Boyfriend from hell fall.., p.1
Boyfriend From Hell (Falling Angels Saga), page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Sneak Peek at Earth Angel
Chapter One
Acknowledgements
About the Author
EARLY APPLAUSE FOR BOYFRIEND FROM HELL
“E. Van Lowe puts a fantastic new spin on the young adult paranormal romance and I for one fell for it hook, line, and sinker.” –Shari Bergquist, My Neurotic Book Affair
“A thrilling suspense/mystery/fantasy book mixed with reality and some romance scenes that will get you hooked up till the end.” –Lalaine Faye, Lalaine’s Fiction Book Reviews
“I always enjoy a fun paranormal YA read, and Boyfriend From Hell by E. Van Lowe certainly came through on both the fun and the paranormal.” –Nicole Etolen, Pretty Opinionated
“Boyfriend From Hell was a great surprise. I didn't know what to expect before reading it but it was a fast and fun read that made me laugh more than once. What made Boyfriend from Hell unique to me was the sometimes tongue-in-cheek tone it had. It's a great YA that's also poking fun at some of the predictable Young Adult clichés. If you like paranormal YA but sometimes find yourself rolling your eyes at the way the characters are acting, you'll love this book too.” –Lisa Choboter, Cold Moon Violet Books
"E. Van Lowe's fluid and masterful writing made this book one that I needed to finish."
–Elizabeth Talbott, Fishmuffins of Doom
“This is the first book in a series and it has me wanting to read more.” –Jessica Manning, Book Loving Mommy
For my son, Latif, who is one of the best friends a guy could have.
Other Books by E. Van Lowe
Never Slow Dance with a Zombie
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9836329-0-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011930613
To request permission to reprint any portion of the book, e-mail chrismeeks@gmail.com and in the subject heading, write the name of the book.
Editor, Christopher Meeks
Book Design, Daniel Will-Harris, www.will-harris.com
Published by White Whisker Books, Los Angeles, 2011
boyfriend
from
hell
by e. van lowe
White Whisker Books
Los Angeles
Chapter One
She was laughing.
That’s what I remember most about that night. It was Saturday. The sun had recently gone down. It was still warm in our old house, but once the sun had finished setting, I knew we’d be slipping into our snuggies. That’s how Januaries are in the desert—hot in the day, freezing at night.
We were seated at the chipped oak dining room table with the mismatched chairs she was so embarrassed for company to see. We were polishing the silver, and my mother was laughing.
We love polishing the silver. It’s a mother-daughter bonding thing we’ve been doing as far back as I can remember. When I was younger we did it in the summer, but since I’d been in high school, we’d been doing it over winter break.
Ours is an antique set dating back to the early nineteen hundreds that my mother got for a steal at an estate sale when I was seven. We go to lots of estate sales, and yard sales, and garage sales. Glendale calls itself the antique capital of Arizona. This distinction allows anyone with anything festering in their attic or garage to drag it out onto their lawn on Saturday mornings and try to palm it off as an antique.
Since my mother loves antiques, you can find us on any given Saturday inside some cowboy’s grungy garage, rummaging through his crap, looking for the real deal. She has an eye for the real stuff, so no one can cheat her out of a bargain. She works for an art dealer. She is also one of my best friends. Well… she was before our lives went to hell in a hand basket. Guess I shouldn’t use that word too freely around here. Hell, I mean.
As we sat polishing away, she casually said, “What would you think of me going on a date?”
“Umm, you mean with a guy?”
“Of course with a guy. A man,” she said, the beginnings of a laugh bubbling out of her. “I don’t have any prospects yet, but I’ve been seeing all these dating sites on TV and thought, why not?” She looked at me trying to read my face.
It was the first time she had mentioned another man since my father had left ten years ago.
“Yeah, why not?” I said through a thin smile, although what I was feeling was… why?
“Why not?” she repeated, soft laughter spilling out of her, like there was some new, long awaited happiness to be discovered, and she was brimming with the possibility of what that happiness might be.
Why not?
#
“I can’t believe your mother’s going on a date,” said Erin.
It was Sunday afternoon. The next day. We were seated at the food court in the Glendale mall, digesting my problem along with a double order of curly fries.
“She hasn’t found one yet,” I countered. “She’s just talking about it.”
I swirled a curly fry into the glob of ketchup on my Styrofoam plate. “Hasn’t she read any of those books or articles about single parent dating? Rule number one clearly states: sneak out behind your kid’s back. Keep us in the dark as long as possible. It’s a good rule.” I popped the curly fry into my mouth.
