The Good Girl & the Bad Boy: A Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 2)

by M. L. Collins

  “I’m not giving up!” she called after me.

  She’d be the only one then. Which hit like a punch to the chest to think about. It had taken me a few years, but I finally had come around to my step-father’s way of thinking. At some point you had to let go of fanciful childhood dreams and accept reality. So I pushed that old dream down deep and headed out to the parking lot for my lacrosse 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 Devlin called from where a bunch of football and lacrosse 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.

  Whoa, 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, Brian 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 DeLeon a few spots over, holding my guitar case.

  “One day someone’s going to run over your guitar,” 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 big time.

  “Grady Burnett, we need to talk!”

  I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Sure enough, when I turned my head, Lacey Jane Trueheart was stalking my way.

  Lacey 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 backpack before grabbing out my lacrosse gear.

  “Oh, right. Then I’ll be quick. We need to set up a time to get together.” The sun lit up her light gray 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 then?” I raised my eyebrows at her. “Always the rule follower.”

  “If you put me on that list—” She closed her eyes and 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 lower playing 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.

  3

  It Wasn’t a Squirrel

  Lacey

  “Breakfast is ready!” Dad shouted up the stairs.

  Not that he needed to shout since the smell of waffles had already perfumed the air, making my stomach growl. I took a last look in the mirror and smiled at my outfit. I couldn’t decide my mood, so I went with eclectic: a sunshine yellow T-shirt, turquoise crop pants, and my pink Keds slip-ons. I added a thin headband with a pink and yellow butterfly just above my ear, and then followed my nose to the kitchen.

  Breakfast was the big family meal at my house. Mostly because everyone’s schedules were too busy. You’d think a family of four—just my sister, our parents, and me—could manage dinnertime at least once or twice a week. Nope.

  “Morning!” I rushed into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of milk, and served myself waffles before sliding into my seat at the table.

  “Whoa. You look like you hugged your ‘My Little Pony’ too tight and it exploded all over you,” Tracey said, staring at me from across the table, her fork in mid-air. “Pick a color of the rainbow and stick with it. Just one.”

  Tracey and I were identical twins and grew up with that unique twin bond: we’d invented our own language as toddlers, cried when the other one got hurt in elementary school, had each other’s backs in middle school. And then things changed.

  Seemingly overnight, we were no longer identical. Not by a long shot.

  “Thanks for the tip.” I doubted that I’d take her advice, not from the queen of darkness. Tracey had gone through a black phase three years ago and never come out. Black clothes, black nail polish, black jewelry, smudged black eyeliner. The only thing that wasn’t black? Her razor cut hot pink hair.

  We’d grown apart and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe deep down we were simply opposites. I didn’t know. All I knew was sometimes I felt like I was missing a limb.

  “I’m teaching tonight, so don’t hold dinner for me,” Mom said from behind her huge “peace, love, paint” coffee mug.

  “I’ll be working late too. We’re putting the finishing touches on our presentation for a nationwide realty company. Ow.” Dad looked up from eating his grapefruit, squinting his left eye. “I thought I asked you to buy the non-squirting grapefruits.”

  “I did, dear,” Mom said. “You must have gotten a defective one.”

  I wasn’t sure why we even had this discussion every morning. It was pretty much a given that no one would be home for dinner. Dad was the art director at a big advertising firm in the city and Mom taught advanced art (both day and night classe
s) at the university.

  Tracey was a gifted artist and a true free spirit to the point of having a reputation for being a bit wild. She was in honor’s art club at school and also took painting classes. She hung out with edgy artists and musicians which I think involved a lot of pop art exhibitions and day-long indie music festivals.

  If you’re getting the idea that I come from a family of talented artists, you’d be right. Everyone except for me. My talent? Keeping busy. No, I’m serious. I was just an average girl feeling like an outsider in my creative family.

  I wasn’t super-smart, but I worked hard. Really, really hard. I also packed as many activities as I could into my schedule. Between school, extracurriculars, and my volunteer work, most people assumed I was like the rest of my family. Some days I even convinced myself.

