Bryce (Scandalous Boys #1)

by Natalie Decker

  I mouth the word Oh. I don’t know why he’s being so nice to me. Bryce and I don’t usually have nice conversations, and he doesn’t do nice gestures, at least as far as I’ve seen. This is weird and almost dreamlike.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing. Well, okay, what’s up with the nice act?”

  Bryce smiles his perfect white teeth at me. I never noticed before how straight they are. “I’m not a complete asshole all the time.” He hands me a cup. “It’s a caramel latte.”

  “Thank you.” I take a sip. He picks up his pack of cigarettes and smacks it against his palm. I give him a look.

  “Don’t start, Smalls. I need one.”

  “Fine. Blow it out the window.” I don’t know why I’m giving him orders; this is his tree house. Just like I don’t know why I’m staring at him. Besides if I’m being really honest, minus the disgusting habit and his bad reputation, Bryce is actually pretty hot.

  He looks over at me, sticking one of his cancer sticks in his mouth, and then lights the end. I watch him take a few drags, and then he blows the smoke out the window. He takes a sip of his own coffee and then another drag from his cigarette.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks.

  “Fine. Thanks for letting me crash here.”

  He nods and blows another bout of smoke out his tree house window. Then suddenly, he mouths Shit!

  “What’d you do?”

  He stomps out his cigarette and tosses the pack to me. “Hold on to these for me.”

  I’m about to refuse, but he looks desperate, and he did let me sleep here. He also brought me a coffee. I tuck his pack of tar-filled crap into the back pocket of my shorts. Bryce grabs a can of air freshener and sprays the air as well as his clothes. I stifle a giggle when his mother’s voice calls out, “Bryce Alexander Matthews, you better not be doing what I think you are up there, young man.”

  He drops his half-smoked, squashed cig into a tin can and shouts, “No, Mom! Just hanging out with Madison.”

  “Graham’s girlfriend?”

  “Why does she think I’m Graham’s girlfriend?” I ask.

  He shrugs and flips open the door. “Mom, I told you she’s just our friend.”

  His mom pokes her head into the tree house, looks around, and settles her stare on me. “Hello, Madison.” I give her a shy wave. “Bryce, why does it smell like apples? You’ve been smoking, haven’t you?”

  “No, Mom.”

  “He farted. It was so gross. I told him to cover it up before I barfed,” I lie. I don’t know why I’m lying for him, but he looks grateful for it.

  His mom scoffs. “Bryce, that’s terrible. He has manners somewhere.” Her eyes land on the pile of blankets and the pillow on top. “So what exactly is going on up here? I better not have to warn you two about the consequences of having sex at your age.”

  My eyes widen. Oh. My. God. She actually thinks Bryce and I were either about to or have already done it. Ew. I can feel heat spread across my cheeks.

  “Mom! No! I slept out here last night. Jeez.” He snatches up the blankets and his coffee and heads toward the ladder. His mom descends, allowing her son to come down. I glance at my back pocket and make sure Bryce’s stupid cigarettes aren’t noticeable. They aren’t, thank goodness. I grab my phone and head down the ladder.

  Bryce’s hands wrap around my waist when I reach the middle rung, and he helps guide me down. I bite the inside of my cheek as I notice his grip. It’s firm but gentle at the same time. As soon as I reach the ground, he lets go, and I give him a nod.

  He guides me across the yard away from his mom. “We’re going to go to the lake,” he tells her. “Graham’s meeting us there.”

  “Oh, okay, honey,” his mom says.

  I look up at Bryce. “I’m not going to the lake,” I whisper.

  “Neither am I. It was the quickest excuse I could think of. Besides, I need my cancer sticks, as you call them, and I can’t have you handing them over to me right now.”

  His mom enters the house, and Bryce and I head to his car. He opens up the passenger door and waits.

  “Um …”

  “Get in.”

  Right. I do as he asks, carefully removing his pack from my pocket, and then I set them in the middle console. Bryce closes my door and slides into the driver’s seat a moment later. “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hungry.”

