Grade A Stupid (The Darcy Walker Series Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1. Bad-Boys

  2. ICYDK

  3. Thrill Seekers

  4. Murphy’s Law

  5. Mob Ties

  6. Deep Sea Fishing

  7. The Eleventh Commandment

  8. A Fly In the Ointment

  9. Waste Not, Want Not

  10. Humble Pie

  11. Pinky Swear

  12. Bare Necessities

  13. Carpe Diem

  14. The Naked Truth

  15. Powwows

  16. Too Close for Comfort

  17. Winners and Losers

  18. Unexpected Windfall

  19. Delusion 101

  20. Newton’s Laws of Motion

  21. Six Degrees of Separation

  22. Walkie-Talkie

  23. Insurance Policies

  24. Bad-Girl

  25. Playing with Fire

  26. Spring Fling

  27. Of Mice & Men

  28. Paying the Piper

  29. Game Changer

  30. Sore Loser

  31. Manhunt

  Epilogue: The Road to Redemption

  Note from the Author

  Darcyspeak

  About the Author

  Grade A Stupid

  The Darcy Walker Series

  Book oNE

  A. J. Lape

  Grade A Stupid: The Darcy Walker Series, Book One

  Copyright © 2012 by A. J. Lape. All rights reserved.

  Third Kindle Edition: April 2014

  Second Kindle Edition: July 2013

  First Kindle Edition: November 2012

  Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at http://www.ajlape.com or like her author page on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAJLape.

  This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to anyone that was born with one arm behind their back or who tried to stick their square-peg mind through society’s round hole. Don’t ever quit…keep your head up, and don’t let anyone ever tell you that you can’t accomplish something.

  —Philippians 4:13

  Acknowledgments

  A special thank you to my husband, Dean, and my daughters, Zoe and Mackie, for your unending enthusiasm and nightly prayers that Darcy’s world finally comes to life. Thank you for smiling in spite of my mood swings; my parents, Gene and Dodie Miracle, and my sister, Jeri Conner, for a lifetime of love, loyalty, and those conversations where they tell you that anything is possible. Whatever I do, I always filter through the lessons you’ve taught me; my amazing beta readers—Joyce Stevens, Sandra Ruiter, Mary-Nancy Smith, and Mom & Dad—for following me from page one to the end and for catching anything that wasn’t clear. Your friendships, I cherish; überblogger, instant friend, and jack-of-all-trades, M-N, for keeping me motivated with your joy and always impeccable insight; Judy Beatty for the constant encouragement, advice, and friendship when my moron side emerged; the ’68 Zombie Comics duo of Mark Kidwell and Jay Fotos for the kick-butt cover. I had no idea what I wanted until your inspiration, Mark; Dean Lape for doing my first cover wrap and Marcy Rachel for coordinating it with my other books. You’re awesome; my formatters Julie Titus and Street Light Graphics for your patience and professionalism; Natasha Boyd for the fictional county name of Mack County; Julie Cassar, Danielle Jester, and Jen Logan for pulling me out of rabbit holes; Jessica Barnard for the medical advice; Dana Barnard, Debbie Brooks, Chris Cunningham, and Susan Trammel for proofreading; and to my girlfriends and Facebook friends who read a chapter here and there, I am forever indebted that you gave this stay-at-home mom the courage to take the jump.

  1. Bad-Boys

  There was always a boy in your life that common sense and the prayers of parents told you to stay away from: fast talker, fast car, and fast hands. He was the boy your father kept a loaded shotgun by the door for and met on the front porch if he ever thought about venturing onto his property…let alone the threshold. He was the tall, dark, mysteriously handsome, and uncharacteristically quiet one that made you wonder what was going on in his head, and that little voice in your head said it wasn’t always so honorable. He was the boy you broke all of the rules over because bad-boys equaled excitement, and the rebel in you liked the ride.

  My name’s Darcy Walker, and I had a bad-boy like that in my life that I was absolutely head-over-heels crushing on.

