Ali & the Too Hot, Up-to-No Good, Very Beastly Boy: A Standalone Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 1)

by M. L. Collins

  “Exactly. Except…” TJ paused, his pizza halfway to his mouth for his next bite. “A couple guys on our team—the ones who like to smack talk—bragged about our team winning the title this year with our secret weapon, Coach D’s new trick plays.”

  “True. I still can’t help the feeling that something doesn’t add up. The Ali I knew—thought I knew—would never have done it.” I took a drink of my soda. “Did I ever tell you she’s Coach Frost’s daughter?”

  TJ choked on his bite of pizza and had to pound his chest twice before he could talk. “Are you kidding me? Coach Frost? The Coach Frost? Then the whole thing really, really doesn’t make sense.”

  “Tell me about it.” I leaned back in my chair, throwing my head to the sky as if the universe would give me the answers I needed.

  The stars reminded me of Ali. Of that night in the bed of my pick-up. It seemed like forever ago. And just yesterday. That night had changed everything between us. She’d opened up to me. I’m not great at the trust thing. I don’t trust many people. Yet that night she’d trusted me. She let me see her vulnerability and her pain.

  Then there was the night we’d sat on her porch swing talking about football. Not only did she know the game, she had respect for it. Huge admiration for her dad’s career as a coach.

  “Why would a girl who loves football and her dad help someone cheat like that?” I asked.

  “Because she thought you were cocky and wanted to bring you down a notch?”

  “Maybe when we first met, but...” Not as we got to know each other. Sure, she said my ego was inflated and might float away, but she was kidding. Right? I closed my eyes and recalled her smile and her green eyes lit with laughter.

  You know me. Only you have to trust yourself to see it.

  Trust myself. It was like when you yell into a cave and the echo comes back at you. Over and over. This kept coming up in my life. Trust myself on the field. Trust myself for my future. Trust my instincts about Ali, even though the photo said otherwise.

  I think you know the answer, but what does your gut tell you?

  Something Paige said earlier tonight ran through my brain. You think you know someone and then they show you who they are. A person can’t hide who they really are.

  Paige’s smile flashed up and it clicked. That edge that I couldn’t put my finger on. Her smile reminded me of the time my dad had hooked a trophy-winning largemouth bass and proudly held it up for display. Satisfaction. Like she’d baited her hook and caught the prize she was after. A person can’t hide who they really are. Exactly.

  I opened my eyes and sat up, grabbing my phone off the table. “Is it too late to call Ali, do you think?”

  “Dude, it’s like almost one a.m. and she’s pretty pissed at you. So yes.”

  “Dammit. You don’t think if—”

  “Nope. I think you should give her at least twenty-four hours.” TJ reached across and took my phone out of my hands, tossing it on the table. “Why do you want to call her anyway? There’s still the ugly fact that she gave your playbook to a rival team.”

  “No. I’m trusting my gut and my gut says she didn’t.”

  30

  Pretty Sure I’d Pee My Pants

  Ali

  Almost, like, one a.m.

  “The photo? Honest, Ali, whoever took it focused on you.” Ro shook her head. “Everything else is blurry.”

  “Email it to me anyway. I can’t believe I almost forgot about this. I’ve got some photo editing software on my computer from when I was on the yearbook staff at Cox.” I woke up my computer and brought up my mail. I downloaded the photo so I could work with it.

  “First I’ll deblur and lighten the photo.” Which took only seconds with the software program I had. “Then I’ll use another photo app to isolate the section with his arm and the car. Zoom in and … Oh, my. Anyone else see what I see?”

  “If you’re talking about that ‘Hillcrest Football’ decal, then yes!” Gaby grinned. “And the number eighty-four under it.”

  “Let me bring up their roster,” Ro said, her fingers flying over her phone. “Number eighty-four is Seth Turk.”

  “Holy heck, we’ve got him!” Shani’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Bhakti said. “Sadly, Turk’s car sitting there doesn’t actually prove anything, no matter what we believe.”

  Nothing like a bucket of cold reality in my face but I knew Bhakti was right. I felt like a passenger in a hot air balloon free-falling to the ground. Was this my fate in life? To take the blame for others?

