by Wilde, Ora
MONDAY
8:15 A.M.
I have always been a diligent student, I swear!
I listen attentively to my teachers even when my classmates would rather gossip or pass around some notes. I always do my homework in between breaks, the day before they are due. I participate in class while the other kids doze off because they partied the whole night or binge watched some shows on Netflix or played some fancy video games they’d gush over the next day. I use the internet to do supplemental research for my subjects while others tweet and chat and post selfies on Facebook and Instagram.
I have always been a responsible student, and I am proud of that fact.
But that day, at Mrs. Tesmacher's class, I was barely able to absorb what she was teaching. My mind was elsewhere. And it wasn’t because Wilfred - my next-door neighbor and my childhood friend who sits right next to me in class - had been absent for three days and counting (because of some allergic reaction to a food that his aunt from Texas sent him). It was because of something else... something bigger... something graver with far more enormous repercussions.
You see, that was the day when Uncle Charlie, my new stepfather, was scheduled to move in while I was in school. By the time I’ll get home, he'd be there, occupying the living space that I have become accustomed to sharing with my mom… and my mom alone.
I wasn't comfortable with the idea that we will have to share it with someone else from hereon in.
However, seeing how happy my mother was every time she was with him made the thought more bearable. I'd be selfish if I would allow myself to want him out of our lives, when he's the reason for her inspired smiles these days... a smile that I never saw from her since the divorce.
Mrs. Tesmacher was talking about the drafting of the Constitution and the Civil War, but somehow, I didn't care. I felt guilty about my negligence in class, but there was little I could do. No matter how hard I tried, I can't seem to get the fear of the new living arrangement at home out of my head.
I looked around to see that my classmates were bored to death. Some of them were chatting with each other. Some of them were doodling on their notebooks. Some of them were talking about Emerson's party on Saturday. Some of them were sleeping, and a few were actually snoring. All of them, it seemed - including myself - were zoned out. I can't blame them (us). History was rarely engaging.
They never noticed me, however, as I was lost in my thoughts and - for the first time in my high school life - I was actually as detached as they were.
They never notice me.
They were always caught up in their own world, with their own cliques, with their own interests. It never bothered me. I always preferred the solitude of my ways.
Suddenly, my musings were disrupted by a knock on the door, one that likewise jolted the entire class from its stupor. I pulled up my glasses to get a better look at the cause of the commotion.
Standing by the entrance was a young man, skin-headed, with chiseled cheeks and a strong jaw that made him look like someone who leapt out of a magazine cover. He was very much handsome, if I may add.
He was wearing a tight-fitting navy blue shirt that gave a copious amount of hints about his well-toned body. His sleeves were too short, revealing the tribal-inspired tattoos on his right arm. He was lean, broad-shouldered, moderately muscular, and had a swagger of confidence in the way he carried himself. He was smirking and a dimple formed on his right cheek.
It was a lovely dimple.
The girls swooned and the boys scrutinized him carefully. Giggles and chit-chats can be heard all around me.
"Yes, lad?" Mrs. Tesmacher said, acknowledging his presence. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah," he replied ever so casually. "I'm supposed to be in this class."
"Oh, you must be Darwin."
"Yup."
“You’re...” Mrs. Tesmacher paused as she looked at her watch. “Fifty minutes late,” she continued, “I hope this won’t happen again?”
The new kid just gave her an imprudent shrug, much to my surprise. I couldn’t believe the sheer audacity of this newcomer! The others, however, were more intrigued than appalled. Ugh. High school.
"Class," Mrs. Tesmacher spoke, turning his attention to us. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Darwin McKenzy. He'll be your new classmate."
The girls tried their best to stifle their glee but the sound of their sniggers still managed to leak out of their mouths. The boys squinted their eyes, looking intently at the new guy. I can only assume that they were either filled with awe or with jealousy.
I, however, was preoccupied with something else.
McKenzy.
That's Uncle Charlie's surname.
Was it a mere coincidence that our new classmate shared the same last name as my new stepfather?
"Is there anything you want to say to the class, Mr. McKenzy?" Mrs. Tesmacher asked.
Darwin looked at us, still with that smirk on his face, and spoke.
"Yo," he greeted.
The girls started to blather once more. He's so cool, someone actually said. I've got first dibs on him, whispered another. Invite him to Emerson's party, suggested someone from the back.
“How do you spell your name, Mr. McKenzy? Is it MacKenzy with an ‘a’ in between the ‘m’ and the ‘c’, or McKenzey with an ‘e’ in between the ‘z’ and the ‘y’?” Mrs. Tesmacher was quite obsessive when it came to the spelling of her students’ names.