  I was sitting in the cafeteria watching Liam Woods, a senior—the baddest boy in school—chat up Ivy Morrison who acted as if she’d eat him alive if cannibalism was legal. If truth be known, Liam wasn’t only a bad-boy, he’s a fastard. That’s a whole other level of bad the universe said was okay to dump on women. A fastard, in Darcyspeak, were boys that moved fast—they met you one time, told you they loved you, then set up your next date only for you to find out the fastard had a steady on the sly.

  Right now, it looked like the school’s Barbie Doll wannabe, Ivy Morrison, was dying to be added to the list of victims. They were sitting at a table directly across from me, about eight feet away—him finishing off a slice of pizza, her picking at a green salad that was probably only twenty calories.

  I bit into a mini corndog then guzzled another drink of chocolate milk as my girlfriend, Justice Becker, flipped over the pages of her People magazine. She rolled her brown eyes as she took a swig of bottled water.

  “This is stupid,” she grumbled, her curly auburn ponytail bobbing up and down in frustration. “He’s never going to go for us. First off, he’s Liam-freaking-Woods. It’s not a good sign when you have a middle name of freaking. It’s just not. Secondly, we’re both poor and dressed in sweats, and thirdly, we’re sophomores…the invisible-fifteen. That’s like the first level of Hell if I remember literature class correctly.”

  My God, she had a point. At least as a freshman, you could be “one of the hot, new female recruits.” As a sophomore, you were just sucking up air.

  “I mean, what do we really know about him anyway?” she went on. “My guess is he’s one of those pretty boy serial killers that plays with baby dolls when he’s home.”

  Everything I knew about Liam Woods was from hearsay and observation only. We’d never even halfway spoken. Just looking at him, however, my underarms needed a reapplication of deodorant.

  Let’s be real, I wouldn’t know what to do if he noticed me anyway.

  My knowledge of the XY chromosome was reduced to adolescent peach fuzz, pimples, and men’s deodorant. Other than a G-rated film in health class, I possessed almost zero knowledge on how body parts w
orked period. Birds and the bees? Waiting on the talk. Kissed a boy? Practicing in the mirror. I practically grew up Amish without the dress and white cap.

  And like Justice said, we were in white sweats pushed to our knees that had the initials VHS block-lettered in black down the left leg. That wasn’t a fashion-must. It was not knowing what to do. Liam aesthetically didn’t fit with either of us. Why? He wasn’t just bad; he was beguilingly HOT.

  A part-time model, Liam had many looks. Today, he was the preppy type, dressed in khaki shorts, a long-sleeved blue and white rugby, and Sperrys. Insanely tall at six foot four, he came complete with abs of steel and a pair of broad shoulders born from breaststroking with the swim team. Like me, Liam had a dimpled chin; unlike me, his face was breathtaking. It was perfectly symmetrical with brown hair and eyes like rich, melted chocolate…the kind you wanted to suck through a straw.

  Justice turned the page so hard she ripped the corner. “Well then, there’s the, uh, other issue,” she snorted. “You might have a chance, but I don’t.” Justice was biracial, and I think that made her feel like she didn’t fit in anywhere...I hated that. I mean, my father was from Kentucky. There’s a good possibility, centuries back, our bloodline might’ve been a little more pure than you’d care to admit.

  “Did you hear about his ex?” she asked.

  If voices were lyrical, Justice was a bass. Sometimes it shocked me when she spoke; still, I barely heard her. I couldn’t take my eyes off his knockout teeth. All thirty-two were blindingly straight and white. He threw his head back and roared out laughter. Ivy said something he obviously felt funny. I found that odd. Ivy had the brains of a toad.

  “Nuh-uh,” I replied.

  “Went off the deep end,” she whistled, blowing a bubble. “She couldn’t take his cheating ways.”

  Liam definitely had the kind of charm that would drive you out of your mind. Trouble was, my mind was unstable enough all on its own.

