Jaded (Rock Star Trilogy) Read online

  Mercy Amare

  JADED

  the ROCK STAR trilogy

  book 1

  Copyright © 2013 by Mercy Amare

  Cover designed by Regina Wamba at Mae I Designs.

  http://www.maeidesign.com/

  Cover model: Sara

  Edited by Shane White

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, store in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any forms or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a review who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  If you are reading this book and you have no purchased or won it in an author/ published contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, place, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  More information can be found on the author's website: http://www.mercyamare.com

  Monday, September 1

  Los Angeles, California

  If he weren't my dad, I would fire him.

  “That's it,” I scream, putting my foot down. I am so irritated, I don't even care that I am acting like a spoiled three year old. “I'm taking a break!”

  My manager, Mason Ryan, who also happens to be my dad, spews out his third non-fat latte of the morning all over the desk in front of him. “Stop being dramatic. You're Scarlett Ryan, the hottest thing on the music scene. If you take a break, when you come back, it will be too late. Your moment will have passed and you will be nothing.”

  Maybe I don't care anymore. Maybe I don't want to come back, but I don't tell him this. I'm not ready to have that conversation with him. “I am 19 years old, and I still haven't graduated high school. I've been touring nonstop the past four years. I need a break.”

  “Who cares about high school?” He half-screams at me, but quickly lowers his voice. “You have more money than you know what to do with. Another year or two won't hurt. And you're 19 years old. You don't need a break!”

  I roll my eyes. He has absolutely no clue what I want, or need. I really don't care about the money. I care about the music. But Mason seems to have forgotten this. “This isn't up to you. It's up to me. And I am choosing to take a break so I can finish my senior year of high school. I need to reevaluate my life.”

  “You can finish high school on the road. We'll hire you a tutor. And if you need to reevaluate your life, we'll get you a shrink, or a yoga instructor. You don't take a break during the height of your career! If you do, all that hard work will have been for nothing!”

  He doesn't get it, though I didn't expect him to. He's 47, but acts like he's 20 most of the time. I swear, if he weren't my dad, I would have fired him a long time ago.

  “I need a break.” I use my serious tone of voice with him. I know that he will ignore me, but I need him to know how serious I am. “It's not up for discussion. My mind is made up.”

  With that, I walk out of his office slamming the door behind me, and book the first flight I can out of California.

  Monday, September 7

  Hope, Florida

  6:00 am

  Whatever you do, don't fall in love.

  My alarm clock goes off at an ungodly hour. I start to hit snooze, but then I remember what today is, and sit up. Today is my first day of high school. Which is kind of ironic, considering I am 19 years old, but still, it doesn't make it any less exciting.

  I shut off my alarm, get out of bed, and hop in the shower. After my shower, I blow dry my hair and straighten it.

  My hair is long, like past my waist long. And it's a shocking platinum blonde. The weird part is that it grows out of my head like this. I have always wanted to dye it, any color besides blonde. I hate the color of my hair. But my record company won't hear of it. Apparently they want a rock star who looks like Malibu Barbie.

  Not that I look like a Barbie. Trust me, I'm not that perfect. Don't I wish...

  I'm thin. Almost too thin. I blame it on lack of time to eat. Everything about me is too small, except my man arms, so says Perez Hilton. But I like my arms. They're very muscular... Not like bodybuilder muscles... More like, I help my band carry heavy equipment kind of muscles. You see, just because I'm a rock star doesn't mean I'm too good to help. Besides, setting up the stage is fun. It helps keep me grounded.

  I also have small boobs.

  Well, they're not that small. I wear a B cup, which works for my small body. But apparently the Hollywood sharks don't think so. Gossip blogs tear me apart. They told me I need to get a boob job. No thanks. The day I read that, I cried for an hour straight. The next day my song, I Won't Change for You, hit number 1. Very fitting. I kind of like to think of it as my way of giving a middle finger to the Hollywood sharks.

  I'm also very short. 5'1”. Which sucks sometimes, but most of the time I like being little. It makes me feel girly. Plus, I wear a lot of heels.

  So really, the only thing I have in common with Malibu Barbie is my hair. Oh, and my Barbie dream house. My house in LA is more of a mansion, but I have to admit, I'm not going to miss it. Not even for a second.

  Once I fix my hair, I put on my make up. I always wear it dark, but I decide to tone it down for today. I wear black eyeliner, and mascara. The black makes my blue eyes stand out. I put on light foundation and a little blush to highlight my cheekbones. I smile, satisfied at my reflection.

  I go to my walk in closet. It's very huge. Not as big as my closet in LA, but still, it's bigger than the average sized bedroom. I even have a chandelier hanging in there, and I have to admit it's a bit excessive, but I am a rock star. I deserve a few indulgences in life. My stylist stocked my closet for me, and I swear, I have enough clothes that I wouldn't have to wear the same thing twice for the whole year. But that's okay with me, because, like I said, I am a girly girl, and I love clothes.

  Every outfit is labeled for each day. I pick up the outfit that says “For your first day of school.” My stylist, Monica, wrote a note for me.

