Rowdy Boy

Mel: OMG, did you see this? See, I told you not to get close. This girl just got named! I’m so glad this wasn’t you.

The text has that same picture attached. A picture like this easily turns into rumor, spreading through the school like wildfire.

“Do you get it now?” Cole growls at me. Then he pushes himself off the lockers. “That’s what happens when you play with fire.” He makes a face and shakes his head at both Ariane and me before storming off.

But his behavior and the forced proximity to the worst bad boy at school certainly left its mark on me.

“What just happened?” I mutter, completely dumbfounded by what just went down.

He managed to get some girl on her knees for him, and now the whole school knows. Not only that, but he parades around like it’s his goddamn school, and no one does anything to stop it. Is this normal here? Or is this just because he’s in a band and popular?

He sure seemed pissed that everybody knew.

Ariane grasps my arm, and says, “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You weren’t even there. He’s always trying to start some shit.”

For a second there, I almost tell her, but then I remind myself she wouldn’t take it well if I went somewhere without asking her to come too. So I keep my mouth shut and let her accompany me to class.

“I know you’re still thinking about him,” she says.

My lips part, but I don’t get the time to form an answer. “Don’t. He’s not worth your time. When I see him again, I’ll give him a big ole slap to teach him a lesson not to threaten women.”

She makes an obvious fist even though I know for sure that if she did manage to muster up the courage to do it, he probably wouldn’t even flinch.

“He knows he’s bad, and he doesn’t care,” she says. “Now you know why I said what I said.”

“What’s that then?” I ask as she throws her arm over my shoulder.

She smirks. “That Cole Travis is a giant fucking bastard.”

Chapter 7

Cole

I readjust my mic and fiddle with my guitar, but it won’t tune the right way, and it’s pissing me off to the point that I tear it off my shoulder and throw it on the stage.

“Cole … really?” Tristan sighs.

“Yeah, fucking really,” I growl back. “Nothing works.”

“Maybe if you focused, it would work,” he says, running his fingers through his ruffled blond hair that always looks like he just rolled out of bed. “Look, just because it’s just the two of us today since Michael’s still in class and Benjamin had to go to the hospital with his mom doesn’t mean you can slack off.”

“I’m not slacking off!” I snap. When the look on his face changes, I sigh, and say, “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you.”

“I don’t think you’re here, to be honest. Is it because of those texts?” he asks, sitting down on the stage.

I nod and sit down beside him. “Yup. You know how it goes. One minute, I’m flirting with some girl, and the next thing you know, it’s all over social media and the entire school knows.”

He pats me on the back. Not gentle, more like a slap. “When are you gonna learn to ignore all that noise?”

“Never,” I say, glancing at him over my shoulder. “It’s impossible.”

His brows rise. “Because you play into it.”

“Do they ever write about you like that?” I ask, throwing him the same look back.

He knows damn well it’s a rhetorical question, yet he still answers. “No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to be in the spotlight. I’m in this band too, remember?”

“I know.” Rolling my eyes at his obvious dig. “Forget it.” I avert my eyes.

I can’t say it to his face, so I won’t say it at all … but we’re not alike. People look at him, and they see a cute drummer. People look at me, and they see a rock god. Someone they want to get to know just to feel good about themselves. Not to really know me … but to be popular, and I fucking hate it.

Maybe that’s hypocritical of me.

I’m a douchebag, and I enjoy it most of the time.

But sometimes … I just wish girls would want the real me. The guy underneath all that fame.

I sigh to myself and get up from the stage. Right then, I notice that same girl from the concert, the one I made out with, standing in the room. She’s been watching us … or me … but for how long?

“Wait a minute,” I mutter. Her eyes widen as I march toward her, and she tries to flee, but I’m quicker than she is, and I block the door with my body. “Eavesdropping?”