Out of Tune

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Beth Reekles

  Other Fantastic Books by Beth Reekles

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Ashley Bennett has it all: a hot boyfriend, Josh, a place in the cool clique at high school, straight A grades . . . It’s definitely better than when she was invisible, a nobody, ignored by everyone except her best friend Allie. Or make that ex-best friend – Allie And Ashley haven’t spoken since Josh came into the picture.

  Enter the new boy next-door, Todd. He’s sweet, introspective, and prefers to play his guitar to football. As he and Ashley grow closer, she starts to wonder whether she and Josh have enough in common to go the distance. But what will breaking up with him do to her picture-perfect life? Should she follow her head or her heart?

  The third published book by Beth Reekles – the internet sensation everyone is talking about!

  To Gransha, my biggest fan

  Chapter One

  Number thirty-one Maple Drive has been vacant for as long as I’ve lived here.

  At least, it was empty, until 6:27a.m. on the Friday morning before school starts. That’s the exact time I’m woken up by the incessant beep-beep-beep of a truck reversing outside. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I drag myself out of bed, pulling the comforter with me, to peek through the drapes. I refrain from yelling out of my window that some of us are trying to sleep, as I try to get a good look at our new neighbors.

  The ‘For Sale’ sign in their yard disappeared a week ago, and I’m still eager to know who exactly is moving in next door. I can’t see much of them from here, though: a new-looking blue Ford, and the back of a man’s head as he talks to a guy in a red uniform polo shirt climbing out from the driver’s seat of the moving truck.

  I’m tempted to stay longer at the window and see more of them, but when I yawn and realize my eyes are drooping, I crawl back into bed. Mom will make us go over and introduce ourselves soon enough anyway.

  It’s Sunday afternoon when we meet the new neighbors.

  ‘Ashley!’ Mom yells up the stairs.

  ‘What?’ I shout back, sounding exactly the way I feel – ever the uncooperative, angsty teenager. Much as I want to know who’s moved in next door, I really don’t want to have to go over there with a big, bright, fake smile and welcome them to the neighborhood. To be honest, I’m kind of nervous. What if they’ve got some horrible teenage daughter who looks down her nose at me, even if she’s a year or two younger than me? Or some spoilt, bratty kid I’ll be obligated to babysit? The thought makes me shudder.

  You’re being too pessimistic, I tell myself. My mood lifts when I wonder what it would be like if it was someone my age there next door – a girl, maybe, who’s not horrible and someone I can actually talk to, have something in common with.

  I don’t get my hopes up too much, though. Not yet.

  I’d much rather just meet them from a distance. Like, from the safety of my bedroom window.

  ‘We’re going to welcome the neighbors. Come on.’

  ‘Tell them I’m . . . I’m doing homework!’

  ‘Ashley Bennett, they will not buy the homework excuse when school hasn’t even started yet!’

  ‘Then tell them I’m an honors student!’

  She laughs at that, before the stern tone returns and she yells, ‘Get your butt down here right now, or—’

  ‘All right, all right! I’m coming!’

  I huff and dog-ear the page I am reading before tossing my book onto my bed. My mom hates when I do that, but I’m always losing the bookmarks she buys me.

  Throwing my legs off my bed, I shove my feet into the nearest pair of footwear I can see, which happen to be a pair of blue canvas shoes that clash horrendously with my green shorts. I duck down quickly to check my appearance in the mirror over my dresser, and shrug; my hair is fine, but I slap some make-up over my freckles before I head downstairs.

  Mom waits impatiently at the foot of the stairs, next to the front door, tapping her foot pointedly – loudly. I roll my eyes at her.

  ‘Here.’ She places a basket in my hands.

  I swear to God, it’s an actual wicker basket, with cookies inside that are still warm. I don’t know from where my mom gets this stuff.

  ‘Hold up, let me just go grab my red cloak – you know, the one with the hood – and I’ll be right with you.’

  She laughs, even though she tries to maintain the ‘I’m-not-in-the-mood-for-your-sarcasm’ expression. But there’s more important business at hand than scolding me. Mom has been itching to go over and properly introduce herself to the new neighbors, but she’s left it this long since she didn’t feel it prudent to interrupt them – after all, they were most likely extremely busy settling in.

  Now I know why Dad took an impromptu trip to the hardware store declaring he was finally going to fix that broken stair after procrastinating over it for like, the last eight months. Lucky escape for someone at least . . .

  Mom picks up the bottle of expensive-looking wine on the table by the door and we leave.

  Waiting on the porch of thirty-one Maple Drive, I realize it doesn’t have that desolate feel about it any more. I look around. There’s a small yet distinctive hole where the realtor’s sign was in the lawn. The new neighbors have already hung up drapes at the windows of the room at the front of the house alongside the porch. Behind the peach curtains, there’s a TV on a stand with an Xbox and DVD player hooked up, and I can see a bookshelf that’s only about a third full.

  The door opens before I can look at any more of the house.

