Catch You (Love Me, I'm Famous Book 0) Read online

  A “Love Me, I’m Famous” Novella

  Other Books by M. H. Soars

  Love Me, I’m Famous Series:

  Wonderwall

  Wreck of the Day (Coming in June 2016)

  Arcadian Wars Series:

  The Fall of Arcadia (Arcadian Wars #0.5)

  The Prophecy of Arcadia (Arcadian Wars #1)

  The Phoenix Shadow (Arcadian Wars #2)

  Sign-up for the M.H. Soars’s Newsletter and receive Part One of Wonderwall, the first novel in the Love Me, I’m Famous series.

  A “Love Me, I’m Famous” Novella

  by

  M. H. SOARS

  Catch You

  Copyright © 2016 M. H. Soars

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website:

  www.mhsoars.com

  Editor: Sharon Stevenson, Indie Ink Editing,

  www.indieinkediting.com

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

  form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

  recording, or by any information storage and retrieval

  system without the written permission of the author, except for

  the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are

  used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Monday, September 4th, 2006

  Kimberly

  Note to self, forget fashion and buy a sturdy backpack. It’s the second week of school and the strap of my brand new messenger bag already broke. The useless accessory is sitting now on the backseat of my car while I have to balance a stack of books plus the iced caramel coffee I got on the way to school.

  The hallway is jam-packed at this hour and nobody gives a rat’s ass about my precarious situation. I’m not being overly dramatic, these effing books weigh a ton.

  I see my best friend further ahead next to her locker and I make a beeline for her. Maybe Larissa will take pity on me and help me out. I hear a loud roar behind me and that should have been clue enough that something was about to happen. But I’m focused on my mission and don’t even bother to look over my shoulder. Big mistake. Someone bumps hard against my elbow, and you can guess what happens next. My books fall to the floor and as fate would have it, my delicious beverage tips toward me, soaking the entire front of my off-white top.

  I spare a glance at the disaster that is my shirt now, then I stare ahead to see the jerk who bumped into me and didn’t even apologize. I should have known. Owen fucking Whitfield. He joins his Neanderthal friends, aka, football players, and goes on his merry way.

  Some idiot laughs to my right and I whip my face in his direction. My death glare is enough to make him swallow his amusement and run away like the little scared mouse that he is. It pays off to be a scary bitch.

  Larissa comes to the rescue and stops in her tracks when she sees my top. “That’s going to leave a stain.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” I bend down to pick up my books and she helps.

  “Why were you carrying the entire library with you?”

  Exaggeration is Larissa’s middle name.

  “My bag broke this morning.”

  She collects half of the books scattered on the floor and helps me carry them to my locker.

  “I have a spare t-shirt you can borrow.”

  “Thanks.” I shove my belongings into the metal box, and then I glance at the schedule taped to the locker’s door. Computer Science class next. Barf. Coding is the worst.

  “Did he even apologize?”

  I give Larissa an exasperated look. “We’re talking about Owen here. Of course not.”

  I close my locker with more force than necessary and Larissa winces. “I’m so sick and tired of those stupid jocks, walking around school like they own the place.”

  “It’s always been this way. Nothing is going to change the school’s social hierarchy.”

  I glance at my friend with an eyebrow raised. I don’t know where she gets her vocabulary from, but she doesn’t sound like a seventeen-year-old most of the time. I guess not every teen in America—myself included—talks like a moron.

  “We’ll see about that,” I say.

  Larissa gets in front of me, blocking my way. “I don’t like that tone. What are you planning, Kimmy?”

  “Pay back.”

  “Ay, caramba.” She looks at the ceiling and shakes her head. “That loser is not worth getting in trouble for.”

  Her frown is mega cute, but unfortunately is not enough to convince me. I smirk at her. “But my pride is.”

  The school bell sounds and Larissa leaves me to go to her Advanced Math class. I head toward my doom, aka Computer Science. I notice several stares at my chest as I walk and I realize that I forgot to borrow Larissa’s shirt. Oh well, at least my top is not see-through.

  As I get near the assigned classroom, I see a cluster of students waiting by the door, all talking at once.

  “What happened?” I ask George Hamilton, the guy who usually helps me make sense of this class.

  “Look for yourself, Kimmy. You’ll probably want to write an article about it.”

  He moves out of the way, and I squeeze through the throng of students toward the classroom door. Everything looks almost exactly like it did last week. Neatly ordered white desks are pushed against the walls, making a squared u-shaped formation. Two more rows of the same desks are right smack in the middle of the room, facing each other. Posters of pioneers in the field, aka Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, hang from the walls. The only difference today is that the computers are gone.

  My mind begins to run a hundred miles an hour, playing off every possible scenario. My first thought is that this is some kind of prank. Those computers were ancient, they’re probably not worth that much. I have so many questions, but the biggest one is how the perpetrator managed to vanish into the night with twenty plus desktop computers. It was obviously a team effort.

