Why Me? : A Possessive High School Romance (Young Adult Version) Read online

  WHY ME?

  A Possessive High School Romance

  (Young Adult Version)

  Silva Hart

  Why Me? (Young Adult Version)© 2020 by Silva Hart. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Silva Hart

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  http://www.silvahartromance.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  WANT MORE WHY ME?

  DEAR READER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SILVA’S TITLES

  Chapter 1

  “Go to hell,” I yell over my shoulder as I storm out the front door.

  God, my stepfather is an asshole. He’s a particular peach in the morning when he’s hungover and Mom’s still on her shift at the diner and not around to witness anything.

  I start my vintage black Mustang and feel like hitting something, maybe hitting the road and never coming back. I light a cigarette and inhale deeply before pulling away from the curb.

  The car’s purr soothes me like nothing else can. Left to me in an uncle’s will for a reason I’ll never know, it’s the only nice thing I own. Hell, it’s the only nice thing family’s ever done for me in my entire life.

  I decide to head to the high school after all. The last thing I need is for the truancy officer to pay a visit to the house. Although, if it did happen, Tony sure as hell wouldn’t pull the same shit as last time.

  After that beating is when I started going to One-Eyed Mike’s, an old-school style boxing gym in Northeast Philly. The guys had taken one look at me with my blackened eye and busted lip and welcomed me in as one of their own. It had been a tough love, but I have them to thank for the shape I’m in now. Hell, I’ve even won a few in the bare-knuckle nights they hold every Friday in the basement. The payouts keep gas in my car and clothes on my back.

  I park and finish another smoke while gazing at the anthill of morning activity in front of me. Pubescent kids in button-downs and khakis clutching books to their chest as they joke and laugh with each other. Jocks in tees and jeans trying to out-alpha each other. Giggling girls in short skirts gossiping in groups. They all follow the rules, pay attention, and get good grades. For what? A lifetime of indentured servitude to college debt and a mortgage? No thanks.

  The warning bell rings and everyone scatters. I heave a sigh and drag myself across the macadam to the heavy double doors.

  “Hi, Jett,” a blonde coos at me as she comes out of the front office.

  What’s her name? Who cares? She’s wearing a teal and white cheerleader uniform. I can’t help but notice how the blue accentuates her doll-like eyes. I mumble something and keep moving to homeroom.

  As two kids stumble through the school announcements from the corner television, the etching I started on my desk the first day of school makes some decent progress. This one is turning out pretty good. You can actually tell it’s a vampire biting into a girl’s neck.

  I’m not in the mood to listen to Hackenburg drone on about world history so make my way through the crowded halls to my first period hiding spot. Slipping through the unlocked door of the music room, I breathe in the quiet and throw myself into a chair along the side, out of view of the window in the door. It’s kind of fun to look around at all the different instruments and picture a group of kids struggling to keep time together in a chaotic crash of jumbled music notes.

  The door opens, and I tense. No one’s ever come in here during first period before.

  It’s the blonde. Biting her plump bottom lip and clutching the pink backpack strap slung over one shoulder, she hesitates in the doorway for an instant before coming in.

  Not looking around, she walks to the teacher’s desk in the front of the room, unzips her bag, and starts looking for something in it. Now this wouldn’t be weird if it weren’t for the fact that she didn’t put her bag on top of the teacher’s desk but rather on the floor next to it.

  She bends forward at the waist, keeping her long, lean legs straight. In this position, the short skirt has no hope of maintaining its job as an ass-concealer. Her bare cheeks are practically in my face. A pink lace thong peeks out between the round globes of her perfect ass.

  I stare at this unexpected gift.

  She takes her sweet time looking for whatever it is before slowly straightening and tossing her long, blonde locks over her shoulders. They cascade down her back in a silky waterfall that I suddenly want to wet my hands in.

  Turning, her eyes land on me and she jumps. “Oh,” she says, her blue eyes wide and round. “I didn’t see you there.”

  Right, and my name’s Jesus Christ.

  “Jett, right?” she tries again.

  I nod.

  “I’m Lexi. Lexi Moore. I think we have algebra together.”

  We do? Yeah, maybe I remember seeing her. I don’t know. All the preppy blondes at our school look pretty much the same to me. So far, anyway. This one is starting to stand out.

  “Speaking of algebra,” she continues, as if we’re having a conversation and moves closer to me. “Do you get that degree and exponent crap Thornton is teaching us?”

  “Yeah,” I say. Math has always been easy for me.

  “Ooo,” she practically squeals. “Can you explain it to me? Maybe after school today, if you’re not doing anything?”

  I hesitate.

  “You can come to my house. My stepmom has a dentist appointment and Daddy always works late, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  She’s standing next to me now, batting her over-mascaraed lashes and biting her pink-glossed lower lip in an act of pleading distress. I catch a whiff of patchouli. How trendy of her.

