The Good Girl & the Bad Boy: A Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 2)

by M. L. Collins

  Grady switched the lights on, opened one of the storage closets and pulled out an amp.

  “I’ll be honest,” he said as he set the amp up on the small platform in front of a drum set, plugging in the guitar and making sure it wasn’t too loud. “I’m anxious to play this baby.”

  I was too.

  “Take a seat, Lace.” He gestured to the center seat in the front row. “This one’s for you.”

  I sat, excited to hear him play since I’d only heard him play on the inexpensive guitar. And maybe in the back of my mind there was the possibility that he might play me a romantic love song.

  He touched the guitar pick to the strings, hesitated with his eyes locked on mine, and jumped into the first verse of “Bad to the Bone.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, but cheese and crackers, he was something to listen to.

  “Okay. Just kidding.” He laughed. “Any request?”

  “How about ‘Roll Out the Barrel’?”

  “Ha! You and your polka music.” He looked at me with a steady gaze and then winked. “I’ve got one.”

  “Be serious this time. I want to hear what you can do with that baby.”

  “You got it.” He played. Man did he play. His fingers moved over the neck of the guitar with such speed and dexterity it was dizzying.

  I was nearly speechless by the time he played the last note.

  “Are you absolutely sure you can’t accept it?”

  “Yeah, Lace.” He sent me a soft half smile. “Hey, how about you accompany me on the air drums before we go?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” I jumped up and onto the dais, sat on the stool behind the drum set, and picked up a set of red-tipped sticks. “I happen to be an expert on the air drums.”

  “‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen. Ready?”

  I nodded, raised the drumsticks over my head, and hit them together as I counted off, “One, two. One, two, three, four!”

  Grady played, smiling and laughing as I got into my air drums. I felt untethered and free and—

  “What the heck is going on in here?”

  What? I whipped my head toward the door, my hands frozen in mid-air with the drumsticks clutched tightly in my suddenly numb fingers.

  Miss Carver stood with her hands on her hips and a dark look on her face.

  Grady extinguished the guitar, and the room went suddenly silent.

  You’ll never guess who stood next to Miss Carver wearing a smug look on his smarmy face. Okay, sure you will. Chad.

  “I asked a question. One of you better start explaining.”

  “This is totally my fault, Miss Carver. I wanted to use the amp, so I busted open the gate. Lacey tried to talk me out of it, but you know I can be stubborn. Hard-headed even.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Chad snorted, enjoying the show, the rat-faced weasel.

  “You can leave now, Mr. Pennington.” She sent him a dismissive glance before turning her flinty gaze back to the scene of the crime.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Chad left, but not before flipping Grady the double-handed bird on his way out the door since he was behind Miss C.

  “Mr. Pennington?” Miss Carver called.

  He popped back in eagerly. “Ma’am?”

  “Do you see those windows across from us?”

  “Yes, I see them.”

  “Go ahead and wave to yourself,” she said.

  He did. He waved to himself, still not figuring out where Miss C was heading with this. If I weren’t in the middle of having a heart attack over getting in trouble, I’d find this very amusing.

  “Now go ahead and flip Mr. Burnett off again.”

  He froze, his eyes opening wide, like in an animated cartoon.

  “Right. You’ve got Saturday detention.” She arched an eyebrow in his direction. “Now, go ahead and go. If you’d like to try for double jeopardy, I’m game.”

  Chad huffed out a breath and left quickly, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets.

  Miss Carver turned her still simmering attention back to us.

  “Um, Miss Carver…” I set the drumsticks down and stood up from the stool. “It’s not Grady’s fault. It’s mine. I was the one who talked him into playing.”

  “Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Trueheart.”

  “That is a darn lie,” Grady said, frowning over at me. “This situation was all my doing.”

  “Since you both broke into the band hall and you’re both taking responsibility, you’re both to report to Principal Barstow’s office first thing tomorrow morning.”