  Mr. Prescott, the school’s principal, is talking to Howard, the police officer assigned to our school. Poor Howard never looked more confused. He keeps staring at the empty desks like somehow they’ll spring to life and tell him who did it.

  “The room’s security camera was disabled and there are no signs of forced entry. This could be an inside job,” Howard says.

  “That’s not good news.” Mr. Prescott rubs his neatly trimmed beard.

  I walk into the room and both men glance my way.

  “Miss Dawson, this is a crime scene, please go back to the hallway.”

  Ignoring my principal, I turn to Howard. “Did you check the feed from the security camera across the hall?”

  Mr. Prescott frowns at me. “There’s no security camera across the hall, Miss Dawson.”

  Jesus, no wonder someone thought they could get away with stealing school property. Mr. Prescott is living proof of why our education system sucks.

  “Yes, there is. We installed one when the paper received that big equipment donation.”

  “I did not approve such a thing.” Mr. Prescott stares at me hard.

  “Yes, you did. You signed the work order.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Howard’s lips twitch upward. Mr. Prescott’
s face gets red, but there’s really nothing he can say about the matter. Maybe I’m being unfair to the guy. He probably has a ton of more pressing matters than remembering he signed a work order last school year. But still, it’s no secret I enjoy pushing his buttons. What can I say? I have zero respect for authority figures who didn’t earn their positions by merit.

  “Fine. Howard, please go see about that. And Miss Dawson, I don’t want to hear a peep about this incident in Littleton’s High Gazette. Do you understand me?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m deadly serious. I don’t want your meddling tampering with the investigation.”

  My meddling? Indignation makes me see red and it’s a Herculean effort to keep my anger suppressed. I dig my nails into the softness of my palms and count to ten in my head.

  “And please go clean yourself up. We expect a minimum level of personal hygiene in this school.”

  He turns on his heel and leaves the empty classroom. All the while I’m chanting in my head, Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you.

  If he thinks he can keep the school’s board from finding out about this incident just because he put the ‘Do not cross’ yellow tape on my article, he’s sorely mistaken. Littleton’s High Gazette is not the only newspaper in town.

  Chapter 2

  Owen

  I’ve never seen news spread this fast in school before. The computer room theft was discovered this morning, and by lunch time, it’s all everyone can talk about. The wildest theories have been formed, including one that blames our very own principal for the crime.

  I honestly do not care to add anything to the conversation. It sucks that someone stole a bunch of old computers, but I’m more preoccupied with our game in two weeks. It’s against the Wild Hogs, a rival team that kicked our asses last season. We lost the regional championship to them, a fact that they take pleasure in reminding us of all the time, especially on social media.

  I’m about to shove the last piece of pepperoni pizza in my mouth, when Leah slides in next to me. Crap, what’s she doing here? We don’t have lunch together.

  “Did you guys hear about the computer room theft?” she asks.

  My team mates exchange amused looks. Leah might be the captain of the cheerleading squad and super hot, but the lack of original thought in her head makes her a source of endless jabs against my taste in women. And I can’t blame my friends. She’s as vapid as she looks. It’s the reason we’ve broken up more times that I can count.

  “That’s so three periods ago,” Brad, one of our linebackers, says.

  “Whatever.” Leah turns to me. “So, I wanna talk about the homecoming dance.”

  I groan and throw the pizza back on the plate. My appetite is suddenly gone. “What about it?”

  Brad snickers and I kick him under the table.

  “Well, I’ve found this gorgeous blue satin dress at Nordstrom, but I want to make sure the color doesn’t clash with your eyes.”

  My jaw drops and across from me, Brad and Steve burst out laughing. Leah is oblivious to them and to the embarrassment she’s causing me. Fuck, I don’t need this shit. Leah might give good head, but her blow jobs are so not worth the rest that follows.

  I’m wondering how high on the asshole scale I’ll get if I dump her right here in front of my friends, when I feel something cold and slimy land on my head and drip down my face and shoulders. My friends stop laughing and Leah stops talking. As a matter of fact, there’s a sudden hush of silence all around us. I touch my face and realize I’m covered in spaghetti and tomato sauce. Slowly, I turn to see who is responsible and come face to face with Kimberly Dawson’s smug expression. And here I was thinking it was a prank from my mates. Anger bubbles up in my throat and I stand up.

  “What the hell!”

  My brain is trying desperately to make sense of the situation. Did I hook up with Kimberly and forget about it? In ten out of ten scenarios that would be the reason a girl would be pissed at me. I immediately dismiss the idea. I would never hook up with the blonde in front of me. She’s a crazy bitch and condescending as fuck.

  “Now we’re even, Whitfield.”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Leah pulls my arm and forces me to look at her.

