Perfectly Misunderstood (The Perfect Series Book 4)

by Robin Daniels

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get on that. As soon as I find someone worth asking.” I gave him my standard excuse, and he rolled his eyes. I hit on almost every girl I talked to, but only to keep up my image. I’d never go out with most of them. I was just about the pickiest person I knew.

  Maybe I wasn’t popular enough to warrant the pickiness, but I couldn’t help it. High school girls were annoying, all giggles and whispers. It drove me nuts. Brady was lucky he landed a decent chick. Beth was hot and smart. Minus the tendency to bust my chops, Beth’s sister Bianca was just about perfect. But she was also taken—by the best-looking dude in school. Nobody could compete with Cam. Not even Brady, and he was a chick magnet.

  “Angelica is single,” Brady suggested. “Beth said she doesn’t have a date yet.”

  “No thanks. I’m not into your leftovers. Plus, that girl’s straight-up crazy.”

  Brady laughed and nodded in agreement. “Why do you think I broke up with her?”

  Hearing Angelica’s name reminded me of my new Spanish assignment. I knew she was cousins with Jayden, which probably meant that Jayden was crazy, too. “Speaking of Angelica, do you know her cousin Jayden?”

  “Is she a senior?”

  “No, I think she’s a junior.”

  “Not sure. I’d have to see what she looks like. Why, you want to ask her out?”

  I made a choking sound. “Um…no. Coach asked me to tutor her in Spanish.”

  “Is she cute?”

  “Bro, is that all you think about? Are you getting bored of Beth or something? Because, I’ll make an exception on my leftovers rule for her.” Brady gave me the stink eye, both for avoiding his question and perving on his woman. I’m talented like that. He kept glaring daggers, waiting for me to answer. I sighed. “I guess she’s cute, but I’m not asking her out. She’s a super B and way stuck up. I thought she was shocked when Mr. T introduced me as her tutor. Then I realized that it wasn’t shock; she just has a gigantic stick up her butt. I don’t know if she’s crazy like Angelica, but she’s got pretentious down to a science.”

  “Sounds fun.” Brady snickered.

  “Yeah, loads of fun,” I replied sarcastically as we pulled up to my house.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Brady reasoned. “Maybe she’ll end up being cool and you can ask her to homecoming.”

  “Maybe your optimism is annoying.” I got out of the car and shut the door.

  Brady rolled down the window. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “Then find me a hot little sophomore or freshman,” I called over my shoulder as I walked to the front porch.

  Brady laughed. “I’ll keep my eyes open. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you,” I replied as Brady pulled away. I took a deep breath, then walked through the door, throwing my backpack down in the entry and plopping on the couch. I was beat. We’d done eight miles today at practice, and my feet hurt. I needed new shoes, but it wasn’t in the budget this month, so I was plowing through practice with zero arch support.

  “Mikey!” my sister Joy screamed as she ran over and jumped on my lap, squeezing me tightly around the neck.

  “Okay, squirt. You’ve got to loosen up on the grip. I can’t breathe.”

  “Sorry, I’m just excited to see you. We already finished our homework, and Mommy said we could watch TV when she left.”

  “So, you’re not actually excited to see me; you’re excited to watch TV.” I fake pouted, pretending that my feelings were hurt.

  “No,” Joy protested. “I’m excited to watch TV with you.”

  “Oh, I see,” I answered as she gave me one more squeeze. She hopped off my lap and ran into the kitchen at the same time my mom walked out, keys and purse in hand. We had a very tight schedule to keep. School started at seven and ended at two. I worked on homework in the library until three, when cross-country practice started. Practice ended at five, and I only had half an hour to get home because my mom left for school at five-thirty. Her classes went from six to ten, Monday through Thursday, so I basically had no life on weekdays.

  My mom worked at the public library. She made crappy money, but at least she didn’t have to work early mornings or weekends. The twins rode the bus home from school and went to a neighbor’s house until she got home at five. Mrs. Dawes was a nice older lady. In my opinion, she was a little too nice. She’d usually get the twins all hopped up on treats, then send them home to me, crazy-hyper. She never did homework with them, either, so I’d have to manage that while they bounced around in their seats. But Mrs. Dawes watched them for free, so I never complained. That was cool of her.