  “Bryce, I’m not eating a meal with you.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, you are. Sorry. My mom’s watching us. I think she thinks we’re dating.”

  I laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

  He pulls out of his driveway and asks, “Why?”

  “Are you serious?” He gives me a look that suggests he is. “Fine. For starters, we don’t have anything in common.”

  Bryce narrows his stare at the road. “I’m sure we have more in common than you think.”

  I’m pretty sure we don’t, but I don’t say it. I just hope he doesn’t take me to some gang hangout or whatever.

  Chapter Seven

  Madison

  Bryce takes me to IHOP. Which, all things considered, is sweet but also a little weird. I order a stack of pancakes and tell him I’ll pay him back when we get to my house, because I don’t have my wallet with me. He brushes it off, though, as if the very idea insults him.

  This wasn’t the only weird thing. He keeps opening doors and even pulls a chair out for me. It’s almost as if we’re on a date. And that right there seems so wrong.

  So as he pulls up to my house, I don’t wait for him to put his car in park. I bolt from it like it’s diseased. He probably thinks I’m crazy. Probably will tell Graham how much of a nutjob I am.

  I slam the door to my bedroom and lean, panting, against the wood. Hot liquid streams down my cheeks as I slide down to the plush carpeted floor. I’m a walking mess.

  My door jerks open, pushing me toward my desk. Kyle runs a hand through his sandy hair. “Was that Bryce Matthews’s car I saw you get out of?”

  “W-what?” I stammer.

  “Don’t.” He glares at me. “Look, I know Graham hangs out with the kid and you guys all chill together. But jeez, Mads, you can’t be with that dude by yourself! He’s a criminal. What would Mom and Dad think?” He shakes his head.

  “I’m not hanging out with him. I just … We were going to go to the lake to meet Graham and Sarah, but I got sick so he brought me home.”

  He looks at me, I mean studies me for longer than usual, and it makes me uncomfortable. “Good,” he says after a long bout of silence. “I couldn’t go off to college if I thought you were interested in hooking up with Bryce.”

  I glower at him. “What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t make wise choices or something?” Why do I sound so defensive? No, why do I sound like I’m defending Bryce?

  He raises a brow. “It’s supposed to mean that you can’t fix him. So don’t try.”

  “I’m not trying to fix anyone. Just get out.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  I shove him. It’s not an answer, but it’s all he’s getting.

  “Because I know Em is still in Florida, and Graham came by around eight to take Sarah to a movie. So where were you?”

  I shove him again, pushing him right out of my room. Kyle can stop acting all brotherly. He certainly wasn’t brotherly last week when he could have offered up his room for the witch to stay in. He certainly wasn’t brotherly enough to tell Mom what kind of things Sarah has done to me. And he most certainly wasn’t brotherly when Sarah stole Graham from me.

  I shut the door in his face and flip the lock. Maybe I’ll get a good hour to myself. Maybe I can paint or draw. I pick up my sketchbook and flip through the pages. It’s really my journal. Some people write down their feelings. I draw mine. Sometimes I put little phrases beside them, but most of the time I just draw.

  However, as I skim through the pages, something catches my eye. I stop on the picture of Graham in a relax
ed pose on the lawn at school. I remembered the image so clearly that as soon as I got home I sketched it out. I added a little saying: A holder of my heart. Never knowing. Always careful. Always growing.

  Beside it, someone has scribbled: How sweet. Well now, he knows, FREAK!

  My eyes widen at the words. My anger is beyond the point of control. She looked through my things. She wrote in my journal. Oh, this brat is going to pay.

  I snatch a pair of scissors from my desk and make my way to her closet. “Take my things. Take the only person I love. Trash my journal! Ugh!” I slice through one of her beaded tops. Glittery beads instantly shower the carpet, and oh my goodness, does it feel great! I mean absolutely liberating.

  I slice through a few more of her tops. Cut up some of her jeans. Pick up some of her shoes and decide they need to go too. When I’m finished, my closet looks a little thinner. Not too noticeable, but good enough for me.

