“Can you add a dash of nutmeg to mine?” Wyatt called after me.
“And now you’re waiting on him,” I muttered under my breath as I walked to the condiment counter to grab sugar for my tea and top Wyatt’s latte with nutmeg.
The Christmasy scent filled the air as a lot more than a dash spilled out onto the foam. Whoops. I wrinkled my nose as I looked at the mess, but then I added another ample shake just for good measure and stirred it in until the heaping pile of spice disappeared beneath the foam. And then I sprinkled on the perfect dash he’d asked for.
It was petty, I know. But it served him right for hurting Lola. And for being such a pompous jerk.
I walked back over to the cushy chairs we’d staked out in the corner of my favorite coffee shop. Wyatt’s orthopedic walking boot was propped up on the empty chair across from him, easing my discontent about being his servant. It did look rather uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” he said when I handed him the mug. He took a sip and made a face, placing the latte on the table next to him. “That’s terrible,” he sputtered. “Is this really the only coffee shop in Northwood?”
“Not quite up to London standards?” I teased.
Wyatt’s green eyes studied me for a moment as if deliberating over something. He must have decided in my favor since he offered a response. “I’m not a Brit.”
“What?”
“Earlier, you implied I was British with your Beatles comment. I’m not.”
“I realize I may look naïve, but I know a British accent when I hear one.”
“I’m not denying my accent,” he replied. “Just citizenship.”
I blinked at him, confused. “So what, you just think it makes you sound cool?” Which it did, but I’d never admit that.
“Not quite.” He sighed as if I exhausted him. “If you must know I was born and raised in New York City, but I summer in London, where my father’s side of the family resides.”
“Just your father? Your mom’s not from England?”
“No, she’s from here actually. We moved back to be closer to my grandparents.”
“But your mom has an accent, too.”
He shrugged. “She moved to England after high school. I guess she picked it up.”
“Like you, during your summers?”
“I’m sorry, are we researching my lineage or practicing for a singing competition?”
“You brought it up.”
“So I did.” Wyatt ran his fingers though his hair, smoothing his temper along with his dark locks. “Sorry, my family’s a bit of a sore spot today. Shall we talk about your songs? I’m assuming you have some lyrics for me?”
“I do.”
“Well,” he said, waiting for me to hand them over or perhaps start reciting them from memory.
I clutched my songbook tighter. “This is sort of uncharted territory for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Handing my songs over.”
“I thought you wanted to be a songwriter?”
“I do, it’s just . . . Lola’s the only one I’ve ever shared my songs with.”
“Well, no time like the present,” Wyatt said, his lips twisting with a cocky smile as he held his hand out.
“They’re not ready yet,” I said quickly, slipping the book back into my bag and zipping it with finality. “Besides, Lola and I have been working on music together since fifth grade. It’s going to take me some time to adjust to this new partnership.”
“The contest is in two weeks, yeah?”
“Yes, but the songs I wrote were for Lola. I’ll have to tweak them to fit a male singer. I’ll have them ready for you tomorrow.”
“So, what was this coffee meeting about?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who followed me off the bus.”
“So I did,” he said again.
“You don’t really think things through, do you?”
He surprised me with a deep laugh. “Have you been talking to my mother?”
I rolled my eyes, not at all surprised his mother didn’t enjoy his spontaneity either. She was the picture of prim and proper refinement. I’d really enjoyed working with her junior year when it came time to apply for college scholarships. She was a woman after my own heart. She respected a good checklist and was obsessively organized. Her son was anything but.
With his tousled dark hair, mischievous green eyes, lazy smile, and signature black motorcycle jacket, Wyatt Nash looked like a fallen angel turned rockstar. Working with him was a recipe for disaster. I doubted a bad boy rocker and a band geek loner really had a chance to pull off a win, but at this point, what did I have to lose?
Just my entire future! But I pushed that thought away and refocused myself, returning Wyatt’s stare. “So, I’m not the only one unamused by your impulsiveness?”
“You say impulsive, I say free-spirited.”
I took a sip of my tea and sat back, waiting out his sarcasm.
Wyatt continued to grin. “It seems you have me pegged. According to my parents and teachers, I’m aimless, impulsive, reckless and a waste of potential.”
“Is that how you see yourself?”
“Not always.”
“Then maybe you should prove them wrong for a change.”
Wyatt’s jaw muscles twitched, but he didn’t smile right away. His eyes seemed to glow with my challenge before a whisper of a grin graced his lips. “Maybe I will, Penny Layne. Maybe I will.”
Chapter Eight
Wyatt
“So, can I get a ride home?” I asked.
Layne looked at me like the question was preposterous, again making me wonder why she hated me so much. Before today I’d never even spoken to her. Was that it? Had my avoidance offended her?
If that was the case, why had she agreed to work with me? I was just about to ask her that very question when she spoke.
“I don’t have a car.”
“What?”