  “Water’s on the stove to boil.” Mom smiled at me as she headed for the door. “How was practice?”

  “Good. But my feet are killing me,” I answered, then immediately wished I hadn’t. I knew she felt guilty that she couldn’t get me the shoes I needed for another couple of weeks. She worked hard. It wasn’t really her fault we didn’t have any extra money. She refused to take out a loan for college, so she’d been paying as she went. It added up quickly.

  My mom frowned. “I’m sorry. Hang in there. Two weeks, tops. I promise.” She puckered her lips and sent me an air kiss, then walked out. Not two seconds after the door shut, I heard a thud in the kitchen, followed by something spilling. I grumbled, wondering what mess was waiting for me this time. I found my brother on a chair that had been pushed to the stove. He had a wooden spoon in one hand and an empty box of macaroni in the other—the contents of which were all over the stove, counter, and floor. Amazingly, he’d completely missed the pot.

  “What are you doing, little man?” I scolded gently as I plucked him off the chair and set him on the floor. He looked up at me with a trembling lip and glistening eyes.

  “I wanted to help,” he replied, tears threatening to spill over. Like many twins, my brother and sister were best friends, but complete opposites. Joy was a devilish little spitfire, while Jackson was quiet and sensitive.

  “I know you did. And I appreciate that, but you aren’t old enough to use the stove yet. Not until you can reach without a chair. I don’t want you to get burned. Got it?” Jackson nodded in disappointment. “You know what you are big enough for? Sweeping. Why don’t you go get the broom, so you can sweep all the pasta off the floor?”

  Jackson cracked a smile and headed for the pantry. I’d never understand little kids. You ask them to clean up their toys, and it’s like the end of the freaking world. You ask them to do a big kid chore that they won’t be any good at, and it’s like an early Christmas present. I dumped a new box of macaroni into the water and waited patiently for my brother to finish his attempt at sweeping. When he was done, I praised his work, then finished the rest myself.

  The three of us sat down to enjoy our Kraft dinner, and I noticed that neither twin was as energetic as usual. I eyed them suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you two? You’re not acting like spazzes.”

  “That’s because Mrs. Dawes was out of cookies,” Jackson said with a frown.

  “Yeah, she didn’t have any candy or anything. She gave us apples for a snack today.” Joy’s face had a look of pure disgust, as if she’d been given spinach or beets.

  I laughed. “That’s what you should be getting every day. It’s good to eat healthy. Maybe I’ll start cooking healthier dinners,” I threatened in mock seriousness. There’s no way I was cooking a real dinner. I had to draw the line somewhere.

  Joy and Jackson shouted at the same time. “No!”

  “Well, if you don’t want me to make vegetables with your dinner, you should try harder to focus during homework time.”

  “Hey, we did our homework already,” Joy defended.

  “Did you finish? Do I need to double check it?”

  “Nope,” Jackson answered through a mouth full of food. “Mom already did.”

  That was refreshing. One less thing to worry about. Maybe I’d get to bed at a decent hour tonight. I still had a lot of homework myself, and I’d be lucky if
they were asleep by eight. “Okay, I’m going to trust you. But if I find out you guys are pulling a fast one on me, there won’t be any bedtime stories for a week. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Joy said with a nod.

  “Got it,” Jackson echoed.

  I gave them a scrutinizing staredown. “Did Mom really say you could watch TV on a school night?” The twins nodded eagerly. “What’s it going to be, then? News, football, Civil War documentary?” I teased, already knowing what the answer would be.

  “Paw Patrol!” They squealed and ran out of the room. I scooped up their dishes and placed them in the sink to soak. Our kitchen was tiny and old, so we didn’t have a dishwasher. That’s part of the reason I refused to cook real food. I didn’t love the prepackaged stuff, but anything else was way too messy. I followed them to our equally tiny living room and turned on the gigantic television. My stepdad might be gone for long periods of time, but when he was here, he had his priorities straight. The man loved ESPN. And you can’t watch ESPN on a tiny television.