  But when I look at the mess on my floor, panic sets in. How the hell am I going to get rid of this stuff? I glance over at my door and decide that’s a bad idea. I look at the window. Gathering up the ruined clothes, and without a second thought, I open the window and toss the material down to the ground. I shove her shoes, purses, everything I need to get rid of out the small, second-story opening.

  Once it’s out, scattered across the lawn and a couple of bushes, I hurry downstairs and out to the side of the house where most of the evidence is. I’ll vacuum the beads up later. As I’m collecting all the stray pieces, I hear someone laughing. Like a hard-core, deep-within-the-belly laugh. I turn my head and see Bryce looking over his fence. “You know you could have taken that stuff to Plato’s Closet and got some money out of all that shit.”

  Ugh. He’s so right. But I don’t want money. I want to feel justified. She ruined my sketchbook and my life, so I can ruin her flipping clothes.

  “Money couldn’t fix it,” I say.

  He shakes his head at me. “Money fixes a lot of stuff. Have problems? See a shrink, pay them some bucks, and feel better. Need to get away? Get a bus ticket to wherever, pay some bucks, and enjoy the ride. See? Money fixes things.”

  “What do you want, Bryce?” I pick up a piece of her stupid top near the fence and glare at him.

  He scratches his head. “Look, it’s none of my business, but I’m pretty sure those aren’t your clothes all butchered up.” He checks his watch and sighs. “And I’d say you have about ten minutes to hide what you’ve done. So I was going to suggest you toss it in our trash can.” He hands over a garbage bag and waits for me to say something.

  Problem is, I don’t know what to say. “Thank you”? “What’s in it for you?” “Why are you being so nice to me?” I take the garbage bag and start putting the ruined clothes in it.

  I look over at him, hoping he’s not watching. Turns out he is. I mean, he’s still staring at me, probably waiting for a response or for me to toss him the full bag. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Because, believe it or not, you’ve actually helped me out a lot. In school. You know all that homework you let Graham copy?” He winks. “Consider this a way to get even.”

  And there it is. He’s only doing this because I’ve apparently helped him get better grades. Well, I can accept that. I fill the bag and toss it over the fence to him. “Thanks.”

  He nods. “No problem.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bryce

  I haven’t spoken to Mads in two weeks. I mean, I’ve seen her in quick, snapshot moments like her getting in her car. Her coming home from somewhere. Her sitting by her window with her sketchpad in hand. The other day, she helped her brother load his car for college. I thought about asking if she needed some help, but then I remembered how she looked at me the last time I helped her.

  I’ve never paid much attention to her before. One of the windows in my room gives me a direct view of hers. I never noticed until the other day when I saw her sitting by her own window.

  Today is the first day of school, and honestly, I’m not in the mood to go, but there are some perks. I get to see all the girls who perfected their tans over the summer, showing off their legs in short skirts or short shorts. Oh yeah, school is almost worth that viewing. Making my way to my car, I spot a pair of legs going on for miles attached to a nice butt barely covered by skintight shorts bent over the passenger’s seat of a car next door. I almost whistle but stop myself when the person straightens.

  Madison pulls at the shorts a bit and walks her backpack to the trunk of her car.

  Holy fuck. That’s what’s been hiding under all those layers and baggy jeans? A whole lot of fuck-me sexy. “Hey, Mads.” Calling her Smalls today just wouldn’t be fitting. Although she’s still short, she’s just a whole lot of wow today.

  “Good morning, Bryce.” She drops her bag into her trunk and shuts it.

  “You know, we should think about carpooling. Doing whatever we can to save the ecosystem.”

  She shakes her head. “Right. Because you’re looking to save the world.” She rolls her eyes. Damn, why do I want her to sit here and talk to me so bad? It’s like the universe flipped, and now everything is all out of order. My usual routine would be to chuck an insult or two at her.

  “You look good today.”

  “As opposed to every other day when I look like butt, right?” She shoots me a glare and starts to head back to her house.

  “No. That’s not what I meant. You look good every day. It’s just today you look really good.”