  This couldn’t be happening. It was like an out-of-body experience. I saw my perfect life flash before my eyes.

  Why couldn’t risk-taking be risk-free? Was that too much to ask?

  23

  Perfect? That Ship Has Sailed

  Grady

  The Next School Day, 8 a.m.

  Dear Mr. J,

  I really, really like this boy. But I can’t tell if he likes me back! Are there signs?

  Signed,

  Need an Interpreter

  Dear N A I,

  You’re in luck. Guys aren’t very subtle. Most of the time there are definite signs if a guy likes you.

  Does he text you for no reason or with a lame excuse? He probably likes you.

  Does he go out of his way to get your attention? (Farting doesn’t count.) He probably likes you.

  Does he tease you in a fun way? (Mean teasing doesn’t count.) He probably likes you.

  Does he ask your friends about you? He probably likes you.

  Does he tell you things he doesn’t tell anyone else? He probably likes you.

  Has he tried to get you to come by his practice so you can see his athletic prowess? (Or his debate competition to show off his brain power?) He probably likes you.

  Has he tried to impress you? Has he sung you a song? Played the guitar for you? Or even had you listen to a song on the radio? He probably likes you.

  Maybe he’s searching for signs from you too? Have you given him any? If you’re still unsure, why not try the direct approach and ask him?

  Hoppy Hunting,

  Mr. Jackalope

  “Do you think everybody knows?” Lacey asked, her eyes darting around.

  “Knows what?” Lacey and I were walking into school and to the front office together.

  “That I got caught on a B&E? That I’m a horrible example? Oh, my! I should probably step down as head of pep club and senior class secretary, and yearbook staff, and—”

  “Holy crap, Lacey.”

  “I know, I know.” She groaned. “I’ve let so many people down.”

  “No, I mean, holy crap—when do you sleep? It sounds like you’ve been holding everybody up.”

  “It’s that whole perfectionist thing. It’s a sickness. But it looks like I’ve solved that problem. I don’t have to worry about being perfect anymore. Oh, no. That ship has sailed.”

  “Stop.”

  “I can’t. I talk when I’m nervous.”

  “I don’t mean stop talking,” I said. “I mean stop walking.”

  “I can’t! We can’t be late.”

  “Lacey Jane, stop for one dang minute.”

  “What?” She stopped in her tracks, looking nervous and unsure.

  “This.” I pulled her into me, against my chest, tucking her head under my chin and just held her. “I know you hate everything about this.”

  “Well, not everything. This right here is nice.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I pulled back just enough to look directly into her eyes. “I know this is way out of your comfort zone. I pushed you too far and I’m sorry about that.”

  “Whoa, no. Don’t take on my guilt.” She poked me in the chest with her finger. “I’m a free-thinking girl responsible for my choices. You didn’t make me do anything.”

  Debatable, but, as always, her candid honesty knocked me sideways.

  “Besides, one day, when you’re a big star making records and touring around the
country, your song will come on the radio. Probably when I’m driving little Emma and Ellen to soccer practice. And they’ll be all—Oooh, I love this song. Grady Burnett is the bomb—I mean, if kids are still saying that—”

  “Nobody says that now, Lace.”

  “They don’t? Huh. Okay, so they’ll say—Grady Burnett is soooo hot. And I’ll say I played air drums for him once. And from that moment on I’ll be the coolest mom ever.”

  I loved this girl. I absolutely loved this girl. And if she was still talking to me after we walked out of the principal’s office—I’d find the courage to tell her.

  “Okay. I’m better. This helped. I’m ready to accept my fate now. Let’s finish our perp walk.”

  We arrived in the front office exactly on time. Mrs. Applebaum, the secretary, had us sit while she let Principal Barstow know we were here.

  “They’re going to make us wait,” Lacey whispered. “I’ve seen this on T.V. They’re trying to sweat us out. When we go in, if they offer you a drink, don’t accept. It’s another trick. They pump you full of liquids and then don’t let you go to the bathroom.”

