Chapter One
Poppy
The sound of my mother’s keys jingling at the front door interrupts my usual morning routine of rinsing my breakfast dishes. She’s home from her lengthy night shift at the nearby aged care facility. I shove my bowl into the dishwasher and turn to see her eyes on me.
I can already predict what she’s about to say before she even says it. It’s the same thing over and over, like a broken record.
“You’re going to be late?”
Yeah, well, hello to you too, I want to say, but instead of getting into a heated argument with her, I just go with, “Yeah, I know.”
As I’ve grown older, my relationship with my mom is somewhat strained.
When I was nine, my mother kicked my father out of the house.
Whenever I think of him, a heavy wave of sadness crashes upon me, like a dark storm cloud rolling in, casting a shadow over my heart.
Despite not having seen him for years, I miss him, along with the sound of his laugh.
To him, I was his princess, and he was my daddy. He could always make me laugh with his silly stories. He was the best father a girl could ever wish for. He is the reason I have a passion for music.
I have fond memories of the two of us sitting side by side as he patiently taught me the chords on his guitar. He taught me the art of composing music, showing me how to seamlessly merge a melody with lyrics. And then, we would sing the words we had written.
I can still recall the proud look on his face when I totally crushed those high notes.
Too bad my mother couldn’t see what we had before she kicked him out. If she did, maybe he would still be here. But thanks to her he’s not around now, because he left, and I haven’t seen him in years. I guess I wasn’t special enough for him to stick around.
With my mom still standing by the door, giving me a watchful glance, I quickly grab my bag and make my way towards her.
“So, have you made a decision yet?” she asks.
Damn, I was hoping I could get through today without her asking me this again. Always the same fucking question.
“Nope, as I’ve said a hundred times. I have no idea about what I’m going to do when school ends.”
Of course, I know what I want to do. I want to pursue music, but I can’t bring myself to tell her because I know she’ll be livid.
Right before I’m about to walk out the door, I pause.
“Seriously, Mom, stop asking me the same thing every day. Remember, I get to decide what I do. This is my life, not yours.”
Frustration and irritation wash over her face, causing her brows to furrow and her lips to tighten. “Poppy, you have no idea what awaits you beyond these walls. It is important to have some qualifications. Don’t be as useless as your father."
And there it is. It always circles back to him.
She wants me to follow in her footsteps and pursue a career in caring for the elderly, just like she does.
That job is okay, I guess. I mean, the elderly are adorable and everything, but it’s just not my cup of tea.
My true passion lies in music. It’s what my dad passed on to me.
I know that music is a touchy subject for her because of my father. He used to be the lead singer of a band.
One day, when she was ranting about him in front of me, she let slip that he had been unfaithful to her multiple times with his groupies.
That’s why she despises my dad. He shattered her heart into a million pieces.
Talking about him causes her to become mad and sometimes unresponsive.
That’s why I can’t talk to her about my desire to pursue music, because she’ll only dismiss it as if it holds no importance.
I walk out the open door without even attempting to say goodbye to her.
Walking across the front patio, I rummage through my satchel in search of my car keys. When I can’t find them, it finally hits me that I took my shitty Toyota Corolla to the mechanic yesterday afternoon.
Shit. Now I have to catch the bus. The school bus that is full of mean bitches.
The second I step out the front gate, I see the bus approaching. It’s only Tuesday and I’m already confronted with a dilemma. I so desperately want the weekend to be here already.
I’ve got two choices.
Either I can sprint my ass down the street - or I can go back inside and ask my annoying mother to give me a ride to school. But that will only result in another lecture about what I’m doing next year. Yeah, it’s a no-brainer.
Just so you know, I'm not really a runner or anything. I'm definitely not in shape, far from it. But there’s no way I’m dealing with my mom again this morning. Once is bad enough.
I quickly sling my satchel over my shoulder and sprint like a maniac down the street to catch the bus, my feet pounding against the pavement.
I’m sure I look ridiculous. I’m not overweight at all.
And I guess I’d consider myself average-sized.
However, compared to all those Instagram wafer-thin bitches who strive to look like a walking skeleton, people consider me overweight.
