Page 13 of Don’t Love the Boy Next Door (Hotties Next Door #2)

Chapter Eleven

Phoenix

I hardly got any sleep last night, which is probably why I can barely open my eyes. I was up to the wee hours playing game after game after game. LiamC logged off early, but I stupidly thought he might be back.

Really stupid.

I mean, the guy is like my virtual knight in shining armor, but so what?

It’s not like he’s attached to me or owes me anything.

Heck, he probably wanted to play with me to see if I’m at his level and now he’ll ditch the streams. It’s not his type to do that—he’s way, way too sweet. But you never really know.

Not that it matters, anyway. He’s just a stranger.

A stranger I can’t seem to get out of my head.

Last night, I lay in bed for about an hour replaying the conversation we had just a few hours earlier.

He’s so fun to play with, and it’s like we share one brain because we meshed so well together as a team.

He said I was good? When was the last time he checked himself out?

Oh, whatever. I’m being silly thinking about him. He’s from Kansas and eighteen, so he’s probably in college. He wouldn’t be interested in a high school girl. Not that I’m interested in him! He’s just a good friend.

A friend that maybe one day could turn into something more?

No! What the heck am I thinking? Phoenix doesn’t do online relationships. It’s weird, since half my life is online, but I guess I don’t trust who’s behind the screen.

Why does it feel different with this guy, though? I’ve never been as curious and giddy about an online guy as I am about him.

He doesn’t gain anything by sticking up for me. Then why do it?

My alarm blares and I shoot up in bed, my heart beating a million miles a minute.

Darn it. I’m so caught up with what happened last night that I’m like in another world.

I have no idea how much sleep I got, maybe three hours.

I’m so tired I have no idea how I’ll make it through the day.

And the presentation. Shoot. I totally forgot about it.

I’m not going to think about my jerk of a partner. After today, I’ll never talk to him again.

I sluggishly get dressed and find my parents and siblings in the kitchen. The place is a madhouse like every morning, with Mom cooking breakfast and Dad making sure all the kids have their school stuffed packed.

I’m like a zombie as I sit down and force some food down my throat.

Dad glances up at me from where he’s helping the kids get ready. “You look like you hardly got any sleep last night.”

Stifling a yawn, I try to eat, but I’m too tired even for that. Which is weird because I love food.

“Phoenix?” he says.

I yawn again. “Yeah, I didn’t really sleep much.”

Mom comes to join us at the table, while my siblings chase each other around the house, spilling their breakfast everywhere. Mom doesn’t even react because she’s used to it.

“That’s something we want to discuss with you,” she tells me.

I look from one parent to the other. Both have identical strict expressions on their faces. Why does it feel like they’re ganging up on me or something?

“Okay?” I say unsurely, poking at my food with a fork.

“We know you were up late last night playing with your computer,” Dad says.

I want to roll my eyes. Not this again.

Mom bends close. “It’s very irresponsible of you not to get a good night’s rest. You’re sixteen and you should be focused on school, not playing your games that are a waste of time.”

I’m trying really hard not to lose my cool.

“Mom, Dad,” I say in the lightest tone I can. “How many times do I have to tell you my live streams are not a waste of time? I’m building a following and I can have a future in this.”

They exchange a glance. “What you’re doing is nonsense,” Dad says. “You need to go to college and get a degree, graduate, and have a good job.”

This time, I do roll my eyes. Because it’s not the first time we’re having this conversation.

I kind of forgot that this is one of the reasons I moved my live streams over to Katie’s.

Mom and Dad just don’t get it. They’re so old fashioned they think all jobs are nine to five, in a stuffy office.

They don’t know there are so many more options out there.

I mean, I tell them all the time, but they don’t get it or care enough to understand.

I stand. “Thanks for the talk, but I really need to get to school.”

“Genevieve.” Mom stops me at the door.

I stifle a groan. I’ve told her over and over not to call me by my real name. I hate it.