  Which today, was a good thing. Because I knew I had to deal with Grady Burnett and that would take all the smarts and confidence I had. If I fell short, I’d do what I always did—fake it.

  By the end of school the next day, I was no closer to pinning Grady down to meeting for our column. Our first column was due this Thursday and we already had an overflowing mailbox with questions for Mr. and Ms. Jackalope. The word had gone out that Grady was writing the advice column, instantly quadrupling the questions from the student body. It was going to take time to sort through them all, let alone form an intelligent, helpful answer. This was not something we could throw together at the last minute.

  Walking out of school after the last bell sounded, I was determined to track Grady down. If he thought I wouldn’t drive to his house, he was wrong. I absolutely would if he kept avoiding me.

  “Hey, TJ! Have you seen Grady?” I called across the parking lot, over where some of the jocks loitered every afternoon before lacrosse and baseball practice.

  “He was just here,” he said, looking around. “I think he’s over at Parker’s truck listening to some new band Parker’s flipping over.”

  “Thanks.” So he was here somewhere. I could sit in my car and wait until he appeared. “Oh, yeah. Did you buy a raffle ticket yet? We’re raising money for last year’s flood victims.”

  “You talked me into five last week.” He rolled his eyes and grinned.

  “Thanks, TJ.” Oops. He was right; I had. As president of the Pep Club, I talked a lot of kids into supporting the raffle. It was a good cause.

  In fact, I stopped and talked to at least three more kids on my way to my car and easily sold more tickets. By the time I arrived at my parking spot, Bernie was already leaning against my back bumper.

  Bernie and I were complete and total opposites. Even today, after years of being best friends, lots of kids did a double take when they saw us together.

  I was a girly-girl. I loved bright colors, clothes, strawberry flavored lip gloss, making craft jewelry, making friends, being involved in school and church, and cute boys.

  Bernie was a tomboy. She loved cars, old jeans, unscented lip balm (only when necessary), making car engines run, being left alone to work on cars, and not being involved in school (unless it involved cars or fixing things with tools).

  See? Total opposites but best friends. It was simply one of those wonders of the world I didn’t question; I just counted Bernie’s friendship among my blessings.

  Our one similarity that had served us both well was we didn’t take any attitude from boys, cute or not. We didn’t take attitude from girls either.

  “Sorry to make you wait!” I popped the trunk of my new car to load in our backpacks. “I was trying to find Grady.”

  “It’s fine. I was checking out your car again while I waited.” Bernie shook her head. “You made a good solid choice. A lot of kids want that new car bling but it’s not worth the depreciation. Buying used was smart.”

  “Buying used was necessary.” I swung my bag in next to Bernie’s and slammed the trunk closed. My parents had given me and my sister a choice: they would either buy us a new car or help pay for college. Five minutes of research into college tuition made it an easy choice. “Every time I look at Matilda, I smile. She was worth all the hours and years I spent babysitting and lifeguarding.”

  “I think it was the right choice. Especially because you took my advice. Volvos run forever, the engine is in perfect condition, and you don’t find many one-owner cars with mileage this low.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I took my place in the driver’s seat and waited for Bernie to get in before adding, “It was the pretty teal color that sold me.”

  Bernie rolled her eyes and groaned.

  “Kidding.” I laughed. “Sort of, anyway. It is pretty, you have to admit that.”

  “I admit nothing,” Bernie said, strapping on her seatbelt.

  I started the car to get the A/C going, but didn’t pull into the line of cars winding their way toward the exits.

  “Are you waiting for the cars to clear out?”

  “I’m waiting for Grady.” I nodded my head toward his car, two spots over. “He’s been avoiding me all day, and we’ve got to set a time to work on the advice column.”

  “He was sitting in Parker’s car listening to music a few minutes ago,” Bernie said. “I have to be at work in thirty minutes though.”

  I nodded. “I’ve got volunteering. I’ll give him five minutes. If he doesn’t show up, I’ll track him down at his house.”