  I’ve heard about girls like this. They’ll throw themselves at you then criminalize you afterward, leaving you to deal with the fallout from a sexual harassment claim while they go get a mani-pedi at the mall with their friends.

  “I can’t,” I hear myself say. It’s incredible for me to turn down an offer such as this, but I’ve learned way too many lessons from the too-good-to-be-true school of life. If it seems like it is, then it is. Every time.

  She pushes her lips out in a pretend pout. “Aw, are you sure?” She twirl
s a lock of gold around her forefinger and cocks her head. Her bedroom eyes bore into mine. A guy could get lost in the depths of those endless aqua pools.

  Her house? Alone? The temptation is real. I waver. “Nah,” I say, breaking eye contact.

  She sighs. “Suit yourself.”

  I watch her hips sashay out of the room and kick myself. God, what did I just pass up?

  But now, my need is urgent. I go into the bathroom and finish the job Little Miss Perky Cheerleader started before lighting a cigarette. Washing my hands in the sink, I try to look in the mirror but have to shake my dark bangs out of my eyes. When was the last time I got a haircut? I gaze into pale gray irises. Kids used to tease me about wearing eyeliner since my lashes are so thick, but they stopped after I almost put Kenny Jenson in the hospital.

  “You going to change your mind?” I ask. The reflection shakes its head.

  I decide to go to English. Mrs. Kroft isn’t too bad on the eyes. She’s older, with two kids in college, but there’s something appealing about her. Maybe it’s the experienced-woman thing that does it for me. Plus, we’re reading The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton. I like how the boys all watch out for each other.

  I have the guys at the gym, but it’s not like we hang out outside of it. Sure, we’re family inside the gym, but outside, we each go our separate way. It’d be nice to have a pack to hang with. I mean, I’m fine hanging alone–most people are a pain in the ass–but, sometimes, it might be fun to meet at the local pool hall or something with a tight-knit group of guys that have each other’s backs.

  After English, as a senior who doesn’t do electives, third and fourth periods are back-to-back study halls. Since I don’t study, I go to the empty gym and take my shirt off to keep it from getting sweaty before shooting some hoops.

  Mrs. Kroft scurries past the open door. In a few moments, she passes the door again, this time walking slower and peering in as she goes by. It’s not too long before she returns. Her eyes devour my torso like it’s made of chocolate-chip cookie and she’s the Cookie Monster.

  Are you naughty, Mrs. Kroft? The thought makes me grin. I picture her coming into the gym, closing the door behind her, and shaking loose that messy bun she always wears on top of her head. I’d take her under the bleachers. I bet her moans would fill the cavernous room like pep-rally applause.

  The bell shatters my daydream. I adjust myself, put the basketball back on the rack, and pull my t-shirt over my head. The idea of going into the bathroom again crosses my mind, but it’s time for lunch of a cigarette in the Mustang before algebra. And Lexi.

  I slouch into class and spot her immediately. Lexi’s face lights up as soon as she sees me. That smile could make daisies bloom in the depths of hell. But why me? Why is she suddenly after me? I’ve never noticed her before, and it’s not like we’ve worked together on a project or even said two words to each other. I can’t put my finger on the reason behind this sudden flirtation, and it makes me uneasy. It feels like some kind of set-up.

  I listen to Mr. Thornton while doodling Lexi’s pink lace, thong-clad ass. It doesn’t turn out half-bad yet still doesn’t do it the justice it deserves. The bell rings, and I mosey into the crowded hallway.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey, Jett.”

  I turn to find Lexi rushing to catch up to me. God, why won’t she leave me alone already? She falls in next to me.

  “Jake Hildeman is having a huge party tomorrow night after the game. He lives over in Shermandale Estates. His parents are going out of town for the weekend.” She pauses to gaze up at me.

  I shrug. What’s this got to do with me?

  “I know you said you’re busy tonight, but if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, I thought you might want to come.”

  I glance at her and can tell from the mischief dancing in those azure eyes and the curl of her glistening lips that her word choice and emphasis were intentional.

  “They’re positively loaded. It’s the party of the year. You’d have so much fun. You have to be there.”

  I picture a bunch of pimply high school kids standing around listening to top forty music and awkwardly holding red Solo cups until they gradually get drunker and drunker and start doing stupid stuff. That’s a scene I can do without. Plus, no one tells me what to do.

  “Can’t,” I say and hope she leaves it at that.

  Of course she doesn’t. “What? Why?”

  Maybe I feel like bragging a little. I don’t know why else I say it, but I tell her, “I have a fight.”

  Those eyes stretch even wider. “A fight? What kind of fight? With who?”

  “A boxing fight.”

  She grips my bicep. “Oh my God, Jett,” she breathes. “You box? Where? I’d love to watch you.”

