This is a three-chapter sample of the published version of 'A Bad Boy Stole My Bra.' The complete book is available worldwide on Amazon (the e-book version is very cheap) alongside adaptations in French, German, Italian, Indonesian and Turkish. There is also an adaptation on Episode: 'It Started With a Bra' and the SPIN-OFF SEQUEL featuring all of the same characters is available on Wattpad: 'The Anti-Delinquent System.'
O n e : Mario Wins Again
"Mario wins again!"
As the cheesy, overplayed music comes to a close and the screen goes dark, I drop my controller into my lap in defeat. Be it the stuffiness of this room or the fact that this is our sixth tournament today, I lost my first game of Mario Kart in months . . . to my eight-year-old brother. I watch through narrowed eyes as Jack catapults around the room in victory, lifting his shirt over his head to reveal his pale torso. Seriously, what is it with boys and showing their chest when they win something? Is it some sort of animalistic display of dominance originating from our monkey ancestors? I can't help but snort in amusement as I consider this. He's such a little show off. My hands dart out to grab him by the sides and I tug him down to tickle him.
"You wish, monkey boy," I scoff. "We both know that I kicked your butt on the other games."
Jack squirms to free himself from my hold, shooting me a glare as he brushes himself down. He hates me tickling him. "Monkey boy? I beat you with Mario, not Donkey Kong."
I'm way too lazy to explain my thought process to him so I just roll my eyes.
"Riley, can you come here please?" Mom calls from downstairs. If it wasn't for the urgency I can hear in her voice, I would probably make more of a scene asking why she can't just come upstairs to me, but she sounds excited about something. There's a spark of vitality in the words that I haven't heard in a while and it intrigues me.
Mumbling my protest instead, I swing my legs from the beanbag and give Jack a warning look with a clear subliminal message: Steal my seat, I steal your life. Of course, by the time I've reached the door, he's already sitting there. Oh, how I miss the days when I had some kind of authority over him.
As I enter the kitchen, I'm hit with the heart-warming aroma that signals Mom's baking: cupcakes and coffee, like the inside of a Starbucks, but much cosier. It's something that I haven't smelled for quite a while, and my sourness at having to walk all the way down the stairs disappears in a second at the sweetness of the nostalgia. I can't help but smile as I see her standing behind the kitchen counter in an apron. She looks up and brushes her hands off immediately. There's icing sugar in the curls of her hair.
"Come and look at this," she says, beckoning, abandoning her half-iced cupcakes. She leads me over to the kitchen window and pulls back the plaid drapes ever so slightly, just enough for me to peek through. Shooting her a look of bewilderment and wondering if this has anything to do with the new geraniums she bought yesterday, I squeeze my head into the gap and look out at the neighbours' driveway. I was expecting a potted plant, so what I see instead surprises me greatly.
We have new neighbours.
Parked next door, in the house that has been empty for almost six months now, is a large removals truck. The giant green anomaly overshadows the small car beside it, and my eyebrows rise further upwards as I watch the family climbing out of the vehicle. A woman steps out first, and reaches into the back to grab a small girl from the backseat. Her dark curls are scraped back into a clasp, and her features are delicate and feminine. It's nice that someone around Mom's age is moving in next door – my mom could use someone to talk to living so close by. The girl the woman carries is around the age of four or five, with the cutest baby face I've ever laid eyes on and two brunette bunches on either side of her head. Adorable.
I'm not sure who I was expecting to see get out of the car next, but it definitely wasn't the alluring, moody boy that I see now. He looks around my age, and from what I can see of his ebony hair and angled jaw . . . he's hot. No doubt the entire population of the student body will completely swarm this one. I can't help but watch as he threads his fingers through his hair, slightly entranced. I'm a bit of a scientific hermit when it comes to the species of 'the hot', so the fact that I have an attractive male now living next door is enough to make my stomach flip.
