Wylder and the Almost Rockstar (Reluctant Rockstars Book 2)

by Michelle MacQueen

  “Not as eloquently put as I would prefer, but you’ve made your point.” Mr. Carlisle returned to his notes to continue their discussion.

  “Is that substitute teacher code for I answered your question correctly?” Wylder interrupted him, picking the last of her nail polish off her thumbnail.

  “While your overall observations are surprisingly correct, you lose participation points for dumbing down your answers. I suggest you learn to have an academic discussion at the same level as your classmates, Wylder.”

  “Noted.” Wylder stuffed her books into her bag, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her humiliation. The bell rang just in time to save her from further embarrassment, but Wylder couldn’t seem to stem the flow of snark. “And I’d suggest you learn to make your classes half as interesting as Mr. Cook’s if you expect anyone to remember anything you teach. Spouting discussion questions and literary answers downloaded from the internet isn’t exactly teaching critical thinking.”

  She stood as Mr. Carlisle sputtered and turned red with rage. “Sit.” He finally managed to speak as he pointed to the desk closest to his. “We are not done here.”

  Wylder reluctantly sat, waiting for the room to empty. Devyn and Diego gave her hesitant smiles before they left.

  “You try my patience, Miss Anderson.” Mr. Carlisle turned to erase his notes from the whiteboard.

  “I do apologize if I was disrespectful, but it’s very difficult to have respect for a teacher who doesn’t inspire any and uses every opportunity to insult me.” Wylder let her eyes stray to the teacher’s desk. Sebastian’s desk.

  “If I am hard on you, Wylder, it is only because I see your potential and I see you squandering it.”

  “Got it.” Wylder stood and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I’ll do better.”

  “See that you do. But another outburst like this one, and we will have much bigger problems.”

  Wylder nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.” She headed for the door before he could send her to the headmistress’s office. She’d end up in Saturday detention by the time Ms. Jones heard about her outburst, but for now, Wylder just wanted a nap and some time to herself to figure out her next steps with Logan. She had a threat to follow through with. And a plan to put into action now that she had the means to do it.

  Wylder tossed and turned most of the afternoon, hiding out in her dorm room, napping and snacking when she should have been in class.

  She stared at the ceiling. Her brother and Nicky had experience with scandal. Back when he was just pretending to be Nicky’s boyfriend, Becks did a lot of hiding out at his apartment in Nashville. The Cook boys were in Nashville. She knew that from Killian. How long would they stay? Did they have a home there? She assumed they would have a permanent residence somewhere. A place for Luke to stay when he wasn’t on the road. A place for Bash and Logan to go when school was out.

  “Nashville.” Wylder rolled out of bed and crawled into her closet for an overnight bag. Music City was the last place she wanted to go. Far too many memories there, but if they were there, she was going to find them. She just needed an address.

  And some dark clothes. Dark jeans, a black sweatshirt, and black boots were just what she needed for the first part of her sketchy plan. And a car. She would need to stop by her parents’ house to get her car. Wylder glanced at the clock beside her bed. nine p.m., late enough for Devyn to be in bed, but not late enough for stealing cars. She’d have to be extra careful not to get her parents involved.

  Wylder tossed some clothes and toiletries into her bag and fished around the bottom of her purse for gas money. She came up with forty-six dollars and some change. Enough for gas with precious little leftover for road trip snacks. Tiptoeing into the common room, she filled her bag with contraband snacks she’d pilfered from the dining hall. It would have to do.

  She had a bit of time before curfew, just enough to do what she needed to do and avoid unnecessary questions from security. At least as long as she didn’t get caught—and Wylder rarely got caught.

  Walking across campus in the moonlight with her duffel bag tossed over her shoulder, she looked like a student out for some late-night studying at the library. At least that was what she was going for. Not that she even knew where the library was. Who needed dusty old books when they had Google and Wikipedia?

  The administrative building was dark and quiet, just like she’d anticipated. Now for the not so legal part of her evening. Wylder pulled her black hood over her face and used a long stick she’d picked up on the way over here to push the security camera slightly out of range without being seen. She swiped a card at the door. Not hers. Another thing she’d borrowed for her evening of adventure. Mr. Substitute Teacher could get in lots of trouble for losing his access card. Not that she was remotely sorry for stealing it. She’d nabbed the key card from his desk earlier when he was too busy berating her for her backtalk to notice what she was doing.

  Once inside, Wylder crept down the hall to Ms. Jones’ office. She just needed one critical piece of information, and then she was out of here before security could figure out the camera view was out of range. By then, she’d be long gone.

  “Score!” Wylder grinned as she rushed through the unlocked door and across the secretary’s office to the Headmistress’ door. She knew from previous trips to this office that hard copies of all student information were stored in the filing cabinets here. She probably could have asked Diego to hack into the school’s computer system, but she didn’t want to get him into trouble even if that was by far the easier solution to her problem.

  Flicking her phone flashlight on, Wylder perused the filing cabinets, looking for the one that would contain Logan Cook’s private information.

