Kissing The Hero (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 2) Page 2

  Layne blushed. “Oh, I don’t have anything to worry about there. My love life is non-existent.”

  “Then we don’t have anything standing between us and victory,” Rose said.

  They’d stopped short of the desk where the organizers were collecting the forms and Jenna brushed past them, pushing Lola to the side as she beat them to the desk. “Word to the wise, ladies?” she called over her shoulder. “Keep your eye on the prize.”

  Chapter One

  Layne

  No, no, no! This can’t be happening.

  I looked down at the text from Lola again, willing the words to change. I waited for those hopeful little bubbles to appear, telling me this was all a joke. It was definitely something my best friend would find funny. Lola had a warped sense of humor. Maybe she thought telling me she had mono was some kind of hilarious prank.

  It was almost April Fool’s Day. Perhaps she was just testing out a joke. I typed back a quick response.

  Me: Not funny.

  Lola: Tell me about it. I feel like death.

  Me: Lola, stop! You don’t have mono.

  Lola: Except that I do. Did you know it’s called the kissing virus?

  Me: Gross!!!

  Lola: Says the girl who’s never been kissed.

  Lola: PS - Kissing Mark Jennings was anything but gross.

  Me: Well I hope it was worth it!

  Lola: It wasn’t. I’m really sorry, Layne. I’m devastated I won’t be able to perform with you.

  Me: With me? Um, no. I’m dropping out of the competition.

  Lola: You can’t! Your songs are amazing!

  Me: Too bad you’re the only one who can sing them.

  Lola: Not true. You should sing them.

  Me: I’m the songwriter, you’re the singer. That’s the deal.

  Lola: Fine, then find another singer. Don’t drop out, Layne. This is your dream.

  “I thought it was our dream,” I muttered to myself as I shoved my phone in my backpack.

  The warning bell rang, and students shuffled around me, rushing to their next class. It’s what I should be doing too, but for some reason I couldn’t convince my feet to move. The realization that my dream was dying was still setting in and it made it impossible to focus on even the simplest things, like putting one foot in front of the other.

  I sucked in a panicky breath as I pushed my glasses back up my nose. This could not be happening. It just couldn’t. Because if Lola really had mono, then the last few months of hard work was a complete waste. Without Lola I’d have to drop out of the competition.

  My heart fell, but it didn’t quite hit rock bottom. Perhaps it was because I’d never truly thought I could win. I wasn’t betting against us. Lola was incredible. I thought she had a great chance of winning the singing category, and I knew her voice would give my songwriting an edge, but I’d never truly let myself fantasize about winning the Northeast Regional Scholarship for the Dramatic Arts—or the Diva Scholarship, as we called it.

  Why should I? The world had pretty much decided I wasn’t winner material. And Northwood High reminded me of that on a daily basis. But that’s what happened when you were a band geek in a sea of athletes.

  I wasn’t sad about it. I loved music. It was my life. But in high school, unless you could somehow pull off the rocker look, which I most definitely could not thanks to my glasses and thrift store budget, that pretty much left band geek as my only option.

  I looked down. My red Converse sneakers were dull, just like the rest of my outfit, from my shoes all the way to my boring brown hair.

  “Move it,” someone growled while knocking into me as I stood frozen in the hall.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, tears instantly welling in my eyes as I tried to wrap my head around the next four weeks of high school without my best friend.

  Lola was sunshine. I was a shadow. But without her . . . I was just plain invisible.

  Chapter Two

  Wyatt

  “I’m sorry, can I go back to class now?” I asked.

  “If I could trust you to attend class, I would’ve left you there,” my mother replied astutely.

  She continued to pour over the papers on her desk like they were the most important things in the world. What a joke. Like anyone at this school actually cared about whatever fundraiser she was organizing next. I slumped lower in the cushy office chair and let my head drop back, staring up at the dismal ceiling tiles. I exhaled dramatically, not caring one bit that I was behaving like a petulant child. It’s what she expected.

  “Wyatt, I know you’re disappointed about baseball—”

  That snapped me out of my melancholy. “Disappointed!” I yelled. “Disappointed?” I glared at my mother, who for once was meeting my eyes. “Disappointed is when the grocery store is out of your favorite ice cream flavor, or the movie you want to see is sold out. Disappointed doesn’t even begin to express my feelings about having my last high school baseball season stolen from me.”

  “Darling, I understand your anger.”

  “Do you, Mum? I mean, do you really?”

  “Of course. But accidents happen, Wyatt. There’s no one to blame here.”

  I glared at my ankle boot, anger simmering in my veins. My mother had no idea what this felt like. She’d never worked for anything in her life. She married a rich Englishman, popped out a kid and coasted.

  All she did was convince people to fork over money for her fundraisers and charity auctions. She was good at signing checks and putting her name on things, but she didn’t know what it meant to earn something, to put years of blood, sweat and tears into something only to be told it was over before it ever really began. This was supposed to be the culmination of all my hard work—the payoff. And I’d been cheated out of it.

  “I’m a senior, Mum. I don’t get another chance at this. I’m allowed to be pissed that it’s all meant nothing.”