  “He’s sure to love that.” Bernie snickered.

  “He’ll hate it, but it’s not like he’s giving me a choice.” Setting the timer on my phone for five minutes, I propped it up on the dash. “He now has four minutes and fifty-three seconds.”

  I turned on the radio, pushing buttons in search of a fun song but found nothing good.

  “Hey, I heard something cool,” I said. “There’s a rumor going around that a movie director is scouting out a local high school for Kingsly Grant’s next movie.”

  “I don’t know who Kingsly Grant is, but having our school invaded by some Hollywood movie crew and over-indulged actors sounds like the opposite of cool,” Bernie grumbled.

  “How is that not cool?” I did a double take on Bernie. “And how don’t you know who Kingsly Grant is? We went and saw one of his movies last year.”

  “Oh, that one you dragged me to? Yeah, I only paid attention to the car chases,” Bernie said, with a roll of her eyes. “Which, by the way, were physically impossible. A car with all track drive—which was the only option for that model year—wouldn’t have spun out the way they filmed it.”

  I laughed and shook my head. Only Bernie would care more about the cars in an action movie than the super-hot actor the rest of the female population of the world was drooling over. “Word is they’ve narrowed it down to three schools: us, Cox, and Mesquite. It would be so fun if they picked our school.”

  “Fun? It sounds like a big pain in the—”

  The timer went off, startling us both.

  “Speaking about a big pain in the you-know-what.” I clenched my jaw, put the car in drive, and squeezed the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “Grady Burnett will get an earful from me when I finally track him down.”

  Determined not to let Grady ruin my mood, I punched the radio buttons until I found a song I liked. “Oh! Here we go. Old school Backstreet Boys for the win.”

  Bernie rolled her eyes again as I started tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, jamming to the music.

  A glance in my rearview mirror showed there was a circle of kids talking behind me, so I pulled forward, into the empty parking space in front of me.

  There was a bump under my tire and a crack and a crunch.

  “What was that?” I stopped the car, shut off the music, and listened for the sound again. I’d only had the car a few weeks, but I’d never heard it make noises like that.

  “Pretty sure you ran over something,” Bernie said. “I’ll have to check your suspension.”

  “Do we, by any chance, have cement curbs in this parking lot?” I tilted my head tryi
ng desperately to picture them—but nope.

  “No curbs,” Bernie said.

  “Oh, my gosh!” I whipped my head around to Bernie. “Do you think there’s something wrong with my car?”

  “Absolutely not. I went over it thoroughly. It’s in perfect condition.”

  “Any chance you want to get out and take a look?” Yes, I’d admit Bernie was better in a crisis than I was. “If I ran over a cute little squirrel, I don’t want to see it.”

  “You didn’t run over a squirrel.”

  “Not squishy enough? I didn’t hear a sad little squirrel shriek in agony. But there was definitely a crunching sound. That could have been a delicate little squirrel skeleton.” I threw my hands over my face. “Oh, I can’t look if it’s a squirrel.”

  “It wasn’t a squirrel.”

  “How do you know?”

  “By the look on Grady Burnett’s face.”

  “What?” I uncovered my face and looked out the windshield. Sure enough, there stood the boy I’d been searching for all day long.

  The look of horror, pain, and shock on his face had my heart racing. And when Grady slowly lifted his gaze up to mine, the anger aimed at me had me sitting back hard against my seat.

  “I ran over Grady’s guitar, didn’t I?” My stomach twisted as I realized all the wishful thinking in the world wasn’t going to change this.

  “Yep, pretty sure you did. Man, does he look pissed.”

  4

  What Did You Just Do?

  Grady

  “What did you just do?” I stood in shock, staring at my crushed guitar case. My Fender guitar was the one thing in my life I needed for so many reasons. It was my sole prized possession that had gotten me through the last five years.

  A small crowd gathered around. It wasn’t every day someone ran a guitar over in the parking lot.

  Of course, we’re talking high schoolers here so some guys thought it was hilarious and laughed and pointed. There were gasps and nervous giggles from some of the girls.