  You told me to dress you like a normal teenager, and I did my best. Don't blame me that you look better than everybody else. You are extraordinary, no matter what you wear. Good luck with high school. Go to lots of parties, get drunk, and kiss lots of boys. But no matter what you do: DON'T FALL IN LOVE! (Trust me, high school love sucks, and always ends in heartbreak). Have fun!

  <3 Monica

  I couldn't help but smile. I love Monica! I quickly put on my outfit. I do not look like a normal teenager at all. I'm wearing a pair of five inch, hot pink stilettos, a short green skirt, and a hot pink shirt that hangs off my right shoulder. But I'm not too upset, because I do look good.

  Of course I look good! I'm SCARLETT RYAN!

  7:55 am

  People are ALREADY staring.

  I pull into my new school at 7:55, and people are already staring. Though, I suspect it's because of my car. I'm driving a special edition Lamborghini Sesto Elemento. It was custom made for me. It's black and has hot pink rims. Mason got it made for my nineteenth birthday 2 months ago. Again, I know it's extreme, but it's my dream car, and I love it. I love fast cars.

  I glance in the rear view mirror at myself one last time. I put on my designer sun glasses and get out of my car. I walk boldly, and confidently to the building labeled “ADMINISTRATION”.

  I feel good as I walk. I can do this. After all, I am Scarlett Ryan. I'm about to open the door when so
mebody else pushes it open. Me and other person have a head on collision. Well, more like a head/ chest collision. The person towers over me by at least six inches, even in my heels. I start to stumble backwards, but a hand reaches out and grabs my arm to help steady me.

  Smooth, Scarlett. Real smooth.

  “I'm sorry. Are you ok?” the deep voice asks.

  I look up into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Like seriously, this guy puts THOR to shame. And I'm beginning to wonder if he is a god, because I swear, I just lost the ability to talk. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

  What is this strange feeling?

  Oh god, I'm NERVOUS. Seriously?

  I take a deep breath and silently scold myself. I've met celebrities, yet I can't handle a teenage boy? I push my sun glasses to the top of my head. “I'm fine, thank you.”

  He looks at me like he knows me, but can't quite figure out who I am. I'm hoping I can avoid the awkward 'Oh my god, you're Scarlett Ryan!' conversation. As if I don't know who I am. “You look very familiar. Are you new here?”

  “Yeah, I'm new,” and then I add, “Sorry, I don't think I recognize you. I'm not from around here.” I know, I'm bad. But I don't want him to know who I am. Not yet, anyway. Maybe I can at least make one friend who isn't obsessed with me. Though, let's face it, that might be difficult.

  “Oh my god!” I hear a voice from behind him. “Scarlett Ryan?”

  And just like that, I am surrounded by a sea of people. People are screaming my name and pushing through to the front, trying to get a glimpse of me.

  I feel somebody grab my hand, and begin to pull me through the growing crowd of people. We go inside the building and quickly step inside the first door on the right.

  I look up to see Thor locking the door.

  Oh, the things I'd love to do with him in this locked room.

  “Who are you? And why are they acting like that?” he asks.

  I stick out my hand. I know that I can no longer hide my identity, so I decide to introduce myself. “I'm Scarlett Ryan. I have won five Grammy awards, I've had 15 number one hits in the past four years, and I'm currently taking a break from music so I can finish out my senior year in peace, and not from the back of a tour bus.”

  He accepts my hand shake. “I hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure the back of a tour bus would have been more peaceful.” He eyes me up and down. “And you look different in person.”

  “Good different, or bad different?” I ask, biting my lip. I can't help but flirt with him. Just because I'm not supposed to fall in love doesn't mean I can't make out with him... Or more...

  Ok, ok, I know what you're thinking. But I'm not a slut. The fact is, I've only had sex with like 10 guys, and I can remember every one of their names. Well, except that one guy, but I was really drunk and he doesn't count. Point is, it could be a lot worse.

  He laughs. “Good different.”

  The bell rings, and he reaches for the door knob.

  “Do you think it's safe?” I ask. Really, I just want to keep Thor in this tiny room a little longer.

  He slightly cracks open the door, looks outside, and then motions me forward. We quickly make our way to the administration office.

  Thor starts to leave, but I stop him.

  “Hey, what's your name?”

  He smiles, then says, “If you want to find out, you have to eat lunch with me.”

  I have to admit, the boys got game. “Then, I guess I'll see you at lunch.” I flash him a seductive smile, and watch him trip over his feet as he leaves the office. I decide at that moment that I'm going to like high school boys. Especially high school boys who look like that.

  9:06 am

  Please don't maul the new student.

  An hour later, I make my way into the school's auditorium. The principal is making a “special announcement”, and I am the subject at hand. I stand beside him on the stage.

  “We have a new student,” the principal starts out once everybody is seated, and I swear I hear excitement in his voice. I want to roll my eyes. He actually asked me for my autograph before we came in here. “And I know you're all excited that the Scarlett Ryan is here, but I ask that you all treat her with respect.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Please, don't maul the new student.”

