The Boyfriend Trick

  First Kisses

  The Boyfriend Trick

  Stephie Davis

  To my parents, who taught me to follow my

  dreams and be true to myself

  Contents

  Chapter One

  I was in the middle of my sixth rendition of…

  Chapter Two

  I eased myself into the flowerbeds, landing softly on the…

  Chapter Three

  My mom laid a major guilt trip on me for…

  Chapter Four

  At my lesson two days later, Miss Jespersen finally made…

  Chapter Five

  I told my mom the truth about what happened at…

  Chapter Six

  Three hours later, I slammed my forehead into the piano…

  Chapter Seven

  My parents and Miss Jespersen filed into the family room…

  Chapter Eight

  At five minutes before six on Friday, Erin’s mom pulled…

  Chapter Nine

  Rafe didn’t let go of me until we got to…

  Chapter Ten

  An hour and a half later, I was lying on…

  Chapter Eleven

  For the whole ride to Mueller-Fordham, from the minute Rafe…

  Chapter Twelve

  Erin called me at eight thirty that night. “So? Did…

  Chapter Thirteen

  By Tuesday night, I was a wreck. I’d practiced the…

  Chapter Fourteen

  I went straight home and sat down at the piano…

  Chapter Fifteen

  Erin was the first to react. “You jerk!” She kicked…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chris and I stopped to grab a drink after about…

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, I woke up to a light knock…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by First Kisses

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  I was in the middle of my sixth rendition of Chopin’s Nocturne Opus No. 9 when a guy caught my eye as he jogged across the parking lot of the Mueller-Fordham School of Music. I stopped practicing the piano so I could watch his dark hair flutter in his face as he ran, his body lean in his jeans and T-shirt. He wasn’t just cute; he was hot with an attitude. In other words: so unlike the other two hundred students at Mueller-Fordham, home of some of the geekiest musical prodigies in the greater Boston area.

  After spring break, I was seriously afraid that included me. Geek, that is. Not prodigy. Not anymore.

  He disappeared around the corner, and I laid my forearm across the piano keys to compare colors. My skin was the same shade as the ivory. I sighed. How could I finish my freshman year in high school like this? My arms were going to be a dead giveaway that I’d had no life this vacation.

  Spending two weeks on a tour of New England with my piano teacher and six other students from the Mueller-Fordham School of Music was a form of torture that should be reserved for serial killers and people who wear ribbon barrettes.

  “Good afternoon, Lily.” My piano teacher, who I’d dubbed Crusty, strode into the private practice room before I could dive under the piano and hide. The rest of the world called her Miss Jespersen. Not Ms. Not Mrs. Miss. As in, I’m, like, one hundred years old and still unmarried because I’m so evil that I suck the life out of any man who comes near me.

  She eyed me, as if she could see the sparkly purple toenail polish hidden under my sensible and completely unfashionable pianist-worthy shoes. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but I still caught a whiff of mothballs.

  Yeah, this was the way to spend my last day of spring break, hanging out with Miss Jespersen instead of at the pool with my friends, checking out guys. Lucky me. According to my parents, being a piano prodigy was a gift. After three years of working with Crusty, it was a gift I was ready to give back.

  She waved a newspaper past my face, too quickly for me to see what it said. “You got a review from your recital in Rhode Island last weekend, along with a photo.”

  “Really?” I snatched the clipping from her hand, then gagged at the picture: my ugly corduroy dress with the white lace collar…and my nose. It looked enormous. And my bun was total old lady style. My gut sank as I saw my name in the caption beneath the photo, spelled correctly and everything. They even got my hometown of Westway, Massachusetts, correct. “What paper is this?” Please tell me it’s the monthly bulletin from the nursing home where I’d performed.

  “The Boston Globe.”

  “The Globe?” I croaked, horror welling over me in cold lumps of misery. “As in, circulation seventy gazillion? As in, delivered to the doorstep of every single house in the state the day before school starts up again?” What if my friends saw this photo? They would totally disown me!

  Miss Jespersen picked up the clipping and read from it. “With some more experience, Lily Gardner has the potential to develop into a fine musician several years down the road.” She set the paper down on the piano and sighed. “Lily, we’ve been working too hard for you to get lackluster reviews like this. A year ago, every review proclaimed you an immediate star. Now you’re reduced to having potential.”

  I bit my lower lip. “It’s not as bad as my picture, at least.”

  “Your audition is in three weeks, but your performance has been declining over the last few months.”

  I felt myself tense up at the mention of that stupid audition. According to Crusty, if I didn’t make it into the secondary school program at the NorthEast Seminary of Music, my piano career would be over. Forever. As would my life. This was my chance to ensure my future, and I was blowing it. If that photo hadn’t destroyed my future already, of course.

  Personally, I was afraid that making it into the program would be the final blow to my life. Starting next year, I’d have to spend four to six hours a day there after school, and all day on the weekends. My social life was bad enough now, but if I made it into the NESM program, it would be dead. The thought of never spending another minute with my friends outside of classes made me sick, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  Miss Jespersen tapped the piano to get my attention. “There’s no passion in your music anymore and without it, you’ll fail at the audition. You don’t want that, do you?”

