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

by M. L. Collins

  “Right. That’s what I said.”

  14

  You Can’t Complain If Things Get Dicey

  Lacey

  Dear Ms. Jackalope,

  I’ve hurt someone close to me. Unintentionally. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life (good and bad) that I became unaware of what this other person has been going through. I’m afraid it might be too late to fix. What can I do?

  Signed,

  Too late to apologize?

  Dear Too Late,

  This rabbit hopes it’s never too late to fix what’s broken. Now, a heartfelt apology is nice and necessary, but it’s only a temporary fix until you change your behavior. Talk to them. Find out what’s going on in their lives. Be sincere but most importantly—be there. Be there on a regular basis, supporting, caring, listening, until they know they can count on you again.

  Hop To It,

  Ms. Jackalope

  “Hey, Tracey.” I rubbed my nose, feeling weird about the fact that asking my own twin sister to spend time together felt awkward. That was just so wrong. “I was wondering if you might want to do something today. With me.”

  “You and me? Together?” She asked, looking bewildered like I’d suggested flying to Mars and back while watching Killer Clowns from Outer Space as the inflight movie.

  “Yes.” I shrugged. “Like we used to.”

  “Huh.” That was all she said. Huh. And then she stared at me as if she were having a hard time thinking up something both of us would enjoy doing. “Sure, okay. But I’m going to a music festival to hear Tina play and it’s an all-day and into the evening event. And you can’t complain if things get dicey.”

  “Dicey? What do you mean?” Dicey? As in unpredictable and possibly dangerous? “Are you trying to scare me off so I won’t want to go?”

  “Absolutely not. In fact, I want you to come. I think it’s a great idea.” She smiled at me and grabbed her clear backpack which was crammed full of items. “But I’m serious about the not complaining part. You have to swear on your weekly planner on that.”

  I rolled my eyes, but raised my right hand, palm out. “I swear I will not complain.”

  An hour later, I was ready to kill my sister. She drove us there on gas fumes, even though I offered to buy a tank of gas. All because she didn’t want to miss the opening act. Like five minutes would have made a difference. Talk about stressful! Then there was the matter of tickets. The ones she didn’t have to the sold out event. So, of course she bought them from a scalper, which, I believe, was illegal.

  “What if he’s an undercover police officer?” I hissed into her ear.

  “Then we’ll do our twin bonding in jail. Duh.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, dragging me over to the scalper.

  I kept my eyes darting around, on the lookout for anyone who looked like they might be hiding a pair of handcuffs in their back pocket while Tracey purchased the tickets.

  “Done.” Tracey waved the tickets in my face. “See? Easy peasy.”

  “Are there any other laws you plan on breaking? Although, I should warn you, I’m not sure my nerves can take anything else. So if you were planning to whip out a fake I.D. to drink alcohol or slide past security to sneak back stage, just no.”

  “You’ll be relieved to know I don’t drink.” She linked her elbow through mine and moved us toward a large board with all the bands and different stage assignments. “The sneaking back stage thing though—definitely going to happen. So prepare thyself.”

  The festival was already crowded with people from all walks of life. But if the clothes were anything to go by, edgy, punk, Goth, and your garden variety hippie/Deadhead were all represented in large numbers.

  “Let’s check out which stage Grady’s band is playing on.”

  “Wait, what? Grady’s here? Playing?”

  “Yeah.” She grabbed me and kept us moving to the board, skimming her finger down the list in search. “Have you ever heard him play?”

  “No. What’s the name of his band?” I started looking from the other side.

  “Chasing Airplanes. Ah ha! Found them. Stage three in thirty minutes. Tina’s band is on after them. So, we can head over and still have plenty of time for you to buy me some nachos.”

  “Only if you split them with me,” I said. I was feeling out of my element, but also excited about hanging out with Tracey and amazingly, at least for a little while, getting along. It felt like the way we used to be.

