The hat was on account of I refused to let Tracey razor-cut my long hair. Not happening. It was bad enough I had my doubts about the pink hair dye washing out.
“Good morning, Ms. Trueheart.” Mrs. Wharton, my old history teacher apparently had drawn detention duty this week. She looked super thrilled about it. Not. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
Um, what? I knew Mrs. Wharton. She’d always seemed so nice, but her comment made me remember Tracey complaining about how mean she was. Huh. How would Tracey act in this situation?
She’d probably say something snarky in response, but considering my knees were knocking so much I was afraid I would trip, I decided to stay quiet, ignore her snotty comment, and lay low. I took a seat in the back row because I just knew Tracey was a “back row” student. The back row was where all the trouble and all the fun happened. Plus most of the napping.
Josh was already asleep in the back row. Unsurprisingly, Gwen Itzlrab was here along with two other cheerleaders, Jody Ball and Hollie Landis. I knew all three of them, but Tracey probably didn’t. As president of the pep club, I knew a lot of kids at school. And knowing them, I was thankful I thought to pack earplugs. That way I could mute their gossip and giggling.
Grady strolled in, and guess who got giggly and gossipy right away? Ugh. Yeah. It only got worse when Grady flashed them a smile as he sat down three rows over from mine.
“Morning, Tracey.” He looked at me and nodded. Slices of sunshine streaked in from the window, highlighting facets of yellow and blue in his green eyes. I felt pretty giggly myself.
“S’up,” I said, trying for cool and badass the way Tracey came off.
He slid a spiral notebook on his desk, opened it, and began working away. Hmmm.
Some kid two seats in front of me turned around, hooked his arm around the back of his seat, and gave me a creepy once-over with his beady little eyes. “Hey, Trueheart, my backseat’s always waiting. Just name the night.”
“Excuse me, what?” Did he just suggest what I thought he did?
“You heard me.” He stuck his tongue out like a snake. Oh, my heck, Tracey was right. I had no idea how other people treated her.
“Cut it out, Terrance,” Grady said, barely looking up from his spiral.
“You gonna make me, Burnett?” The kid stuck out his jaw, looking belligerent.
“No.” Grady snorted. “Tracey will. Isn’t that right, Tracey?”
“Uh…Yeah. Yeah, I will.” When Terrance didn’t look impressed and Grady’s head lifted to stare at me, I figured that wasn’t Tracey enough. I ran through other options for how Tracey would respond.
“You will?” Terrance smirked and ran his gaze over me again, which was gross. “What are you going to do? Because I might be interested.”
“I’ll…I’ll pull your lips over your head so far you’ll be able to kiss your own butt.” Terrance blinked at me and Grady leaned toward me, his gaze sharp under his raised eyebrows. Still not Tracey enough? “With one hand tied behind my back.”
Grady sat up straighter in his seat and smiled a slow, wide smile. “I’d shut up if I were you, Terrance. If you know anything about the Trueheart twins like I do—you’d know they don’t mess around. If you take on one of them, don’t be surprised if you end up dealing with the other one too.”
So, Grady knew. Which, what the heck? Tracey and I had stood side-by-side in front of the mirror yesterday and both agreed we were carbon copies. If Grady had figured it out this quickly, had everyone? I whipped my gaze over to Mrs. Wharton, checking to see if she suspected anything. Thankfully, she was focused on the HOW TO BREED YOUR PET FERRET for Blockheads book in her hands.
“Whatever. Freak.” Terrance turned his condescending face away, apparently bored with being a douchebag.
I let out a breath, but my relief was short-lived as I suddenly took fire from my other side.
The perky cheerleaders must have run out of gossip and turned to me to pass the time.
“You know, Tracey, nobody does Goth anymore,” Hollie said.
“Well, that’s obviously not true, since I do.” I gave her a cool look.
“Yeah, that’s my point. Why don’t you ask your sister for tips on how to dress?” Hollie’s gaze raked over my clothes.