  I barely resisted the urge to cover my ears and block her out. “I’m not trying to fail,” I said. “I’m trying to play. I’m just so tired.”

  “A top performer doesn’t let something like exhaustion stop her.” She propped the picture of freakazoid me on the piano, so I had to stare at my ugly mug. The cruelest form of torture—next to the two weeks I’d spent on tour, of course. “If I don’t see some improvement in the next week, we’ll need to think about holding you out of classes until the audition so you can devote yourself to—”

  “No!” The only thing keeping me going was the promise of getting back to school and hanging with my friends. “I can handle school and piano, I promise.” I would go insane if she made me spend 24/7 trapped in a room with her for the next three weeks. “I swear, Miss Jespersen. I can do both. I promise.”

  She smiled and nodded approvingly. “That’s the kind of passion I like to see. Put it into your music and we won’t need to talk to your mom about school.”

  I shuddered at the thought of her suggesting anything like that to my mom. Since Crusty had spotted me at an audition when I was eleven, my mom had fallen under her evil spell. I was my mom’s chance to be the piano prodigy that she’d never managed to be. She loaded the guilt on all the time about the opportunities I had that she would have killed for, and Miss Jespersen played on that big-time. Even my dad’s attempts to keep them reined in weren’t always enough.

  “Okay, then, let’s get to work. Make the walls of this room tremble with emotion.”

  “Oh, sure. No problem.” I stared at the sheet music, rested my fingers on the keys, and all I wanted to do was cry. Instead I lifted my chin and started to play. I could feel Crusty’s disappointment after I’d played only three bars and I was about to stop when a light knock sounded on the door.

  “We’re in the middle of a lesson,” Miss Jespersen called out.

  “Come in!” I yelled at the same time, desperate for an interruption.

  The door opened, and the hottie from the parking lot walked in.

  Up close, he looked even better. His dark hair flopped over his left eye, his black jeans had a hole in the right knee, his T-shirt had a sweet cartoon of the band JamieX on the front of it, and there was a small tattoo peeking out from under his right sleeve. He was so not the kind of guy who belonged at the uptight Mueller-Fordham School of Music, but here he was. Barging in on my piano lesson. This rocked.

  He tossed a careless smile in our direction. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to grab a few chairs.”

  Omigosh. He wasn’t afraid of her at all. I sat up straighter and checked him out more closely. Who was he?

  Crusty drummed her fingers on the piano top. “Just be quick, Rafe.”

  Rafe? Totally hot name. I bet he’d never worn a tie in his life. I sighed and leaned on the piano as he hoisted four chairs as if they weighed nothing. Cute and strong. And he had to be at least sixteen. And he was at my music school.

  “Rafe? Are you coming or what?”

  I jerked my head toward the door as a girl strode in. Her chest was huge, her shirt was, like, twenty sizes too small, her hair was long and highli
ghted, and she was gorgeous. I grabbed my photo off the piano and shoved it under my butt.

  Rafe grinned at her. Not the careless smile we’d gotten, but a real smile, one that made his green eyes crinkle. “Can you grab two music stands, Angel? I’ve got the rest of the stuff.”

  Angel? As in her real name, or as in his cute little pet name for her? I decided I didn’t like her.

  “Keep it quiet, please.” Crusty tapped the sheet music in front of me. “Ignore them, Lily.”

  I gaped at her as Rafe and Angel clanged stands together, making Angel giggle and whisper to Rafe to be quiet. As if I was going to play boring classical music in front of them. They practically oozed attitude, and I was so not going to humiliate myself. I mean, it was bad enough that I was wearing Crusty-approved attire and was sitting on a horrific photo of myself. Playing Chopin would be a kiss of death I’d never recover from.

  “Lily. Play.” Crusty pinned me with a glare and I crumbled.

  This was too embarrassing. Please let him suddenly go deaf. I felt my cheeks heat up as I started to play. Rafe glanced over at me, and my fingers stuttered. One dark eyebrow lifted, and I forgot to keep going. I simply stared at him.

  Crusty cleared her throat, and a small smile curved Rafe’s lips. “Go ahead, Lily,” he said.

  “You…know me?” Oh, no. Had he seen my photo in the paper today?

  “Your teacher just said your name.”

  Relief rushed through me and I almost felt dizzy. He hasn’t seen the picture in the Globe.

  He readjusted one of the chairs that was resting on his shoulder. “Don’t let us stop you.”

  There was something slightly mocking in his tone, but there was something else, too. Something that made my belly go all warm and made goosebumps pop up on my arms.

  “Come on, Rafe.” Angel brushed past him, her shoulder intentionally knocking against his, like she wanted me to know that he was hers to touch. “Let’s go.”

  “Right behind you.” He gave me a final, speculative look that had my fingers tingling, then he turned and walked out, yanking the door shut behind him with his foot.

  I sighed, then Crusty tapped my sheet music. “Play.”

