D.O.R.K Series
Books 1-3
Haley Allison
Contents
DIARY OF A ROCKER’S KID
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Playlist
The Sister Code
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Playlist
Twin Wars
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
SNEAK PEEK
Battle Royale: One
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by HALEY ALLISON
All rights reserved.
Fatebound Publishing
http://www.facebook.com/fateboundpublishing
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Formatted by: MJQuinn
To Derek, who showed me what it’s like to have a rocker in the house.
I tap my finger on the side of the laptop and glance out the open window for inspiration. The rolling green hills give a ripple effect in the breeze as our horses graze peacefully inside the wooden fence. Clicking and trilling noises sound from the trees surrounding the house. It’s a Kentucky country paradise…and I’m so over it. There’s nothing to write about here. Nothing but boring, daily drudgery. No social life. No boys. No pep rallies or proms. Just a quiet, bland life with nothing to spice it up, like a saltine cracker.
Nana’s sharp rap comes at my bedroom door. She croaks through it, “You workin’ on that assignment I gave you?”
I groan. “Yes, Nana.”
“Good. Take your time on it. Give my tired old ears a rest.” I hear her rushed footsteps pound down the hall.
Nana wants me to start expressing my feelings some other way than shredding on a guitar. I’m supposed to be creating a diary, so I decided to make a private—for my eyes only—blog. I called it “Diary of a Rocker Chick.” Keeping a diary is something I wouldn’t normally do. I’m not obsessed with my feelings, and I honestly think diaries are cheesy and childish, but I’m not allowed to go outside until I finish this. Homeschooling would have been great with a crunchy mom who thinks going outside is a science class. Instead, I’m stuck with a crotchety old grandmother who thinks Montessori is a scam invented by the devil to dumb down my generation’s minds until we’re all devoted to Satan.
I look down at the laptop in my lap and scowl. It doesn’t disintegrate into dust the way I was hoping it would. Guess my dream last night about falling into a vat of toxic waste and waking up as Cyclops was just that.
Well…here goes nothing.
First Blog Post
Hi, Me. I guess that’s who I’m supposed to be talking to here.
What to write…what to write…feelings. I guess I’m supposed to be writing about my feelings. Gross.
As usual, I’m stuck-y in Kentucky while Ana’s on spring break like a normal person. Her parents didn’t invite me to join them because, in their words, I’m a “bad influence” on Ana. I’d expect nothing less from a conservative Southern preacher and his wife, but it’s a bit hilarious to be labeled as that because I’ve never had a drop of alcohol, I don’t know how to roll a joint, and I’m still a virgin, so there’s no way they could label me as a whore. The only legitimate reason they could call me a “bad influence” is because I want to be a rock star someday.
I glance over at my Gibson and smile. She’s a thing of beauty, her silver trimmings glinting in the light of the afternoon sun.
Today during lunch break, I did something I’ve been trying to do for two years: I mastered the guitar riff from Back in Black by AC/DC. I would have known that one already, except I was too busy learning an assload of Avenged Sevenfold songs to care that I was getting behind on the 80s. I’m obsessed with 2000s rock, especially A7X. I eat, drink, and breathe them.
I keep trying to write this one song, but it’s like the words are stuck in my head. They’re there, I can feel them, but they won’t pop out. It’s like one of those pimples that festers and gets really painful until it finally grows a head. Until I pop the word pimple, I can’t really call it a song, so for now it’s just some naked, sick-ass guitar chords. I guess it’s hard to write songs when nothing ever happens to you.
Yay, me and my boring life. Not a very inspiring blog topic. Maybe I can make this sound a little more exciting.
After my little music break, I was forced to battle it out with Geometry, my archnemesis. It took me two hours to get today’s lesson down. That subject hovers over me like a supervillain bent on destroying my future. Thankfully, I’m almost done with it, since junior year is almost over.
Six months until I turn eighteen, and then I’m packing a bag and going off to see the outside world. My first mission when I leave this farm is to find my mother, whom I affectionately refer to as “Mother Dearest.” She’s never been a part of my life, and I don’t even know her name. I’ve asked Dad about her, but all he’ll tell me is that she was a “bitch who didn’t deserve me.”
Eww…my mother. Writing about her did not give me warm and fuzzy feelings. I don’t think I’ll be making that mistake again.
Now that I’ve finished my last assignment of the day, I’m free to go out and take a ride with Dad before dinner. We love riding our horses around the property as a way to unwind at the end of a long day. I’ll come back and write more if anything interesting happens while we’re out. That’s highly unlikely, so don’t get your hopes up.
“Your?” Damn, this assignment is really bringing out my inner weirdo. Time to sign
off.
