Page 1 of Dear Bad Boy Next Door
1
LUCY
It’s no secret that if you asked any of my three best friends, they’d say that I’m the shy one in the group, and they aren’t wrong. It’s hard to step out of their shadows when Maren isn’t afraid to voice her opinion, Willa is always looking to expand her education, and Cassidy enjoys the spotlight she gets when she’s on stage. And it’s not just my friends that designate me as a follower. My own family likes to think that it's my sole purpose in life is to stand on the sidelines, so I don’t do anything to draw attention away from my practically-perfect-in-every-way younger sister, Margot.
My cell phone rings in my jacket pocket, and without looking at who's calling, I already know that it's my mother calling again. I've already sent her call to voicemail a few times today, but since it’s after five o’clock, I can’t use the excuse that I can’t pick up because I’m working.
"Hello, Mother," I say with a sigh.
“Lucy Eleanor, why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”
Because you leave long, rambling messages that end with me wanting to rip my hair out.
“Did you call?” I feign surprise.
“I did.”
“Did you leave a voicemail?”
“Several of them,” she says, her voice losing all patience with me.
"Well, shoot, I must have missed all five of them.”
“How did you know I called five times if you didn’t get any of my messages?”
“Because it's a prime number," I say, but the tone makes it sound more like a question.
I know it’s a weak excuse, but I'm not about to admit to my mother that I'm ignoring her calls. The last time this happened, it nearly caused an international incident. And if it means I have to "accidentally" drop my phone off my fourth-floor balcony, then that is what cell phone insurance is for.
“I really don’t get you,” she finally says, and that’s probably the most honest she’s been about our relationship.
I'm the polar opposite of her in so many ways that I once asked my dad when I was eight if she really was my mother or if I'd just been adopted, and they hadn't gotten around to telling me yet. He just laughed and patted me on the head, never actually giving me an answer, so I'm holding out hope.
“How can I help you?” I ask.
She sighs loudly into the phone, like the sheer energy of having to repeat herself is such a burden to her. If anything, I'm pretty sure that what she's about to say is going to result in me having a list of things from her to do for Margot’s engagement party.
“I need your help for the party.”
I knew it.
“Don’t you have a house full of staff that can help you prepare?”
“I really can’t deal with your attitude today, Lucy. Do you want to be the reason that the biggest day in your sister’s life is ruined?”
“It’s just an engagement party.”
“Your sister is marrying into one of the most affluent families in this city. We have to make this day perfect.”
“And what is Margot doing to make this day so magical?”
“You know that your sister needs to rest so that she looks her best.”
“Don’t I need rest to look my best too?”
“Honey, no one will be looking at you,” she scoffs. “Stop being so difficult.”
I don’t think my mother will ever understand just how much she just hit the bull’s eye of my worst insecurities. As the daughter of a former model turned trophy wife and looking more like my father with dark hair, dark eyes, and curves that no amount of dieting will ever remove, I’ve spent my life being pushed out of the frame.