“Your sister has great style. You really could learn from her,” Gwen added her two cents. “Gawd, she wouldn’t be caught dead with that hot pink hair.”
Grady snort-laughed but quickly turned it into a cough when I sliced a glare over to him.
“Sorry,” he said. “You want me to take this?”
“No. I’ve got it.” I inhaled through my nose, reaching for my inside voice, because yes, the way these girls were treating Tracey… Pissed. Me. Off. “First off, my style isn’t true Goth. I simply wear a lot of black. Which—hello—many people do. Black is classic for a reason. It never goes out of style. Second, who appointed you the fashion police? Why do you even care what I wear? What anyone wears?”
“Ermahgosh. Like chill out.” Jodi jumped in to make it a group cheer. “You and Lacey are nothing alike. You two are the worst twins ever.”
“No. You’ve got that absolutely wrong. We’re the best twins ever.” And I was sad to say it had taken me this long to appreciate it. Everyone compares us. And I always come up short. I’d had no idea that this was what Tracey had to deal with on a daily basis.
I pulled out my phone, holding it in my lap just in case Mrs. Wharton looked up between chapters, and broke the no texting in class rule for the first time in my life.
Me: Hey, Tracey. Just wanted to wish you good luck today. The judges are crazy if they don’t see how talented you are. And if I haven’t told you lately, I think you’re awesome.
Tracey: Thanks, Lace! I owe you big!
Me: No. You don’t. But if you insist, pay me back by having fun! And I wouldn’t say no to a piece of cheesecake from the diner either.
Tracey: Have fun. Get cheesecake. I can do that.
“Tracey Trueheart! Put away that phone unless you want it confiscated!” Mrs. Wharton called, her head already back in her book.
I slid my phone back into my backpack, glancing over at Grady.
He grinned and shook his head. “You rule breaker, you.”
Grady waited for me at the end of detention and as soon as we were out in the hall, he pulled me into him, chest to chest.
“You are so hot right now.”
“Yikes. Please tell me it’s not because I look like my sister. That would be weird.”
“Beyond weird. You’re hot because you stepped outside your comfort zone and crossed those lines. Along with the fact that you did it to help your sister.” He pulled the hat from my head and sliced a hand through my hot pink hair. “Very hot.”
“Oh.” It was hard to breathe standing in his arms with his green gaze eating me up like I was a piece of butter toffee and butter toffee was his most favorite candy in the world.
“It does feel weird to kiss you when you look like your sister. Until I look in your eyes. And then I know it’s you I’m about to kiss—and everything is right again.”
“About to kiss?” Yes, please.
“Oh, yeah. Incoming in 3…2…1…”
Oh yeah. Grady’s kiss made everything feel right again.
So very right.
21
If Mozart Played the Electric Guitar
Grady
Dear Ms. Jackalope,
I recently had a run in with a group of judgy-McJudgertons. Even though I was quietly minding my own business, these girls took it upon themselves to critique my clothes and me. Trust me when I say they didn’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts. It’s frustrating and hurtful. Why do girls do this?
Signed,
Not Afraid to Be Different
Dear Not Afraid,
I’m sorry you experienced this. Sadly, too many people are generous with critiques yet stingy with compliments. Why do girls feel the need to put others down? My
guess is they lack self-esteem. They put others down to help themselves feel better. Which is messed up, isn’t it? These girls are followers, unoriginal thinkers, and lemmings willing to follow each other over a cliff.
Stay strong. Keep being your fearless authentic self. Your future self is waiting up ahead to thank you. And when you see another girl or guy being their original, quirky, nonconforming true self, take the time to say something nice. Give them a high-five, a wink, or a smile.
Hoppy To Help,
Ms. Jackalope
I had a rare free night off from work, so after going twelve rounds at the dinner table, I decided at the last minute to catch the home varsity basketball game against Cox. I had some friends on the team, but the bigger draw was the fact that a certain adorable, quirky pep club member would be there too.