Hmm…
Yours truly,
I laugh out loud. No, no, no.
Rockin’ out,
Meh…nah.
See you soon,
What? Seriously, no. Why is this so hard?
Ttyl,
Sigh…sure. Guess the inner weirdo’s here to stay. I might as well embrace her.
Ttyl,
Mads
I click “Submit” and take a look at my published post, surprised that writing in a diary didn’t suck too much.
That evening, as Dad and I come back in through the windowed, curtained back door to the kitchen, the smell of my favorite dinner meets my nose. Fried chicken and the works is a staple in any self-respecting, good old-fashioned Southern home. I’ve eaten way more than my share of it in my lifetime, but it never gets old.
The kitchen is overrun by dated wallpaper and carved wooden horses. The tile was once white, but it browned from years of people tramping in dirt from the stables through the back door. Nana already set the table, and now she’s scurrying back and forth between the refrigerator and the stove. I know better than to get in her way. This is Nana’s kitchen, and no one else is even allowed to step foot beyond a certain point.
“Hey, Nana, how long until dinner’s ready?”
“Patience is a virtue, young lady!” she barks in her raspy growl of a voice.
Dad nudges me, and his maple eyes twinkle. “You were askin’ for that one, baby girl.”
I head to the nearby half bath to wash my hands, and Dad follows behind me. “She just gets more and more pissed off as she gets older, doesn’t she?” I whisper.
“Well, if your body was decayin’ and givin’ off a smell, you probably wouldn’t be so happy, either.”
I gag. “Gross, Dad! I didn’t need to hear that spelled out.”
“It’s the truth, though. She’s senile, honey. Just keep cuttin’ her slack.”
“Fine, but I don’t have to like being yelled at for every little question I ask.” I turn off the squeaky hot and cold knobs, then I make a futile attempt to dry my hands on the old-as-hell hand towel. There’s hardly any fiber left on this dense web of beige threads. “Can’t she at least buy new towels once in a millennium?”
“I’ll talk to her about it,” Dad promises, and I nod and pass by him to exit the room.
When I get back to the kitchen, I stand behind my chair at the table and wait impatiently for Nana to set everything down. Once Dad is back at the table and everyone is seated, I grab the metal tongs and sort through the bounty to select my choice meat.
“How’s school goin’?” Dad scoops some delectably lumpy mashed potatoes onto his blue china plate with a plop. “I haven’t heard much about it lately.”
“It’s all right. Nana got me started on this diary thing today.”
“Sounds great! I wish I had written down more of what you did when you were little. I can barely even remember those days now.” Dad takes a long draught of his sweet iced tea.
“What, are you gettin’ senile or somethin’?” My Southern accent is usually kind of tamed down, but it comes out when I tease back and forth with Dad. He takes it as me making fun of him, but it’s totally accidental.
His eyebrow cocks in warning. “Careful, young lady.”
We fall silent for a little while to eat, and I glance at Dad again as I bite into one of Nana’s fluffy, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth homemade biscuits. He’s graying around the temples, although he’s somehow managed to keep all of his ear-length brown hair. Crinkles appear around his eyes when he smiles, and he’s also getting just a hint of creases in his cheeks. Dad is getting older…not as old as Nana, of course, but it’s still kind of scary when you realize your only parent is starting to age.
“Do you know when Ana’s gettin’ back?” Dad’s question derails my train of thought.
“I think she’s getting back in, like, a week.”
“They’ve been havin’ a good time, I assume?”
“Hell yeah. She loves it there.”
“Good. We’ll arrange somethin’ with her family when she gets back.”
When we’re almost done with our meal, Dad gets a call. “It’s Cass,” he says, and he jumps up from the table and runs down the hall with his phone. Cass Meriwether is Dad’s best friend who lives in California. We’ve never been out to visit her, but she comes out to visit us once a year, and they keep in touch by phone and text. It seems like she’s well off, but she never really talks about it. I guess she’s modest about her wealth or something.
Dad comes back in the room as Nana and I are taking our dishes to the sink. “Cass just broke up with Tom,” Dad says, and I groan.
“Again?” The woman can never keep a fiancé. Cass has been engaged, like, five times, and she always has some crazy excuse for why she broke up with the man she was supposed to marry right before the wedding.
He scratched behind his ear too much.
His credit score wasn’t high enough.
The car he drove wasn’t a hybrid. Supposedly that’s really important to Californians. I guess it’s really, really important to her.
“Yeah. This time, they just couldn’t get along. I feel terrible for her, as always,” Dad says with a rueful chuckle. “But the good news is she wants to come see us a little early this year to get her mind off it.” I catch a hint of a grin on his face. Cass’s visits are his favorite part of the whole year.
