Bad Apple: Book One in the Bad Apple Duet (Bad Creed 1) Read online

  What’s even more astounding, is this one seems to be the most dangerous of them all!

  His eyes suddenly slide over to mine, catching me staring. He quirks an unkindly brow as if to say, the fuck do you want? I can hear his growly voice in my head clear as day, more like that of someone I’ve known my whole life than someone I’ve spoken to one time. His gaze travels up and down my length studiously, a mask of perfect boredom in place as if he finds me lacking in every way.

  As if I’m the one that’s trash, and he’s the one above me.

  I don’t pull back though. I refuse to glance away. It’s like I just can’t do it.

  Maybe because he’s so different.

  Maybe because he’s the most intriguing thing to enter this town since the first-annual summer carnival a few years back.

  Or maybe because he scares the living daylights out of me.

  I feel someone kick at my shoe, and barely register Steph’s voice as she hisses my name. Which makes me realize, it’s been called more than a few times now. I spin around in my seat, but not before catching the venomous smirk that’s just begun to play at his lips.

  “Present,” I reply extra cheerily, raising my hand up high for good measure.

  Miss Frazier levels me with one of those displeased looks people with some small measure of authority love to give.

  “So pleased you worked up the nerve to answer, Miss St. Clair…” her voice is dripping with disdain as her eyes glide over me like she’s unsure of what type of student I’ll end up being.

  I cringe. Not exactly the pristine first-impression I wanted to make. Not on her, and definitely not on him. It’s his first day, but he walks in here with his head held high, as if he belongs and has been here from birth.

  He’s setting the standard of how he’s to be treated, and exactly what he expects of everyone.

  And I let him snub me in front of my peers.

  Now he thinks he runs the show.

  Oh, how wrong he is.

  Chapter Two

  Ransom

  Just another basic bitch. Nothing new. Nothing I haven’t seen before and certainly nothing I can’t handle. For some reason, disappointment rolls over me anyway…bor-ing.

  My cousins made sure I knew who she was from the moment I moved here at the beginning of the summer. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t blindsided by the girl I hate, but have never officially met. It’s not exactly any doing of hers, but she’s a St. Clair, so—guilty by default.

  “Excuse me.” Her plastic smile is all fake politeness, a signature piece of her personality that her snooty mom has probably made her practice since birth, stressing that Backwoods Barbie show it at all times. No other emotions are acceptable—only positivity and confidence. Not even when someone knocks her feet out of their way, almost making her fall from her chair.

  Still she smiles.

  Still she acts as if everything is just peachy.

  Stupid. That’s what she is. Her big, brown doe eyes staring at me like she’s giving me a chance to apologize, that maybe my day-to-day, genuine personality is some sort of fluke. A miscommunication of sorts.

  Sorry baby-girl, this is all me.

  I’m the villain in this tale, not some side character simply passing through. Spoiler Alert: I’m about to twist up your world like a joint rolled in haste—reckless and seedy—lighting it up and relishing in the bittersweet taste.

  It wasn’t my choice, moving here, living with my grandma and cousins. That choice was made for me by my gold-digging mother. I didn’t mesh with her new, perfect little family. It seems New Stepdaddy didn’t appreciate my sarcastic mouth and inability to conform. I guess I embarrassed him in front of his friends or something.

  So, dear old mom stuck me on a bus and shipped me over to the same old bumfuck, godforsaken town my Pop’s was born and raised in—consequently, the same place he died. She made the choice to rip me away from my sort-of girlfriend, Sienna, and all my boys—my bandmates—tossing me out like yesterday’s garbage.

  Now, here I am…In literal southern hell, and like I said, it wasn’t my choice.

  But you know what choices I do have?

  I can still choose to make the most of it, and I choose to enjoy my time here to the fullest. There may be some ulterior motives in play too, but we won’t get into those yet. Right now, my main focus is her.

  And Step One of wrecking True St. Clair’s world? Dethrone the princess. Rip that cushy pedestal from beneath her toned little ass and ensure when she falls, it’s hard enough for her to break something.