  She flips me off and walks into the house.

  This is why I shouldn’t talk to the girl. Or at least never try being nice to her. She just acts like she’s so much better than everyone else. Well, she can screw herself. I’m never giving her another compliment ever again.

  Halfway down the road, I snatch a cigarette and light it. Inhaling the menthol flavor and then blowing it out instantly makes me feel better. Piss on Madison Issac. She’s nothing but a nightmare.

  I finish my cigarette as I pull into Graham’s driveway. He runs out of the house as soon as I honk the horn and practically jumps into the passenger seat.

  “Dude, I’ve got something to tell you,” he says.

  Pulling out of his driveway, I ask, “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “Well, you know Sarah and I are dating.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out. That’s not really newsworthy shit this early in the morning.”

  “Don’t be a dick. Anyways, she found Maddy’s sketchbook, you know, the one she never lets anyone touch, and there’s like a shitload of sketches of me in there.”

  This doesn’t surprise me. Girls like Madison always go for the good boys like Graham. Problem with this is Graham is hardly a good little boy. “Yeah, and?”

  “And? Dude, why is she obsessed with me? Sarah says it was like serial-killer shit. What the hell am I going to do? I’ve been avoiding her for two weeks now. We probably have a bunch of classes together, and she’s like the best damn study partner I’ve had in the last four years. I’m screwed.”

  “Just tell her you aren’t interested. I don’t know. I don’t think she’d make a move on you since you’re dating her cousin.”

  He looks at me. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, man. I don’t think Mads is exactly the go-getter type.” I mean, the poor girl has been crushing on him for a while and hasn’t said shit. Why would she just say something now? Of course, it’s not like I really give a damn if she does or not.

  Pulling into a parking spot, I notice Madison getting out of her car. Sarah and Emily are getting out too. Sarah sneers and says something to Mads, and Madison’s eyes widen but go back to normal just as quickly. I get out and hear Emily yell, “Don’t talk to Maddy like that, you ungrateful little bitch!”

  I move closer because I have to pass them to get to the front entrance.

  “Drop it, Em,” Madison warns. “I don’t even care.”

  “You should care! She went through your stuff
. Painted your room. Shrank your shorts! Girl, those things could be classified as hoochie. You need to put your damn foot down, Maddy!”

  Maybe this is why she was in a pissy mood with me earlier. Damn it. If it is, I feel bad.

  “Good morning, Madison.” Jake Foster whistles. “Summer did you some good.”

  I turn around. Between his cocky grin and his eyes glued to Madison’s ass, I want to beat the shit out of him. “Dude! Leave her alone.”

  Graham walks past us with Sarah. Jake is staring at me like I’ve lost it. And Madison is blushing while Emily’s jaw is completely unhinged. I motion around Mads to help shield her backside from onlookers like Jake and follow her up the steps.

  “Thanks,” she says when we get into school.

  “I’ve got a hoodie in the car if you want to use it to cover up.”

  She shakes her head. “I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.”

  I have a feeling she’s lying, but I don’t call her out on it. I let her continue down the hall with Emily, and I head to my homeroom.

  Mr. Jenkins is probably one of the coolest teachers here. But I honestly have no idea what he teaches. His salt-and-pepper hair is cut short, military-style. He swivels around in his teacher’s chair, rocking every so often, while flipping through a paper copy of USA Today.

  The daily, repetitive motions have officially begun. I rifle through the stack of yellow, printed schedules on his desk, grab mine, and then have a seat. Other kids in my class file into the room, including Sarah and Graham. Graham sits down in front of me. Sarah takes a seat beside him, and I swear I want to gag all over my recently whipped friend. He coos praises to Sarah, and she cackles like a hyena.

  I should bitch-slap the back of his head and ask him where the fuck his balls went. But then I think better of it, because he could ask me the same damn thing about what I just did for Mads. Why the hell am I letting a girl like Madison Issac get to me? Lately, she’s been all I think about. Her butterscotch scent has imbedded itself into my pillow, so now all I smell is her.