“Fine with me.” I toss chicken bones into the trash can beneath the sink. “It will be nice having two riding partners instead of one.”
“I told her she can come whenever she’s ready. She seemed pretty torn up about it, so I think she’s gonna take a couple days to recover before she flies out here.”
“We’ll need to freshen up the guest room,” Nana says. “Mads, that’ll be your task tomorrow.”
A groan escapes my throat. “She’s Dad’s friend. Why should I have to clean the guest room?”
“Madison Landers, don’t talk back to your Nana,” Dad scolds firmly. I sigh as I rinse my dishes off, and then I wash my hands.
“Ungrateful…” Nana mutters something else under her breath as she places my dishes in the dishwasher.
“Sorry, Nana,” I say, feeling a tinge of genuine remorse. Her whole life has revolved around me since I was born. I guess I do act ungrateful sometimes, but I don’t mean to.
“Tell you what, honey, I’ll help you clean up the guest room tonight. Sound fair?” Dad asks.
“Sure.” I grudgingly follow him upstairs while Nana finishes up the kitchen.
Dad hands me a can of Pledge and a dust rag when we enter the guest room. I spray and dust the old oak furniture as he takes the linens off the bed to wash them and then vacuums the carpeted floor. After we’re both done with our tasks, Dad takes the linens down the hall to the laundry room. I rush into my bedroom before he can find another chore to keep me busy.
When I get inside my room, my ringtone goes off. I hurry over to my nightstand to pick up my phone and slide it to answer. “Hey, lady!”
Ana is video-chatting me from Miami, looking gorgeously tan and perfect as ever. Her honey-blonde hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkle with happiness at the sight of me. “Hey! Aw…I miss you,” she pouts.
“Miss you too. How’s Florida?” I sink down into my black silk comforter, cringing at the image of me in the right corner of the screen. My glasses and braces look alien compared to Ana’s model looks. My long, dark hair is pulled into a braid over my shoulder that stretches all the way down to my waist. The length of my hair is one of the few girly things about me. In most other things, I might as well be a boy.
Ana chatters for a while the obnoxious drive down with her zoo of brothers and sisters, then she adds, “By the way, be glad you’re not down here. I tanned so fast this afternoon. Those same rays would have had you looking like a lobster.”
I chuckle. Too many times I’ve ended up with sun poisoning because
of my pigment-challenged skin. “Yeah, you’d be playing my nurse again right now with gallons of Ocean Potion and Advil. Having an Irish complexion is not as awesome as it sounds.”
“Well, being blonde isn’t all that, either,” Ana says with an eye roll. “I wish I had your dark hair. Everyone assumes I’m a moron because I’m blonde. I overheard this dude on the beach earlier saying he could probably con me into sleeping with him because I looked so gullible. I told him ‘up yours.’”
“You’re one of the smartest people I know, so that’s his loss,” I say, bringing a smile to her face.
“Thanks, girl. Well, I have to go to dinner now, but I just wanted a quick chat with you before my family monopolizes me for the evening. Hang in there, okay? I’ll be home soon.”
“All right, love. Have fun.”
“See ya.” She hangs up the phone, and I toss my body back on the bed, wishing teleportation was a thing already.
April 18
An Actual Event to Report
So big news, something’s happening around here. A visitor is coming to town. I’m actually really pumped about it.
Most teens wouldn’t like hanging out with their parent’s “lame friends,” but Cass is not lame. In fact, I’m fully expecting all sorts of mischief to take place while she’s here. Cass loves playing pranks on Dad, and occasionally she’ll attempt one on Nana, and she always enlists me as her partner in crime. Of course, when she’s mourning a lost love, she’s usually a little less energetic, but if she stays long enough, her usual self might creep out.
It’s also nice to have Dad preoccupied so I can have more Internet time. Usually, I only get half an hour on the Internet a day, not including time spent on gaming. With Cass around, he doesn’t pay any attention to the fact I’m holed up in my room, and Nana’s busy playing hostess, so I get off with stretching the rules a little bit.
Cass likes to drink too, so I bet she’s going to get hammered at some point while she’s here. Nana doesn’t allow liquor in the house, but Dad and Cass usually sneak out to a shed at the far end of the property with bottles of whiskey and rum. They won’t go out to drink, for some reason, and if we all go out together, they always wear sunglasses, even in a dark restaurant. They say the lighting in restaurants and bars hurts their eyes, but as far as I know, neither of them have any sort of eye condition. Whatever, weirdos. As long as you get out of the house and busy doing other things, I’m happy.
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