Her cheeks blushed like someone had just plugged her into an outlet. “I said, I don’t have a car. So, no you can’t have a ride home.” She huffed her annoyance as she tossed her bag over her shoulder and stood. “Honestly, did you think I would be on the bus if I had the ability to drive?”
“I’m impulsive, remember? I didn’t think that far ahead.”
She rolled her eyes, not at all bothered by my predicament. “Bollocks,” I muttered, glaring down at my Franken-boot. It’s not like I could walk home. My stupid sprained ankle was really cramping my style. I looked back at Layne. “How do you normally get to school?”
“Lola drives me.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Right. Well, then how are you getting home from here?” I asked, standing to look around.
“I’m going to walk.”
I followed her to the door. “Well, obviously that’s not going to work for me,” I said, nodding to my boot.
“How’d you do it anyway?” she asked.
“Baseball.”
“I knew that much. I meant how did it happen?”
“You really are an inquisitive little thing, aren’t you?”
She snorted, then batted her eyelashes at me in a stunning display of mockery. “Yes, please, Wyatt, dazzle me with all your secrets and make my sheltered existence meaningful.”
“Are you always so defensive?”
“Are you always so arrogant?”
“Only when people pry.”
“I wasn’t prying. It’s called small talk. You should try it sometimes. It’s what friends do.”
“Are we friends, Penny Layne?”
She huffed a bitter little laugh. “Definitely not, but for the sake of this project I thought we could try. How stupid of me.” She pushed through the door, the bell jingling in her wake.
The sound spurred me into action, and I followed, catching her at the corner thanks to the traffic light. “Wait,” I said, “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’ve been a right wazzock. It’s not you, I’m still just a bit gutted about losing
baseball. Being stuck in this sorry boot for the rest of the year is making me more prickly than usual. But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.” I shifted my weight off my bad ankle and winced. “Also, I think I forgot to take my Tylenol today.”
The shock on her face was palpable. It was clear I’d been acting like a complete wanker if she was this stunned by my apology. “Can we start over tomorrow?” I asked.
She was quiet for a moment, before a soft smile tugged at her pink heart-shaped lips. “Fine. But only if you promise to take your Midol or whatever you need to take the edge off this moody attitude.”
I laughed, surprised by both her wit and forgiveness. “It’s a promise.”
“Do you know where the practice rooms are in the music wing?”
“Yeah.”
“Meet me there tomorrow after school. The last room on the left. I’ll have the lyrics ready for you.”
“Brilliant. I’ll be there,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets against the chill. The sun was nearly set, and the temperature was dropping.
Layne frowned as she noticed me shiver. “We still have to figure out how to get you home.”
Her concern caught me off guard. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can catch a ride with someone.”
“Maybe if you were still in New York or London, but Northwood isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis.”
“So, I’ve noticed,” I teased. “But I’ll be fine.”
“What are you going to do, hitchhike on the corner of First and Main?”
“Are you worried about me, Penny Layne?”
She bit her lip, struggling with whether to give me a truthful answer or not. I don’t know why that amused me so, but it did. It was fun getting under her skin. It might be my new favorite hobby. “I promise, I’ll find a ride,” I said, easing her guilt. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about me.”
Layne
As if on cue Candace Kennedy pulled up in her VW bug. She looked right through me, her corn syrup smile directed solely at the bad boy standing next to me.
“Hey, Wyatt,” she purred as her window glided down. “Need a ride?”
“Hey, Candy. It’s like you’re a mind reader.”
She grinned. “Hop in.”
Wyatt gave me a wink. “See ya tomorrow.” And then he was gone.
I stood on the street corner watching Candace’s taillights fade in the distance. Was life really that easy for popular people? Speak a wish out loud and just like that it’s granted. It wasn’t the world I lived in, but I couldn’t help thinking it must be nice.
The beeping of the crosswalk indicator brought me back to reality and I crossed the street, pulling my coat tighter around me as I walked up the hill toward my house. Today had been one of the strangest days of my life. And I had a feeling this was only the tip of the iceberg.
I was no stranger to adversity. When you’re invisible, every day is a challenge. But I was determined to leave my mark. I might be okay living in the shadows, but my music deserved the spotlight. And I refused to quit until the world listened.
Chapter Nine
Layne
I spotted Wyatt in the cafeteria and made a beeline for his lunch table.
“Hi,” I greeted, jumping right into it. “I reworked the lyrics. I think they’ll work for you. Anyway, I figured I’d give you the sheet music now, so you’d have a chance to look it over before we rehearse after school.”
A collection of laughter rose from the table. It was hesitant at first, but as the rest of Wyatt’s jock friends took in the look of confusion on his face, the laughter grew.
“Do you know what this gleek is talking about, Nash?” Cooper Jones asked.
Wyatt just stared at the sheet music I was holding out to him. My hand started to tremble as a new and horrifying reality dawned on me.
Why on earth had I thought Wyatt would let anyone else know he was helping me? I knew being seen with me would hurt his reputation. Perhaps that’s why he’d been so moody at the coffee shop yesterday. He was embarrassed to be seen together.