  “Fine, Wyatt, be upset but do it in class. Your education is more important than sports. The next time I hear you were caught skipping there will be consequences.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What are you going to do, call Dad?”

  “I just might.”

  I almost laughed. The idea of my mother calling my father about anything that involved me was even funnier than thinking she could ever understand what baseball meant to me. I was about to tell her that when the door to her office burst open, a hysterical brunette breezing in.

  “Mrs. Nash, I’m so sorry to do this to you but I have to withdraw from the dramatic arts competition; Lola has mono, she’s out for four weeks, maybe more and I-I can’t do it without her, I just can’t.”

  “Layne, sweetie, take a breath,” my mother said offering the girl a tissue and more sympathy than I ever got. “What do you mean you’re withdrawing?”

  “Lola has mono, she can’t sing.”

  I watched my mother’s face carefully. It morphed from concerned to calculating. This poor girl had no idea who she was dealing with. Maybe the old Special Resource Director was a pushover, but no one told Mrs. Cynthia Nash no. The woman had a solution for every problem—except me, apparently.

  “Layne, just because Lola has to drop out of the competition doesn’t mean you have to.”

  “But—”

  “With Lola out of the competition you’re the only student representing Northwood High. I don’t need to tell you how important this competition is for the school. My charity is contributing a large portion of the scholarship funds.”

  I rolled my eyes. Of course. Mummy dearest doesn’t want to look bad. It was the usual reason she pretended to care about the things that went on here.

  “Besides dear,” she continued, “You already listed the competition on your college applications. If you back out now it could hurt your chances of getting into a good university. Plus, to be frank you could really use the scholarship funds.”

  “I-I know and I hate to let you down b-but I’m not a singer. I only write the songs. Lola does the singing. That
’s why we entered the competition together.”

  “Well, it seems we just need to find you a new singing partner.”

  I cleared my throat. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

  Chapter Three

  Layne

  I startled at the sound of another voice in the room. When I realized it belonged to none other than Wyatt Nash, I wished I actually was invisible.

  Ever since Wyatt transferred to Northwood last year with his James Dean good looks, posh British accent and too-cool-for-school attitude, he became every girl’s desire.

  Well, every girl but me.

  Wyatt Nash was pretty much the bane of my existence and he didn’t even know it.

  Last year he ruined Lola’s prom, which subsequently ruined my prom too because Lola was too devastated to go. But missing prom wasn’t even what I was so mad about. It was the fact that I’d actually been asked by a boy. Tommy Barnes, the cutest boy in the brass section! It would’ve been my first date. But when I had to cancel last minute thanks to Lola’s meltdown, he told everyone in pep band I was a prude, which only helped my loser reputation flourish.

  I glared at Wyatt, wondering what all the fuss was about. Sure, he was good-looking with his dark, just-rolled-out-of-bed hair, thick lashes, and sultry accent, but did he really deserve all the hype?

  His nickname was Nashanova and I was convinced all the girls in our year would sell a non-vital organ for a date with him, but I just didn’t see it.

  Maybe it was because bad boys weren’t my type. Not that I had a type. Lola loved to tease me about the fact that I’d never had a boyfriend. To which I always responded, ‘how can I when there aren’t any boys left at this school that you haven’t already dated?’

  But that’s why Lola and I worked. She was the Yin to my Yang. Where I was shy and mousy, Lola was loud and shiny. We evened each other out, especially musically.

  I still remembered the first time I heard Lola sing one of my songs. It was at one of our ritual Friday night sleepovers. I think we were in fifth grade.

  I’d gone downstairs to get more ice cream so of course Lola had gone snooping. She’d thought she’d discovered my diary, but in actuality it was my songbook—even more embarrassing than my diary. But when I’d walked back upstairs and heard my words on her beautiful voice, I’d felt nothing but joy.

  And that was that.

  From then on, we’d been Lola and Layne—song sisters.

  That’s why this blow was so devastating. Lola and I had been dreaming of competing for the Diva Scholarship since we were little girls. And this was it—our one shot to compete. The competition was only open to seniors, and Mrs. Nash was right, I did need the scholarship money.

  It was my dream to go to college for music. Without this scholarship, there was little to no chance of that happening.

  Northwood wasn’t a rich kid school, but I still fell well below the financial curve of my classmates. If it wasn’t for Lola, I’d still be getting bullied over my secondhand clothes and bagged lunches.

  That was one of the many things I loved about Lola. Her charisma was unmatched. She was friendly to everyone and she always stuck up for the underdog. When kids made fun of me in elementary school, she had my back. She even told off Candace Kennedy, the playground bully-turned high school mean girl!

  No one picked on me after that. At least not when I was with Lola.

  It’s pretty much what cemented our friendship. It’s also when Lola made the decision to take me under her wing. That’s when we started our Friday night sleepovers, where Lola let me borrow clothes from her colorful closet and taught me how to put on makeup and do my hair.

  I was currently tugging on the ends of my straight brown locks, a nervous habit that seemed to amuse Wyatt. Or maybe he always had that maddeningly smug smirk on his face. I wouldn’t know. I usually tried not to look at him.

