the sports here at Jackson.”
“Actually, he won’t. Mr. Burnett, I’m assigning you the advice column with Ms. Trueheart.”
This was not good. Not good at all. I felt my eyes narrow in subconscious reaction as I twisted my head around toward my new partner. Ugh. I had actually worked with Grady once before. Yep. Tenth grade. The year I lost my 4.0. Thanks to him, I earned my only “B”. Yeah, Grady hadn’t done his part of our science report. I don’t mean that he tried and it wasn’t good. I mean the guy didn’t even do it. Not one word or one equation. It had taken me two long years of hard work and a lot of AP classes in my attempt to recover my perfect 4.0.
I was sitting at a 3.99. This semester was the one that would get me back. I refused to let Grady Burnett ruin that. My eye twitched at the thought. It took careful control not to scream in frustration at the unfairness. But—like my mama always said—nobody told me life would be fair. Besides, losing my temper would shock my classmates (I was known for my nice, happy personality) and it wouldn’t accomplish anything.
Instead, I smiled at Grady (my brightest sunshiny smile) and gave him a nod. “I’m looking forward to working together, Grady.”
He raised a dark eyebrow before his lips slid into his signature slow, cocky grin. “So am I, Lacey Jane. So am I.”
My sunshine smile cooled and dimmed. Not even my parents used my middle name. Of course, I never got in trouble so they never had a reason to. No, only Grady with his cocky smile and his hot too-knowing eyes.
My fingers itched to text my best friend, Bernie—the only person who knew I wasn’t always as sunshine, rainbows, and puppies as I appeared. Bernie didn’t do drama; she’d help talk me down. But I never pulled out my phone until the end of class bell sounded. Rules were in place for a reason.
So, I channeled my inner-Bernie and let out a breath. This would be fine. I wouldn’t allow Grady Burnett to get to me (no matter how hard he tried). And I absolutely wouldn’t let him sabotage my GPA. Oh, no. He burned me before. I may be nice, but I wasn’t gullible.
I determined right then and there, that the “Ask Mr. and Ms. Jackalope” advice column would have its best semester ever. If Grady Burnett thought he could sleep through this assignment, he was in for a big surprise.
Chapter 2
Grady
It was the loud bang inches from my head that startled me awake. I jerked up in my seat, ran a quick hand across my mouth in case I’d been drooling, and looked up into the perturbed face of Mrs. Hall, my history teacher.
“I’m sorry to disturb your nap, Mr. Burnett, but your snoring interrupted my lecture.”
“Hey, sorry about that.” I wasn’t lying. I usually slipped out of class to nap in the media center. Only they’d called my house to check up on my narcolepsy story. Busted. So, I’d been permanently banned unless I was with a teacher.
I should probably file an official complaint with Principal Barstow about how hard it was for a sleep-deprived student to nap around here.
Mrs. Hall stood waiting for…huh. For me to expound on my apology, I guess?
“I don’t mean any disrespect. It’s just hard for me to stay awake by sixth period.” I gave her my most sincere expression. “What I’m saying, Mrs. Hall, is…it’s not you, it’s me.”
Snickers and snorts busted out in the classroom. I knew I’d regret opening my big mouth. To be fair, I was still only half awake and not able to control my filter.
“Grady?” Her voice came out like one of those ominous voice-overs in a movie right before something bad happens. Between that and the scour on her face, I knew what was coming.
“Yes, ma’am. I know. Saturday morning detention. Be there or be square.”
In the beginning, I’d hated detention. But now—well—it got me out of my house, so…
The bell rang signaling the end of school and I gave myself a mental high five for making it through the day. I was still tired, even after my nap, and I had football practice to get through.
I left history—with my crisp new detention slip in hand—and made my way through the crowded halls.
“Grady!” Melissa Baker, one of the popular cheerleaders, slid in next to me. “Where were you at lunch?”
“Oh, hey.” I shrugged but kept walking. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I had to be on the practice field in fifteen minutes and needed to swing by the band hall to grab my guitar first. Even though I wasn’t in band class, Miss Carver let me store my guitar in her office during the day.
“I was looking for you, but you weren’t at Randy’s with Dax, TJ and the rest of the crowd.”
“You found me now,” I said. I actually didn’t eat with the guys on the team very often. Most of the guys didn’t even notice. Once you had a reputation it stuck which was fine by me. “What’s up?”
“Only that I’m having a huge party on Saturday. My parents are going out of town and it’s going to be awesome.” She shoved a piece of paper at me with the deets. “You have to show up.”
“You know me. I’ll be there.” I wouldn’t be there.
“Promise, Grady?” She hugged my arm, batting her eyelashes up at me. “You know how it is… It’s not a party unless Grady Burnett shows up.”
“You bet.” I gave her nod and peeled off into the band room, grabbed my guitar case, and headed out to the parking lot for my football gear. I could use a hit of caffeine, but probably wouldn’t get it until after practice.
“Burnett! Come over here and settle an argument,” TJ called from where a bunch of football players were talking and goofing off near his truck.
“Settle your own argument!” I was almost at my rusted-out Taurus.
“Parker says Jimmy Page is the best guitarist ever,” TJ called back.
W
hoa, whoa, whoa. No. Absolutely no. I dropped my guitar case and backpack right where I stood and joined the discussion in order to impart some desperately needed knowledge.
