Miss Not Together

By Belle Brooks

Meet Hilary Watts: pretty, straight A-student, teachers' pet, goody two-shoes, totally has it all together—and has never been kissed, or even had a boyfriend for that matter.

Meet Grayson Dymicks: badarse persona, new guy in school, just moved in next door, volatile—and a total jerk.

When Hilary finds herself attracted to the very person she shouldn't be, she never imagines all her well-placed Jenga blocks will come crashing down—or that her first ever kiss will be with a boy every girl in school wants for themselves.

Hilary's life is turned upside down and she realises she's not as put together as she thought. Instead, she's as totally messed up as all the other teenage girls her age—but is this a romance destined for a happily ever after or a broken heart?

If you love Beth Reekles and John Green, then you will adore Miss Not Together!

A funny young adult standalone novel by international bestselling author Belle Brooks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMA Publishing PTY LTD
• Release date: Feb 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648377030

Belle Brooks

Born in Australia, Belle Brooks has always had a passion for books and creative writing. She loves exploring the different ways stories can be told through the use of text and in-depth characters. Since she was a child her strong talent and interest in creative writing was evident, explaining that her favourite class in school was English. Despite her love for all things books, she decided the world of advertising and marketing was where she could put her talents to use in the business realm, well that is until now. Belle enjoys creative writing and creating fictional stories that leave a valued message inside the pages.

Book preview

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

ISBN: 9780648377030

Miss Not Together

©2019 by Belle Brooks

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, JMA Publishing Pty Ltd, T/A Obie Books, Po Box 2302, Yeppoon QLD Australia 4703.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights are reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in past in any form. This edition is published in arrangement with JMA Publishing Pty Ltd.

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

Published by

JMA Publishing Pty Ltd

Po Box 2302

Yeppoon Qld 4701

AUSTRALIA

Edited: Lauren Clark

Proofread: K.M. Golland

Cover: Soxsational Cover Art

Formatter: Jaye Cox

A NOTE TO THE READER

This book has been written using UK English and contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday Australian vernacular.

Dedication

To the messed up, confused, and irrational teenage girl who lives inside us all, even when we’re old and grey

Chapter One

Monday

Little Miss Outcast …

Straight-A student.

Teacher’s pet.

Goody two-shoes.

Black and white without a grey area …

Rewind.

Grayson Dymicks. He’s my grey area.

I cock my eyebrow as he walks into the classroom, and I breathe in. The scent of Grayson is the smell of stepping out of the most refreshing shower. His thick charcoal hair scoops across his forehead right above his ocean blue—or are they peacock blue?— eyes. Then his lips twist into a tight red knot.

He turns his attention to me. Why does he always look at me with such disdain? Doesn’t he realise he’s the only person on the planet who can make me lose all concentration and the ability to add one plus one? What the hell have I ever done to him?

Grayson takes a step towards me. His black jeans hang low on his hips. His tight white chesty Bonds T-shirt shows off every single bump that forms his six-pack. Did he glue that sucker to his skin this morning?

He’s not in school uniform; he hasn’t been since he started attending Wickham State High School seven weeks, two days, and twenty-five minutes ago. Yes, I’m counting. Why am I counting? I don’t even know. All I know, is when Grayson walks into the same room as me I lose my equilibrium.

He’s sweet candy for my eyes.

He’s an accelerant for my heart.

He’s intriguing, mystifying, and rough around the edges, with a bad boy persona that comes across when he walks, talks … laughs. And those eyes; I’ve never seen eyes like his.

Hilary, Grayson says, all tyrant-like, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Grayson, I reply, attempting to disguise my attraction to him. I’m failing, because my cheeks are as flushed as the red suit that jolly ol’ Santa Claus wears.

He turns. His back becomes my view, and that ends our entire conversation. It’s the same one we have every morning in science class.

Hey! Watch where ya going, Grayson snipes, stepping to his left as Freddy rushes past him.

Where had Freddy been? Why is he late? My best friend is never late.

I flash my vision from Freddy to Grayson just as Grayson flings his bag across his shoulders, his ripped, broad, oh-so perfectly sculptured shoulders, and then he huffs in Freddy’s direction. Freddy jolts then scrambles sideways like a startled crab until he disappears from my vision.

I’ll give you a lift home after last period, Grayson says in a voice so deep it causes me to skip a breath.

Cool, she says. Amber.

Amber swings her curvy hips as she moves into my view. She turns her head, briefly, just enough to give me her stink eye, and then she flutters her eyelashes like a disco ball bouncing light across a dance floor when she faces Grayson once more. She fake giggles—of course, she does.

Grayson places his hand on her arm. It’s only brief, but enough for her to press her breasts forward like a prom queen waiting for her prom king to lead her up on the stage to be crowned.

Wait for it. Wait for it …

Just as he does every other day, Grayson drops his chin in the direction of Amber’s huge rack.

It’s like a well-rehearsed play.

I sigh then shift my vision to my chest. I can’t help but wonder when these A-cups of mine will grow to C’s D’s, E’s, F’s … something eye-catching like Amber’s. Are big boobs an incentive for the male population when it comes to love? I freakin’ hope not, or I’m screwed. There’s an itty-bitty titty committee, and it appears I’m their president.

Turn to page seventy-two. Mr Montana shifts my attention from my tit evaluation to the lesson at hand. Good old reliable Mr Montana. Hang on, when did he even enter the room? Today, we’re conducting an in-depth study of the periodic table.

Periodic table, okay. I should retrieve my textbook. I don’t. Instead, I stare at my chest again.