  It’s going to be a long process, but hey, it’s got to start somewhere.

  Why not here?

  Why not now?

  I glare back at her with full-force.

  “If I could excuse you, I would, but a little birdy tells me you’re here to stay. You’ll learn your place soon enough.” The widening of her eyes pleases me, the proof of her sudden fear, that gut instinct telling her she’s slowly losing control of the situation. “Now, I told you once to get the fuck out of my way, and I don’t make it a habit of repeating myself.” My eyelids droop, turning into two barely-able-to-see-from slits. “Consider this your one and only warning.”

  It’s like I watch her face begin to melt, her smile first wavering, then slowly slipping downward, her brows lowering at the same time. Quiet snickers erupt like wildfire, and the princess’s rosy cheeks grow even rosier. I watch for an extra few seconds to make sure the lesson has stuck, and when I’m finally satisfied with the results, I move on to my desk of choice, sliding inside.

  The teacher walks in a minute later, a clipboard tucked under her arm, barely making it through the threshold of the door before the bell. She begins ticking off names, bubbling in the answers as they come, and I slide my I-Pod from my pocket and pop in my left earphone so Old Teach can’t see.

  “Ransom Creed?” She hesitates on the last name, and I almost laugh out loud at the furrow in her brow, the stiffening of her posture. Currently tapping out the beat to a song, my fingers pause, my index lifting in silent acknowledgement. Teach’s eyes narrow my way in annoyance, and Backwoods Barbie swivels her head around to glance my way cautiously. Kind of surprising considering the way I just humiliated her.

  Anything making sense yet, BB?

  Teach—I make a note to try and learn her real name so she doesn’t purposefully fail me—reprimands me for not speaking up or some shit, although, I hardly listen, taking the opportunity to study the girl I’ve only recently decided is my archnemesis. I nod to appease my new teacher, and thank fuck, she carries on with her roll-call.

  But Little Miss Sunshine with the golden fucking mess of curls cascading down her back continues to stare like something is off with her. My gaze slides over her from head to toe. Soft brown eyes with surprisingly thick, dark lashes bore into my own.

  She’s not wearing a heap of makeup like most girls would. Her naturally sun-kissed, flawless complexion is smoother than wet clay still fresh on the wheel. For some reason, that bothers me. I’d prefer she be either real ugly, or real made-up and fake. It’d fit with her personality better.

  Down, down, down my gaze continues to drop. Straight to where a tight, ruffled white top fits snugly against her torso, making it clear she doesn’t have an ounce of pudge anywhere. Lower still to her bright red mini-skirt showcasing some preppy-ass anchor print. Her legs are lean and toned, muscular but still feminine—pretty sure I overheard someone say she was the captain of the cheerleading squad, and it shows.

  Like I said—Basic Bitch.

  Or Backwoods Barbie, BB for short. I won’t even give her the elementary-level respect of calling her by her name.

  There’s nothing unique about her. She’s like any other pretty young thing. Nice to look at if you like them all to be the same, and only until she gets to a certain age. Then what’s left? Nothing that sticks. No personality and no intrigue.

  The only bit of spark about her would have to be the fact she’s not c
owering in a corner or pretending like I don’t exist. She’s acknowledging me head-on.

  “True St. Clair,” the teacher calls.

  What kind of name is True anyway? A fucking lie her piece-of-shit, corrupt daddy came up with to make himself feel better. That pig is probably even dumb enough to think if he names her something like that, none of his shit will touch her.

  Now that’s fucking laughable.

  The teacher calls out a second time. BB, though, clearly in some sort of trance that makes me question whether or not she’s got a few loose screws upstairs, continues to stare at yours truly. A third time teach calls out the name to no avail, and I arch a brow at the idiotic girl right about the time her friend kicks her foot to get her attention.

  She spins around in her seat, her spine straightening as her hand flies up in the air.

  “Present,” she calls out, like she’s starting off a cheer and letting her squad know which one it’s going to be. Fuck, that voice crawls under my skin like an unwanted pest, festering just beneath the surface. Annoying and overtly sweet, just like her appearance.