  I look out, and literally every eye in the building is on me. Even the teachers are staring. Finally, my eyes find Thor's. He looks amused. And I am the source of his entertainment.

  “Do you have anything you want to add, Miss Ryan?” the principal asks me. I almost don't hear him because I am too busy starting at blue eyes.

  “Yeah.” I step to the microphone. “Guys, I'm human. I shit too...” After a short pause, I ask, “Am I allowed to say shit?” Silence is all that answers. “Anyway, I'm going to be here for the rest of the school year. I'm taking a break from touring to finish my senior year. Hopefully we can be friends.” As I step away from the mic, I suddenly feel faint. Did I seriously just talk about shitting in front of the entire high school?

  Real attractive, Scar.

  After the assembly, the principal walks me to my algebra class. When I go inside the classroom, the first thing I see is Thor. The principal asks for a volunteer to walk me to my classes and show me around, and he is the first to volunteer... Of course... I sit down in the empty seat beside him.

  “Will you please tell me your name?” I pout.

  “If I tell you, then you'll have no reason to eat lunch with me. So, no, I'm not telling you.” He turns his attention forward, and I roll my eyes at him.

  Mr. Franks is my algebra teacher. He actually looks nervous as he teaches. I resist the urge to bang my head against my desk. Why can't everybody act normal around me?

  Because you're NOT NORMAL, a voice from within reminds me.

  While Mr. Franks teaches, I have a hard time concentrating. In fact, I'm thinking about the first time I met a celebrity.

  I was 15 years old, and had just finished recording my debut album. I was about to go on tour with Alec Torch, and we were meeting for the first time. I actually forgot my own name! I was so embarrassed. But Alec sat me down and we had a long talk. He gave me the “I shit too” speech and I couldn't help but laugh. We've been best friends ever since. He's very down to earth for a celebrity, and really, he is the one who has kept me grounded. Trust me, it's very easy to lose yourself when people are shouting your name. I'm thankful for him.

  The bell rings, alerting us that class is over, and I panic, realizing that I just dazed out for the entire period. Great... At this rate, I am still going to be repeating my senior year at age 40.

  “Ready?” Thor asks.

  I nod. “You know, until you tell me your name, I am going to refer to you as Thor.” I smile at the creativity of his nickname.

  He stops half way to the door, and looks at me cautiously. “Why are you naming me after a Greek god?”

  “Your eyes. You put Chris Hemsworth to shame. And I would know, cause I went to the movie premiere.”

  “Are you real?” he asks.

  “Last time I checked.” I answer with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.”

  I follow him to my next class, which also happens to be his class. I guess I shouldn't be surprised considering how small Hope High School is.

  Again, Thor sits beside me in my next class. I decide right then and there that this is going to be a long day.

  11:01 am

  And the blonde jokes begin...

  I don't share the following class with Thor. He happily walks me to the door, and says he'll meet me by my locker for lunch.

  “Goodbye, Thor,” I smile up at him.

  “Goodbye, Rock Star.” He shakes his head at me as he walks away.

  I enter Mrs. Borring's class, and can't help but laugh at her last name. I wonder if she really is boring.

  This class is called study hall. When the bell rings, I wait for the teacher to get up or say something, but she doesn't. I watch everybody around
me pull out their books.

  I look at the girl next to me. She's reading a novel, and she looks really into it. I look around me to find somebody who doesn't look preoccupied. Finally, my eyes land on the guy behind me. He's got a look of amusement on his face as he watches me.

  Creep much?

  “Why isn't the teacher... um... teaching?” I whisper to him.

  He leans forward in his desk like he's going to let me in on some mind blowing secret. “Tell me, is the blonde hair natural?”

  I roll my eyes. “Either you're stupid, or you don't watch TV. Everybody knows my hair is natural.” Duh, creeper.

  He smirks. “Feisty. I like it.”

  I glare at him. “So are you going to tell me what I'm supposed to do, or what?”

  “It's called study hall, Blondie. It's where you study.” He looks amused. “Can you even read?”

  And the blonde jokes begin. “I can read just fine, thank you.”

  I turn in my seat, looking forward. I already don't like this guy. I'm about to pull out my phone when I feel a pencil poke me on the back. It's sharp.

  “Son of a bitch!” I yell, rubbing the spot where he poked me, and then instantly cover my mouth. “Sorry,” I apologize to the teacher and the classroom. When everybody looks back down at their work, I turn around in my seat. The boy behind me is silently laughing. “I hate you.”

  He covers his heart with his hands. “That hurts.”

  “Maybe you should stab yourself with the pencil next time. In the heart. That is how you kill an evil being right? A stake to the heart?”

  He actually smiles, and I realize, he has a wonderful smile. Actually, he's kind of hot, even if he is a douchetard. He has bright, emerald green eyes, and jet black hair. It's just long enough to run my fingers through, but not too long where it looks sloppy. He also has dimples, which I quickly decide is a sexy quality in a guy.