  Why would I? He was a jerk. And it’s not like I wanted to catch the eye of a boy like him—or even could

  “Actually,” Mrs. Nash said, drawing my attention back to her. “Wyatt, I think you may be able to help.”

  Chapter Four

  Wyatt

  “Absolutely not!” I snapped. “I’m not singing with her.”

  “I’m right here, you know?”

  “Sorry, no offense,” I said, facing the puffy-eyed brunette.

  I let my eyes roam over her, green band polo down to her too big jeans. She might have been cute behind those big glasses she wore but it was hard to tell.

  I didn’t really know Layne, but I’d seen her around. She was friends with Lola, the cute blonde I’d flirted with briefly last spring. I couldn’t help thinking they made an odd couple. Lola was popular and Layne was . . . well, not. But I didn’t have time to dissect the dynamics of their friendship. I needed to stop my mother before she got rolling. Once she got an idea in her head it was almost impossible to stop. Nipping it in the bud was my only hope.

  I turned back to face her. “I’m sorry, but I’m not joining some ridiculous singing competition just because you’re sponsoring it, Mum. Find someone else.”

  “Can he even sing?” Layne asked.

  “Of course,” my mother answered, as if I weren’t even there.

  I butted in. “Excuse me, I said no. And singing in the shower doesn’t count, Mum.”

  “Of course it does, darling. Music is in your blood.”

  I huffed a bitter laugh and hobbled toward the door on my awkward walking boot. Escape was my only option now. If I stayed in this room a moment longer who knew what else my mother would commit me to. Although, if I left, I might be making it easier for her to speak for me. I hesitated, my hand resting on the doorknob when my mother spoke again.

  “Layne,” she said. “Please wait outside a moment while I speak with my son.”

  I stepped aside to let the mousy girl out the door.

  When I turned to face my mother, I leveled her with an irritable glare. “I’m not doing it, Mum.”

  “Wyatt, for once can you please just make my life easier? This is an opportunity for you to help someone.”

  “You mean to help you. I know our family is contributing to this contest.”

  “Good, then you know how important it is.”

  “To you,” I argued.

  “You know, you’re part of this family, too.”

  I huffed a laugh. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “Please don’t take your anger toward your father out on me.”

  “He missed my last game! Ever!”

  “Darling, had he known it was your last game, he would’ve been here. You know that.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered.

  “This move has required sacrifices from all of us. Your father wishes he was here more, but his offices are in New York and London and my parents are here.”

  “Yes, but I don’t see why we all had to move here.”

  “Do we really have to have this conversation again, Wyatt?”

  “Yes! Because it wasn’t a conversation. It was Dad telling me what to do. I didn’t get a choice. I never do and I’m sick of it!”

  My mother exhaled a tired breath and pushed her glasses up into her dark hair. “You’re right. None of this is fair. But life isn’t fair, darling. It’s not fair that my parents are sick. But they are and it’s my responsibility to take care of them. That’s what being an adult means, making hard choices. Maybe you should be grateful that life hasn’t required many from you thus far.”

  I laughed.

  “Is there something humorous about that?”

  “Yeah, Mum. A lot, actually. I know what it means to sacrifice and make hard choices. I’m stuck in the middle-of-nowhere at a school I didn’t want to go to. You forced me to give up my old life and my friends and now I’ve just been forced to give up baseball—the only thing I had left.”

  “Then perhaps you can look at this as an opportunity to find something new to enjoy.”

  “Like singing?” I aske
d sarcastically.

  She shrugged. “You never know. You have the talent. You might like it if you stopped fighting it.”

  I shook my head. “This is my life, Mum. I’m not a child anymore. You can’t make me do this.”

  “You’re right, Wyatt. It is your life and you’re almost eighteen. I can respect your desire to make your own choices. If you want to be treated as an adult, I’ll speak to you like one. As Northwood’s resource director, it’s my job to assist the students at this school. Today I’ve been presented with two students who need support. An athlete and a musician. The athlete is facing an injury which is keeping him from a sport he loves, the musician is facing an obstacle that could potentially keep her from earning a scholarship that will greatly affect her ability to attend college and pursue something she loves. My solution is to pair them together. The athlete would get a much-needed distraction and time to heal, while the musician would get a partner and a chance to secure her future.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, hating my mother’s logic. “Even if I wanted to help, I’m not registered for the competition. Wasn’t the deadline months ago?”

  My mother’s eyes lit up. “You don’t need to be registered. Layne applied to compete in the songwriting category. She just needs someone to perform her songs to be eligible.”

  “Why can’t she perform them?”

  “She could, but she’s made it clear that she’s not a singer.”

  “Neither am I.”

  My mother gave me a trying look, making me regret how freely I sang in the shower. I did love music and I knew I could sing—like she said, it was in my blood, whether I liked it or not. But I liked bands like Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones. I couldn’t sing whatever girlie-pop Layne was probably into.

  Plus, I had a reputation to uphold. And that meant I didn’t go around hanging out with band geeks or joining singing competitions. Without baseball, fitting in at Northwood was going to be even harder.