Turning around, I find both parents with that same strict look on their faces. “Yeah?”

“We don’t want to hear you staying up late again or we’ll take your toys away,” Mom says.

I seriously want to tear my hair out. “They’re not toys. But you know what? You won’t find me staying up late anymore. I’m going back to Katie’s.”

“Genevieve—”

I hold up my hands. “You just don’t get it. And that’s fine. Just please don’t try to stop me from doing something I love.” I turn toward the door.

“Genevieve.”

“It’s Phoenix.” I face them. “I’ll try to visit you and the kids as much as I can. Sorry, but I think I just need my space now. See you guys later.” I walk out the door.

I thought things could change, that my parents would actually accept that I’m trying to build a future for myself here. But nope. Not yet at least. Maybe one day.

***

The school halls are packed with kids, which is normal, but I’m feeling suffocated this morning.

Maybe because I keep thinking about what my parents said.

But whatever. I’m not going to let them or anyone hold me back from doing something I love.

Maybe they’ll come to understand it one day.

Maybe not. I just hope this doesn’t strain things between us.

Katie’s rummaging around in her locker. I make my way over to her, pushing through some kids blocking my way, when a paper is shoved in my face.

Lifting my eyes, I take in the owner of that paper. Ethan Palmer. He’s wearing a bright smile on his face, which just makes my blood boil. What’s he so happy about?

“Move,” I say through clenched teeth.

He waves the paper. “I added something to the report. You might want to read it before we present it to the class.”

I shove past him. He follows. “We’re not adding anything to the report.”

“I already did, and I’ll be handing it to Mrs. Holden. So unless you want to look like an idiot in front of the entire class, I suggest you read it.”

I stop and glare at him. “The report was perfect .”

He leans against the wall, over me, and I get a whiff of that jerk smell again. Seriously. What’s with that? And why does it smell so freakin’ good?

“It’s perfect now,” he says. “Definitely A+ material.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he bends close and I yank my head back. “If you would have worked on the report with me like we discussed, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

I push at his chest to get him away from me, but he’s like a stone wall. “There’s no mess. We’ll be handing in my report.”

“Nope.” He squints, thinking. “I wonder what Mrs. Holden will say when I tell her you didn’t cooperate. She might even fail you.”

Jerk.

Even though I don’t really care about school, failing is a whole other story.

“Fine.” I snatch the paper from him. He added a sixth page to the report, expanding on something I only touched on lightly. It’s actually not that bad, doesn’t sound like a caveman wrote it like I expected. The guy’s not as stupid as I pegged him to be.

He stands there as I read, and I can feel his eyes boring holes into my skull.

My gaze snaps up. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have somewhere to be?

” My eyes drift to the corner, where the girls are watching us.

Ethan’s not giving them the time of day.

It’s like they don’t exist to him. Hmm. Weird. Why isn’t he basking in all that glory?

He’s about to say something, but the bell rings. All the kids scatter to their classes like mice and it’s just Ethan and me in the halls.

He lifts a brow, nodding at the report. “Good stuff, huh?”

Yes, unfortunately. I lift my chin. “No, it’ll pull down our grade, so we should forget about it.” I crumple it, but he places his hand over mine.

“Nope,” he says. “We’re including it.”

I grit my teeth. “Fine, whatever. But the second we’re done with the report, you’re dead to me.”

His mouth drops open. Yeah, I said it, only because he thinks he could bully me online and then talk to me at school? No way in heck.

I leave him with his jaw nearly on the floor and enter the classroom. Mrs. Holden hasn’t arrived yet.

Ethan enters the classroom, his head whipping around until he finds me. I turn away from him, not interested in looking at that jerk any more than I have to.

When the teacher shows up, the first thing she does is call Ethan and me to the front of the room. Already? I thought we’d have a lesson first. I’m so not ready yet. Not ready to present with him .