This guy Darwin didn’t even bother to open his mouth to answer. Instead, he grabbed a chalk stick and started to write his name on the blackboard. It was ‘McKenzy,’ with neither an ‘a’ nor an ‘e’.
The same way Uncle Charlie’s last name was spelt.
As he was facing the blackboard, however, he gave the entire class a good view of his very firm buttocks. More than a few of the females in the room had their mouths agape.
He did have a nice ass, though.
"Do find yourself a comfortable seat, Mr. McKenzy," Mrs. Tesmacher instructed.
The new guy surveyed the room. His eyes narrowed as if he was making mental computations about the best place where he can position himself. The girls straightened their posture, hoping that he would choose a seat near theirs. Some of the guys turned their frowns into smiles, perhaps thinking that if they befriend this Darwin character, a bit of his coolness would rub off on them.
"I think I'll sit right there, Teach," he finally said. He was pointing towards the middle of the room, somewhere on the third row.
Somewhere near where I was seated.
Shit!
"Oh, right there?" Mrs. Tesmacher tried to confirm. "The seat beside Ms. Smith?"
"Yup," he verified. "That seat next to Ms. Elizabeth Smith."
My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. He knew my name. He knew my name!
The girls all looked at me with equal surprise. I could hear their murmurs. How does he know Betty? Is she his girlfriend? I thought Betty's a virgin.
"Mr. McKenzy, do you know Ms. Smith?" Mrs. Tesmacher asked.
"Well... not yet," he answered with that wry smile that has quickly become his irritating trademark. "But I will soon enough."
STEPBROTHER
Bad Boy Blues
By Ora Wilde
Copyright 2015, Ora Wilde
All Rights Reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or distributed, either manually or digitally, without the prior written consent of the author. Brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews are allowed.
WARNING:
This book contains descriptions of sex, profanity, teenaged smoking and teenaged drinking. The acts enumerated above can cause very dire consequences. Readers are not encouraged to e
mulate these deeds. This book is not intended for readers below 18 years of age.
DISCLAIMER:
None of the sexual acts depicted in this book involve minors, nor partners related in blood. The sexual acts depicted herein are all consensual. This book is a work of fiction. Any relation to real and actual people is purely coincidental.
CONTENTS:
Welcome To The Jungle
Shout At The Devil
Rock N’ Roll Is Dead
When Love And Hate Collide
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
Sympathy For The Devil
You Could Be Mine
Ten Seconds To Love
Estranged
With Or Without You
Faithfully
Youth Gone Wild
Sweet Child O’ Mine
For Whom The Bell Tolls
Yesterday
Time For Change
I Remember You
Civil War
Since I Don’t Have You
Bed Of Roses
By lunchtime, almost everyone in school knew who Darwin was. I can't blame them. Ours is a small academic community where people from first year to fourth year high know each other by face and by name, where gossips travel faster than the speed of sound, and where no secrets are ever safe.
It didn't help that I told Maggie Saulters, my best friend since third grade, the ignominy that befell me during first period.
"How does he know you?" she asked.
"I think he's my new stepbrother," I replied, still in a state of disbelief at that time.
Within minutes, a candid photo of Darwin spread like wildfire on Twitter, identified with the label #BettySmithsBrotherIsFuckingHot. It was my fault. I always knew that Maggie was the school's resident Gossip Girl. I just didn't think that she would circulate details about me. Hell, even if there was a juicy tittle-tattle about me, I didn't think anyone would be interested.
Technically, though, it wasn't about me. It was about Darwin, the dashing one, the cool guy who has taken over the school by storm with his magnetic charm and overwhelming sex appeal.
I was just an incidental tag along.
People who never even bothered to say hello to me for four years were suddenly greeting me with hellos and small talks. They were all girls, of course, wanting to get close to me with the hope that they'd be formally introduced to my new sibling.
I was sitting in one corner of the cafeteria with Maggie, a ritual that we religiously observed since first year out of necessity more than anything else. No one wanted to share our table, after all. I unpacked my lunch. Pasta Puttanesca, mom's specialty. Maggie brought a tray with a plate of mashed potatoes and a bowl of something that was supposed to be beef stew.
"So, has your stepbrother talked to you since your awkward introduction?" she asked before taking a bite of her lunch.
"No, he hasn't," I answered.
"But he was sitting right next to you for four periods."
"Yup, but he was just silent, occasionally turning his head towards the back row. I think he was flirting with Chelsea."
"Chelsea Summers? The slut?"
"Yup, the slut with an amazing body and humongous boobs."
We chuckled at my description of Darwin's object of interest.