I pull the drape further to the side, but to my complete horror, the boy's head snaps up at the movement. His eyes latch onto mine as he notices me ogling. Oh. I pull away quickly, bumping back into mum's shoulder. I can already feel a blush burning my cheeks. He must think I'm such a creep. Surprisingly though, by the time I've recovered enough courage to peek through again, he doesn't look affected in the slightest. Bored almost, which reassures me.
Out of fear of being spotted again, I withdraw from the drapes – finally this time – and pull them closed. It was only a matter of time before we got new neighbours, I knew that, but it still comes as a surprise. The house next door is fairly large – a two-storey cream-coloured family house with a front porch and unruly yard. I had grown quite used to it being empty, and definitely never pictured someone of my own age moving in. Mom chortles at my puzzled expression and tucks my long hair behind my shoulders. It warms my heart that she's so excited about this.
"What do you think, eh?" she says. "New neighbours."
I smile half-heartedly, heading over to the fridge. "I haven't seen them around Lindale before. They must be new to town."
Lindale is one of those fairly small, well-kept communities where most people know of each other and the sense of town pride is strong. There's a school for each age group, lots of community fundraisers and with surroundings of dense Oregon forest in almost every direction away from the beach.
My eyes scour the shelves of the fridge, but I'm left disappointed. "No orange juice," I murmur, peering at the remnants of food. All that's left is wafer-thin ham, flavoured water and an old lettuce. Not much I can make there.
Mom shrugs in reply, batting my hand away as I reach for a cupcake instead.
"We need to go shopping, Ma," I grumble. "There's no food in this house."
"The order is coming later!"
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I'm momentarily stunned by that simple action, something that she hasn't done in a long time. It seems like today is going really well for her. Mom and I are similar in more ways than one. Along with our almost matching appearance – auburn curls and fair skin – we're both sarcastic and jokey with an abnormally weird side. Mom only shows her weird side when she's in a good mood nowadays, so when she does, that makes it all the more special.
"So, you felt like doing some baking today then?" I probe, peering over her shoulder as she ices the cupcakes.
Her hand falters slightly as I ask, and she nods. "I missed it. Figured I can't mope for ever." She looks back at me with a small smile.
"Good," I say. "I love you. I'm going upstairs to do some studying." I brush past and grab a lollipop from my sweet jar, just as my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. Amusement curves my lips as I see Violet's particularly horrific caller-ID picture show up on the screen. She and I have a bit of a tradition about how we answer the phone. It takes me only a second to think of an opening line before I pick up.
"Tampax tampons- for your need to bleed. How may I be of assistance?"
"This is no time for jokes, Riley!" Violet replies in a hushed voice. It's only then that I remember that she's on a blind date. Knowing her pickiness when it comes to guys, it's probably going badly. "I'm in the girls' toilets at the moment. Hiding. Stupid period had to come today, when I'm wearing white jeans! Plus, he has the table manners of a complete pig. He spilt water all over me."
"Okay," I snort at my eccentric best friend. "Dry yourself off a bit. If you have a jacket, tie it around your waist and just tell the guy that you have a stomach ache or something. If he's got a brain, he'll take you home."
Violet mumbles in agreement, and I can hear the rustling of her jacket down the line.
"Thanks so much." She sighs gratefully. "And hey, nice line. I better get back out there before he starts worrying. Text me later?"
"I will," I promise, before hanging up.
Violet and I have been best friends since the very beginning of Freshman year. We sat next to each other in our first Math class, where she slapped a jock for making fun of her dyed purple hair. I respected her attitude from that moment onwards. Unlike me, she's gabby and confident and shamelessly herself – she's magnetic. I, on the other hand, am known to be a bit of a dork. Just a little socially awkward, my role in our friendship is often to advise her from afar while she faces the horrors of social interaction.
