Layne might be a perfectly nice girl, but she wasn’t my type. Nerdy didn’t do it for me. I already had a problem with authority. The last thing I needed was some chick bossing me around. I may not know her, but one look at her dark framed glasses and buttoned up collar, and I could just tell she was critical and judgy. My vibe was more causal and fun. We’d never work.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Mum. I wish I could help, but you’ll have to find someone else.”
Disappointment filled my mother’s green eyes. “Is that your final answer?”
I nodded.
“Very well. Thank you for hearing me out.”
Thankfully, the bell rang giving me the excuse I needed to leave. I was almost to the door when my mother called my name.
I turned to face her. “Yes?”
She held out her hand. “Keys, please.”
“What?”
“Your car keys.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. “Because I won’t let you guilt me into a stupid singing competition?”
“No, because you skipped class.”
“How am I supposed to get home?”
“I’m sure one of your baseball friends can give you a ride.”
“They have an away game tonight!”
She shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll have to take the bus.”
“The school bus?” I yelled, outraged. “You’re not serious?”
“Or you can wait for me, but I have a few meetings after school today.”
My nostrils flared. “You’ve made your point, Mum. I won’t skip class again.”
“I know you won’t,” she said, her hand still extended. “But I’m still going to need your keys.”
I stood there a moment longer, calling her bluff. But she merely smiled.
Shaking my head, I fished my car keys from my pocket and dropped them on her desk before limping out of her office, my gaze fixed straight ahead to avoid looking at the girl whose future I’d just dashed. If I didn’t get one, why should she?
If my mother thought she was teaching me some kind of lesson she was sorely mistaken. Any hope I had at reconsidering helping with the competition dissolved when she demanded my car keys. I was done taking orders. I was done, period.
The moment I sprained my ankle and lost baseball, I lost my reason to care about attending this podunk school in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania. My mother could take my car, my allowance, everything. I had nothing left that mattered to me anymore.
Chapter Five
Layne
My shoulders slumped when I left Mrs. Nash’s office. She’d told me what I already knew. Wyatt wasn’t going to help, and unless I could find someone to sing my songs, my chances of competing for the songwriter scholarship were over. She’d given me until the end of the week to find a replacement for Lola but considering she couldn’t convince her own son to help, I knew I didn’t stand a chance of finding anyone else.
It’s not like I had a slew of friends to count on. Lola was pretty much it. Another of our Yin and Yang qualities was that she was popular, and I was not. No matter how hard she tried to help me fit in, it seemed popularity wasn’t something that could rub off. You either were or you weren’t.
Even though he’d only been at Northwood since junior year, Wyatt was one of the popular crowd. So, I hadn’t been surprised that he refused to help. He wasn’t exactly known for being selfless. He was known for being self-absorbed and leaving a trail of heartbreak in his wake.
Truthfully, I was relieved. I didn’t want to work with someone like him. He was everything I despised about high school—a smug, egotistical, conceited jock. He wouldn’t take this competition seriously. Wyatt Nash didn’t know the meaning of the word. How could he when it seemed the whole world was handed to him on a silver platter?
With his expensive clothes, vintage car, and British accent, Wyatt made sure everyone at Northwood knew he thought he was above them. His attitude was atrocious, yet he made no apologies. And I’m sure he wasn’t inclined to, considering the girls in our class seemed to think his arrogance was an aphrodisiac.
Wyatt Nash was the last guy on earth I wanted help from.
Finally, the dismissal bell rang ending my awful day. I collected my things from my locker and headed out to the bus line since my best friend was no longer available to give me rides home from school. I could walk home, but even in March, winter still clung to the chilly Pennsylvania air.
At least it was Friday. Today felt like a bad dream. All I wanted was a pint of cookie dough ice cream and my best friend.
The sharp sting of realization suddenly dawned on me. It was Friday, but there would be no Friday night sleepover. No ice cream with my bestie. No light at the end of this dismal tunnel.
Now that Lola had mono there would be no more Friday night sleepovers for quite a while. That idea sent me reeling. Not only would I be missing my best friend at school and the competition, but it also meant I’d have to spend my weekends at home . . . alone.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I fought them back. I would not cry. Not at school where everyone would see me. I wasn’t sure my classmates’ opinions of me could get any lower, but I wasn’t taking that chance.
I found a seat near the front of the bus and clutched my backpack to my chest, trying my hardest to stave off my surge of emotions.
I couldn’t do it.
I knew myself; I was one hiccup away from sobbing. Lola was my backbone. Without her, I was crumbling.
I pulled my phone from my bag and dialed her number. She answered on the first ring.
“Layne?”
“I can’t do this,” I said, my voice cracking.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong! How can you even ask that? My entire world is crumbling because you kissed a stupid baseball player! And now I’m crying on the school bus and I’m not going to go to college and, and . . . I just want to give up.”