  I snarl at the back of her head.

  I didn’t have much reason to hate this chick before. Not in the technical sense of the word…but from looks, lack of originality and personality alone, I think I’ve found just cause.

  ~XoXo~

  True

  Thank God it’s only the first day of class, or else focusing would be an impossibility. I can feel his eyes on me for the entire ninety minutes, but I don’t turn around in my seat again. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough for the time being. I couldn’t handle a third occurrence. What’s scary is the fact it’s only first period. I still have three more classes, plus lunch—countless more opportunities to humiliate myself further.

  I already know my schedule by heart but unfold it anyway to give myself something else to focus on. Scanning over it several times, a feeling slight relief settles over me when I’m reminded of the fact my next class is in the music and art building. Ransom doesn’t strike me as the type of guy to be taking any class held in that building. It’d be beneath him. Far too lame for someone who thinks so highly of himself.

  The bell rings and I’m out of my seat in a flash, only stopping once I get to my locker right around the corner from class. Steph is on my heels by the time I’m stuffing my books into my locker.

  “Wowza. What’d you do to the new guy? He hates you. Like, literally hates you,” she points out as if I’m clueless to the fact. Maybe she doesn’t mean for them to, but her words come off accusatory.

  “You don’t say? Gee, I just don’t know how that went over my head, Steph. Thank you so much for enlightening me.”

  With a scoff, Steph flips her hair over her shoulder, arching a brow. “Okay, no need to get snarky. But you have to know what you did to him.”

  “I don’t.” I shrug. “I’ve never met the dude. I haven’t done anything.” My tone is defensive, if not a little standoffish, as I yank my binder for Music Appreciation from my locker and stuff it into my bag.

  “You had to have done something,” Steph prompts as if it’ll magically jog my memory. “People don’t just act that way for nothing.”

  “Apparently some do. I mean, what could I have done to personally offend someone I’ve never even met, Steph?”

  And as if things aren’t tense enough, a gruff voice pipes up from behind me, making the hair on my arms stand on end.

  “Your existence alone offends me.”

  I whirl around, finding Ransom Creed opening the locker directly beside mine, and I’m immediately on edge by his proximity. Everything about him is threatening—black and menacing. No, not just his soul. The dude is literally the spokesperson for the color black. Black lip-ring. Black tee. Black beanie. Black lip-ring. Black combat boots. Black gauges. Black…lip-ring.

  Ugh, why am I drawn to that freaking lip-ring? I don’t even like guys with piercings, and I especially don’t like guys who are assholes. As I continue to stare, a sense of familiarity nudges at the corners of my mind, prodding like tentacles that never quite catch suction and latch on.

  Other than the one sentence, Ransom doesn’t otherwise acknowledge me. Grabbing a plain black notebook—shocker—with a pen shoved into the spiral binding, he slams the locker shut, flicking the dial so that it resets, and stalking down the hallway.

  There was something there, I know it, but now it’s gone before I could grasp it.

  I stand dumbfounded, watching in confusion as he goes. It’s like a black energy surrounds him warning off anyone he comes into contact with—students scurrying from his path like a bunch of rabbits bounding away from a predator. The same predator who apparently is offended by my very existence.

  “See,” Steph nudges me.

  “Again, I didn’t need to be reminded.”

  Strong arms suddenly wrap around me from behind, and I jump just as soft lips press to my cheek only for a quick second before pulling away. Zack.

  “Who’s the new dude?” he asks, taking my notebook from me and stuffing it under his arm like I’m helpless or something. Okay—I know. It’s sweet. But I guess something about me isn’t wired normally because I find all these little things annoying sometimes, and I have a hard time appreciating them like I should.

  I can’t help but wonder, why exactly is that?

  As I’m pondering that question, Steph jumps in and answers the one Zack just asked.

  “Oh, that’s the newest addition to the Creed clan. I guess they’re a tri-pod again. His name’s Ransom,” she sighs dreamily, and I roll my eyes. “Kind of hot, if you ask me…”

  “We didn’t,” I mutter.