  It’s a guy, around my age I’d guess, with messy brown hair and a loose-fitting Blink-182 T-shirt. He looks at my mom and me for a brief second, as though we’re from another planet, before breaking the silence with a stiff, ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hello!’ Mom trills. ‘We’re just dropping by to welcome you to the area. We’re your new next-door neighbors.’

  ‘Todd!’ someone yells from inside – a male voice. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Next-door!’ he bellows back over his shoulder.

  Then, with all the grace of a bear running downhill, a man around his mid-forties comes barreling down the staircase into sight. He runs a hand through his graying hair to smooth it down, make it more presentable.

  ‘Hello, there. I’m Callum.’ He offers a hand, and Mom shakes it. ‘And this is my son, Todd.’

  ‘Great to meet you. I’m Isabelle,’ Mom introduces herself. ‘Isabelle Bennett. My husband, Jeff, is at the hardware store at the moment – but I’m sure he’ll drop by as soon as he gets back.’ What she means is, she’ll make him come over and introduce himself. ‘And this is our daughter, Ashley.’

  ‘Hey,’ I say, because I feel like I have to say something.

  ‘Anyway,’ says Mom. ‘We were just dropping by
to introduce ourselves and give you a little housewarming gift.’ She gestures to my wicker basket with her bottle of wine.

  ‘Oh, thank you so much. Please, come in. Would you like some coffee? Tea? A soda?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say, when he looks at me.

  ‘We wouldn’t want to impose . . .’

  ‘It’s fine, honestly, don’t worry!’

  ‘In that case, a coffee would be wonderful, thank you,’ Mom says graciously, and steps inside, leaving me to follow.

  I make to wipe my feet on the welcome mat outside the door, but there isn’t one, so my foot kind of just hovers in the air for a second before I step inside. The guy who opened the door – Todd, I suppose – watches me with the tiniest hint of amusement on his face. That is, until I look him in the eye, and he turns away and walks ahead of me to the kitchen.

  I know it’s the kitchen because the layout of this house – and every other house on Maple Drive, for that matter – has more or less the same layout as my house.

  The kitchen’s a mess, for which Callum apologizes. I like that it’s messy, though. It makes the place feel like somebody’s home, not just a bland show home with nobody living there.

  ‘So, what brings you to Greendale?’ Mom asks with a polite smile.

  There’s a brief, somewhat awkward pause. I want to slap my forehead.

  Todd opens his mouth, but Callum says hastily, ‘We just needed a change.’

  I look at Todd, who’s staring at his bare feet and wiggling his toes. A smirk tweaks at his lips for a split second. I get the impression that whatever his response would have been, it wouldn’t have been as vague and polite as his dad’s.

  I can tell Mom is wondering if there’s a politely inquisitive way to find out what that story is, but since she doesn’t ask, I know she can’t find one.

  ‘Todd’s going to be attending the local high school,’ Callum says, flipping the switch on their electric kettle. ‘Is that where you go?’

  Oh, right, me.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be a junior.’

  ‘Hey, isn’t that great! So will Todd.’ He smiles to me. ‘How do you find the school?’

  I shrug my shoulders one after the other. What does he want me to say? ‘Oh, yeah, it’s great. All the teachers are wonderful and don’t give so much homework it drives you to insanity. There are never any fights and everyone gets on and everything’s always fine and dandy.’

  But it’s high school – who’d believe that answer?

  ‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘It’s just high school. Most of the teachers are okay, and the people aren’t too bad, I guess. Like I said, it’s just high school.’

  Mom cuts me a look. ‘The SAT scores are some of the best in the state every year.’

  Callum nods. ‘Can’t ask for much more than that, can you?’ The kettle switch flips off and there’s a quiet ding! to signal that it’s done boiling water. He pours it into two mugs for coffee.

  ‘Do you take sugar? Milk?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Okay.’

  There’s a two-second burst of music from my back pocket, and I reach for my cellphone to answer the text. It’s probably Josh, finally replying to the text I sent him earlier. But as my hand creeps to my back pocket, Mom clears her throat and I get the message loud and clear, and drop my hand. The better I cooperate now, the sooner we can get out of here. I hope.

  We stand around the kitchen making small talk for a couple of minutes before Callum says, ‘I’m sorry, would you like to sit down? I apologize in advance for the state of the living room, we haven’t finished unpacking yet . . .’

  Mom laughs. ‘It’s not that bad. Besides, every house is a bit hectic right after you move in.’

  Todd speaks for the first time since he answered the door. ‘I’m just going to head back upstairs, and—’

  ‘You can show Ashley around the house,’ his dad suggests. But we all catch the undertone that makes it more of a command than an option.

  ‘I’m sure Ashley doesn’t need a tour of the house,’ he replies curtly. Callum gives him a look and Todd sighs. ‘Sure. Whatever. Come on.’

