Sweat

By K.B. Andrews

You can belittle us, judge us, and hate us, but you'll never understand us.

I'm forced to live a life that doesn't belong to me.

I'm expected to be the best at everything, get into a good college, and make smart choices.

But what I really want to do is throw caution to the wind.

I want to be free, make mistakes, and live by my standards.

I want Ian Webster.

Ian is the guy I should avoid.

He's a thin line between living my fake life and taking what I want.

You could say we're star-crossed lovers, a modern day Romeo and Juliet, but I say, we're meant to be together despite everyone trying to keep us apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.B. Andrews
• Release date: Nov 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386083795

Book preview

Introduction

Before you read this novel, do me a favor.

Forget everything you think you know. Forget that you’re a grown adult. Forget that you have to get up early for work or that you have responsibilities.

Close your eyes and think back before all of this.

Back when you were young and dying for that first ounce of freedom.

Think about that first love. Remember how crazy it made you? How every emotion was amplified, intense, and passionate. Remember how you felt when you finally got that first kiss from the person you’d been secretly in love with?

Hold on to that.

If you need to be reminded of how strongly you used to feel things, if you want to escape the stress of being an adult, if the blinding passion of young love is what you crave, this book is for you.

However, if you’re always a responsible adult, complain about how stupid kids can be, or don’t understand those of us that will always be young at heart, this book is not for you.

You should probably turn back now

so the rest of us rebels can enjoy!

1

"Y ou have to buckle down, Addison, my dad says as he paces across the hardwood floor, back and forth in front of me. He holds my paper up higher for me to see the giant, red C written on the front. He smacks it with the back of his hand, the sudden noise jarring me from my thoughts. How do you explain this?" His brown eyes are stretched wide, and his brows are nearly touching his hairline they’re arched so high.

I shrug my shoulders and divert my eyes to the floor. I stayed up too late because of cheerleading and all the extra classes you made me take.

My response only angers him. I can tell because his eyes are no longer stretched. Now, they’re squinting and causing tiny wrinkles to form around them. The vein in his forehead is pulsating. Don’t you want to make something of yourself?

I open my mouth, but apparently that was a rhetorical question because he cuts me off. "I put you in those classes, so no college could deny you. I know you’re smart, Addison. You just have to buckle down and get serious."

Buckle down. Pay attention. I’ve been told that my entire life. But what does it really even mean?

There’s no guarantee that working my ass off and getting into a good college will provide me with the life he wants for me. It’s all a gamble. And if I’m going to gamble, it’s going to be for fun, not to appease him.

I don’t want you going out this weekend. He places his hands on his hips and looks down at me with disapproving eyes and a head shake that says it all: I’m nothing more than a failure in his eyes. A waste of space.

My mouth falls open as my eyes jump up to his. But, Dad! Saturday night is the dance!

You should’ve thought of that before you brought home this paper! I want you in that room, studying until you can’t hold your eyes open! Understand?

I take a deep breath, hold it, and release it. Yes, I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest and forcing my eyes to the floor. Once again, I refuse to look at his haggard appearance: disheveled dark hair, bloodshot eyes squinting at me, and every vein in his body protruding as his blood pressure rises. Nobody would know what to think if they saw him like this. He’s a long way from his normal appearance of neatly combed hair, a pressed suit, and smoothed over features.

Now, go to your room and get to it. He points his finger toward the stairs.

I push myself up from the reclining chair and stalk angrily to my room, slamming the door behind me. As I cross the floor to my desk, I turn on my iPod and place it in the speaker, turning the music up as loud as it will go to drown out all thoughts. It blares loudly, but still, the only thing I can think about is how I’m such a disappointment to him. And how, deep down, I really don’t care anymore.

Flopping down in my chair, I sit at my desk and throw my head back, looking at the white ceiling tiles and counting them to calm myself. It’s something I’ve done since I was three years old and made to sit and learn the state capitals along with all the US presidents.

I count, and I breathe, focusing on nothing but controlling my heart that’s pounding with anger. Why was I fortunate enough to get this so-called privileged life? People think I’m lucky because we can afford nicer things: my own car, name-brand clothes, and an expensive college that I’m destined to go to if he has any say in it. And I know, his say is all that matters. Those people don’t know that I’m forced to take every foreign language my school has to offer. Or that I’m in AP calculus, biology, and psychology. I’m also captain of the cheerleading team. I’m on the debate team, dance committee, and student council. To say that I have a full schedule at the age of seventeen is the understatement of the year.

But nothing is ever good enough for my father. I have to be the best at everything. My friends think I just love being in all these things, that I’m a real overachiever. The kids who don’t know me think I’m some kind of super-smart freak. And everyone else, they just think I’m crazy.

The rumble of a motor revving cuts through the music and yanks me from my thoughts. I stop counting and lean forward. Peeking out the window, I see Ian sitting in the driver’s seat of his black, 1974 Pontiac Firebird. The hood is lifted, and all I can see is the gold bird painted on top.

The driver’s side door is open, and his left foot rests on the concrete. He turns off the engine and climbs out, causing my eyes to glaze over as I watch him move around to the front of the car. His shaggy, dark hair hangs down in his eyes, and his loose-fitting jeans cling to his hips. He’s shirtless, showing off his firm six pack and dark happy trail that leads downward, cut off by the band of his blue boxers. He’s tall and thin, but his muscles are hard and glistening with sweat.