“In Suze’s defense, she’s just trying to keep the lines of communication open. If she meets someone, it’s going to affect your life, too.”
All my friends call my mom Suze, never Ms. Barnett. That’s how she likes it. I call her Suze, too, but not to her face, never to her face. I tried that once when I was ten, and if looks could kill, I’d currently be pushing daisies. I think it’s cool having a mom everyone can call by her first name—just not me.
“I know you’re only trying to cheer me up, Erin. But telling me my mother might meet somebody is not going to do it.” I swirled another curly fry.
“Hey, your mom’s kind of hot. I’m sure she’ll find lots of dudes who want to go out with her.” This revelation came from my other best friend, Matt. I’ve known Matt since kindergarten, four years longer than I’ve known Erin. He was tall and slender, with a ready smile and shock of fuzzy red hair. He was also an idiot.
“Matt,” Erin said patiently. “Megan doesn’t want her mother going on a date. That’s why we’re having this little meeting. Duh?”
“Oh,” said Matt. He looked from Erin to me, letting her words wash over him.
Matt was not the kind of boy you’d normally expect us to be hanging out with. Aside from the fact that he was IQ-challenged, Matt was a card-carrying member of our school’s in-crowd, dubbed The Poplarati. He was on the varsity football team and the track team. Erin and I were on the debate team and the math team. We were card carrying members of our school’s leper colony. Yet ever since Suze and I arrived in Glendale and moved next door to the Dawsons, Matt has always been a part of my life. I can’t recall a memory that doesn’t have him in it.
“Why don’t you want Suze to go on a date?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? First off, if anyone in my family should be dating, it should be me. I’m fifteen, primo dating age. How’s it going to look if my mother has a boyfriend and I don’t?”
No one answered. The three of us sat in silence, considering my problem.
The mall had recently been remodeled. Several upscale restaurants had been added to the food court, which they now called the dining terrace, as if by changing the name people would forget they were at the Glendale mall. But you could still get a good burger and curly fries, so the change was just fine with me.
“Then why not get your own boyfriend?” Matt said all of a sudden.
That was a no-brainer. “Gee, Matt, let me see. Maybe it’s because it’s social suicide for anyone at school to date a mathlete. And guess what? I’m a mathlete!”
“But you’re cute,” said Matt. Then realizing he’d committed the cardinal sin of complimenting a girl, he looked away awkwardly. “I mean you’ve got the blue eyes, and… the one dimple in your left check, and...” His awkward eyes found Erin . “And you’re cute, too. You’ve got… the thing with your hair.” His voice trailed off as he attempted to be the equal opportunity looks-evaluator.
“Yeah, well, at G.U., geek trumps looks,” I said, disgusted with my situation.
“And that thing with my hair is called bangs, thank you very much!” Erin was equally disgusted, but hers was aimed at Matt.
“Then maybe you should go out with someone on the math team.”
Erin and I stared at him. Matt knew good and well I wasn’t ever going out with anyone on the math team. And it’s not that I’m an elitist or anything like that. I’d just like to go out with a cool, popular guy for once. And if he happens to look like Taylor Lautner, so be it.
The Poplarati have no idea what the rest of us go through. I mean, just because we’re lepers doesn’t mean we’d ever date a leper. Those of us who occupy the lower links on the social food chain have standards too—even higher than The Poplarati—because our boyfriends not only have to be cute, but they also need to have an IQ higher than that of a titmouse. Unfortunately at Glendale Union, hitting the Dating Daily Double (looks and intelligence), is a near impossibility.
“I don’t see what’s the big deal about Suze dating.” Matt was now giving me the stink eye.
“Oh? Would you like to listen to your mother talking about French kissing?” He screwed up his face as the image invaded his thoughts.
“Exactly.”
His expression softened. “But you and Suze are so close. I don’t have that kind of relationship with my mom. I wish I did.”
“Me, too.” Erin was looking at me with the same expression I used on her when I was trying to make her feel guilty about something.
“Come on, guys, she’s my mother,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “Can I really tell her that while we’re snuggled up on the sofa watching Spider Man Three, I’m secretly undressing James Franco with my eyes? Of course not. These things I keep from her for her own good. And likewise, there are things she should keep from me. I don’t care if she wants to go on a date. I just don’t want to know about it.”
That wasn’t exactly true. I did care about her going on a date. But if I told them how I really felt, I’d appear selfish.
Erin reached for the ketchup. “It’s just that you’re lucky to have a mother who’s your friend. The only time my mother ever talks to me is when she’s telling me to clean my room, do my homework, or stay away from boys—not necessarily in that order.” She squirted a big red blob onto her plate.