  Nachos and bottled water in hand, we found a bare spot on the grass and spread out the towel Tracey had in her pack. Some emo band was shrieking down on stage, and I let them blur into the background as best I could.

  “So, how’s everything? You know, like your art classes and school. How’s your semester? I don’t even know if you’re dating anyone! Are you?” I separated out a nacho from the melted pile of cheesy chips and took a bite.

  Tracey gave me a long side-eye before responding. “Art’s good. School is, eh, school. No significant other at the moment. You?”

  “School’s great. I’m busy, but you know that. I’m okay.” I looked over at her when she didn’t respond, and she was still waiting. “Oh! No significant other.”

  “None, huh? Not one guy who makes your heartbeat take off? Maybe some guy at school who you’re stuck working with, but it turns out, you kind of like working with him.”

  “What?” I whipped my head around to stare at her. “How did you—I mean, no. No.”

  “You’re a big fat liar.” Tracey laughed. “And you need to work on your poker face.”

  The sound of an electric guitar cut through the applause from the last band, a sharp strong chord grabbing our attention back down to the stage.

  “There he is. Can you see him? The guitar player on our left.”

  Oh, I saw him. With his athletic build, he stood out among the other musicians. His band jumped into their set. Chasing Airplanes played for thirty minutes and I loved every minute of it. So did the crowd.

  “Gosh, he’s good. You guys are lucky to be so talented.”

  “You guys?” Tracey popped a chip in her mouth and then another.

  “You and Grady. You’re both very talented.” I shook my head, realizing I’d said it wrong. “I mean lucky, yes, but I don’t want to belittle the hard work you’ve both put in. What I’m trying to say is… I’m impressed.”

  Tracey blinked at me. “Thanks.”

  We sat listening to her friend Tina’s band and a few more before walking through the row of food vendors in search of lunch. (I ate tacos and Tracey had some vegetarian wrap.) We browsed all the booths of crafts: tie-dye T-shirts, hemp jewelry, bedazzled jeans, and incense and candles. Late in the afternoon we bought a large pretzel to split and settled back on the lawn in time for Grady’s second set.

  Once again, they had the crowd into it with the opening guitar lick.

  “Come on.” Tracey jumped up, dragging me with her as she worked her way forward through the crowd until we stood at the edge of the rowdier action close to the stage. People were dancing, playing air guitar, a few crowd surfed and some were even moshing.

  After three songs, one of the crew members moved Grady’s microphone further out front and he counted off “One, two, three” and the band played an old Johnny Cash song with Grady singing lead vocals.

  It was instantly clear that Grady was good. Beyond good. His voice was deep, strong, and sexy. And his guitar playing brought the crowd to their feet.

  “Wow.” A bad boy jock with ripped muscles who could sing and play guitar. Pile on that he was nice and funny too. It was easy to see why he had a “fan club” at school.

  “Wow is right!” Tracey yelled into my ear. “That boy has big talent.”

  “He sure does.” I leaned in close, talking right into her ear. “And that’s on the cheap guitar. I want to cry thinking about how good he’d sound on his Fender.”

  “Oh, yeah. He was totally sick on his Fender.”

  I was totally sick remember
ing his Fender. His pancaked Fender.

  “Hey.” Tracey grabbed my wrist, talking loudly into my face. “You’d forgive me for anything, wouldn’t you, Lacey?”

  “Of course.” I nodded. Tracey and I may be polar opposites, but I knew she’d never do anything mean or hurtful, so forgiveness was a no-brainer. Little did I know that ten seconds into the future, I’d be rethinking the whole forgiveness deal.

  “Awesome.” Tracey smiled and then pushed me backward so forcefully, I instantly lost my balance and toppled backward with a scream.

  Only I didn’t hit the ground. I landed stretched out on my back, in the hands of strangers. Strangers who lifted me into the air and moved me forward, jostled and tossed, toward the stage.