God, why is he so sexy? I think my eyes roll back in my head as my thoughts fill with dirty images I’d love to make come true.

Ian Webster is our school’s bad boy. He gets into fights, skips class, and parties like tomorrow isn’t coming. He’s the hookup for fake IDs and scoring weed. He gets bad grades, listens to rock music as loud as it’ll go, and makes every parent worry that he’ll fuck their daughters or ruin their sons by leading them down the wrong path.

The girls dream of one night alone with him. The guys want to be him. And the parents, they want to forget he even exists. People don’t expect much from him. In fact, they’d probably be happy if he ended up in juvie. He’s the dirty spot in our clean little town, and his only purpose is to serve as a bad example. But to me, he means something else.

Freedom.

He does what he wants, when he wants. No one pushes him to do more than he’s capable of, and he isn’t put on a pedestal for everyone to envy. Everyone watches him, but nobody cares. They only watch for their own entertainment, amused when they find something new to start a rumor about.

To me, he’s a complete mystery. I have no idea what’s true and what isn’t. A few of my favorite rumors are:

1. He gets paid to sleep with woman and knock them up—just so they can have a baby as good looking as he is.

2. He started a riot at a rave when he climbed up some scaffolding. Rumor has it, the riot tore the place apart and Ian was found guilty, having to spend an entire summer in a junior detention facility two years ago.

And 3. He steals expensive cars, then dismantles them to sell the parts on the black market.

At seventeen, Ian Webster has made quite the name for himself.

Now that he’s bent over with his head under the hood and I can no longer see him, I turn away from the window and open my laptop to get some work done before my dad comes up and catches me fucking around.

With a heavy sigh, I pull up my school login portal and look over the notes my AP biology teacher posted today. Then I read our newest assignment. I’m trying to force myself to focus, but my mind keeps drifting off to Ian—daydreaming about what it would be like to be with him the way other girls in town have. I’ve heard he’s a monster in bed, and he doesn’t stop until each and every girl is completely satisfied. That he’s magical—his hands and tongue right up there next to unicorns that shit glitter and fart rainbows.

A part of me wants to be a notch on his bedpost, but another part of me is scared that once I taste the freedom he causes me to feel, I’ll never be able to go back to living my boring, forced life.

Ian Webster is a line I shouldn’t want to cross. But I want to cross it. I want to fucking dance on it, revel in it, roll on it, and lick it to claim its mine. Ian is my wet dream. He’s the reason I’ve learned to do things to myself that no guy has—even my boyfriend.

When my alarm goes off in the morning, playing Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers, I drag myself from bed and head straight to the bathroom, thinking about the words in the song, longing to escape this town and everything else holding me back.

As the water warms up, I look at my reflection in the mirror. I stayed up until two A.M. studying. The dark circles under my blue eyes makes it look like I’ve been up for days.

After showering, I curl my long, blonde hair, allowing it to hang down my back freely. I put on a small amount of makeup, just some shimmery-pink lip-gloss, a touch of mascara, and a light blush. Then I pull on my cheerleading uniform. All the girls have to wear their uniforms today for the pep rally in the gymnasium this afternoon.

With each season of sports, our school holds a pep rally. In the fall we encourage the football players, in winter it’s basketball and wrestling, and in the spring it’s baseball, lacrosse, and track. We only cheer for basketball and football, but we have to make an appearance at every pep rally to perform.

My maroon, white, and yellow uniform fits to perfection. The Tigers logo written on the front stretches across my chest, only drawing in unwanted attention. I know I’m bigger than most girls my age, the last thing I want to do is draw attention to it. I’m already the center of everyone’s prying eyes. I don’t need another reason for them to watch me.

I grab my bag and rush down the stairs. See you later, Dad!

Be home directly after school, young lady, he shouts from inside his home office.

I don’t reply as I run out, slamming the door behind me. As I walk down the sidewalk to my Camry parked against the curb, my eyes automatically look at the house next door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ian. His house is just like he is: different from the rest and having a rough exterior. The grass is higher than the home owners association allows, weeds growing up along his porch and sidewalk. The massive trees in his yard have gone years without a trim. And, there are knocked over trash cans on the front curb, not getting put away after pick-up like everyone else’s.

The car that he loves, and treats like a baby, is still in the driveway, but he’s nowhere to be found. I turn my head away as I fumble with my keys. The early spring breeze whips my hair around me, filling my nose with a mixture of my shampoo and all the fresh, blooming flowers thriving in the bright sun.

Despite the beautiful day, a sigh of disappointment leaks out at not getting my peek at him this morning. I climb behind the wheel, picturing his face: cool blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and a strong jaw. I don’t know what it is, but something about him calls to me and always has. It may be the way I’ve caught him looking at me lately: icy eyes glazed over like he’s imagining me the same way I’ve imaged him for years. Or it could be because he’s different from the rest. He doesn’t buy into all the popularity bullshit. Ian does his own thing, and a part of me is jealous that he gets to be himself while I’m forced into this little box of expectations.

When I park in the student parking lot, a crowd of people gathers around my car. These are my so-called friends. There’s Erica, the one who wants to watch me fall, so she can take my place on top. Kristy, the one who’ll blindly follow anyone to get where she wants to be on the social ladder. Sam, probably my only real friend out of the bunch. And then there’s the rest of the cheerleading squad and the flock of football players that seems to follow.

I exit the car, grabbing my bag out of the