“Layne, listen to me. First of all, you need to stop crying. Remember rule number one.”
“Screw the rules!”
Lola inhaled sharply. “I know you’ve had a bad day so I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. What’s rule number one, Layne?”
“Never let them see you cry.”
“That’s right. Now take a deep breath.”
I did.
“Okay, listen to me. I know this sucks. It’s not what I wanted either, but you can’t give up, Layne.”
“I don’t want to give up. Going to school for music is my dream, but without this scholarship it’s not going to happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do, Lola. My mom doesn’t have money to pay for college. We barely have money to pay rent.”
“That’s all the more reason not to give up. You just need to find someone else to sing your songs.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. Talk to Mrs. Baker. There’s got to be some theater kids that could help you out.”
“The competition is in two weeks, Lola. Even if I could find someone, I don’t know if they could learn my songs on such short notice.”
“Then why don’t you sing them?”
“You know I can’t.”
“That’s not true. You have a great voice. You’ve got to get out of your head and stop letting fear control you.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not afraid of anything.”
“Not true. I’m totally afraid of kissing now.”
“I hate you.”
Lola laughed. “No, you don’t.”
“I know. I just really miss you. What am I going to do without you?”
“You’re going to work your butt off and find someone to sing your amazing songs.”
“I’m not talking about the competition.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean school, life, everything. It’s our senior year. We were supposed to do it together.”
“We will. As soon as
I get back, we’ll resume our best year ever!”
I sighed, knowing it was no use trying to explain it to Lola. She’d never been invisible, so she couldn’t understand just how long these next four weeks would be.
Chapter Six
Wyatt
I closed my eyes, but still I couldn’t block out the sorrow in her voice. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on her conversation, but of course the universe had made sure Layne Hall sat directly in the bus seat in front of me.
I slouched down and pulled my hat lower. I didn’t want to be caught dead on the school bus, but worse still would be getting caught listening in on this sad conversation. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve blamed this convenient run-in on my mother, but not even she could control fate.
This kind of bad karma was all on me.
It didn’t help knowing one of my teammates was to blame for Layne’s predicament. I knew exactly who the culprit was—Mark Jennings. He was a total player. He’d been boasting about making out with both Lola and some other girl from Collier Prep last weekend. I only hoped he’d at least gotten mono, too.
Mark was everything I despised, but sadly everything I’d been emulating to fit in with the jock culture at Northwood.
I’d hoped to have a fresh start here. I thought I could reinvent myself at a school where no one knew me or my family ties. And when I joined the baseball team, I had. But truthfully, I wasn’t sure I liked who I was becoming much more than who I’d been. Despite my popularity at Northwood, I still felt insecure and even more alone than I had in London or New York.
And yes, I realized how ironic it was to say I felt lonely in such massive cities but join my family for a day and you’d understand.
Layne’s voice caught my attention again.
“I’m not going to find a new singer, Lola. It’s over. It’s better if I just accept that now.”
I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but as I watched Layne’s reflection in the filmy school bus window, I guessed it wasn’t going well. She wiped tears from her cheeks, and I had to look away.
Tears gave me the chills. Watching people cry was my equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. Especially watching girls cry. It made me queasy, and I’d do anything to make it stop. Which was why I made sure never to reveal such a weakness. It was much too easy to exploit.
Though I doubted Layne Hall had much experience with exploitation. She looked like a fawn with those innocent brown eyes of hers. Her glasses made them appear even larger. It was almost comical, yet strangely adorable. Up close, her face reminded me of an anime character—all eyes and hair.
“Okay. Get better soon,” she said, sniffling. “Love you.”
Then she hung up and let her head rest against the window like the weight of the world had finally beat her down.
I knew that feeling and I hated it.
It plagued me every time I found out who my real friends were, or weren’t, rather. I felt it when I was surrounded by people yet still felt alone. I felt it when my father chose work over me time and time again.
Loneliness, disappointment, betrayal, abandonment—the melancholy feelings that consumed me had many names. But no matter what I called the heavy feeling in my chest, there was no escaping it, and I knew after today it would be even worse.
The bus’s brakes screeched as it slowed to a halt. Layne stood and walked toward the door, taking my sympathy with her.
I muttered a curse under my breath and stood up, too.
This might be the worst idea I’d ever had, but my mother was right about one thing, I needed a distraction, and Layne Hall practically had the word stamped across her forehead.
Chapter Seven
Layne
“Alright, Penny Layne, where do we start?”
I whirled around at the sound of his voice, tripping on my own pant leg.
Even in his bulky boot Wyatt was more graceful than me. He reached out to catch me and the shock of his firm hand on my waist made me stumble back like I’d just been struck by lightning. As much as his touch startled me, I found myself wanting to absorb more of the unexpected sparks.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He huffed a sigh of annoyance. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m rescuing you.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m assuming you still need someone to sing your songs.”