It was then the answer I was looking for came to me, triggered by something Erin had said. “Hey, remember when your mom didn’t want you riding in cars with boys? She told you horror stories about what could happen.”
“Yeah. That was so lame.”
“Why don’t I do the same thing? I’ll tell her a graphic horror story about some parent at our school who went on a date and was never heard from again. That’ll scare her off dating forever.”
“I don’t like it,” said Erin.
“Me, either,” said Matt. “I think Suze getting a boyfriend is a good idea.”
I ignored both their responses. “Then it’s settled. I’m doing it.”
“Megan,” Erin’s tone turned serious. “If you’re uncomfortable with your mother dating, maybe you should just tell her?”
I shook my head. “You guys have a lot to learn about open relationships.”
Chapter Two
Pythagoras, the famous Greek philosopher, is known for being the first person to demonstrate the theorem that with any right triangle, the sum of the squares of both sides is equal to the square of the hypotenuse: A²+B²=C². What most people don’t know is Pythagoras also stated: “It is evil to eat beans.”
The sad fact that this useless bit of information resides in my brain is one of the many contributing factors as to why I do not have a boyfriend. I’m a trivia junkie. I can’t help myself. Put a useless piece of information in front of me and I will gobble it up like a double cheeseburger with a side of curly fries.
Cute boys like girls who are into fashion magazines and lip gloss, not mathematical equations and trivia. So imagine my surprise when our first day back at school after winter break, a really cute boy walked into the Math Lab.
Don’t get me wrong, cute boys walk into the Math Lab all the time. However, as soon as they discover they’re in a room crawling with geeks, they realize their mistake and make a hasty exit.
I was at the chalkboard with Erin, working through a problem using a logarithm [and trust me, I am well aware that my use of logarithms has solidified my place in the annals of geekdom forever, but humor me here].
“Hottie at three o’clock,” whispered Erin, digging her elbow into my side.
I turned, and there he was, a cute boy standing just inside the doorway. This cute boy was different from all the others who’d come before him. This cute boy was acting like he intended to stay.
“I’m looking for the Math Lab,” he said as he surveyed the room. There were seven of us in all, not including Mrs. Brewster in the back. Five boys who followed the geek dress code to the letter, all the way down to the black socks they wore with their uncool sneaks, Erin, and me.
“Who wants to know?” asked Erin. I swear that girl could go from zero to flirt in six-point-five seconds.
He smiled. It was a confident smile. He had a lot to be confident about. He was basketball-player tall, with jet black hair, and the kind of dark, dreamy eyes you could look into forever. It was obvious from the way he carried himself that he’d been flirted with before. Erin’s question, “Who wants to know?”, would have sent most male mathletes scurrying for cover, but not this boy.
“The future captain of The Glendale Mathletes,” he said in response. His smile widened.
Geoffrey, Tran, and the other math geeks stared up at him from behind their glasses, their faces twisted into tight little knots. G.U’s male mathletes were very protective of Erin and me—not that they’d ever try flirting with us themselves. They had enough trouble just standing next to us without sweating out their undershirts.
“Tran is captain of the mathletes,” I said, adding my two cents, and then I smiled. It was supposed to be a mysterious, seductive smile, but my mouth froze into a toothy grin. I have practiced that seductive smile in the mirror like a zillion times to perfection, and the first time I try using it on a real boy, I wind up looking like the Joker.
The new boy looked at me. “Interesting smile.”
Is that laughter in his eyes? Is he laughing at me?
“You must be Guy,” Mrs. Brewster called from the back of the room. “Welcome to the Glendale Union Mathletes. Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”
“Righteeo.”
At the time, I was happy that a cute boy was joining the mathletes, especially since I was in the market for a cool, cute boyfriend. I didn’t find it strange that a boy so handsome and sure of himself would be hanging around geeks. My mistake.
Chapter Three
With my mother working every day, and me off with the mathletes and the debate team after school, weekday dinners at our house were usually catch-as-catch-can. Take out was the norm. Or sometimes I’d make burgers, or enchilada pie, which was my specialty. But on some evenings, Suze would bring in the fixings for something a bit more elaborate, a meal we could prepare together.
That’s what she did Monday evening. We converged on the kitchen around six-thirty to prepare chicken paprikash, which really isn’t that elaborate. It’s just sautéed chicken in a paprika sauce over noodles.
I knew the reason for this together time was so she could ease into the dating thing again. While I pretended to happily work away, all I could think is that mother-daughter activities like these would come to an end if she found a boyfriend.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me dating, hon?” She said it casually as she sliced the chicken breasts. But there was nothing casual about it.