  “We might not be able to prove it, but it’s a relief knowing our team didn’t lose the game because of us,” Shani said.

  “They lost because they got outplayed.” And because Dax made a couple bad throws.

  “I hate to be the one to point it out, but Jackson plays Hillcrest in the first round of the playoffs,” Mari said. “This Friday.”

  “That was a nice ten seconds of guilt-free relief.” Gah! I wanted to throw my head back and scream. “Thinking out loud… What if I went to the principal without any solid proof? Do you think they’d take it seriously?”

  “I’m not sure they can do anything without any proof.” Bhakti shook her head. “They might think you were trying to get yourself out of trouble. Plus, there’s still your dad to worry about.”

  Right. It was like a punch to the heart knowing my dad would start worrying about me all over again. Just when I’d managed to get him to stop worrying.

  “Seth Turk. Why does his name sound so familiar?” Shani asked. “Arrgh. Why can’t I ever remember? I know I’ve seen his name recently!”

  “Ha!” Rowena snorted. “Knowing what he’s done, probably on his mug shot.”

  “Oh, my gosh, yes. That’s it!” Shani took my place at the computer and brought up the county police department site. “Last week’s police blotter.”

  “Why in the world were you looking at the police blotter?” I asked.

  “Because it’s way more fun than looking at the obituaries. Duh.” Shani scrolled down the page. “There it is. Seth Turk was arrested for street racing last Friday night.”

  “Ha-ha, his car was impounded.” Bhakti read over Shani’s shoulder. “Serves him right, the big jerk.”

  “Right? Sorry it doesn’t help, Ali.” Shani sighed and clicked out of the website. “But I feel better knowing karma got him in the end.”

  “Impounded?” Something lightened in my chest, like a balloon expanding. “Holy cow. Is the time of the arrest listed?”

  “Not the time. Just the date and location.” Shani brought back up the site to the police blotter. “Friday on Cemetery Road.”

  “Friday! Which means before midnight.” I snapped my fingers. “That’s only a few minutes between putting the playbook in the trunk and getting pulled over. The jerks were probably celebrating how they were going to beat us. I’d bet the playbook is still in his trunk.”

  “Sorry, I’m not getting how this solves anything,” Gaby said. “They still have the playbook.”

  “Actually, they don’t. It’s in the trunk. All we have to do is break into the police impound lot and steal the playbook back.” Bhakti cracked her knuckles. I wasn’t sure if she was nervous or warming up and ready to go.

  “Um, no.” Rowena chewed on her thumbnail. “That sounds like a horrible idea.”

  “Of course it’s a horrible idea.” Bhakti rolled her eyes. “Do you have a better one?”

  “No. But still…”

  “Let’s think it through,” Shani said. “First, the impound lot isn’t anywhere near the police station. It’s on the other side of town next to that goat rescue place.”

  “How would you even know that?” I asked, blinking over at her.

  “I know things. Second, the security is pretty shoddy. An old chain link fence with only a rusty chain and a cheap lock on the gate.”

  “Gosh, I don’t know.” Mari twirled a lock of her long ink-black hair around
her finger.

  “I don’t like the idea.” Rowena’s eyes were getting bigger and more worried by the second. “Pretty sure I’d pee my pants trying to break in.”

  “Speaking of peeing your pants, I should probably mention the third thing. There’s a guard dog locked inside at night. A vicious, snarling, fang-toothed guard dog.”

  Gaby frowned. “Yeah. The more we talk about it the more my stomach hurts.”

  “Listen to us! This is our problem right here,” Bhakti said. “We’re always too timid. We back down instead of fight. It’s why we lost the state team championship last year. Why we lose most of our team competitions. Are we going to be goldfish or barracudas?”

  “Goldfish,” Rowena whispered, looking down at her clasped hands.

  “It’s okay, Ro. Everyone can’t be a barracuda.” I sent her a wink before I even thought about it. Darn, such a Dax move. “The world needs goldfish too.”