  While Justice turned to the Style section, telling me how grossly out-of-step we were fashionwise, I eyeballed Liam eating a grapple. I choked on my chocolate milk, watching three droplets of liquid land on the front of my white, v-neck t-shirt. A grapple was an apple that had an affair with a grape (you know, a hybrid some scientist thought was a good idea). My father called grapples “sin food”—two fruits that came together immorally when God didn’t intend them to. I had a feeling he’d feel the same way about Liam.

  Even thinking of Liam was a moot point at this time in my life. I was fifteen and fated to be terminally single or destined to a life of wallflowerdom. My father’s edict, not mine. Whatever, I shrugged to myself. It wasn’t like anyone was beating a path to my door.

  I live in Cincinnati, Ohio. Cincinnati’s surrounded by suburbs that make up what is called the Greater Cincinnati area. My particular suburb is called Valley, about twenty-five minutes north of downtown. My school is predictably called Valley High. Valley High is the biggest school in the city with the biggest wallets, biggest athletes, biggest brains, and biggest traditions. Valley kids are supposed to be the example of the Ohio Valley, the standard we all shoot for. It’s safe to say I wasn’t going to be the poster child for the school anytime soon. Case in point? I was a wallflower. I might as well be invisible.

  Lunchtime was pandemonium at its best. We had thirty minutes to file through the line, pick out our food, pay for it, find a seat, then choke it down. Heartburn heaven. Justice and I weren’t at our normal table with the rest of our friends. We got bogged down at our lockers and grabbed two seats next to some folks who’d obviously just exited the gym. All I could smell was body odor and a salty sweat. It wasn’t exactly sitting well with my corn dogs that were cooked about twenty minutes too long. Fishing the red worm out of my dirt pudding, I tilted my head back and licked the Oreo chunks, bit off its head, chewed twice, then swallowed the body whole. As I wiped my mouth on my wrist, I took a deep breath and watched Ivy flip her hair as Liam reached out to tuck it behind her ear. I sighed...it wasn’t from jealousy. It’s because of who Ivy was.

  Ivy Morrison was preppy and blonde, weighing about one hundred and fifteen pounds with a tiny, button-nose and rose-red lips. Ivy always dressed in white. Today was white short-shorts and a short-sleeved white designer sweater that could legitimately fit my six-year-old little sister. Everything she had was a little too kitschy for my taste, but hey, Barbie liked what Barbie liked.

  For all intents and purposes, she was my arch nemesis, the antagonist in my own personal novel. She gossiped about me, bullied me, stole my lunch money, and peeked under bathroom stalls while I peed. My guess was it revolved around my best friend she couldn’t have. You see, even though I had the best girlfriends in the world, my absolute best friend ever was a guy—yay, go me—and Ivy had him on her radar before any of us even hit puberty. Her frustration with his lack of interest bled over onto me.

  Even if she hadn’t made it her mission to make my life a living hell, we were polar opposites. She was annoyingly egotistical and an unapologetic exhibitionist; I am embarrassingly self-conscious and socially insecure. Part of the problem was that the right things never embarrassed me. If there was a dirty joke, I laughed louder than anyone. If you were supposed to cross your legs like a lady, the message never made it to my brain. Ivy, however, knew how to be demure yet available at the same time. Right now, I was watching her bat her eyelashes at Liam. If I ever attempted the feat, I’d break my eyeball.

  Corralling my thoughts, I gave the room a once-over. Lunch gossip was that “something big” was going down today. I’d had one eye on the crowd since I’d sat down and saw nothing but people gagging over their food.

  By the time I made the circuit back to Liam, I swear, he looked me right in the eyes and mouthed, “You’re beautiful.”

  I blinked. Then I blinked again. Then I performed a third blink just for good measure. Jeez, was that to me? I looked over both shoulders, to the tile floor; heck, I even looked at the ceiling wondering if an angel was hovering overhead. When my jaw dropped wide, and I dumbly mouthed back, “Me?” he then winked, “Yes.”