  “C.” Wylder laid her phone on top of the bank of ebony filing cabinets, tugging on the drawer. “Locked.” Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Wylder pulled a purple bobby pin from her hair—stuck there for this exact purpose. She bent the bobby pin and went to work on the basic lock, lifting the mechanism and popping the drawer open like a pro. “This is too easy.” She rolled her eyes at the lax system. Clearly, this school hadn’t seen a student like her in all their years of operation.

  “Caldwell… Cervantes… Clark… Cook!” Wylder lifted the slim file from the cabinet. She had a feeling her file was a lot thicker, but then again, Logan was new to Defiance Academy. She flipped through the pages, hunting for his application for admission. “Ha, there it is.” Wylder moved to the headmistress’s desk just as light flooded the room. She dropped the file on the desk and ducked.

  “You know, I can still see your feet, Miss Anderson.” Ms. Jones crossed the room to where Wylder crouched on the floor.

  “Any chance you didn’t?” Wylder winced, tucking her feet in.

  Ms. Jones arched a dark brow at her as she lifted the file from Wylder’s hand, snapping her fingers for her to move.

  Ms. Jones sat in her brown leather chair with a deep sigh. “I got a call from security. Something about a silent alarm triggered by movement inside my office. You didn’t think we’d leave it at a simple camera at the door, did you?”

  “I guess not.” Wylder stood beside the headmistress’s desk, staring at the floor. She was in deep trouble now.

  “Hand it over.” Ms. Jones held out her hand.

  “What?” Wylder glanced up.

  “Mr. Carlisle will be needing his access card back. We will discuss that later. I must say, I’m a little relieved to find it’s you snooping around my office instead of one of my substitute teachers.”

  Wylder sighed and handed it over. “I can explain.”

  “Oh, I can guess.” Ms. Jones nodded at Logan’s folder. “Next time, you should try asking first before resorting to robbery.”

  “I was just borrowing it for a minute.” Wylder’s shoulders slumped.

  “I don’t approve of your methods.” She leaned forward and scribbled something on a notepad. “But your heart is in the right p
lace.” She handed Wylder a piece of paper. A gate pass.

  “What’s this?” Wylder looked up in surprise.

  “When it comes to sneaking off campus, you’re the most capable student we’ve ever had, but for once in your life, leave by the front gate. I’ll alert your parents.” Ms. Jones stood. “And lock up when you’re done here.”

  “What?” Wylder gaped at her headmistress. “Are you even serious right now?”

  “Nashville’s not so far. But I suppose you need a reliable car since yours is unlikely to make the trip there and back. Keys are in the top drawer. Bring it back in one piece, please.”

  “Are you sure you’re not sleepwalking, Ms. Jones?”

  The headmistress smiled. “Don’t make me regret looking the other way, Wylder. Bring Logan back. We may have failed him, but he belongs here.”

  4

  Wylder yawned as she drove along the boring stretch of highway. The five-hour trip would have been a lot more fun with her two favorite people along for the ride, but something told her Ms. Jones wouldn’t be too keen on her best student and the star hockey player cutting class just to keep Wylder entertained.

  “That sad-sack excuse of a secret rock star better be grateful I’m about to drag his sorry butt back to school where he belongs.” Wylder fiddled with the radio stations on Ms. Jones’ fancy dashboard. The sleek black car drove like a dream compared to Wylder’s old beater car that probably wouldn’t have made it all the way to Nashville and back again without some major car surgery.

  A familiar voice crooned from the speakers. One of her favorite Luke Cook songs. Except it wasn’t Luke. A few weeks ago, she would have scowled at the radio and scanned through the stations for something else. Luke used to be her celebrity crush. And then she’d met him, and he’d ruined the fantasy. Now she knew the truth. The voice she’d admired for so long wasn’t Luke’s. The music and lyrics she could quote by heart weren’t all Luke’s. Just the face and the stage presence belonged to the famous Cook brother. The rest of it was all Logan, and he liked it like that.

  In a way, she felt responsible for the rumors and aftermath of their performance. It wasn’t her idea to sing on stage in front of the whole school. It was that or fail a class neither of them could afford to fail. But she’d worked with Diego to create a digital buffer between Logan and the audience, so he’d be more comfortable performing. They should have been safe behind the walls of their school. Even when the holograms failed, and they’d had no choice but to finish the song, it shouldn’t have spread like wildfire.

  For a few brief moments, it was just them on stage with their instruments, their voices, and zero buffer. The audience loved it. Wylder had loved it—every minute she got to spend on stage with Logan doing what they both loved was emblazoned in her memory. But the video…

  It shouldn’t have happened.

  Yet it had, and now he was gone, and she was left listening to him on the radio, the only person outside his family who knew it was him and not his brother.

  Wylder shook her head and yawned again. Creeping down the quiet street to her brother’s house, she was anxious to get some sleep. She’d explain everything to Becks in the morning. She cut the headlights as she pulled down the drive to the modest house where Becks and Nicky lived.

  Grabbing her bag from the passenger seat, Wylder headed to the front door.