  “I think Bhakti’s right.” Mari had her fighting face on, the one she wore when someone tossed trash on the ground or abused an animal. “If there ever was a time to fight, it’s now. No one gets to set up Ali and get away with it. Now, what’s our plan?”

  “I’ve got a plan.” Shani rubbed her palms together. “We put on dark clothes and go break in right now. Throw a steak with a sedative to the dog like they do in the movies, pick the lock of the trunk, grab the playbook, and run like crazy.”

  Huh.

  “Ooorrr…,” I said. “We get to the impound lot when it opens in the morning, distract the guy in charge long enough to look in the trunk, and walk out calmly, playbook in hand, un-mauled by the killer guard dog.”

  “I say we go with Ali’s plan,” Ro said, stepping forward and holding her hand out, palm to the ground.

  “Yep. Un-mauled by the killer guard dog.” Gaby nodded, placing her palm on top of Ro’s. “Works for me.”

  Mari added her hand to the stack. “Sounds good. Shani?”

  “Mine sounded more fun, but fine. I’m in too.”

  So that was what we did. It didn’t end the way we’d hoped though. Here’s a quick rundown:

  We got to the impound lot ten minutes before it opened. Hid behind a hedge of oleander bushes to peek through the fence while we waited. Heard the snarling dog. Got scared. Dragged our inner barracudas back. A car pulled up. Guess who? Turk. Some guy (probably Goon #2) dropped him off. We freaked out, the killer guard dog charged us, and we freaked out some more. Ran to the car. Quickly decided we’d simply follow Turk when he drove off and grab the playbook from his trunk. Or from his fat, beefy hands if necessary. Looked around. Mari’s missing! Mari jumped in the car with the killer guard dog in her arms. Eeek! Ro peed her pants. We were all “OMG, Mari! You stole the dog?” Mari was all “I didn’t steal it. I rescued it. Poor thing had a huge chain around its neck, no water bowl, and its ribs are sticking out.” Turk drove out of the lot and I fired up Milo and followed him. We ended up parked one house down from his. Turk got out of his car, caressed the front hood (not kidding), ripped a huge fart (gross!) and went inside his house.

  Phew! Are you with me?

  This was where we made our move. We sneaked to his car—which he’d left unlocked—opened the trunk and—

  31

  As Welcome as a Wedgie on a Five-Mile Run

  Ali

  “It’s empty.” By empty, I meant completely. Like Turk’s head where his brain should be.

  “What idiot doesn’t carry a spare, a jack, and roadside flares?”

  “Sort of not the point, Bhakti.”

  “Right. No playbook.”

  All six of us stood looking down into the void, hope draining from our brave barracuda hearts. Even the “killer” guard dog tucked under Mari’s arm—turned out it was an ornery Chihuahua with an overbite and a loud bark—whined.

  “Well, look who it is.” The voice oozed from behind us, sugary-sweet and dipped in a coating of tart smugness.

  Oh, man, I knew that voice. It was about as welcome as a wedgie on a five-mile run. We turned as a unit, readying to deal with the devil.

  “Gosh, I wonder what y’all could be looking for.” Paige stood next to Turk on his front porch. A wide, toothy smile staked out on her face.

  “You know exactly what,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Considering you set me up.”

  “That’s a nasty accusation, Frosty. Of course, you have evidence to back it up.” She smirked. “You do, don’t you? Because otherwise it’s your word against mine. Oh, and the photo catching you in the act.”

  “How did you get it out of the trunk?” Gaby asked. “His car’s been locked up all week.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paige descended the porch steps and stalked closer. Close enough so we could look into her pretty, blue, weasely eyes. “But I was worried that Turk would get behind on his homework, so I sweet-talked the old guy at the impound lot into letting me get his textbooks from the trunk. A pure and selfless gesture on my part for a dear friend.”

  Shani burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she had to grab onto my shoulder. “I’m sorry! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Paige Smith, pure and selfless. Ahh ha ha.”

  Mari snickered and Gaby tried to smother her laugh so it came out like a snort.

  “Look at you and your loser friends. I guess you had to dig deep to find anyone willing to be friends with you.” Paige’s gaze raked over my friends like they were cellulite on her thighs. “A bunch of nobodies no one cares about. No one at school even knows you exist.”

