Playing The Part: The Rosewoods, #3

By Katrina Abbott

Kaylee Bennett has never felt like she really fit in at The Rosewood Academy for Academic Excellence, but this year she feels even more like an outsider. Life has done a one-eighty for Kaylee and as she returns to the posh school for girls, she can’t bring herself to tell her secret to her friends and definitely not her long term crush, Phillip Carson. Not that Kaylee could ever imagine he would be attracted to a quiet bookworm like her anyway. But then there’s Declan Ryan, the gorgeous exchange student who seems to be interested, until Kaylee finds out his secret and why he might actually be into her, and it has nothing to do with her charm or love of English literature.

To complicate matters, Kaylee gets stuck running the school’s production of Romeo and Juliet, directing both Declan and Phillip with the help of Rosewood’s sexy first year teacher, Mr. Stratton—as if the Westwood boys weren’t enough of a distraction!

Determined to stay away from Declan and make things work with Phillip, Kaylee isolates herself from her friends and hides out in the house of cards she’s built to protect herself, but how long will it stay standing?

Playing The Part is book 3 in The Rosewoods, an exciting new Young Adult series for readers who love fun, flirty love stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Over The Cliff Publishing
• Release date: Apr 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498961905

Katrina Abbott

A survivor of adolescence, Katrina Abbott loves writing about teens: best friends, cute boys, kissing, drama. Her main vice is romance, but she’s been known to succumb to the occasional chocolate binge. She may or may not live in California with her husband, kids and several cats. Taking the Reins is not her first book.  

Book preview

Playing the Part

The Rosewoods, Book 3

by

Katrina Abbott

––––––––

Over The Cliff Publishing, 2014

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

PLAYING THE PART

First edition. April 30, 2014

Copyright © 2014 Katrina Abbott

Written by Katrina Abbott

ISBN-13: 9781497458437

ISBN-10: 1497458439

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Steven,

who loves Febreeze

just a little too much.

The Vomiter Arrives

I, Kaylee Bennett, was probably the first girl ever to arrive at The Rosewood Academy for Academic Excellence on foot. But it was either get out of the cab down the road and hike it with my overloaded backpack and my mother’s giant Bric’s travel duffel, or get the driver to bring me inside the gate and be seen getting out of a cab.

Uh, no thanks.

Don’t get me wrong: I had no issue with taking a taxi from the airport, and truthfully would have taken a bus if one came way out here to the sticks just to save the fare, but being seen getting out of one would have been akin to me banging a huge drum and waving a red flag. And the last thing I needed was to be at the center of a scandal on my first day back at school.

I showed my ID at the front security gate, but the guard was obviously flummoxed over this unprecedented situation: girls don’t arrive by themselves at The Rosewood Academy. Girls are driven in limos and gas-guzzling SUVs with tinted windows. Some have even been known to arrive by helicopter, but I would have bet my life that never, ever in the history of the esteemed school had one shown up alone and on foot.

The limo broke down just off the freeway, I explained, jerking my thumb over my shoulder toward the road. The tow truck is on its way, but I got tired of waiting.

The guard nodded, but still seemed unsure what to do. I could almost see the thought bubble over his head: should he help me with my bag? And if he did he’d be abandoning his post—probably a big no-no in the world of security guarding.

As he reached for his radio to call in reinforcements, I shook my head. I’ve got it. Don’t worry.

He looked at me as if trying to figure out if I really meant it or was being passive-aggressive and would complain to the dean later that I had to hoof it with my own bags, but I gave him a wave and continued on. My bag was heavy, but I could manage. And anyway, after the summer I’d had, I practically had Hulk arms.

I walked past the gate and up the long circular driveway, weaving between the limos and other cars, pretending it didn’t bother me that my parents weren’t here to help settle me in like they had been on past move-in days. Maybe it was just as well, since I didn’t want them answering any questions about my summer. I couldn’t tell my friends the truth. Not yet.

As I rounded the corner and made my way past the manicured shrubbery and the precisely spaced flowers of the ever-perfect landscaping, the grandeur of the main Rosewood building finally came into view. The bricks were covered in vines, giving the school that regal ivy-league look, which I guess made sense since the place was pretty prestigious and only the rich and famous attended. Well, mostly the rich and famous. Some girls got scholarships, if they were smart and very, very lucky.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the huge, intimidating building in front of me. It shouldn’t have seemed so imposing; after all, I’d already spent two years at Rosewood. But this year everything was different. My entire world had changed and I didn’t really fit in here anymore. Not that I’d ever really felt like I did. I mean, my best friend, Celia Thomas, goes here, but other than her I’d always felt like something of an outsider. But now, I didn’t just not fit in, I no longer belonged.

At the end of last year I’d told everyone I was spending the summer on a film shoot in Africa. It wasn’t as huge a lie as it sounds, since I actually was supposed to be there on location with my parents as they shot the film that was expected to be a huge contender for a Palme d’Or at Cannes. That is if the director could pull it off, my mother’d said. Though I could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she’d thought it would be a winner, too.