  Cue the goofy grin. No wonder his girlfriend fell off the deep end. He was flirting with Ivy and me at the same time.

  I was an okay girl, but no way in the world was I like Ivy. I had almost green eyes and weighed a buck-thirty, fully clothed with heavy sneakers. No girl wanted to weigh a hundred and thirty pounds in a world of zeros, but not everyone came hardwired with Barbie in their genes. Barbies were cute, tiny, built for bikinis, and my guess was the perfect guy-friendly height for a female. I’m five foot nine with a thirty-six inch inseam. That didn’t spell swimsuit model. It screamed giraffe.

  On my head was a potpourri of straw that included every shade of blonde, the majority being the dishwater kind. It fell mid-back with a bad case of bangs I was growing out from a botched job of my father’s. Evidently, I had a cowlick because currently they stood at a forty-five degree angle. I had a feeling my looks were the type that were an acquired taste. My muscles were sort of defined; my hips were relatively slim with some curves in all the appropriate places. But the operative word there was “some.” Long legs, some hips, very little chest and a whole lot of hoping it came together in the end. And to every teenage girl’s chagrin, I was still waiting to fill out my bra and for my teeth to finally make it to that porcelain Mecca. I’d had braces for three and a half years. It still looked like a wrecking ball had gone to town in my mouth, and they were to come off Friday. My orthodontist ecstatically said, “It’s time.” Well, eight grand and two surgeries later, in my opinion, they were now only semi-smile’able.

  Even though I knew Liam was a fastard, his gaze was like an anchor drawing me under. I must’ve said something. Shoot, I might’ve moaned because Justice kicked me under the table with a chuckle. “Well, well, well,” she laughed, her eyes darting back and forth between Liam and me. “That was one
heck of a shiver-inducing stare.”

  No kidding, my nerve endings were twisting. By that time, Ivy realized he wasn’t giving her his full attention. She swiveled her head around so fast it was a wonder it didn’t pop right off. When she figured out the distraction was me, she looked at me the way vultures look at rotting corpses. I gave her a smile (kinda). But that wasn’t good enough for Ivy. Next thing you knew, she blurted out, “Her? You’ve got to be kidding.” Then she added an eye roll, like the thought of me with anyone was so insanely astonishing she couldn’t contain her disbelief.

  I swallowed; temporarily mute. I had a beef to take up with the universe if and when I ever made it to the Principal’s Office in the Sky. It was my opinion people should be as revolting on the outside as they were on the inside. In simple terms, Ivy should be dog-butt ugly. I tried to imagine myself in a land far, far away, but I couldn’t escape the heat of Liam’s gaze. He honestly was taken aback by her rudeness. He slowly opened his mouth, his brown eyes soft and compassionate, but then I felt a shift in the air. All at once, Liam looked like he’d stepped on a roadside bomb, and no one had to tell me who’d buried it.

  Justice looked up, grinning. “Hey, big guy,” she practically purred. Closing her magazine, she started to fidget like she wished she could change out of her sweats and into something more boyfriend-shopping appropriate. She gave her ponytail a quick smooth-down, kneeing me in the thigh, her brown eyes dancing.

  “Hello, Justice,” I heard. Then I got a velvety-smooth, “Hey, sweetheart.”

  Ahhh, I was right. It was my best friend. From as far back as I can remember, Dylan had a warm, rich baritone voice. It could catch you off guard if your ears weren’t standing up straight, giving the okay signal to go. But honestly, I didn’t know if he ever entered the puberty period. Dylan Taylor never had that high pitched, prepubescent tenor or bungling, gangly stage my middle school pictures immortalized. My body documented the evolutionary journey of a girl into teenage adulthood. My arms literally grazed my knees one entire year until my legs decided to catch up. Unfortunately, the legs kept growing.