  If I responded, I’d bust out laughing. So I stayed quiet, but reached over and grabbed her hand in mine.

  “Also,” she leaned into me, darting a glance at Mrs. Applebaum. “They’ll try to separate us to play us off against each other. Try to get us to rat the other one out. You can count on me.”

  I squeezed her hand.

  “Why didn’t you say I can count on you? Are you already planning to give me up?”

  Okay, I did laugh that time. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. She was too adorably nervous.

  “You’ve cracked, haven’t you?” She patted my hand. “Last thing. Good cop/bad cop. My money’s on Miss Carver as the good cop.”

  “No. She’s definitely the bad cop. Trust me on this.” Miss Carver and I went back three years. Of course, Principal Barstow and I did also. I’d been in his office so often, I knew when he rearranged his shelves or added a new photo to his desk.

  The intercom crackled to life. “You may send Lacey and Grady in now.”

  Lacey threw her shoulders back and stood.

  “It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” I had no idea if it would be fine, but I needed to offer Lacey some comforting words.

  We entered Principal Barstow’s office. Barstow sat behind his large mahogany desk with his hands steepled together in front of him, looking serious yet approachable. Good cop. Miss Carver stood off to the side, one shoulder leaning against a window, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression so cool she could pose for an ice sculpture. Bad cop.

  “Lacey. Grady. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the two chairs sitting side-by-side in front of his desk.

  Lacey perched on the edge of one chair and I relaxed into the other.

  “I must say, Lacey, I’m surprised to see you involved in something like this.” He leaned forward, opening one of two files on his desk. “Perfect attendance, perfect record, near-perfect GPA, perfect model student according to numerous teachers. This is out of character for you.”

  “Y-yes, sir.” Lacey clasped her shaking hands together in her lap.

  “It’s like I said. This was all me.” I focused my gaze on Principal Barstow. “Lacey had nothing to do with this.”

  “The passionate air drum solo I witnessed says otherwise,” Miss Carver said.

  “She’s right.” Lacey looked at me and shrugged. “Partner in crime, co-conspirator, accomplice. That’s me. Guilty as charged.”

  “Lace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Zip it, babe.”

  “I can’t. I did the crime; I’ll do the time.”

  “I hope you realize the seriousness of this situation,” Mr. Barstow said. “The band hall gets gated and locked for a good reason. There are thousands of dollars’ worth of instruments in there. Serious violations like this could easily result in automatic suspension or even involve the local police.”

  “Eeep!” Lacey jumped in her seat.

  I glanced over my shoulder through the glass window into the waiting room behind us. No police standing ready, so my guess was they’d ruled that option out.

  “Grady, I don’t need to remind you what a precarious situation you’re in. One more suspension and you’re in danger of repeating your senior year.”

  “Understood.” I clenched my jaw tight.

  “Miss Carver and I have discussed the situation and we think we’ve come up with an appropriate punishment that can make amends for the flagrant disregard to the school’s property. Miss Carver?”

  “Since your behavior put our band program’s instruments at serious risk—we have come up with a fitting way for you to atone for your actions. The annual talent showcase is in two weeks. It’s the band’s biggest fundraiser of the year and participation and ticket sales have been disappointing.” Miss Carver pushed away from the window, moving to stand next to Barstow’s desk. “As it happens, both of you are popular, well-liked students. You’re leaders among your peers. Other students look up to you. So, one of you will perform in the talent showcase. And whoever doesn’t perform, will write up two articles for the school paper to pimp the showcase—or face automatic suspension.”

  “But, I can’t sing. Or play an instrument,” Lacey said, her voice quivering with nerves.

  “Then maybe Grady will step up. Like I said, I don’t care which one of you performs—but one of you must.”

  “May I ask a question?” It wasn’t that I didn’t think we deserved to be punished. It was that I’d known Miss Carver for over three years and I didn’t need ESP to see where this was going.