  He doesn’t even look at me, just walks out and expects me to follow. But I’d feel rude if I stayed, so I have no choice but to follow him out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

  All right, so the new neighbors don’t have some bratty kid, or some cheerleader-type daughter, either, so things could be worse. But Todd has barely said a word, and I don’t know what to make of him. I don’t know that obnoxious is quite the right word to describe him. Or even arrogant . . . Aloof, maybe. That seems the best fit. It’s something more than plain indifference.

  He turns to me at the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the lowest step and the other on the floor; his eyes are focused on his feet. ‘Look, I don’t want to be in this situation any more than you do, so you’ll forgive me for not showing you round the place.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘My house is laid out exactly the same.’

  ‘Right.’

  He starts up the stairs and I hesitate. Am I supposed to follow him?

  I do, just because I have no idea what else to do.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask, though the options are limited.

  ‘Narnia. Where’d you think?’

  I bite back a laugh.

  He seems to realize that I’m not going anywhere, and I guess our friendship isn’t yet at the level where he’ll invite me to his bedroom to sit down. And neither of us really want to sit with our parents, with the risk of being asked about our academic achievements and extracurricular activities, or anything like that. So he turns and sits on a step most of the way up the stairs instead of carrying on going up. I sit on the stair below him, my back to the wall and my feet propped against the banister.

  I look at Todd out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious about it. He’s a few inches taller than me. His lean build reminds me of a soccer player, but he doesn’t look much like the sporty type. The movement of his hands distracts me; he’s twirling a dark gray guitar pick over and over between his fingers. His eyes are downcast, concentrating on the motion of the guitar pick – but then he looks up at me, saying, ‘What?’ and I frown a little, because I can’t quite determine if his eyes are blue or gray.

  ‘Nothing.’

  He shrugs his left shoulder and holds my gaze for a brief second before looking down again. I cock my head a little to the side as I scrutinize him. God, those cheekbones are to die for! If he wasn’t acting so aloof and brooding, I’d think him handsome – but I refuse to, just on principle.

  ‘So you play guitar?’

  ‘Evidently,’ he says, making a gesture with the pick. He opens his mouth to say something then closes it again, forehead puckered in a scowl.

  ‘That’s cool. What kind of stuff do you play?’

  He takes a moment before answering, which he does quite grudgingly – I can see it in the curl of his lips. ‘Mostly things I come up with myself. I, uh, I took to writing music a couple of years ago.’

  I nod, not knowing what to reply. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to me much. Well, maybe I don’t want to talk to him. Stubbornly, I sit in silence for a few minutes. We both sit there on the stairs and listen to my mom and his dad talking and laughing in the lounge. Their voices float up through the open door, but not quite loud enough for us to make out what they’re saying.

  I know that I should try and be friendly toward Todd; he’s probably nervous about making new friends here, about fitting in, because friendships have already been forged long ago, cliques have been set in place, and he’s the new guy. I know I’d be terrified. Being friendly would be the right thing to do, and I know my mom would want me to be nice to him. But he’s a big boy, I’m sure he can make his own friends.

  My cellphone sounds again in my pocket. I’d forgotten I had a text earlier. I catch Todd looking at me, but I ignore him and take out my cell.

  Both texts ar
e from Josh.

  Good thanks, want to come over later for dinner? XXXXX is the reply to my earlier ‘Hey, how are you?’ text.

  Babe? Hello? XXXXX

  I type a reply to say that sure, dinner sounds great, and sorry for the late response – we’re visiting the new neighbors.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ Todd says, startling me.

  ‘Yeah.’

  He nods. ‘How long have you guys been together?’

  ‘Year and a half.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘What about you?’ I blurt before I can stop myself. ‘Any broken hearts left back in . . . Where’d you live before, anyway?’

  ‘Idaho. And no, no broken hearts left behind.’ There’s a note of laughter in his voice, and the corner of his mouth tweaks up like he finds the idea amusing. I wonder if maybe he’s a player, not into serious commitment in a relationship. Because a guy who looks as attractive as he does must have had girlfriends. Or maybe it’s that someone broke up with him instead.

  After that, conversation dies out pretty quickly. So he sits there fiddling with the guitar pick, and I sit there texting Josh, until we hear my mom and Callum saying goodbye to each other, at which point there seems to be an unspoken mutual decision between Todd and I to move to the front door.

  There’s the usual kind of thing: thanks for the cookies and the wine, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask, we should have dinner sometime – and, finally, goodbye.

  We walk through our own front door and my mom starts asking me what Todd and I had spoken about, and how we’d gotten along.

  ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t talk much.’

  ‘Callum said he’s quite shy.’

  I snort dubiously. ‘I don’t know about shy. Standoffish, maybe. It was like he thought he was too good to talk to me, you know?’

  ‘Ashley . . .’

  ‘I’m going over Josh’s for dinner tonight, I need to jump in the shower.’

  And that’s all we say about the new neighbors at thirty-one Maple Drive.

  Chapter Two

  ‘No.’

  No way. No. No! I refuse. I am not doing this. No. She can’t make me.

  I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at my mom to make my point. Not in a million years will I agree to this.