I head straight back upstairs to my room, and shut the door behind me. My bedroom is my haven, a place I've designed and built up to reflect myself piece by piece. It's not particularly glamorous or artsy, but it's rustic and it feels like home. The entire far wall is dedicated to tacked posters of bands and TV shows. Everything in this room, from the mess of books to the mix of old vinyl records, screams introvert and I love it. My skateboard and old guitar sit propped against the wardrobe, and my double bed complete with Star Wars sheets sits in its usual unruly state just opposite my window. Funnily enough, my window exactly mirrors a window in the neighbouring house, separated only by a couple of metres.
Now that I have neighbours . . .
Oh crap.
I tiptoe towards the window and cautiously peer around the window frame into the room opposite. If my luck is as bad as I estimate it to be, I can't risk being spotted staring at Neighbour Dude again. Sure enough, as my eyes rest on the room opposite, I have to fight to restrain my groan. Of course it's the guy. I guess my drapes will have to remain closed from now on. I tug the purple material further back to see that he's packing away his things. He hasn't noticed me this time, at least. It's only this close up that I realise quite how attractive this guy is. With a strong, chiselled jawline and defined cheekbones, his face appears angular and, dare I say it, sexy. Inky locks curl over his forehead, and his eyes are a deep cobalt.
He turns to face the other way and I snap out of my daze, a little surprised with myself at the fact that I have stared at him so much already. I will be the first to openly admit that I haven't had the best experiences when it comes to boys, so it's really out of the question for me to have a crush. I guess there isn't any harm in looking, but I close the drapes and walk away just to be on the safe side.
Putting on my music, I settle down to do some studying. My grades dropped a lot last year, and I'm determined to get back on track in time for Senior year. Studying is a way to focus my energy so that I feel like I'm actually accomplishing something in my free time. Twenty One Pilots blast through my docking station. I nod my head in time to the music and stare down at the equations in front of me until my eyes blur. I've never been good at Math, and now I'm having to fight my hardest to keep up. Nothing seems to click. I just hope this extra work will be worth it in my final exams next year.
My phone buzzes. It's Violet again.
I escaped from that hellish date! I'll tell you all the details on Monday xx
Don't get distracted by the phone. Ugh go on then. May as well reply.
I type in a hasty message before turning my phone off. No doubt if I didn't, Mom would walk in, see me texting Violet and think I'd been doing that the entire time. We have some major trust issues in our relationship – mainly due to the bowl cut she made me get when I was twelve. Yup, it looked just as bad as it sounds, if not worse.
After a solid hour of studying, I finally finish and it's getting late. I stifle my yawn and begin to get changed ready for bed, ensuring the drapes are firmly closed before I strip. I would not want Neighbour Dude to get more than he bargained for by moving into that room. I don't think that's the kind of first impression I want to make, funnily enough.
I slide into the covers in my pyjama top, frowning as I realise that the music next door is playing pretty loudly. Surely that heavy metal couldn't belong to the mom of a toddler. No, my bet is placed on the boy in the room next door, which would explain why I seem to be taking the brunt of the volume. Judging by the raucous laughter and heavy rock music, Mr Neighbour has friends over. He hasn't even been here for a day, and already he's having a party. If this isn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is.
I sigh, frustrated, and slam the pillow over my head in an attempt to muffle the sound, curling further into the soft sheets and hoping for the best.
Twenty minutes later, I'm still unsuccessful.
Looks like this will be a long night.
*~*~*
I stir to a small sound near by, and groan quietly. The music from next door still hasn't stopped! Can a girl not get her beauty sleep anymore? Blinking to clear my vision, I prop myself up on one elbow and turn on the lamp beside my bed. Light floods the room, and I survey the lit scene quickly, my jaw slackening in surprise at what I see.
I stare wide-eyed at the boy, who seems just as paralysed as I am.
His eyes lock onto mine in shock and we stare at each other for what feels like hours. He's positioned halfway through the window, reaching out towards the opposite sill, with my Minnie Mouse bra swinging in his closed fist.
What. The. Actual. Fudge.