  The angry scowl she’s sporting lets me know a Leah-scream-fest is coming.

  “Not now, Leah.”

  “Not now? Not now?” Her shriek pierces my ears. She turns her glare to Kimberly. “Are you screwing my boyfriend, bitch?”

  Kimberly’s eyebrows shoot to the heavens, before she throws her head back and laughs.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Do you think I hooked up with him?” She points at me like I’m yesterday’s garbage.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I ask.

  “You and your stupid friends are my problem. Next time, remember that the world doesn’t revolve around your egomaniac selves. Consider this a lesson for real life.”

  She spins on her heel and walks down the cafeteria like she’s the queen of the universe. If I wasn’t so angry, I would have taken the time to appreciate the view. Shit, who am I kidding? She might be evil and crazy, but she has a damn fine ass.

  Chapter 3

  Kimberly

  I’m driving to my boyfriend’s place when Larissa calls. I put her on speaker and the first thing that comes out of her mouth is, “You’re completely nuts, you know that?”

  “I didn’t, but thanks for letting me know.”

  “I can’t believe you dumped spaghetti on Owen’s head.”

  “He was lucky it wasn’t hot.”

  “Gee, remind me to always stay on your good side.”

  “You don’t have to worry, chica.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’m going to Ross’s, see if he can help me write this article about the theft.”

  “I thought Mr. Prescott forbade you to do that.”

  “He forbade me to publish it in the school paper, he never mentioned I couldn’t write it and publish it somewhere else.”

  I park my car right behind Ross’s dependable Volvo. “I gotta go. Talk to you later?”

  “Sure. Have fun.”

  I pick up my new laptop bag and head to the front door. I don’t bother knocking, Ross is expecting me. Monday is the only day of the week when we can actually spend time together without parental supervision. We’ve been dating for six months, but it has only been a month since we took our relationship to the tangled sheets level. Unlike most of my peers, I never suffered from doubts or anxiety when it came to sex. Maybe it was because my parents never treated the matter as something dirty or forbidden. Or maybe it was because I did plenty of research before I decided I was ready. But today sex is the farthest thing from my mind. I really want to nail this article.

  I stop by the kitchen first to grab a soda before heading to his room at the back of the house. As usual, I find Ross sitting at his desk, his face glued to the computer screen. He’s by no means the hottest ticket in town. He’s too tall and borderline skinny, which makes him kind of awkward. But what he lacks in looks, he makes up for in brains. If I want to see a pretty face, I just watch a movie with Brad Pitt in it.

  I walk in and sit on his bed. It never ceases to amaze me how tidy Ross keeps his room. Compared to him, I’m a slob. The books in the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room are meticulously organized by author in alphabetical order. If I were to run my fingers over any furniture, I wouldn’t find a speck of dust.

  Ross swivels his chair and proceeds to remove his sweater. “We gotta be quick. Mom’s coming home earlier today.” He stands up and unzips his jeans. Talk about romance.

  “Hold your horses there. I want to work on an article first.”

  His face falls. “How about a blow job? I really could use the release. I’m stressed.”


  “Well, you use your hand, then.”

  By now, I’m irritated. I’m usually the one practically begging him for sex, but I’m really not in the mood today. Maybe if he had greeted me with a passionate kiss, I would be more inclined to jump into bed with him. I’m beginning to agree with Larissa’s opinion. She says Ross and I lack compatibility. I’m adventurous and curious, Ross is totally vanilla. I know I’m not the norm for my age. Most seventeen-year-old girls don’t have a bloody clue what good sex is, mostly because their partners are also clueless. Like I said before, I did extensive research on the matter, so I know what I’m missing.

  “You don’t need be crass.” He zips up his jeans again.

  “You were the one demanding I blow you.”

  Ross puts his sweater back on, and sits on his chair again. “What article do you want to work on?” I can hear the pouting in his voice, but I ignore it.

  “The computer theft article.”

  His whips his face up to me. “Mr. Prescott doesn’t want us to write anything about it.”

  “So?”

  “So we’re not going to. Jesus, Kimmy. Stop butting heads with our principal. He can ruin your chances of getting into Stanford.”

  I stand up and put my hands on my hips. “You’re saying you’re not going to help me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Whatever. I’m outta here.”

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday, September 5th, 2006

  Kimberly

  I finish writing the email to my contact at the local newspaper, attach the article I wrote last night, and press send. I stare at the computer screen for a minute, savoring the sense of justice and vindication. Yesterday, I got home feeling like the entire world was out to get me. Not even my payback to Owen made me feel better. Ross’s lack of support was something I wasn’t expecting. Sure, he liked to follow the rules, but I thought his love for journalism and the pursuit of the truth would trump his ingrained morals. But finishing the article Mr. Prescott forbade me to write went a long way to pull me out of my funk.