Ethan struts to the front of the room with his head held high. I never noticed it before, but there’s something about his walk that forces you to watch him. Maybe it’s his confidence? Or that his body is like…perfect. And that face and hair?

Ugh. So unfair. Why does my enemy have to be so darn good-looking? It’s criminal for a jerk like him to be blessed with all the good things in life. He’s an awesome football player, a talented musician, hot.

But a rotten person inside, so I guess that one negative cancels out all the great things about him. Not that he’s great or anything. No way.

“Phoenix? We’re waiting.” Mrs. Holden tears me away from my thoughts.

I force myself to my feet and join him at the front of the room. We’re each holding the report, and we’ll hand a copy to the teacher after we’re done.

I highlighted the parts we’ll each say, and he did the same for the added page.

I’m supposed to go first, but as I stand at the front of the room, all eyes on me, I feel shy and scared for some reason. Which is so, so not like me. Phoenix Ellis isn’t supposed to be scared of anything. But I am.

I’m second guessing everything—did I include all the info in the report? Does it make sense? Will the students laugh at me because I’m a nervous wreck?

Slipping my eyes over to Ethan, I see he looks so confident and calm. Now I get it. I’m not scared or nervous—I’m dreading this because I have to do it with him. Like, we have to work together, which is the last thing I want to do.

So I stare down at my paper, at my highlighted parts. My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. I don’t want to do it with him. I don’t want to be here.

“When you’re ready,” Mrs. Holden says.

Ethan’s eyes meet mine and there’s something in there that I can’t read. Oh my gosh, is he laughing at me? Because I’m totally falling apart here? The jerk. It’s his fault I’m a mess and he’s laughing at me?

Ethan clears his throat, peering down at the report. Then he opens his mouth and begins. My fists clench at my sides. So not only did he add to the report, now he’s reading my parts?

But…but I wouldn’t be able to get the words out anyway, and if I want to be honest with myself, he’s totally saving us right now. And the way he’s presenting…with so much charisma and confidence…it’s no wonder the entire class is entrapped. Heck, even Mrs. Holden can’t take her eyes off him.

It’s like he’s making them all float up to the clouds or something.

He stops when his—well my—turn is over, and shifts his gaze to me. He gives me a slight nod, which I guess is telling me to continue.

I glance down at the paper. This is so, so wrong. Everything is falling apart. I was supposed to start, we weren’t supposed to add anything. And now I’m going to fail because the report is not coming out the way I wanted. I don’t do well when things are suddenly sprung up on me.

“You can do this,” he whispers.

Since when did he get so close? I don’t want him near me.

He has this gleam in his eyes, like he thinks he’s better than me, and that patronizing tone? That just makes me want to yell at the world.

“Shut up, this is all your fault,” I hiss.

He faces the class with a wide smile, but I can see the corners of his mouth tighten, like he wants to yell back at me. But of course he wouldn’t. Ethan Palmer is a cool and collected and perfect guy who never loses his temper. That’s why he always has girls wrapped around his finger. Gag.

Mrs. Holden frowns as she glances from me to my jerk of a partner. Shoot, if I don’t continue the presentation we’ll fail the report.

Pushing all the negativity aside, I continue from where he left off. I might have given him the boring parts, you know, because I can’t stand him, and now I’m stuck reading them. Oh my gosh. Did he do that on purpose?

He has the funny and interesting parts, but something tells me he would have captivated this audience if he was talking about a rotten potato.

What is it about this guy that makes people—not me—want to stop what they’re doing and listen to him?

“Very good!” Mrs. Holden claps once we’re done.

I have no idea how we got through that. The only thing I could think about was that he messed the entire thing up and I can’t wait to be done with him.

“Good job,” he says as we return to our seats.

I ignore him, plopping down at my desk and staring straight ahead. A huge feeling of relief washes over me. It’s done. We probably got an A and now I don’t need to see or talk to Ethan Palmer as long as I live.

It’ll be a little hard, since my bestie is in a band with The Jerk, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s wallpaper.