  “Of course,” Barstow said.

  “Are there going to be representatives from various collegiate music programs? Say, Juilliard for instance.”

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Burnett, there are.” Miss Carver nodded. “That’s why it’s called a ‘showcase.’”

  I sat back in my chair, once again, impressed by the band teacher’s tenacity. “Miss Carver, you are wily. A worthy opponent.”

  “I like to see it as not letting a good opportunity go to waste.” Miss Carver smiled for the first time since we’d entered the office. A very crocodile smile. “A twofer, if you will.”

  Right.

  “I think that settles it.” Principal Barstow clapped his hands together. “Are we clear?”

  “Crystal,” I said.

  Lacey nodded like a bobble-head doll.

  “Okay. Hop on to your first period class then and make it a great Jackson Jackalope day!”

  Yeah, I’d get right on that.

  24

  Breathing Into a Paper Bag

  Lacey

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Grady was right beside me, step-by-step, as we headed toward our journalism class.

  “I do, just not yet. I won’t make it through the day if I think about it right now.” I grabbed his hand, trying to let him know I appreciated his effort. “I’m going to lock all this up in the ‘things to deal with later’ vault and go to class. Is that the most pitiful, scaredy-sloth reaction you’ve ever heard?”

  “Nope. It’s practical. There’s no rush.” He stopped us just outside of the classroom to catch my eyes. “Promise me you won’t block me out. We’re in this together, okay?”

  “More than okay. Maybe I’ll be brave enough to discuss it by lunch.

  I knew I was being overdramatic—bordering on bratty—but it was just the shock. As soon as that wore off, I’d pull myself together, cowgirl up, and deal with the fallout of my life choices in a mature way.

  It turned out I was a wee bit optimistic about my recovery time. The shock hadn’t worn off by lunchtime. I dumped my lunch out onto the table, bent over with my head between my knees and breathed into my brown paper bag.

  “Lacey, it’s not that bad.” Grady rubbed one of his big hands on my back.

  I lifted my head to look at him. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Bad B
oy Rock Star. I still have a perfect attendance record since I only skipped for a half-day.”

  “You haven’t missed a single day all year?”

  “I haven’t missed a day of school since the fourth grade. I’m up for the Energizer Jackalope award. Do you know how often they give that out? Hardly ever. I already cleared off a spot on my bookshelf for it.” I’d lost my mind. It would help if I could calm down and stop talking, but nope, my mouth just kept spewing the crazy. “Guess I can kiss that goodbye.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?” Bernie asked.

  “I know! It’s awful. I’m everything I hate right now.” I desperately needed to snap out of it. “Somebody slap me.”

  “Hell, no,” Grady said, leaning away.

  “Pass,” Bernie said.

  Tracey slapped me. “Hey, I’m here for you. Plus I’ve wanted to do that for a few years now.”

  “Okay, that helped.” I nodded to myself, feeling calm, sane, organized Lacey straightening her backbone and kicking whining Lacey to the curb. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” She grinned as she gathered up her trash. “Sorry to bail, but Ms. York is letting me earn extra credit by sorting through the paint in the storage room. Now that I’m not skipping anymore, I decided I might as well boost my grades.”

  “I’ve got to go too.” Bernie stood, ready to walk out with Tracey. “My new shop partner just texted saying he might have just killed our engine.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said, and waved them both off.

  “Are you really okay?” Grady asked, his gaze searching my face.

  “I think so. I do have a question for you though…”

  “Ask away.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Miss Carver that the gate to the band hall wasn’t locked? She might have gone easier on you if she knew that.”

  “Why didn’t you?” he countered.

  “Because Mr. Simms is a sweet old man who works hard and always has a smile on his face.”

  “There you go.”

  My respect and appreciation for Grady solidified. The bad boy with the good heart. I threw caution to the wind and leaned forward and kissed him. Nothing too PDA. Just an impulsive need to connect on a deeper level.