  I started one of the Paw Patrol episodes that were taking up all the space on our DVR. Then I cleaned up the kitchen before sitting on the couch. Joy snuggled up on one side of me and Jackson on the other. I tipped my head back, drifting in and out of sleep. After one episode too many, we started the bedtime routine: baths, teeth, jammies, drinks, stories, prayers, hugs, tucking, more hugs, more drinks, more tucking, and so on. Once they were settled, I flipped on ESPN until I was sure they were asleep, then headed to my room to do homework.

  I had a challenging school schedule. It was a secret I concealed well. Sadly, being intelligent wasn’t the best way to look cool. But it was a fast track to getting bullied. I had good reasons for hiding my smarts. When I was little, I practically worshiped my older half-brother Josh and believed everything he said. He told me once that if I wanted to avoid being shoved in lockers, I had to hide my brains. Everything I’d seen in the public school system had confirmed his theory. So, I chose to be known as Mike McGinnes, stereotypical dumb jock. Up until now, the plan had worked. Since we moved to Orlando, I’d never been beaten up. I was even kind of popular. Well, I was friends with popular people.

  This whole tutoring business was going to be a problem. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have said yes to something that could blow my cover. But I could never say no to Mr. Thompson. He’d been coaching me since freshman year. I played varsity basketball and baseball, too, but the only sport I was legitimately good at was cross-country. Coach was trying to help me get a college scholarship. Since that was the only way I’d be able to afford college, I figured I owed him. Luckily, Jayden was your stereotypical brainy girl. Hopefully, people would assume she was tutoring me, and not the other way around.

  I might have felt obligated to Mr. Thompson, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I’d had a thirty-second conversation with Jayden, and she’d instantly written me off. I bet she was the kind of self-absorbed snot who wouldn’t bother getting to know me, either. So, I figured I didn’t have to feel bad if I screwed with her head a little. She expected me to be an idiot or a jerk, the least I could do was live up to her expectations. I couldn’t focus on my homework anyway, so I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Angelica.

  Mike: You have Jayden’s digits?

  Angelica: Why do you want them?

  Mike: Noneya

  Angelica: Then no, I don’t.

  Mike: Woman, don’t clapback.

  Angelica: Fine. But you’re wasting your time. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.

  Mike: Please. I’m a baller.

  Angelica: You wish.

  Angelica sent Jayden’s number, and I saved it in my contacts under the name Reina Mocosa. Loosely translated, the term meant brat queen. I’d used that phrase intentionally because there wasn’t a nice, tidy Spanish word for brat. And I knew that Jayden would go straight home and type it into a Spanish translator. The answer wouldn’t make any sense, so she’d have no clue what I said. It would drive her nuts. If I was going to survive this partnership, I had to let her know that I was the boss. She needed me. Nothing was worse for a girl like Jayden than needing help from a guy like me.

  I sent her a text just to mess with her a little more.

  Mike: Yo, baby. Wazzup?

  I waited for a response and was surprised when one came quicker than anticipated. I hadn’t pegged her as the glued to your phone type.

  Reina Mocosa: Who is this?

  Mike: Don’t play. I know you got me on speed dial.

  Reina Mocosa: The use of the word got instead of have must mean this is Mike…

  Mike: Fo-sheezy. And I bet you been jonesing on me all day. Am I right or what?

  Reina Mocosa: Or what.

  Mike: Liar. You think I’m snatched.

  Reina Mocosa: Sorry, I don’t speak moron.

  “Bull’s-eye,” I said to myself, chuckling.

  Mike: Well you betta learn quick. Nite Jay-dawg. Sweet driz-eams.

  I threw the phone on my bed, hoping I got the last word. This would be too easy. No reason I couldn’t have some fun while being tortured. I finished my homework and went to bed, satisfied in knowing that Jayden Valdez would get a heaping dose of Mike “the tool” McGinnes, whether she liked it or not. I was hoping for not.

  JAYDEN

  I lost way too much sleep last night, wondering what was wrong with that boy. I understood jonesing, even though it was a stupid word. I had to look up snatched in the Urban Dictionary. But Sweet driz-eams? Where did Mike even come up with this stuff? That was like old-school Snoop Dogg, which I only knew because sometimes my mom got nostalgic.

