The Bad Boy's Dance

The
B
ad

   B
oy’s

 
 
Dance

A w a t t p a d n o v e l

Copyright © 2015 by Vera Calloway

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Cover courtesy of Noor A.

Fonts used in this work are not the property of the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

This book is dedicated to my Dad. Thank you for indulging my late-night philosophical musings and pushing me to make something of my books. I love you, even when I’m driving you crazy.

“If you’re good at writing, then be the best at it. See that Twilight chick? Make us a million dollars like her and I won’t make you clean your room.”

                                                                                                                -Dad

Chapter One

                          
 
The Schedule Snafu

“Mr. Henderson, I can’t take this class. Please. I’ll take
anything
else!” I groveled. When I’d envisioned the first day of my senior year, being stuck in the principal’s office hadn’t been an option.

Our principal was a middle-aged balding man. You would think he’d at least be more respectful of his age and, er,
heft,
but no. He sat on his oak desk, ignoring the loud creaking of the tortured furniture.

“We’ve gone through the system multiple times, Ivy, and there’s no other fine art available. If you want to graduate this year, you’re going to have to take dance,” Mr. Henderson explained calmly, unaware that he was blowing my world to smithereens.

“Can’t I take a fine art at a community college or something?” I was
this
close to dropping to the ground and wailing like a banshee. Maybe they’d stick me in drama instead.

He groaned, reaching a hand towards his head before realizing there was no more hair up there for him to pull. “No. Undergraduates have priority, not high school seniors. This is final, okay?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. “That’s a bunch of lagoon poo.”

He sat behind his desk, effectively ignoring me. He’d gotten used to my weirdness over the past four years.

The door burst open, and the secretary, Mrs. Bates, comes in. She looked harried and annoyed. Poor woman. I’d feel pretty bad if I had to deal with teenagers and work in this tomb daily.

“Mr. Henderson, the Grayson boy won’t leave! He insists on seeing you right away. Something about his schedule,” she said nervously, tucking a limp strand of hair behind her ear.

Wait…Asher Grayson? No wonder she was so freaked.

Mr. Henderson groaned, rubbing his pudgy hands over his cheeks tiredly. “What is it with the schedule mishaps today?”

I slipped out of the room quietly. I certainly didn’t want to be there when Asher Grayson came in. Nothing had been solved about my schedule issue. I
couldn’t
take dance. Never again.

Relax, you can just not dance. Just stand around and fake it so you pass the class.

That wasn’t a terrible idea. I was busy developing my new scheme when I rammed into a wall.

Well, at least it felt like walking into a wall. It was actually a chest. A very strong, muscled chest.

Great. Just what I needed.

“Watch where you’re going,” Asher Grayson snapped.

On any given day, I would probably cower, or run. I mean, he was
Asher Grayson.
He was the stuff of legends at this school. A hardcore bad boy, he was elected as the leader of the popular crowd once they found out how rich he was. That, and he was devastatingly handsome. I’d done my utmost to avoid that clique like the bubonic plague.

Today, however, I didn’t want to put up with any of this. This was my last year at Darwin High. Sure, going up against Asher Grayson was the same as signing off on your death wish, but my mood was dark and foul after my meeting with Mr. Henderson.

“Why don’t you
move?
” I snapped back. Swallowing my unease, I glanced at his face.

Do not be distracted by how attractive he is, Ivy.

He arched a single brow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Move, please.”

He had the audacity to smirk down at me. “Are you going to make me?”

I didn’t have time for this. My next class started in five minutes and I didn’t even know where the classroom is. I tried to edge around him, but he was a barrier, using his leanly muscular form to block my advances.

He left me no choice. I slammed my foot down on his instep. He inhaled sharply, and I took the chance to make my escape. Hmm. Most guys would be writhing on the ground from that. Asher merely looked like he was bitten by a bothersome mosquito.

It wasn’t until I settled into my biology class that I calmed enough to realize the extent of what I’d done.

Holy cow! Did I physically assault Asher Grayson? I’m so dead!

Maybe Spencer and Paul were right; I was a quack.

Asher Grayson was the resident bad boy. He wasn’t like the posers with coiffed hair and fake black leather jackets either; he was the real deal. Asher had been thrown in juvie for six months for vandalizing a strip mall, gotten in more fights than humanly possible (most of which ended with someone-usually Asher’s opponent- in the ER), and I was pretty sure the rumors that he had a gun in his car and a pocket knife with him at all times were true.

And I’d stomped on his foot.

“Miss Robello, care to share your thoughts with the class?” Mrs. Peters was annoyed that I’d zoned out during her speech again. The first day of school was always the same anyway- a bunch of papers and a chat on class procedure. Rinse and repeat for the next six periods. We’ve been going here for four years, teachers,
we know what to do.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks,” I replied as the class snickered. Mrs. Peters has had it out for me since I was a freshman. I’d accidentally let it slip that her nickname was the Petrie Peters and she still hadn’t forgiven me.

“Summer is over, class. Start acting like students,” she barked.

My next three periods weren’t too bad. None of the teachers were evil, for starters.

The lunch bell rang, and I winced. Stupid bell. Our generation had earphones, headphones, and surround-sound. Did the school really have to add to our deafness with that freaking bell?

The halls were cramped with students struggling to get to the cafeteria. They were like guppies trying to swim upstream. The freshman flocked to each other, huddling in groups, while the sophomores stared miserably at their books, the juniors tiredly paraded to the cafeteria, and the seniors stared in a stupor at their fingernails.

Welcome to Darwin High, ladies and gentleman, home of the hormonally deranged.

“Ivy!” Dana called. She was standing in front of the cafeteria, waving at me. I weaved through the remaining crowd until I got to her. “Caleb is talking to his coach. He said he’ll meet us by the bench.”