  Oh, fish sticks! I was crowd surfing. The whole forgiving my sister thing? Oh, heck no. My heart squeezed with every plummet, but miraculously each scary dip was followed with a push up and forward. Until I was unceremoniously dumped—tossed would be more accurate—onto the stage right at Grady’s feet. I’m not sure who was more shocked: me or Grady. But Grady recovered faster, his face splitting into a wide grin as he held a hand down to pull me up.

  I tried to exit off the stage, but he grabbed my belt loop and tugged me back with a wink, before jumping back into the song. Standing next to him—in the middle of the band surrounded by amps and speakers—was heart-pounding and ear-shatteringly loud. I clamped my hands over my ears and watched Grady throw himself into the music.

  When the song finished, I slid around Grady and off the stage to wait in the wings, letting his band soak up the well-earned wild applause of the crowd.

  15

  All it Took Was A Push

  Grady

  As soon as we took our last bow, I pulled out my earplugs and hustled off stage to find Lacey. Man, talk about being surprised. If I’d had to guess which was more likely to happen—being hit by an asteroid or having Lacey appear at my feet while I was performing—I’d have hands-down picked the asteroid.

  She stood behind the curtain, looking shell-shocked and disheveled. Her long chestnut hair was a tangle of wild curls like she’d been stuck inside a wind tunnel for a week, her cheeks were flushed, and she still held her hands over her ears.

  “Hey there, Lacey Jane.”

  “What?” she yelled.

  Smiling, I pulled her hands from her ears and tried again. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with Tracey. We’re doing some much-needed twin bonding.” She tugged on one ear and then the next, probably trying to clear that cotton-stuffed feeling loud music leaves you with. “Oh, hang on, my butt’s vibrating.”

  She pulled her phone from her back pocket and read the incoming text.

  “Huh. Looks like our twin bonding is over. Tracey and Tina are heading off to some jam session which I’m pretty sure means wild party. I’ve been abandoned. We’re the worst set of twins.”

  My phone vibrated with an incoming text, and I pulled it out to check.

  “Not abandoned.” I grinned and turned my phone for Lacey to read.

  Tracey: Make sure Lacey gets home. Do *not* speed unless you want her to go all schoolmarm on you. Can you believe our girl crowd surfed?! All it took was a little push. Also, you’re welcome.

  Our girl? I like the sound of that.

  “Yeah, that little push? She didn’t mean that figuratively. My twin sister literally shoved me into a crowd of strangers.”

  “Ah, now the whole Lacey Jane crowd-surfing makes more sense.” It was definitely out of character for Lacey. You’re welcome. I guess I’d been pretty obvious about how much I liked Lacey, and Tracey had crowd-surfed her right to me.

  “Did you want to stay longer?” I packed up my guitar, slinging the case over my shoulder.

  “I think I need to go somewhere quiet and hope my ears recover.”

  We ended up heading back and picking up a pizza to take back to Lacey’s house. She lived in one of the gated communities that had popped up around Devil’s Lap as fracking brought in more business and more people. Some of my friends lived in this neighborhood, so I knew what the houses were like.

  It wasn’t that Lacey’s house was ostentatious. It wasn’t. It was just that everything was nicer and bigger. Newer. A subtle reminder of my roots. I was the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. The boy rich mamas didn’t want around their daughters. Growing up had been rough, especially after my father disappeared. And even though things were better now, being poor was something that stayed with a person. I liked to think that was a good thing. A way to keep me humble.

  “Come on in.” Lacey opened her front door, leading the way in. I followed her into the kitchen, setting the pizza onto the large granite island. “Everyone else is out. My parents try to go on a date one Saturday a month.”

  “Adorable. But go ahead and call your mom.”

  “W-why?”

  “I’m guessing you have a ‘no friends over without telling the parents’ rule.” I grinned. “Especially boys, right?”

  “Right. But I trust you.”

  “Dang, Lace, I hope so.” I started opening top cupboards until I found the plates and pulled down two. “But if I had to guess, your rule-following heart is going to be squirming until you let her know.”

  “It’s weird how well you know me,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I’ll just shoot her a text.”