  Did Mike think he was a gangster? Was he a gangster? Was I in danger? No, Mr. Thompson wouldn’t have asked me to work with a real thug. I was working with a would-be thug. Lovely. I waited on my porch for Summer and the boys to pick me up for school.

  Lucas pulled up to the curb and needlessly honked the horn. Summer pushed the sliding door open, and I climbed in next to her. Ever since I decided that a relationship with Logan wasn’t viable, she’d been kind enough to leave a space next to her—so I wouldn’t have to sit next to him. I might have driven with Becca in the mornings, except she lived across town. Summer lived up the street, and since the boys were coming to get her anyway, riding with them made more sense.

  “Morning, beautiful,” Lucas crooned from behind the steering wheel.

  “Hey, Jay,” Levi echoed. Hunter nodded silently, and Logan grunted. He said it was no big deal if we stopped kissing, or dating, or whatever you call what we were doing. But he didn’t act like it was no big deal. Our friendship had been strained for the last couple of weeks.

  “Hi, Levi,” I replied with a smile.

  “What? No hello for me?” Lucas asked, sounding offended.

  “I was getting there,” I cut him off quickly. Lucas wasn’t used to playing second fiddle. Especially to his younger brother. It was good for him. “Good morning, Lucas,” I said extra sweetly, before greeting everyone else. “And Hunter, and Summer and Logan.” I smiled at Logan. He only nodded his head and stuck his nose back in his phone. And he wonders why I called it off?

  “I don’t need a ride home today. Becca’s taking me so you don’t have to wait,” I said to Summer under my breath, hoping nobody else would hear.

  “Why?” She frowned, then asked, “Is it because of…?” She nodded her head toward the backseat. Way to be subtle, Summer.

  “No. Don’t be ridiculous. Logan and I are totally fine, right, Logan?”

  He looked up from his phone long enough to answer me. “Totally fine.”

  Yeah, not sure I was buying it. “I have to meet someone for tutoring,” I admitted.

  “Oh, really? Who are you tutoring?” Summer asked excitedly.

  She automatically assumed I was the teacher and not the student. Why wouldn’t she? The question now was, do I correct her? My moral compass said yes, but my pride was screaming not a chance. It was bad enough that Becca knew the truth
. But she was in the class, so there was no way to hide it from her. Lies by omission weren’t really lies, right? “Just some guy in my Spanish class,” I answered.

  “Ooh, is he cute?” Why was that always her first question? She was as bad as Becca.

  Logan glanced up again, waiting for my response.

  Was Mike cute? I hadn’t really thought about it. I’d been too busy freaking out. I suppose he was cute enough. If you could look past his ridiculous hair and clothes…and his horrible personality…and if you were deaf.

  “I guess,” I admitted with a shrug, mostly for Logan’s benefit.

  “Maybe he’d make a good homecoming date?” Summer elbowed me gently in the side.

  “I don’t really think he’s my type.” I tried not to laugh at the suggestion. The thought of Mike and I at a dance together was completely absurd.

  “How can you be sure? Have you gotten to know him?” Good old Summer. So quick to love everyone, never judgmental. She unintentionally keeps me in check.

  “I just know,” I assured her. She shrugged, as if she thought I was being narrow-minded. That’s only because she hadn’t met Mike. She’d be singing a different tune if she had. “Anyway, Becca will bring me home until the Spanish grades come up. She already stays after to help her dad.” Spanish grades, that was acceptably vague. I didn’t have to mention whose grade needed to come up, so I wasn’t even lying this time.

  “You’ll have to introduce me to him sometime,” Summer insisted with a grin.

  Sure, why not? If by sometime she meant never. “Okay.” I smiled. I wasn’t too worried about being caught. I didn’t plan on being Mike’s study buddy for long. I seriously doubted there was anything that he could teach me, even if I could tolerate being in his presence.

  We pulled up at school and said our good-byes before rushing off to class. The day dragged on and on. But then fifth hour rolled around, and time instantly sped up. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach. I spent the entire class peeking at Mike. He never looked like he was paying attention. No way this guy had the highest grade in class. He caught me staring at him once and gave me a cocky head jerk—eyebrows raised, and his lips slightly puckered. My eyes darted to the front of the room, and I refused to look in his direction for the rest of the class.