  One-Eyed Mike would kill me for bringing a high school prom queen into the basement. Why did I even tell her that? I shake my head and pull away from her grasp. “Never mind. It’s underground. I shouldn’t have said anything. But that’s why I’m not coming to the party.” I emphasize the word and lean into her to let her know I’m onto her and whatever little game she thinks she’s playing with me.

  She takes a step back, gazing up at me with a mix of fear and admiration that I’ve seen from people before. “Okay, well if you change your mind …” She trails off as she looks up at me through her lashes.

  I give a curt nod and turn down a side hall, not looking to see if she follows.

  The rest of the day continues in tedious routine. I’m kind of glad I don’t see her again, but that thong is never far from my thoughts.

  At the end of the day, I take my time at my locker. Ever since the school year started, I’ve been cramming tests and worksheets into it, and it’s getting so shit falls out every time I open it. I drag a trashcan over and shovel handfuls of paper into it. It’s not long before the only thing left is the stack of unused textbooks. Shoving the can back to its spot, I amble down the now vacant halls.

  “Oh, Jett,” a voice calls behind me. “Thank God you’re still here.”

  I turn to find Lexi standing outside the girls’ locker room door. She’s holding it open and gesturing for me to come to her.

  “What do you need?” I ask, not moving, somewhat exasperated by her persistence.

  “You,” she says. “Can you help me?”

  I hesitate.

  “Please?” she pleads, biting her lower lip again.

  I’ve always been a sucker for “please” so walk toward her. “What is it?”

  “My locker door is stuck.”

  Seriously? That’s what she comes up with? The look I give her conveys exactly what I’m thinking.

  “I’m for real,” she says. “I need to get something out of it before I go home.”

  I hesitate again.

  “Please, Jett. No one else is here. I need you.”

  I sigh and, despite my better judgment, follow her into the locker room. My Spider-Sense is raising holy hell, and I’m looking around for the trick this has to be. The place is kind of interesting though. I’ve never been in here before. Our lockers are gray, but theirs are a muddy mauve. Powdery and fruity scents of shampoo, shower gel, and perfume hang in the air.

  She leads me past empty rows of lockers before turning down an aisle and stopping in front of a door. “The combination is 8-4-69, but it won’t open. I use it all the time, and it’s never done this before. Can you get it?”

  I twirl the lock and open it with ease.

  “Oh my God, Jett. You’re a lifesaver,” she sighs with theatrical relief.

  I turn to go.

  “Wait,” she grabs my arm. I stop and she steps closer, gazing up at me with those soulful eyes. “How can I thank you?”

  So this is it. The snare. And I walked right into it.

  She trails baby-blue fingernails up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. And my body is suddenly saying, “Sure, why not?”

  Her fingers travel to the top of my jeans. In one swift motion, the button is undone and th
e zipper is down. I close my eyes, helpless in her embrace. Her lips sprinkle my neck with kisses as her other hand snakes under my shirt.

  “Oh my God, Jett,” she whispers, as her hand runs over my rippled abs and across my broad chest. A fingernail traces my pec muscles before trickling lightly down to my hips.

  The girl is an expert, and it’s not long before she’s gotten her way entirely. She sags against me, her arms still around my neck, her breath hot on my chest. I hold her until she pulls away and looks up at me through those artificially thick, dark lashes.

  “Will you wait here while I clean up?” she asks.

  I reach for my jeans without answering. While she’s gone, I dress quickly and slip out the locker room door. Back at my car, I light a cigarette, rev the engine to life, and pull out of the parking lot. She wanted me. She had me. I hope she leaves it at that. I don’t need the hassle of a clingy girlfriend.

  Chapter 3

  I get home to find Mom and Tony sitting on the couch watching TV. I’d think I was in an alternate universe if I found them doing anything else. I walk past the overcrowded coat tree. My coat and sneakers stay with me in my room at all times in case I need to bolt. It’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way.

  My nose clenches shut as I enter the kitchen. The garbage is overflowing. I stuff it down, pull the bag out, and take it to the can at the back of our narrow, chain-link lined yard. Back inside, I put a fresh bag in, then stand and survey the ruined room.

  Unwiped spills dot the yellowing linoleum floor. They just cook and eat all day long then throw their dirty dishes into the sink and pile them on the counters. We have a dishwasher. Why don’t they use it?

  Looking in the fridge, I find a stick of butter on a plate with toast crumbs embedded in it, a case of Old Milwaukee pounders, some lunchmeat, part of a roasted chicken Mom brought home from the diner, ketchup, mayonnaise, and grape jelly. I don’t trust the lunchmeat or the chicken. There are only some ice cube trays in the freezer.

  One cupboard has some boxes of macaroni and cheese, cans of tomato soup, bread, and peanut butter. I hate tomato soup and there’s nothing clean to make the macaroni and cheese in. Inspecting the bread, I’m glad to find it mold free.