  “I bet he knows a lot of dirty tricks,” she continues as if I never spoke.

  Steph has the worst habit of thinking out loud.

  “I actually think I recognized him from somewhere…” Zack states, then turning to Steph, he grumbles, “Maybe you two could hook up and trade your best kept Kama Sutra secrets.”

  Pulling on my hand, he leads me in the direction of my next class. He’s never been a big Steph fan, mostly because he’s afraid she’s a bad influence on me. If he were using any bit of logic, he’d realize he wants in my pants, and I won’t let him. Who better than to plead his case but my free-love enthusiast best friend?

  “Shut up, Zack.” She scrunches her face up at him, before glancing to me. “You said you have first lunch too, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. I’ll see you there.” Throwing her hand up, she bounds down the next hallway we come to, leaving us to ourselves. Except, when you’re popular, you’re never really by yourself.

  “Hey, True! Your outfit is super cute,” one of the freshmen from the JV cheerleading squad—I unsurprisingly can’t remember her freaking name at the moment—compliments as she passes by.

  “Thanks.” I give her a soft smile in return.

  A few seconds later someone else is calling my name.

  “Wow. Did you do something new with your hair over break?” No. Not a thing other than trimming away the dead ends. Mother would have a fit if I changed my signature long, layered, with a side of boring, style. “It looks absolutely amazing! I need to find out who your stylist is!”

  I give the girl, I do happen to know her name—Sadie—another picture-perfect smile, even though the compliment is unfounded.

  “Damn, babe. I forgot to mention how beautiful your hair is. I noticed you changed it up earlier,” Zack decides to add, just in case something really has changed. It hasn’t, I want to scream…but remind me to check myself in the mirror next time I’m around one, because I’m kind of starting to freak out a little bit. Maybe something has gone awry—some freak incident like I washed my hair with shampoo that had accidentally gotten mixed up with a color depositing conditioner during manufacturing and my hair has turned out guacamole green. That would be just my luck on a day like today…

  A minute later we’re reaching the outside door of the Mu
sic and Art department, which happens to fall in the more secluded section of the school. Zack wastes no time catching up on all the lost time we’ve—and by that, I mean he’s—endured this summer. I try to toss him a hasty wave and disappear through the door, but he catches my wrist and pulls me back, pressing his lips to mine ever so softly.

  It’s complete opposition to the possessive way he grabbed my hand, and unsurprisingly, nothing happens. I don’t melt. My heart doesn’t take off in a wild gallop, and my stomach remains completely settled.

  Is this how it’s supposed to be?

  Something tells me it’s really not.

  I don’t even close my eyes when we kiss, and when he pulls away, his lips come close to my ear so he can whisper in confidence, “Have you thought any more about what we talked about?”

  I inwardly cringe. That’s all I’ve thought about. It’s all I’ve obsessed about, but not in the way he’d like for me to.

  I give him a shaky nod. “Yeah, but Zack, I don’t think I’m ready to take that step in our relationship yet…” I start, but he huffs in annoyance, causing me to stop abruptly.

  “What is it?” I ask, although I know exactly what the problem is.

  He shakes his head, his expression tense and clearly aggravated as he adds in a little shrug of the shoulders. He’s like a freaking child who isn’t getting the toy he’s been begging for.

  “Oh, there’s definitely something you want to say, so let’s hear it.” I cross my arms over my chest, tipping my chin back to stare him directly in the eye.

  A second huff erupts from his mouth and his fingers thread through his hair rapidly before dropping back to his sides. “Damn, True. It’s just…we’ve been together for what? A year? And it’s our last year of high-school. If now’s not the time, then when exactly is? I think I’ve been a good boyfriend. You can’t argue that I haven’t. I do all the things a girl would want her boyfriend to do. I buy you flowers. I tell you you’re beautiful. I buy you jewelry. And I’m not saying you owe me or anything…but what exactly am I getting out of this relationship?”