I scrunched my brow, looking at the world’s most unlikely hero. “But your mom said you had a prior engagement,” I quoted, crossing my arms reflexively under his scrutinous stare.
“Of course she did,” he muttered, but then his face brightened, and his annoying smirk appeared. “Well, it turns out my schedule just opened up.”
I rolled my eyes. “The walls are pretty thin, Wyatt. I heard everything you said in your mother’s office today.”
“Good, then you know my objection was more about her than you.”
“So, I’m supposed to believe you just decided to help me out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Actually, yes. That’s exactly what happened.”
I snorted and turned around, walking away as quickly as possible. But as luck would have it, he followed me.
Could this day get any worse?
I just wanted to go home and lick my wounds in peace and quiet. And preferably without Wyatt Nash seeing where I lived. He probably lived in a castle compared to my house. The last thing I needed was pity from my nemesis. It was easier to despise him that way.
I whirled around, nearly colliding with him. “Look, I don’t know what your angle is here, but I’m not interested.”
Wyatt’s green eyes sparkled as a knowing smirk spread across his perfectly sculpted face. “So, you don’t want to compete for the scholarship?”
I took a step closer to him, pretending his bottomless green eyes didn’t make me nervous. “Yes, Wyatt. I want that scholarship more than anything, which is why I’m not wasting my time playing this game with you.”
His eyes danced with amusement. “Who says this is a game, Penny Layne?”
I clenched my jaw, keeping my indignation locked away as I turned around, more than happy to leave Wyatt and this awful day in my dust.
But he called after me. “Wait.”
Something about his voice made me pause. Did I sense emotion there?
No, that would be like the Tin Man having a heart. But still, curiosity made me turn around.
I found myself startled by the strange clarity in his eyes. Wyatt Nash, taking something seriously? That was new.
“What?” I asked.
He closed the distance between us. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m stuck in this insufferable Frankenstein boot for the next eight weeks and I need a distraction, or I might not make it to graduation without going mental.”
“The scholarship showcase is in two weeks,” I challenged.
“Well, that’s two weeks closer to graduation.”
I looked down at his boot, sympathy flooding me over our common ground. He’d lost something, too. No, do not feel bad for him! He’s a smarmy jerk who hurt your bestie and made you miss prom!
But still, I’m sure this wasn’t how Wyatt had wanted his senior year to go either. Stuck in a boot and unable to play a sport he loved. It was something I could relate to. Well, not the sports, but the losing something you loved. Maybe that was a start . . .
I cursed my sensible heart and blew out a breath of frustration. “Can you actually sing?”
He cocked his head examining me like I was a strange zoo animal.
“What?” I muttered. “It’s a valid question.”
He bit his lip as if trying to fight his amusement, but then he schooled his features and nodded. “I can sing. So, what’ll it be, Penny Layne? Wanna distract me for the next two weeks?”
His invitation hung in the air between us, filling me with a static energy that made my head spin. I didn’t miss his implied inuendo. Did
I really want to invite someone whose nickname was Nashanova into my life for the next two weeks?
‘Do you have a choice?’ my subconscious argued.
It’s not like Katniss Everdeen was going to show up and save me. No one else was volunteering for tribute. I was out of options and time, and Wyatt was the only hero limping up to the plate.
“Fine,” I said, extending my hand. “But this is strictly business.”
A carnal shiver rippled through my body as Wyatt took my hand. Was this going to happen every time we touched?
As if reading my mind, Wyatt’s lips quirked up into a grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Penny Layne.”
“I still don’t see why we couldn’t go to your house. We can’t really rehearse in a coffee shop,” Wyatt complained.
“We can rehearse at school,” I replied.
Wyatt raised his dark eyebrows. “You’ll be seen with me at school?”
“Ha ha, very funny. You’re popular and I’m not. Great joke. Now can we get back to work?”
“Wow, you run a tight ship, Penny Layne.”
“My name is Layne, without the Penny.”
“It’s a Beatles song.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know that.”
He quirked an eyebrow again.
“What? Thought only Brits listen to The Beatles?”
“No, but I’m impressed someone like you knows their songs.”
“Someone like me?”
“Yeah, you know what I mean.”
“No, please enlighten me.”
“Well, you give off more of a girlie pop vibe.”
I snorted a laugh.
“Am I wrong? Wait don’t tell me. Is your sound more indie folk?”
I crossed my arms, annoyed he’d pinpointed me in only two guesses. “I don’t like to stick to just one genre, it’s limiting. Besides, a good songwriter writes songs that can work in many different styles.”
Wyatt’s annoying smirk was back, conveying that my statement didn’t fool him. “Indie folk. I knew it.”
I sighed with exaggeration as I ignored his attempts to drag me into an argument. Instead I got up to retrieve our order from the barista who’d just called my name.
Kissing The Hero (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 2) Page 3
