For one, Adam and I go to the same school so I can easily catch a ride with him if I want. Then there’s Dylan whose front passenger seat is always reserved for me. He’s my ride most days. And he’s usually never late.
Admonishing me to return before midnight, Dad goes back inside, leaving me alone in the porch again.
Come on, D. I’m already freezing here! I fire up the text, hoping it will make Dylan turn up in the next second.
Sorry, B. Look up.
I comply and sure enough, headlights assault my eyes. Finally. Pocketing my phone, I wait for him to pull over before I approach. “Did you really have to make me wait that long?”
I make sure to keep my expression stern, ignoring the familiar sucker-punch effect of his dark intense eyes and sheepish smile on me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, B. I had to pick up Kristen first.”
Kristen who?
That’s when I see her. The girl sitting in the front passenger seat—my seat—beside Dylan.
“Hi, Bianca.” A shy smile grazes her lips as she lifts a hand to wave at me.
“Hey,” I blink and wordlessly climb into the backseat of the truck. Then stare hard at the back of her head.
I know this girl. She’s Kristen Stevenson, a senior like us. But what the ever-loving hell is she doing in Dylan’s truck? And in my seat? Why did he even pick her up?
It’s not like they run in the same circle. Kristen belongs to the popular crowd, although she’s not as popular as say, Madison or that backstabbing bitch Erin Taylor. But she’s one of them and she doesn’t socialize with other kids beneath her status.
Not that my friends and I are school outcasts. But we’re not exactly popular either. At best, we have notorious reputations. Dylan and Nick are known for being the resident “bad boys” while Sloan, in his desperate attempts to be like them, has earned the moniker “Sleazy Sloan.” Although I don’t think girls find him that repulsive. Not every girl, at least.
Me? I’m the “rocker chick” or the “goth bitch.” And, oh, “Adam’s emo twin.” Depends who you’re asking, really.
All because I decided to dye my blonde hair into dark brown, wear dark contacts to cover my baby blue eyes, and dress myself in dark clothes. Like right now, I’m rocking a black Nirvana shirt under my blazer and ripped blue jeans, paired with my favorite ankle boots.
People and their stupid stereotypes.
It’s not like I wear eyeliner or mascara. Or going around killing puppies and plotting mass murder.
Please. I scream like a little girl just at the sight of a flying cockroach. I mean, have you seen that thing up close? Nasty.
And newsflash: I’m not that different than the average teenage girls. I don’t do a lot of girly stuff anymore, but I’m just as obsessed with chick flicks and rom coms, fangirling over Ryan Reynolds even before he became Deadpool. I even took that stupid “Who’s your Hollywood Celebrity boyfriend?” quiz one time, hoping it would give me him.
I got Ryan Gosling. Close enough.
Girly giggles penetrate my wandering thoughts and I clear my head just enough to see Kristen kissing Dylan’s cheek.
My stomach churns. They’re hooking up. Of course. Why did I even think that he’s merely giving her a ride? How dumb.
Still, it begs the question: What’s a goody-goody girl like Kristen doing with Dylan?
What, is she suddenly tired of messing around with a fellow square and now looking to slum with a drape?
Well, spoiler alert. Dylan doesn’t own a motorcycle and he has a terrible singing voice. Plus he can’t shed a single tear.
I should know.
He tried.
The only similarity he has with Cry-Baby is that he sports black hair—not slicked back—and wears a jacket—not even leather. That’s it.
Besides, Kristen doesn’t do casual hookups. She’s a relationship kind of girl. And I know the type of guys she dates—jocks and preppy guys. Two weeks ago, I saw her making out with a guy from the baseball team in front of her locker. And a month before that, she was dating a soccer player.
Should I warn her? Because it’s not going to last long. I’ll give it a day or two before Dylan is done with her. She’ll be yesterday’s news then. That’s what always happens. Different day, different girl.
As for me, I’ll just try to ignore the pain of seeing him with another girl. I’m used to it.
Kristen glances at me over her shoulder. “Um, aren’t we going to tell her?”
I give her a blank stare. “Tell me what?”
“Dylan and I”—She slants Dylan a shy smile, biting her lip as if that shit is sexy. It’s not. She actually looks a little constipated—“We’re together now.”
“You mean you’re hooking up?” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I can see that clearly. You don’t have to spell it out, Kristen.” Did she feel the need to rub it in my face?
My snide comment makes her cheeks flush. It’s clear I’ve annoyed her. Good. Because the feeling is mutual.
She huffs out a breath. “No, Bianca. Dylan and I are not hooking up. We’re together.”
I just blink at her, like she’s speaking a foreign language.
“As in I’m his girlfriend?”
She’s Dylan’s girlfriend? Well, guess what, the earth is flat. Nice try.
If there’s one thing everybody knows about Dylan is that he doesn’t do girlfriends. He hooks up with a lot of girls, yes. But be an actual boyfriend? No way in hell. Dude is totally allergic to commitment. It’s literally one of his life rules: “Thou shall not commit to anyone.”
And now this chick is telling me she’s his girlfriend? She has to be out of her damn mind if she thinks I’d believe that for a second.
“Yeah, right,” I snort. “Keep dreaming.”
But Dylan shatters that with his next words. “Kristen’s telling the truth, B. We’re not just hooking up. She’s my girlfriend.” He punctuates that declaration by giving Kristen a quick kiss on the lips.
What? My mouth falls open, deafening silence ringing through my ears.
Dylan, the boy who’s never been a fan of dating and committed relationships, has a girlfriend.
Dylan, my best friend who has absolutely no idea that I’m completely, madly head-over-boots in love with him, is now someone else’s boyfriend.
Until now I’ve never known how it feels to have my heart ripped out of my chest and broken in pieces. I thought it was just a dramatic metaphor people use freely. Boy, was I wrong.
Swallowing the sudden bile in my throat, I force out a smile. “Cool.”
But inside? I’m dying.
Now available!!!
About the Author
Madeleine Labitan lives and breathes for three things: books, coffee and Netflix. Deny her of one and you'll make an enemy for life.
A freelance writer and virtual assistant, she pretends to be a dedicated hard worker most days, while secretly preferring to instead spend hours falling in lust with hot book boyfriends and hating on their heroines (lucky bitches!).
She's been writing most of her life, and after nearly a decade of procrastinating, finally decided to try her luck on being an author.
Truth or Dare is her first foray into publishing world and hopefully not the last...
And, oh, she’s in social media. Not that active, but she tries:
Facebook: Madeleine Labitan
Twitter: @myinkonpaper
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Blog: Madeleine’s Books
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Bayfield High Series
Truth or Dare
Kiss and Make Up
Perfectly Clueless (coming soon)
Truth or Dare
Book 1 in the Bayfield High series
What's a girl to do when she's forced to spend time with her childhood nemesis?
There are only three things Mackenzie Brown looks forward to on a Friday night: cheesy rom coms, mani pedi and
a quiet sleepover with her friends.
Crashing a party and getting payback on her best friend's cheating ex-boyfriend are definitely NOT part of the plan. Especially the possibility of getting caught!
But worst of all? Getting dared into taking a dip in freezing lake water with the cocky Sean Murphy.
Can’t she catch a break?
But when truths are revealed and secrets come out, Mackenzie starts to realize that maybe, just maybe, missing out on a quiet sleepover isn't so bad after all…
Now available!!!
Kiss and Make Up Page 8