That was the plan, anyway, when I’d left The Rosewood Academy at the end of sophomore year as the daughter of two very successful Hollywood producers.

But the movie had fallen apart when one of the financial backers had pulled out at the last minute, apparently not buying that the director could pull it off. And then the house of cards began to fall; more and more people abandoned the project and the A-list stars had started suing my parents. Then people realized my mother was robbing Peter to pay Paul, which is common enough practice in Hollywood, but when the movie doesn’t get made and no box office receipts come in, Peter, Paul and Petra (my mother) are left with less than nothing. She’d tried to sue the backer who’d pulled out, but that just meant more and more legal bills, and with nothing coming in, well, you see where this is going.

Not to mention my father’s ‘little problems’ as my mother called them: gambling and cocaine. Not so little when you factored in his Hollywood-sized appetites. She tried to hide it from me, but in their business there’s no such thing as privacy, and the juicier the tale, the faster it spreads. And it’s not like Dad was doing much to hide his downward spiral. At least he was back in rehab now, but my mother was a mess, and who could blame her? There wasn’t much I could do to help, so best just to stay out of the way and keep myself from getting sucked into that life.

So instead of having an amazing summer on safari, I worked in my uncle’s fast food joint in Dubuque, Iowa, making milkshakes and serving artery-clogging food to people for less than minimum wage. If you’ve never worked in a fast food restaurant, let me tell you it only takes a couple of shifts before your pores start to ooze grease and you go around constantly smelling of bacon-cheeseburger, no matter how many times you shower. Don’t even get me started on how eau de greaseburger is like pheromones to old guys in hick towns and makes them hit on you and touch you inappropriately while you’ve got your hands full with stacks of dirty plates.

The best tip I got all summer? Don’t work in a fast food joint. Ever.

But it’s not like I had a choice, since I’d needed a job and a place to stay while my parents tried to put their lives back together.

Thankfully, the summer from hell ended and now here I was, back at Rosewood. Away from my parents and Hollywood and eager to get started on school so I could finally escape the reality of my train wreck of a family.

I blew out a long breath and walked toward the Juniors table to sign in and get my dorm room key, finally looking around to see if I could find Celia. The place was bustling with students and as was tradition, the boys from Westwood were around to help with luggage. It was kind of sexist, but I wasn’t going to argue if some boy was going to come along and offer to carry my bag. And if he was cute, well, even better. After what I’d been through, I deserved a little eye-candy.

And maybe after the long summer, I’d even lost the nickname I’d gotten from those Westwood boys.

Hey look, it’s The Vomiter! I heard from behind me.

I sighed. Or maybe not.

The Elephant in the Room

I turned and found myself face to face with two boys. The one who’d spoken I didn’t know, but the other was Phillip Carson, the boy I’d had a crush on since I’d first seen him at my freshman move-in, two years ago almost to the day. It didn’t even matter that he was dating Harmony Wilson, fellow Rosewood girl; just the sight of him almost made me dizzy.

Phillip made a show of elbowing his friend Get lost, Johnson. Why don’t you go see if Chelly needs your help? he pointed his chin toward Seychelles Spencer, Rosewood’s resident bombshell and freshman coordinator. She stood by the new student table holding a clipboard and giving Westwood boys orders. Boys were always happy to take orders from her. She was the kind of girl who would be easy for other girls to hate if she wasn’t so nice and funny, too.

Johnson grinned and took off. Surprise, surprise.

Phillip turned back and smiled at me. Hi, Kaylee.

It was no surprise he knew who I was, but it still gave me a thrill to hear him say my name. And that he was standing there and seemed to want to talk to me was nearly making me hyperventilate.

Hi, I said back in my special way of being extraordinarily lame.

Good summer? he asked.

No. Worst summer ever, I thought. But it was in that second that I had to decide: keep up the lie or start telling people the truth about me and my family. He stood there, smiling at me while I took him in. He was wearing designer jeans and a Westwood hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, revealing strong, muscular forearms and a watch that probably cost more than a car. He looked perfect, right down to his casually messy brown hair, chocolate eyes framed in sexy dark-rimmed glasses and flawless skin. He was perfection. Very wealthy perfection.

So despite the nagging voice inside my head that was yelling at me to own who I was and not be ashamed of my parents’ failures, which were not my failures, I took the easy road.

My summer was great, I said, pasting what I hoped was a convincing smile on my face. On location in Africa—the trip of a lifetime. How about yours?

He shrugged casually. Slumming in The Hamptons; you know how it is.

I laughed. There was nothing slummy about The Hamptons.

Tell me more about your trip. On location?

I looked at him sideways as he picked up my bag and walked toward the Juniors table. Was he another wannabe? All my life I’d been dealing with Hollywood wannabes trying to get to my parents and not being above using their daughter to do it. They ran the gamut, too: actors, screenwriters, young directors, even novelists who could ‘see their books on the big screen’ if only they could find someone to make it happen.

Maybe I was being cynical, but a lifetime of this stuff, and you get suspicious.

I stopped walking. You know who my parents are? I said, although it wasn’t really a question. Pretty much everyone knew who my parents are, even those who don’t read the trades. Word gets around.