Are you seriously going to analyse your lady bumps every day from now on? Is this going to be how we’re going to start our mornings? Hilary, this is getting too repetitive for my liking. There’s a short pause when I swivel in my seat towards the sound of Freddy’s voice. He’s not the boy for you. Freddy’s minty breath rushes past my nose.

Grayson’s just so—

Not your type, volatile, a pig, not part of yours, or should I say our, mapped-out grown-up life plan.

Freddy’s right. Boys are not part of the plan. I have dreams, goals, and the first one on my list includes being accepted to the best university in the country under a fully-paid scholarship, which means Grayson Dymicks needs to stop stealing my freakin’ concentration.

Freddy presses his forehead against mine. The tip of his pointed nose touches the tip of my own nose, and I smile. Things have never changed between Freddy and me. Inseparable since birth. Twins, if you might. Our dads are best friends until the end. Freddy and I are best friends until the end, too. It’s funny how life made sure we were together. We’re like glue and paper; we just belong.

Hil-dary, you’re going to be prime minister of the country. I’m going to be your treasurer, so if you wouldn’t mind getting your shit together, and paying attention to the lesson that’s just begun, I’d be mighty appreciative.

You were late today. A change of topic never hurt anyone.

I know. It happens once in a blue moon. So will you pay attention now?

I’m on it, Freddy Spaghetti.

That’s my girl.

Three words. That’s my girl. I guess, in a way, I am Freddy’s girl. He’s been there for every one of my milestones, even the ones neither of us can remember, like crawling, walking, and potty training.

We have science class, advanced maths, English … and that’s all before first break. It’s a regular roster that ticks by faster and faster each day, and it only ends with the chiming bell signalling school’s out … That’s my cue to swiftly make my way from the school, out of the gates, and to my black hatchback.

My eyes fix to Jerry, the name I bestowed upon my car the day Dad surprised me with it. He has a present waiting for me. A white, sticky, gooey-looking poo present that’s splattered all over his windshield. Not again, Jerry. I take my water bottle from out of my backpack and try to clean up the mess. Major fail. It just smudges into one giant blob.

Is learning how to get shit off your windshield anything a future prime minister needs to contend with? I think not.

I shrug. It is what it is. This is the attitude I plan to take when I lead this country—like water off a duck’s back. Shit happens, in this case, literally, but I can take the crap life throws at me in my stride because I’m a well-rounded, very in-control person. I’m ‘Miss Put-Together.’

Only, it turns out I’m not as put-together as I thought I was, and Grayson Dymicks is about to cause all my well-placed Jenga blocks, the ones I’ve spent years stabilising, to crash down.

Chapter Two

I walk through the front door. Daddy, I’m home, I call, hanging my school bag on the hook just inside the entrance.

In the kitchen, he shouts.

I make my way through the lounge room and into the kitchen where Dad’s pouring orange juice into a pitcher. Steam rises from a plate of scrambled eggs resting in front of him.

Just in time, Little Miss. Little Miss or Little—it’s what my dad has called me for as long as I can remember.

You know I’m seventeen and no longer little, right? I furrow my eyebrows.

You will always be Little Miss to me.

That’s what you always say.

It’s the truth. He smiles. You better eat up. You have swimming squad at four.

It’s the same thing he says to me every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It’s also the same food he prepares for me on those days.

Thank you, Dad. I skip around the centre island and take the plate of food before kissing him on his prickly cheek. You’re the best. You also need to shave.

Don’t I know it, he says.

I walk back around the island and sit on one of the stools.

I love you. His smile is so comforting that every time he flashes one my way, I can feel his undying love.

I love you, too, I reply.

I know, Little. And there’s that smile again. I’m lucky to have a dad like mine. A dad who’s given up his own career to take care of me so I can work towards the life I want. A dad who left the courtroom just so Mum could also pursue her desire, her dream to be a world-renowned journalist. Your mum called.

Oh. I purse my lips. Where is she now? China, Singapore or London?

Maldives.

I see. There’s a fork on the other side of the bench. I stretch my arm out to retrieve it.

Here. Dad grins, sliding the fork into my hand.

Do we know when she’s coming home yet?

It won’t be for at least another week.

I shrug. The same old answer, different day. Mum tramps around the countryside so much it seems I see her less and less. It’s okay, though, because I have my dad, and I’m proud of Mum’s ambition. Maybe it’s why I’m so hungry for such success of my own? Like mother, like daughter.

Little, this is important to your mother.

I know. I’m fine with it.

Are you sure? Your puckered face is telling a different story. It’s okay not to be okay. Dad tips his head to the side. His once short locks have now grown to crazy-homeless-man-bushy, and they bounce by his chin.

I swear on all the textbooks weighing down my school bag that I’m really okay. And Dad …

Yes?

You need a haircut.

And a real job.

I laugh.

Dad bares his gums.

Are you okay, Dad?

I’m absolutely perfect. There’s wavering to his tone. Is he happy?

Dad?

Yes?

It’s okay not to be okay.

Hilary, eat your food. I’m fine. I promise on all the dishes cluttering the sink that being a domestic goddess, or should I say, man-god works for me.

He’s lying. I can always tell when he’s lying because his left eye twitches and the tips of his ears redden in the same way they do whenever he indulges in a glass of wine, just like they are now.

I’ve packed all your swim gear for you.

You really shouldn’t have. I scoop a forkful of egg into my mouth.

I wanted to. Now, I’m going to get the washing off the line. Is there anything you need before I do?

One teeny-tiny favour, I say after swallowing.

Yeees? He draws out the word.

There’s bird poo all over my windshield again.

He drops his shoulders. I’ll wash it off.

You’re the best.

I know. He winks.

No, Dad, you really are the best.

There’s a look