As the laughter continued, I backed away from the table, my eyes locked on Wyatt’s. “So much for proving the world wrong,” I muttered before turning on my heels and marching out of the cafeteria.
“Rule number one,” I muttered to myself over and over as my eyes stung while I tried to keep my tears at bay. “Never let them see you cry.”
It’s not like this was the first time I’d been ridiculed or laughed at. That was practically the anthem of the unpopular at Northwood. I should’ve expected this as par for the course. I mean, I was working with Wyatt Nash. What had I expected?
But it didn’t seem to matter how much I reasoned with myself. It still stung.
Last night, while I’d spent hours rewriting my lyrics to suit Wyatt, I’d agonized over how to tell my best friend all my hopes and dreams now rested in the hands of the boy she despised.
I knew Lola would hate the idea of me working with Wyatt. After he’d ruined prom, I was supposed to detest him, not count on him.
But somehow, I let myself think that this might actually work. That not only would Wyatt take this seriously, but that he got it because he knew what it was like to lose something he loved.
I should’ve known better. Wyatt was just another jock-hole. He certainly was no substitute for Lola.
With my best friend missing from my life for the next four weeks, I felt like there was a gaping hole in my existence. When we sang together it was like magic. There was no other way to describe the feeling of making music with someone. It was a transcendent experience and the true essence of our friendship.
Somehow, during our fleeting conversation I’d let myself believe that Wyatt understood that and that he was ready to fill Lola’s shoes. But who was I kidding? No one could do that. I should just give up now and save myself the heartache.
After Wyatt’s cruel reception in the cafeteria, I wasn’t really sure why I’d even bothered to walk to the music wing after school. But it seemed I was on autopilot as I pushed through the double doors into the silent sanctuary that led to the practice rooms.
I’d spent many hours here in the past few years practicing for pep band. The space was always open, and the music department had a wide variety of instruments available for students to use.
At home I only had my guitar, which I’d saved money from three birthdays to purchase. I loved my guitar, but my true love would always be the piano. I knew I’d never save up enough to buy one and even if I did, where would we put it?
My house had just enough room for me and my mom.
Although I had to admit, when I was younger and less cynical, I used to dream about buying a baby grand. Now, I laughed at the foolish memory. Dreams didn’t come true for girls like me.
I was in the midst of giving myself a harsh lecture about reality when I opened the door to my favorite practice room and stopped short.
Wyatt sat there, hat in hand, on the piano bench.
Fury swept through me, engulfing me in a flash of heat that made my palms sweat. I balled my fists, my lips pressed together tightly to keep my anger from pouring out. I wanted to let him have it, but I knew better. It wouldn’t matter to him. Nothing did. He’d basically admitted that himself.
If I called him out, I’d only make a fool of myself and give him and his friends more to laugh about. So, despite my throat aching to scream at him, I turned on my heels and retreated from the practice room like the coward I was.
Chapter Ten
Wyatt
The door slammed shut behind her before I could get a word out. I cursed under my breath and shot to my feet, hobbling after her as fast as my Franken-boot would allow. This really needed to stop. I was an invalid for Pete’s sake! And even if I wasn’t, I didn’t chase after girls. It was usually the other way around. And that’s how I preferred it.
I didn’t even know why I was bothering.
Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew exactl
y why I was bothering.
I hadn’t been able to get Layne’s hurt look out of my head since lunch. It haunted me.
It had been a long time, if ever, that I’d seen that look from someone other than myself. I never let anyone close enough to feel genuinely hurt by my actions. If I never took anything seriously, I could fail without letting anyone down. But Layne didn’t seem to understand the rules.
I’d known her all of a day and already I’d hurt her. I winced. Was it really my fault if she wore her heart on her sleeve?
Apparently, I thought so since I kept chasing after her. I knew it might be best to just cut ties now and walk away; except there was one flaw in that plan. Layne needed a hero, and Northwood seemed to be in short supply.
“Layne! Wait.”
She whirled on me. “Why? Would you like to embarrass me some more today?”
“Embarrass you?”
“Oh, that’s right, you were the one embarrassed to be seen with me. My bad.”
“You’ve got it wrong.”
She stopped, turning to face me. “Do I?”
“Actually, yes, you do.” I limped closer. “Look, I was embarrassed. But not to be seen with you.”
“Then why?”
“Because.”
She crossed her arms and I knew nothing but the truth would save me now. I closed the distance between us so my admission could at least be made quietly. “Because I can’t read music, okay?”
“What?” Layne’s pouty lips snapped to a scowl. “Then how on earth were you planning to learn my songs?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m impulsive, remember?”
She scowled seemingly immune to the charming smile I was laying on her.
I scrubbed a frustrated hand over my face. “Fine, I should’ve told you. But can’t you just sing them for me or something?”
“I told you, I don’t sing! That’s what you’re here for.” Layne threw her hands up and began pacing. “This is unbelievable.”
Kissing The Hero (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 2) Page 4