“Listen up, Parker. I’m about to educate you. I can list five guitarists off the top of my head who are better.” I lifted my hand and began counting off. “Prince, Buddy Guy, Derek Trucks, Brain May, and Brad Paisley. Boom.”
“Are you kidding me? Brad Paisley?” Parker scoffed.
“Hey, just because you don’t like country music doesn’t make him any less of a guitar player. He’s—”
“Grady!”
I turned my head to see Dax a few spots over, holding my guitar case.
“One day someone’s going to run your guitar over,” Dax said, grinning at me because we both remembered a time when his girlfriend, Ali, had come within a foot of doing exactly that.
“Whoever does will have to deal with me. This Fender is irreplaceable.” This wasn’t the first time I’d set it down and walked away. Being sleep deprived was messing me up.
“Grady Burnett, we need to talk!”
I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Sure enough, when I turned my head, Lacey was stalking my way.
Lacey Jane Trueheart was officially the nicest girl at Jackson High School. No exaggeration. She’d won the “nicest girl” superlative award for three years straight.
She liked everyone.
Everyone except me.
How did I know that? Small clues over the years. Like the time she yelled “I hate you, Grady Burnett!” at the top of her lungs. Or “Grady Burnett, if you were a bug under my shoe, I’d stomp on you.” Of course, that was forever ago, back when we were in elementary school. Okay, maybe middle school too, and…there was that one time in tenth grade.
She looked determined which—not going to lie—scared me a little. I’d known her a long time and she was a force to be reckoned with. That’s pretty much why I’d kept my distance for the last few years. Not the main reason maybe, but one of them.
“I’m sort of busy here, Lace.” She was a little thing with a big brain and a bigger personality. “If I don’t get going, I’ll be late for practice.”
“Based on observation, I’d say being late isn’t on your list of things you care about.”
Well, she was wrong about that. The thing was—and hold on to your hat, because no one at Jackson would believe this, but—I actually didn’t like being late. Being late was a side effect of my life choices.
“Maybe not, but I do care about running extra laps.” I stepped over to my car and popped the trunk, stowing my guitar and back pack before grabbing out my football gear.
“Oh, right. Then I’ll be quick. We need to set up time to get together.” The sun lit up her light grey eyes, bringing to life hidden flecks of blue and green. Sudden pressure in my chest made it hard to breathe like when I took a helmet to my chest. “To work on our column.”
“Oh, man, Lacey Jane.” I pulled my gaze away from hers. I needed to get us back into opposing corners where I was safe. “Here I thought you wanted to take me to a movie or maybe even to a nice dinner. I was getting ready to add you to the list.”
“What list?”
“Of girls who want to go out with me,” I said, feeling more centered when I saw her chin notch up and her lips press together. I could handle an angry Lacey. “Seeing as how we’ve known each other so long, I could move you up on the list.”
Her hand clenched into a tight fist and I met her gaze with a grin.
“No? No special treatment?” I raised my eyebrows at her. “Always the rule follower.”
“If you put me on that list—” She closed her eyes and silently counted to three (I watched her lips move) and then, with a voice dripping with the sweetest honey said, “I’ll find a way to hurt you. And then pour lemon juice on it. Are we clear?”
“Very.” I could breathe again. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I slammed the trunk of my car closed and began walking toward the football field. “Seriously, I’ve got to get to practice. But I’m not blowing you off. I’m one hundred percent about the column. Shoot, I’m late. Gotta run, Lace.”
“How is this not blowing me off?”
My long strides increased the distance, thus the safe zone, between me and Lacey. When I was halfway to the field, I turned back around, still moving backward and away. “Call me tonight!”
I’d just turned back and kicked into a faster jog when she groaned and yelled, “Drat you, Grady Burnett! I don’t have your number!”
No, no she didn’t. I just bought myself a grace period.
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Huge Heartfelt Thanks To…
My parents, for being the best parents a girl could have wished for. (Mom, if there are libraries in heaven, check this one out. Not a single f-bomb. ♥️)
My siblings, for putting up with me all those years. All the teasing, fighting, tutoring, laughing, and the "mom and dad love me the most”s made me the person I am today. My therapist thanks you. (Kidding!)
My husband, for not talking about building walls and trench drains just long enough so I could write this book.
My kids, for turning into upstanding, productive, responsible adults. I love you each the most!
To my Beta readers for reading through my not-very-pretty rough drafts. But, hey, it’s not like I forced you to listen to me sing.
To my dog, for her loyal company in my writing cave. You deserve all the treats!
And to you, dear reader, for loving quirky sweet romances that make you snicker, swoon, and sigh.
About the Author
M.L. Collins has done stuff. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Fun stuff. Boring stuff. She believes in true love, laughing loud and often, being kind, and assuming the best in people until they show you otherwise. She loves classic rock, old Motown, and ’90s country music. She hates naps, dill pickles, and scary movies. Loves windy days, dogs, and LOTR. She’s an unashamed lover of sprinkles on cupcakes.
M.L. loves reading and writing quirky sweet romance novels that make you snicker, swoon, and sigh. She loves hearing from readers!
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Ali & the Too Hot, Up-to-No Good, Very Beastly Boy: A Standalone Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 1) Page 20