Of course, he said.

I really appreciated him not pretending like he didn’t. I couldn’t even count how many people over the years had tried to get close to my parents through me, claiming they hadn’t even known who my parents are. Right.

You’re not going to audition for me right here, are you? I asked, still a little suspicious.

He cocked his head at me then looked up toward the building. I could, but maybe we should go inside where the acoustics are better? And then he broke into a grin that made my heart flutter.

I exhaled and shook my head. Sorry.

He waved me off. It’s okay. I’m sure you get it all the time.

You have no idea.

Come on, he said. Let’s get you settled in and then you can tell me more about your summer.

Taking a breath, I suddenly wondered at my luck—this guy who barely knew I was alive before was now carrying my bag and wanted to know about my summer. Maybe he was turned on by eau de greaseburger and could smell some residual molecules on me. I looked down at my old Rosewood hoodie and non-designer jeans and thought about my brown hair thrown into a pony. I was travel-dirty and needed a shower and surely wasn’t looking my best, especially since I’d given in to a few too many plates of fries over the summer.

And what about Harmony? A lot could happen over a summer, but they’d seemed pretty serious in the spring. Not that I was going to ask him about it, but the sudden attention from him—a guy so out of my league it was laughable—felt weird.

Don’t question it, I told myself. Just enjoy the attention from this guy while it lasts. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get your first real kiss this year.

~ ♥ ~

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I got to the front of the line at the Juniors table and found they didn’t have any record of me on their lists. It had only been two days before that I’d gotten the phone call from the dean’s secretary, Mrs. Andrews, to tell me I’d been accepted into their full scholarship program. Even getting a flight here (that didn’t cost the entire amount of my summer earnings) had been a scramble.

I turned to Phillip who was still beside me, holding my duffel. I’ll have to go to the dean’s office. You may as well give me that back.

He shook his head. I can at least get you that far. He motioned toward the front doors and then fell into step beside me as we approached the stairs. So did you get to ride an elephant?

What?

In Africa, he said, smirking.

Oh right. Because I was on location. In Africa. I blushed, but tried to make a save. Sorry, I thought you asked if I looked elegant, which was the worst save ever because it felt like I was suddenly fishing for complements. If I blushed any more, my extremities were going to go numb from lack of blood.

He gave me an exaggerated frown as he pulled open the front door and waved me through. I’m not sure anyone looks particularly elegant astride an elephant, but I bet you pulled it off.

Could this guy be any more charming? The girls all thought I was nuts for crushing on him since they were sure he was the one to give me my horrible nickname, but it was unconfirmed. And honestly? If they’d seen him like this, there would never be any question. This guy was the whole package: charming, good looking and fun. What more could any girl want? Rich? Oh yeah, he was that, too.

No, I laughed. I’m not sure I could have pulled it off, but thanks for your faith in me. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to ride one. I did see a bunch, though. And giraffes and lions. It was very cool. But I bet you saw plenty of animals in the Hamptons, I added in my lame attempt to get the topic back to him before I got caught up in my lie.

Yeah, some party animals for sure, he said dryly, taking the bait. But it’s boring. Same old people, same old parties. I think next summer I’ll do something different.

Like get ready for college?

He shrugged. If I go.

Really? You might not go to college?

I’m just not into the academics, you know?

It was a fact that most kids at Westwood and Rosewood came from families that could afford for them to not bother going to college and making themselves employable. Because for these kids, trust fund baby or celebutante isn’t just a label, but a job title. Don’t get me wrong, not all kids here are slackers, but the environment makes it easy for those who are naturally lazy to make a lifestyle out of it. Add in some guilt-ridden divorced parents, easy access to booze, drugs and unlimited funds and you have the perfect recipe for spoiled brat.

So you’re not going to work? I asked, holding my breath because I really didn’t want Phillip to be one of those guys.

He smiled at me indulgently and I feared the worst until he said, Oh I’ll work. I’m not going to be a leech, sucking my parents dry forever. I just want to have some fun first.

We’d reached the dean’s office so I stopped, my hand on the door, psyching myself up to have to talk to the dean.

Does that meet with your approval? he asked when I hadn’t said anything else.

I did a double-take. What?

If I have some fun before I sell my soul to some corporate devil.

You hardly need my approval, I said, flustered at just the thought.

He smiled down at me and rested my bag on the floor before he leaned in close, so close I felt crowded by him, but totally in a good way, if feeling like you’re about to faint can be construed as good. What is he doing? Why is he so close?

I swallowed and tried to get my heart to settle, but it had other plans.

Please kiss me, my entire body screamed, not caring that we were in a busy school hallway in front of the dean’s office, but he must not have been listening and simply lifted his hand and tapped the end of my nose. I like your freckles, he said with a wink that just about took my breath away.

Thanks, I managed to say when he leaned back away from me, proof that there wouldn’t be a kiss. I fought to hide my disappointment despite how irrational my hope had been. I nodded toward the

Reviews for Playing The Part

[Zena · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I didn't quite like the change in the POV but the scenes with "Declan" and the science teacher were nice