  “Crap.” Her shoulders fell when she realized she didn’t have her keys. They were sitting on her desk back in her dorm room, and there was no way she was waking Beckett to let her in.

  Heaving a sigh, she marched around to the side of the house where she launched her bag over the garden wall. She’d done this several times before, sneaking back in after a date with Sebastian. Wylder scrambled up the brick wall, perching on top for a moment before she dropped to the ground on the other side, landing on her backside with a groan. Her gaze lifted to the gate that stood partially open, and she groaned again. She’d assumed it would have been locked and hadn’t even tried. That would have been a less painful entry.

  “I am way too tired and out of shape for all this cloak and dagger stuff.” She stood up and dusted her jeans off, hoping Becks was still in the habit of working on the patio in the evenings. He was forever forgetting to lock the sliding glass door, and she was hoping she wouldn’t have to pick any more locks tonight. There was only so much breaking and entering a girl could do in one night without ending up behind bars.

  Searching for her bag among the shadows, she glanced toward the neighbor’s house, hoping Mrs. Snooty-Van-Snooten wasn’t especially observant this time of night. The nosy neighbor had gotten Wylder into trouble with her brother on more than one occasion with her spying and tattling.

  “Yes!” Wylder whisper-shouted when the patio door slid aside with ease. “Thank you, Beckett, for being so reliably oblivious.” She tiptoed into the house, sliding the door closed behind her.

  “I’m starving.” Wylder groaned, heading for the fridge and hopefully some leftover cold pizza. “Perfect.” She grabbed two slices and headed for the guest room. She had a room upstairs but didn’t want to risk waking her brother on the creaky stairs.

  She made her way across the darkened living room by feel, hoping the boys hadn’t decided to move the furniture around since she was here last.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. The silhouette of a guitar sailed through the air toward her head.

  Wylder screamed, dropping her pizza as something grabbed her. She fell to the floor, as the thing with the guitar tackled her, and her face smooshed into her cold pizza.

  She screamed again, struggling with the guitar strap and what felt like a three-hundred-pound, caterwauling potato on her back.

  “What is going on down here?” Nicky interrupted the screaming, flicking on the lights in the foyer.

  “I got him, babe, call the cops.”

  Wylder struggled in a chokehold. “Becks.” She gasped. “Can’t breathe.”

  “He even knows my name.” Becks’ grip tightened. “Probably a stalker.”

  “First of all, he’s a she.” Nicky shook his head.

  “A little help here, Nicky.” Wylder elbowed her brother.

  “Second of all, she’s your sister, and she’s turning blue.” Nicky marched across the room and helped Wylder out of the tangle of guitar and Becks.

  “Sister?” Becks scrambled to his feet. “Wylds? What are you doing here? What’s that on your face. And where is your hair?”

  “You’ve seen me since I cut my dreads off, you big dufus.”

  “Oh, right.” Right? He scowled at her. “You don’t look like you.”

  "Ugh.” Wylder peeled a layer of cold cheese and pizza sauce off her face. “Gross.”

  “You got pizza on my carpet.” Nicky scowled, folding his arms across his chest.

  “There’s really no intruder?” Beckett glanced around the living room.

  “No, it’s just me.” Wylder turned toward her brother and regretted it instantly. “Ew, gross, my eyes!” She held her hands up in front of her. “What are you wearing?”

  “What? I was asleep when I heard someone breaking into my house.” Becks threw up his hands. “Didn’t stop to put pants on.”

  “I did not need to know my brother wears tighty whities. I’m so embarrassed for you.” She turned her gaze on Nicky, dressed more respectably in boxer briefs and a t-shirt.

  “It’s my house, I wear what I want, You’re just lucky I wasn’t naked.”

  “Stop talking, Becks.” Nicky shook his head, turning to Wylder. “You start talking. What are you doing here? You didn’t get kicked out… did you?”

  “I didn’t get kicked out, but thank you for immediately jumping to that conclusion.” Wylder marched back to the fridge for more pizza.

  “That’s probably really old.” Becks scooped up the remnants of her first attempt at putting something other than chips or cookies in her stomach since leaving school hours ago.

  “Ew, no,
don’t bend over.” Wylder threw her hands up again. “Nicky, make him put clothes on.” She stamped her foot on the floor.

  “Becks, pants, please.” Nicky nodded toward the laundry room.

  “Fine.” Becks tossed the old pizza into the trash on his way out of the room.

  Nicky eyed Wylder. “You sit. I’ll make you something edible. Throw that away. It’s fuzzy, for crying out loud.”

  “Who lets pizza sit in the fridge so long it gets fuzzy?” Wylder scowled at her oldest friend as he moved around the kitchen, pulling leftover Chinese containers from the fridge.

  “So… what’s new?” Nicky set the food in the microwave and gave her a pointed look.

  “I’m here for Logan.”

  “Logan Cook?” Nicky arched his brow in surprise. “I thought we hated the Cook twins?”

  “This one grew on me.” She shrugged. “He’s dealing with a PR nightmare, and he hasn’t been back at school since that stupid video of us went viral. He won’t answer my texts. Even my threats.”