  I did know her. Even back when she’d hated me a few years ago—okay, a few weeks ago—there had been a connection between us. An attraction neither of us wanted to admit. I didn’t have that problem now.

  Lacey texted her mom while I looked in the fridge for drinks. I grabbed out a pitcher and took a quick sniff. “Is this sweet tea?”

  “Oh, no. Unsweet.” Lacey tossed her phone onto the counter and got glasses and napkins. “My parents are sort of health nuts, so no sugar.”

  We sat catty-corner at the island drinking tea and eating pizza.

  “Okay, what did you think about my band?”

  “Your band is fantastic. You were amazing.” She took a sip of tea and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I figured you were good, but not that good.”

  I laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

  “Now that I’ve heard you play, I want to cry all over again for running over your Fender.” Her lips wobbled until she pressed them together. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the guilt.”

  “Hey, it was mostly my fault. And who has time to waste crying when we have delicious cheesy pizza to eat?”

  “Good point.”

  I was starving and ate three pieces to each one Lacey ate. The pizza went fast and the cleanup even quicker. Then Lacey slid a sweat shirt on and we sat out on her front step to talk and watch the sun go down.

  “I’m curious… How did your obsession with being perfect come about?” I asked.

  “I’m not obsessed.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Right. That was a big fat lie. It’s just that I’m the only one in my family without any special talent. There’s not a single special thing about me. Not one. I’m average across the board and lacking in a few places. The only thing I’m good at is following rules. I was born a rule-follower. So, I ran with that. That was one thing I could be good at. Perfect behavior. Perfect attendance. Perfect grades.”

  “You do realize being perfect is impossible.”

  “Of course I know that.”

  “Then why would you set that expectation for yourself? Why didn’t you—I don’t know—take up singing or debate or join the mathlete competition?”

  “Because I’m not talented. In anything. But with organization, hard work, and careful scheduling being perfect—almost perfect—is achievable.” She frowned again, pressing her lips together. “Or at least the illusion of it.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself,” I said. “But you’re wrong about not having a single special thing about you. You just can’t see it.”

  “The thing is, I can s
ee it. Clearer than most because I can see how different Tracey and I are. Tracey’s exciting and spontaneous. Me? Not so much.”

  “So do something wild. Something crazy even.”

  “Just the idea of doing something wild has my heart beating like a wild drum solo.” She blinked, her palm pressed over her heart.

  “Why should Tracey have all the fun?”

  “Because she’s the free spirit. I’m the rule-follower. She’s mercurial. I’m the calm one. She’s…everything I’m not.”

  “Are you jealous of your sister?” Lots of siblings were. I imagined being twins might make everything harder.

  “I’m not jealous. Not jealous-jealous. I love my sister. I wish I was like her.” She grabbed one of the long dark sable curls hanging over her shoulder and wound it around her finger. “Like you too. I’m envious of your ability to let go. To take risks. You and Tracey are similar that way.”

  “So, let go,” I said, running my gaze over her face.

  “You make it sound so easy. Honestly, I wish I could. Heck, I would never have crowd-surfed today if Tracey hadn’t pushed me over.”

  She released a frustrated sigh, and I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her she was enough and perfect just the way she was. But I knew what it felt like to feel like you weren’t enough. It was a real feeling. It hurt as much as any cut or bruise. It wasn’t something I could fix for her. Maybe she was going to need another push, like the one Tracey gave her.

  “It’s too bad about your favorite Aunt Mildred.” I stared off across the street, watching the last sliver of sun drop behind the tree line.

  “I don’t have an Aunt Mildred.”

  “You’ve forgotten about Aunt Mildred?” I glanced over, taking in her sweet confusion. “She’s very sick, Lace. So sick, it might be her time.”

  “Grady, what in the—”

  I took her hand in mine. “Promise me you won’t forget about Aunt Mildred.”

  “But—”

  “That way when Aunt Mildred passes, it won’t be such a shock. She was a gutsy lady, wasn’t she?”