I bought my ticket and went in search of Lacey just to see her smile. After she promised to find me for second half, I left her to her pep club obligations and went to sit in the stands with my friends. Dax and Ali, the new “it” couple, were there. TJ was sitting next to Shay, but there were more than a few other guys buzzing around her. Which would explain the frown on TJ’s face.
“Hey, Grady,” Dax said. “It’s about time you came to a game.”
“Work keeps me busy.” I shrugged.
“Take a day off, dude.” TJ kept his gaze on the court below. “We hardly see you outside of school lately.”
My friends were great guys, but when my life changed two years ago, I’d pulled back. I’d withdrawn into myself, trying to make sense of things.
“So.” Ali leaned forward around Dax to peek at me. “You and Lacey?”
“Way off. Where do you get your information?” I chided.
“Oh, please. I saw the way you looked at her down there.”
“Right.” Yeah, me and Lacey. I was afraid I had it bad.
The second half was just getting underway when Lacey texted me.
Lacey: Hey, come find me out in the parking lot.
Me: On my way.
Parking lot? Unexpected from Lacey, but I hightailed it outside where she was waiting out under the awning.
“Ms. Trueheart, I’ll have you know, I’m not that kind of guy.”
“What kind of guy is that?”
“The kind that makes out in the school parking lot.”
“Okay. What about the kind of guy who accepts a replacement for the guitar some silly, unobservant, regretful girl crushed with her car?”
“You didn’t.” I really liked Lacey. Which was even more of a reason why I couldn’t let her give me another guitar. I knew I had a few issues due to my situation growing up. But knowing that, didn’t make them disappear.
“I did.”
“I’m not that kind of guy either.” I reached out and brushed her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “Lacey—”
“Just wait a second,” she said, holding up a finger. “Close your eyes.”
“Lace…”
“Please?” She took my hands in hers, and hit me with her warm gray gaze.
I closed my eyes and let her lead me through the parking lot. Not far. When we stopped, she turned me around ninety degrees with a bright laugh.
She thought she couldn’t sing but her laughter was the prettiest music.
“Just another second.”
I heard a trunk pop and then I felt her warmth against my side as she grabbed my left hand in both of hers.
“Okay! Open your eyes.”
We were standing in front of Bernie’s car with the trunk open wide. Lying inside the trunk was the sweetest Fender Stratocaster guitar I’d ever seen.
“Oh, man, Lacey. What did you do?”
“It’s a Fender American Original with a 5-way switch and a 9.5 fingerboard radius. It has a resonant alder body with breathable nitrocellulose lacquer finish. Plus a 6-saddle synchronized tremolo bridge.”
I tore my gaze from the guitar to look at Lacey. “Do you have any idea what all that means?”
“No. But Derek was super-excited about it all. You don’t like it? Derek helped me pick it out.”
Sure he did. It was the guitar I’d drooled over when he first got it in the shop.
“Don’t you want to know how it sounds?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Well, I don’t. Let me hear it.”
It was too tempting. I picked it up, lifting the strap around my neck and strummed the strings. I played the opening of my favorite Led Zeppelin song. It sounded just like I remembered. If Mozart played the electric guitar, it would sound like this.
I stopped playing, placed my hand flat on the strings to silence them, and placed it carefully back in the case.
“I appreciate it, Lace, but I can’t accept it.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that, so I came prepared.” She pulled a piece of notepaper from her back pocket, sent me a stern glance as she cleared her throat, and began to read…
“The Top Five Reasons for Grady to accept this guitar… Number five: because I can’t sleep at night due to my lingering guilt. I really need to sleep.”
“I hear warm milk helps with that.”
“Number four: I already bought it.”
“Derek will let you return it.”
She frowned up at me. “But it depreciated the minute I drove out of the parking lot.”
“Good one.” I laughed. “But guitars don’t work like that.”