  “We’re not losers!” Rowena said, her voice firm. She stepped forward, into Paige’s space. “We’re not nobodies. My name is Rowena Clark. Remember it because I plan to help expose you for the mean, snotty, dishonest b-bitch that you are.”

  Go, Ro. Fierce Rowena was awesome to watch. Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours Rowena had made a trip to Emerald City. I guess we all did.

  “You tell her, Ro,” Gaby said.

  Paige’s lips pressed into a straight line and her face flushed, not in a delicate pretty way. She drew in an audible breath and sliced her gaze over to me.

  “I tried to be nice to you, Frosty. If you recall, I even gave you some friendly advice.” She shook her head and actually tsk-tsk’ed me. Go ahead and roll your eyes. I did. “I gave you a chance, but you ignored me. It’s considered rude to walk into someone else’s house and take something that belongs to someone else.

  “Although…” Paige smirked and went for the jugular. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Like mother like daughter.”

  All the anger I’d shoved deep and locked away since my mom’s affair exploded out and I lunged at her. Thankfully my friends grabbed me and held me back. I’m not a pacifist, but I believed violence should be saved for only the most necessary times.

  Even with all her vindictive, dirty, lowdown scheming, Paige wasn’t worth it. So I didn’t pull a hunk of shiny, perfectly-conditioned blond hair off her head, but I did have fun imagining it.

  “I’m good now,” I said, nodding a thanks to my friends for the save as they let me go. I smoothed my T-shirt down and channeled my nana. Consider the source and ignore it. Exactly right, Nana. “The thing is, high school is going to end. We’ll be free of snotty, judgmental attitudes like yours. But you? You can’t escape because you’ll always be you.”

  Paige’s face went stiff and snarly. Like her ugly personality had clawed its way through her pretty Barbie Doll shell. But she hid it quickly, letting her lips curl into a slow smile. “How’s your boyfriend, Frosty? Oh, that’s right, he broke up with you in front of everyone last night. How sad. Here’s my last piece of advice: if you’re hoping you two might kiss and make up… Don’t. I know Dax. He hates to lose. When he loses the playoff game, he’ll never forgive you.”

  I shrugged, ignoring the stabbing feeling deep in my chest. “The joke’s on you, Paige, because I don’t care. I don’t need his forgiveness.”

  That was
the truth. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but he hadn’t even given me the chance to explain. I could pretend all I wanted that it hadn’t hurt. That I’d be fine. But it had hurt. It still hurt. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t forgive him either.

  32

  Trying to Hug a Prickly Cactus

  Dax

  Ali’s House, Saturday, 6:48 p.m.

  Standing in Ali’s foyer while Coach Frost stared me down had me sweating. I’d waited twenty-four hours to talk to Ali. Okay, more like seventeen hours and forty-eight minutes. I’d followed TJ’s advice to wait to give Ali a chance to cool off, but I’d failed to calculate how long a protective father would need.

  “Sir, I know I made a mistake. I’d like to speak with Ali and fix it.”

  He gave me a piercing look before calling out, “Ali! Dax is here to see you!”

  There was a long stretch of silence—so long I was afraid she’d refuse—and then she came around the corner to stand stiffly next to her dad.

  Damn, she looked pretty. She didn’t look mad, and that had me worried. She looked cool and disinterested. Unapproachable. Not a good sign.

  “I’m going to clear out so the two of you can talk this out.”

  “No, Dad, don’t go. I’d rather you stay,” Ali said. “This won’t take long since Dax and I don’t have anything to talk out. Dax communicated everything very clearly last night. Crystal clear.”

  “Ooookay.” Coach shoved his hands into his jean pockets, leaned his shoulder against the opening into the living room, and threw me a look that said, Good luck, buddy. You’re going to need it.

  I focused on Ali, hating the distance between us. The emotional distance. Ali was back into that loner, protective mode like when I first met her. Cracking through that tough shell hadn’t been easy the first time. It felt like a gut punch realizing I might not break through a second time. I sucked in a breath and tried anyway.