Caleb was our best guy friend. He was on the soccer team, so he spent a lot of time a) covered in dirt b) talking to his coach c) chasing after a little white ball.

“I figured. How’s your first day going?” I asked her as we entered the cafeteria. Dana had to raise her voice to be heard over the din.

“Fantastic! Guess who’s in my Lit class?” she gushed.

I elbowed her side and winked. “Could it be a certain Jason Kelly?”

She’d had a crush on Jason Kelly for years. Poor Dana pined away for the oblivious boy. I’d had to control the urge to beat him with a sign that read, “SHE LIKES YOU!” for the past three years. Boys could be so smart, but so oblivious.

She giggled. “Yeah! He sits right next to me. Ivy, I’ve made a decision,” she said as we paid for our questionable lunches.

“That the moon is indeed made of cheese and we’ve been duped to believe otherwise so that the government could take all the moon cheese for themselves because it has healing properties?”

She rolled her eyes. We plunked down onto our usual table. We sat at a table in the back to the far right. Easiest way not to attract attention from the Plastics- the popular crowd. Dana and I went through a
Mean Girls
phase and the moniker for the popular crowd had stuck. It wasn’t our fault we were surrounded by cliché.

The lunch today was disgusting, nothing new there. Sometimes I wondered if the cafeteria women snuck out in the middle of the night, scooped some fungi from the bottom of a lagoon somewhere, and mixed it into our food.

Dana poked at her moldy pizza before dropping her fork and pushing it away. “My decision is that if Jason doesn’t ask me out to Homecoming, I’ll ask him.”

I pumped my fists. “Yeah Dana! Feminist power! Honestly, I don’t understand how Jason’s been able to keep his hands off you for so long.”

Dana was beautiful. She had shoulder length mahogany hair, the coveted hour glass figure, and was petite. Not tall and gawky like me. I didn’t mind though. My awkwardness had made for some really funny memories.

The noise level in the cafeteria lowered. I knew without turning why that was. The Plastics were entering.

Brenda Curtis, with her flawless complexion and model-like poise, was the Queen Bee. Her personality wasn’t nearly as pretty as she was. Think of Bruce after he got a whiff of blood. Brenda’s blood was weakness, and she was way worse than a shark once she caught the scent.
She wasn't a cheerleader; no, she would never allign herself with the poor girls she mocked and ridiculed. She was, quite plainly, a piece of poo wrapped up in designer clothing
.

She was followed by her Plastic cronies. Justin Richards, Tristan Bauer, and Brett Sullivan merely had to look at the unaware freshman sitting on their table before they scrammed. Poor things would probably hide in the library for a week.

Last one to enter? Asher Grayson. His black hair was tousled naturally (probably after beating the snot out of someone), and he was dressed in a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and sneakers. The Plastics parted for him like the Red Sea, and he sat right in the middle.

Their King.

“I’m so glad we’re leaving next year. The Plastics could afford to be knocked a peg or two,” Dana huffed. She hated them personally after a nasty encounter with Brenda.

“They’re all rich, remember?” I pointed out. “They’ll probably mooch off their parents until they get a decent job.”

“Ugh. The world is a cruel place.”

I yawned, stretching my arms over my head. I’d barely gotten a wink of sleep last night. It wasn’t my fault books were so addictive; I had to finish it before I could get anything done.

“Ivy, seriously, are you going to keep dressing like that for the rest of your life?” Dana’s voice was softer now.

What was wrong this time? I’d actually made something of an effort. Long- sleeved white blouse that wasn’t too loose, skinny jeans, and combat boots. I’d had to deliberate for ten minutes with the jeans, but I did wear the contraptions. What, I ask you, is so wrong with sweats and a cartoon T-shirt?

“Dana, I don’t want to talk about it again. Drop it.” I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but I could tell by her flinch it had come out that way.

I sighed and apologized. “It’s just that Mr. Henderson wouldn’t let me change my schedule. I have Dance sixth period.”

“Oh,” Dana said in understanding. She patted my hand. “It’s going to be fine. It’s a high school dancing class. It’s nowhere near the league you were in. Relax.”

Easy for her to say.

That evil bell rang again, signaling the end to lunch. “Don’t forget to meet me by the bench!” she hollered.

Flipping the combination on my locker, I extracted the necessary book for Physics. Dad wouldn’t let me drive my car unless I agreed. He fought dirty. That car was my baby!

No, really, I had a bumper sticker that said,
"Ivy's Baby." 
on it.

The class was mostly empty when I entered, so I made a beeline for a desk in the back. I slumped into the seat farthest from the teacher’s desk and unpacked my books. I wished I was home right now, dressed in my hobo clothes in front of the TV with a bucket of buttered popcorn and M&M’s.

“Everyone please take a piece of paper and pass it to the person behind you,” Mr. Elmore said. When did everyone get here? I hadn’t heard the bell ring. Great. Now I could be going deaf without even knowing it. Next thing you know, I'd be shouting, "WHAT DID YOU SAY!" to a person a foot away from me.

              The door opened and Tristan Bauer, Kelsie Hoff, and Asher Grayson entered. The first two went to explain their tardiness to Mr. Elmore while Asher simply slumped into a seat.

              I slouched farther in my chair. Drat! Curse you to the fiery pits of Hades, Father! This was why I didn’t take classes like these! The stress, the overwhelming homework, and oh yeah, the Plastics were in them
!
It might seem strange, the fact that inherently mean people challenged the confines of their mind, but hey-it takes smarts to be an evil dictator
.
 

              They took seats next to Asher, who was lazily twirling his pen. Every girl in the classroom was watching him dreamily.