  The warmth vanished from my body. But I started to play.

  Crusty sat silent for almost a whole minute, then she shook her head and stood up. She walked out, slamming the door shut behind her.

  I stared at the closed door in shock. She’d never pulled that one on me before.

  She probably wanted to punish me by making me sit alone for ten minutes, contemplating all the ways that I was a failure and was letting her and my parents down.

  And then I was probably supposed to start practicing so when she came back I could prove I was worthy.

  I could do that. Or I could live up to my mom’s constant complaints that I don’t always conduct myself in a manner befitting a piano prodigy….

  It took me all of five seconds to grab my music off the piano, shove it in my backpack, and climb out the window.

  Chapter Two

  I eased myself into the flowerbeds, landing softly on the mulch and a couple of flowers, listening for Crusty coming after me.

  No sound of incoming psycho music teacher.

  I slung my backpack over my shoulder, then started walking toward the back of the redbrick house that had been converted into a music school seventy years ago. I’d hang out in the garden area until it was time for my mom to pick me up. No way was I waiting out front where Crusty would be able to find me.

  I rounded the corner and then stopped as I heard voices coming out an open window. One of them was a male voice that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Rafe.

  Anticipation whirling through me, I picked my way around the well-manicured bushes beneath the window and hid under the sill.

  I could hear Rafe, Angel, and a couple other voices, all guys. They were arguing about something, but I couldn’t tell what. I let Rafe’s deep voice drift over me and chase all the Crusty poison out of my system.

  But when I heard them mention something about a keyboard, I couldn’t resist. I set my backpack on the ground and carefully peeked over the windowsill in true spy fashion.

  Rafe was sitting behind a set of drums, Angel had an electric guitar slung over her shoulder, and two other guys dressed in jeans and T-shirts had their backs to me.

  One of the guys was tuning an electric guitar, and the other had a microphone in his hand. An unattended electric keyboard was sitting in the corner. They were a band! I bet they didn’t have to play Chopin….

  After a couple minutes, I realized they were arguing about whether to start without the missing keyboard player. Rafe was insistent they should wait, and Angel was complaining that Paige was always late and she was tired of it.

  The singer finally told everyone to be quiet and play.

  So cool!

  When they hit the first note, I nearly died. They were playing the new JamieX song! I listened to it on my iPod every night while I was doing homework.

  I sat down in the dirt and leaned against the cool brick, letting the edgy sound wash over me. Yeah, it was a little lacking without the keyboard and the lead singer wasn’t exactly in the same class as JamieX, but it was still awesome. Especially in comparison to the classical sheet music in my backpack.

  I closed my eyes. The beat of Rafe’s drums pounded through my body, my chest vibrating as I sang along. I could sit here for hours and almost forget that there was a freaky piano teacher after me.

  The music stopped, and reality came rushing back.

  “Our music is too keyboard-intensive to do it without Paige,” Angel said. “This is a waste of our time and I’m going home—”

  “No!” I jumped to my feet and threw my backpack through the open window before I even knew what I was doing. I heard a crash and then I set my palms on the windowsill and hoisted myself up. “I’ll play. Don’t stop.”

  All of them stared at me as I fell over the windowsill and did a face-plant onto the floor. I immediately hopped up and faced the room. Total silence. Great. Lily the social klutz strikes again.

  Rafe’s cymbal was on the floor, smashed under my backpack. Oops. “Sorry.” I kicked my backpack aside, righted the cymbal, and turned toward the group. “So, I’ll play keyboard for you.”

  “Who are you?” the singer asked.

  “Lily Gardner, child prodigy on my good days, hopeless piece of dirt on my bad ones.” Donning the confident attitude that I usually saved for recitals, I strode over to the keyboard and peered at it. “So, um, where’s the on switch?” I’d messed around with keyboards plenty of times when I’d stumbled across an unattended one at recitals or in the music school. I could play it no problem, as long as I didn’t mess with the synthesizer part.

  Rafe hadn’t said a word. He was simply staring at me. So I ignored him. A hot guy is one thing. Depriving me of JamieX is another. That trumped everything else.

  “I know you. You were just taking the lesson with Rafe’s aunt,” Angel said. “You play classical and you aren’t even very good.”

  I shot a surprised look at Rafe. “You’re related to Crusty?”

  The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched. “You call her Crusty?”

  “Old Crusty is her full name. Crusty for short.” I hesitated. “Um, do you like her? Because if you do, then I was talking about someone else—”

  “Can you play?” the singer interrupted.

  “If someone would turn this thing on for me.” Gah. Did I sound like a dork or what? What loser couldn’t find a power switch?

  “I’m Chris. The band’s called Mass Attack.” He walked over and flicked the switch on the far left of the keyboard.

  Duh. It had been right in front of me. “I’m Lily.” I pressed a few keys, ran through a few scales, then nodded. “I’m good. Let’s go.” I looked and realized the entire room was still staring at me. “What?”

  “Let her play,” Rafe said.

  Oh, lucky me. The leader of the pack gave me the thumbs-up.