So what if I’m not wafer-thin? It just means I don’t follow the crowd. But when it comes to feeling vulnerable, I'm just like any other girl my age, worried about my body, my flaws, and all that stuff. It really hurts my self-esteem when girls, who are more beautiful than me, mock my size.
Every morning, I feel an overwhelming sense of dread as I prepare to go to school. My hate for Eastern High runs deep. Each cruel taunt feels like a bullet piercing my protective shield.
To mask my vulnerability, I adopt a defensive attitude. My words become my weapon, carefully aimed at inflicting the same amount of pain that they have caused me.
I know that this is not the right approach. However, it is the only way I know how to cope.
The bus comes to a halt, and a crowd forms a line, eager to board the bus.
Meanwhile, I still have half a block left to run. I push myself harder, even though I’m already gasping for air. God. I need to get in shape, or perhaps I should cut back on eating those chocolate drops I love so much. Nah, not gonna happen.
As the last person boards the bus, I quickly step on just before the doors close. My heart’s going crazy and I’m breathing weird. Bent forward, with my hands on my knees, I suck in great gulps of air.
The bus driver floors the accelerator and pulls away from the curb. The force of gravity propels me forward, causing me to fall to my knees. My hand automatically shoots out to stop me from falling. The echoes of mocking laughter linger in my ears, then followed by their snide remarks.
Fucking bus driver. I bet the asshole did that on purpose.
And then it suddenly dawns on me: my hand is on someone’s leg. Scratch that, my hand is on their upper thigh. Whew, that was a close call. An inch higher and I’d be touching his cock. Immediately, I retract my hand and lift my gaze. Oh fuck. Of course, it had to be him.
Xander fucking Williams. The absolute heartthrob and self-declared bad boy of the school, with those stunning dark brown eyes that make all the girls go gaga and, uh, you know, feel a little tingly down there.
His cocky grin sends a shiver down my spine, making my throat tighten.
The smile that always gets him what he wants.
It’s no secret that he has hooked up with nearly every girl in our school.
It's common knowledge that he's all about casual hook-ups and not into relationships.
Oh, and don't forget, he's apparently not into kissing.
He basically fucks them and then moves on to the next conquest. Except for Jade and Savannah, who he hooks up with all the time.
But let’s be honest. Jade and Savannah are easy and will gladly ride anything that comes their way.
Despite Xander’s habit of jumping from one hook-up to another, I have to admit I feel kinda stupid sometimes when I catch myself daydreaming about him.
I like to daydream about all the dirty things I'd want him to do to me if he were mine. It’s stupid, I know. Curvy girls like me don’t stand a chance with a hot guy like him. Yeah, but a girl can still dream, right?
Feeling flustered and shaking the idea of Xander out of my head, I stand. A rush of heat creeps up my cheeks as I pull on the bottom of my blouse, tugging it down so no one can see.
Jealousy hits me hard when I see who’s sitting next to Xander. Jade fucking Wilson. My sworn enemy. Also known as an easy fuck. And enjoys giving blowjobs when requested.
And let's not forget, she's the meanest bitch in the school, at least according to me. Her cruel words cut me to the core.
She’s drop-dead gorgeous and adored by everyone.
All girls desire to look as beautiful as she does.
However, she is fully aware of all of it—the way people gaze at her and follow her trends.
The way guys go after her, totally hooked on her oral abilities.
Well, that's my opinion. Why else would they hang around with such a bitch?
However, what truly bothers me is the fact that Xander occasionally spends time with her. She must be really good at it, because why else would Xander be hanging out with her for more than a day? That’s just not his pattern.
I know. I know. You’ve probably already figured it out.
I have a strong fascination with Xander Williams. However, let me assure you, it doesn’t make me some kind of creepy stalker.
I mean, who can resist the charm of admiring something so beautiful?
And let’s be honest, every girl has a weakness for a bad boy.
Xander has been a neighbor of mine for as long as I can remember, living just two doors down.
I have to confess, sometimes I hear him strumming his guitar.
Sometimes I leave my window open and pretend he's serenading me.
I am a bit of a sad sack at times. He is completely unaware of my existence.
But not anymore. From now on, he'll know me as the chick who tried to touch his package on the bus.