Halfway through our meal, however, he passed by our table. He was tugging along two big-bodied companions. I instantly recognized them as Orton Sanders and Benson Riley, two of the most notorious bullies in school. They've been harassing students since grade school, a habit that carried over to the present.
But what was Darwin doing with them, I wondered. He's been in school - my school - for less than four hours and he already managed to win the adulation of many of the students... including those two jackasses who seemed to worship the ground he walked on?
He stopped at our table and looked at me.
"What's for lunch?" he asked casually, as if he'd known me for years.
"Spaghetti," I answered without even trying to hide my disinterest in talking to him.
"Cool," he uttered, then he proceeded elsewhere. His two new friends followed him like choirboys walking behind a priest during Sunday mass.
As he walked away, I turned to face Maggie. I was shocked to see her widened eyes and open mouth, staring quite lasciviously at Darwin's direction.
"Maggie!" I exclaimed, calling her attention. She didn't even bother to look at me.
"Wow! That's one mighty fine ass!" she said aloud and without shame.
"It's rude to stare at someone like that," I reminded her.
"I can't help it," she reasoned out. "Your stepbrother is H-O-T!"
"Maybe that's all he is," I told her, even though I didn't think she was really listening to what I was saying. "Maybe he's just a hot guy with a nice ass, and nothing more."
As the bell sounded to signal the end of the school day, the students quickly poured into the hallway and out the main door. Everyone was in a hurry to get home. Not a few were actually excited, as Monday has come to a close. That meant that there were only four days left until the weekend, and five days before Emerson's party.
Emerson's gatherings have always been major events for many of the kids my age. He's known for throwing the most lavish parties. Not that I have experienced any of them myself, as partying wasn't really my thing. But the stories about the nights spent at Emerson Perdew's mansion were the stuff of legends in our small town.
I was at the parking area, on my way home, when a really loud roar screamed behind me. Instinctively, I darted towards the sidewalk, fearing for my life.
A sleek black Ducati motorbike sped towards my direction and abruptly stopped beside me. Its rider was wearing a helmet, but I didn't need to see his face to know who he was. Lean, broad shouldered, a tight body that wanted to explode out of his navy blue shirt, and people - mostly females - turning their heads in awe as he steered his bike to my direction...
"What do you want, Darwin?" I asked as I clenched my books and drew them closer to my chest.
"Hey there," he greeted me as he removed his helmet and flashed that dimple-generating smile. "Do you need a ride?"
I chortled, quite carelessly that a slight snort came out of my nose. It was embarrassing.
"You mean ride? With you? On that thing?" I gave him a sardonic look.
"Yes. Ride. With me. On this thing." His answer was purposeful... sincere. He lit up a cigarette as he waited for my answer.
"Nah, sorry," I said. "I'd rather walk."
"You do know that we're going home to the same house, right?" he asked, as puffs of smoke came out of his mouth.
"I had a small idea, yes."
"And you're still sure you don't want to ride? With me? On this thing?"
I let out a deep sigh.
"Yes," I answered very succinctly.
“You know, Elizabeth...” he started after drawing another puff.
“Betty,” I interrupted him. “Just call me Betty. Everyone does.”
“You know, Elizabeth,” he said once again, emphasizing my complete name, “you will have to learn how to live with me. This isn’t something that will be over in the morning. We’re in this for the long haul.”
Wow! I have to adjust to him? Not only is this Darwin brash, rude and unapologetic. He also has a chip on his shoulder. He has this feeling of self-entitlement. He thinks everyone exists just to please him.
“Listen, Darwin,” I emphasized his name as well, to which he just smirked. “First of all, I don’t have to like you. I don’t have to be nice to you. I don’t even have to talk to you. Secondly, I don’t care if you’re moving in with your dad. I will not allow you to...”
"Okay then," he said as he cut me off without allowing me to finish. He took one last puff of his cigarette and flicked the stick away. He put on his helmet, throttled his bike, and sped off towards the bend on the road, turning right to where the house - my house - was located.
Talk about impertinence!
I continued
walking. As I tried to process what just transpired, I realized how awkward that conversation really was, considering that it was the first time we actually spent more than three seconds talking to each other. Deep in my heart, I still rejected the fact that someone like him has entered - nay, intruded on - my life so forcefully, so unexpectedly.
The world that I've always known has suddenly changed, and I didn’t like it a single bit.
"Isn’t that something you should have told me earlier?" I asked my mom, as I was brimming with frustration and rage.
"Well, I wanted to tell you earlier," she replied, "but Charlie said that I should wait for the right time because you might take it the wrong way." She hardly looked at me as she was focused on chopping the carrots for whatever she was preparing for dinner.