“Number three: I got a great discount. ‘Buy the guitar and five strings and get the sixth string for free!’”
“That’s a terrible discount.”
“Really? Derek said it was the ‘friend of a friend’ discount, and he winked at me when he said it too, so I figured it was pretty good.”
“It’s like taking candy from a baby.” I shook my head. “I’ll be having a word with Derek.”
“Number two: because it matches the color of your eyes: intense green with swirls of yellow and blue.” She flicked her gaze at me and away as her cheeks went pink.
“Tell me you did not get a custom paint job.” That would make it harder to return.
“Um, okay, I did not get a custom paint job.”
Pretty sure she did.
“The number one reason for you to accept this guitar is: Because I wasted two hours and sixteen minutes of internet time researching guitars. Two hours and sixteen minutes of a precious resource gone. If you don’t accept the guitar it will have been a total waste of the internet. How are you going to look into the faces of your children and grandchildren and tell them the reason the world ran out of internet is because you wasted it?”
I ran a hand over my face, trying to rein in my smile. “I guess I won’t have kids.”
“Arrgh. I don’t get why this is such a big deal.”
“I’m not trying to be a jerk. I appreciate more than you know what you’ve done. It’s literally the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. But I still can’t accept it.”
Her smile dimmed and slowly disappeared as her eyes searched mine.
“Is this some pride thing? Some macho pride deal?”
“Honestly, maybe a little.” I shrugged. “But I can’t help it.”
Lacey had given me all the money she had months ago. Four hundred dollars. I accepted that because I needed a guitar and that was the only way. But now, offering me a fifteen-hundred-dollar guitar…
I knew her family had money. I knew what the kids in her neighborhood were like. How they lived. Lacey had never acted like a snotty rich kid. Not at all. Yet, she had a nice car and always dressed in stylish name-brand clothes (according to Gwen).
Had she asked her parents for the money? I hated the idea of a handout. I’d lived my life from handout to handout. Measly crumbs from my deadbeat sperm-donor. The room and board Barry handed me for free labor. The leftover moments my mother had after she spent time with Barry and her new sons.
Yeah, it was a pride thing. I had little enough as it was. When I left Devil�
��s Lap, I wanted to walk away with my pride.
“I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for anything,” I said. “I hope you know that.”
“I do.” She nodded. “I get it. It’s okay.”
The disappointment in her eyes crushed me.
“I have an idea. Even though I can’t accept it, how about we take it for a test drive before you return it?”
“I’d love to hear you play it.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t buy an amp, though.”
“Not a problem.”
22
Bad To The Bone
Lacey
“Whoa, wait.” I stopped short when I saw where Grady was leading us. “We can’t go in the band hall.”
“Actually, we can.” Grady waggled his eyebrows at me.
“It’s off limits during sports events. See?” I waved my hand down the hall. “The gate is closed and locked up tight.”
Grady walked up to the gate that closed off the hallway to the band room, set down the guitar case, and messed with the lock. In less than two seconds he was sliding the gate open. “Abra cadabra.”
“Did you just break in? Did you pick the lock?” My voice squeaked out of my tight throat.
“I didn’t.” Grady slid the gate just enough to slide through. “I just happen to know that Mr. Simms likes to come back here and watch the news on his portable T.V. during games.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”
“Probably best that you don’t.”
Had Grady let himself into the band hall before to play? Was this a regular thing?
“Come on, Trueheart. We’ll be in and out long before the basketball game is over.”
“I just…” I froze with indecision. It felt like a hummingbird was frantically trying to escape from my chest.
“One song and we’ll leave. That’s all. We’re literally the only ones on this hall. The basketball game is on the other side of the building.”
“Right. You’re right.”
He grinned and held out his hand, making it easier to take the risk. To jump in instead of stand on the edge. I took his hand, loving the feel of his strong hand wrapped around mine.
The Good Girl & the Bad Boy: A Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 2) Page 11
