Bro Code : Luke Hemmings IN EDITING

Chapter One

NONE OF THIS BOOK IS EDITED. On top of that, these first couple of chapters, like honestly, maybe until chapter 6, are complete shit. I didn't expect people to like it and want more so quickly. So, as you're reading this, keep that in mind. Plus, it's different than you'd expect.

Thanks.

You know that anxious feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know something big is about to happen? I used to only ever get that feeling when it was Christmas Eve or when it was my birthday. But lately, I've had it every day. I've narrowed it down to two options: 1. My junior year is ending in the next couple of minutes, or 2. I am going to die soon. Either one. I'm just joking. It's the first one.

My mom's been hounding me lately about applying for scholarships and to "think long and hard about which college I'll want to remember forever". She doesn't want me to live in debt for the rest of my life, and being a single parent household doesn't make for the best financial situation. Nonetheless, I want nothing to do with picking out colleges right now. The summer leading into my senior year is about to begin.

I've already got my first official plans of freedom scheduled. Michael, my best friend, is opening his pool tonight in celebration of no more school. We prefer a party of two with enough pizza to feed a party of ten.

We have yet to let one pass and regret not doing something or making a bad choice. It's summer, which means everything is going to be perfect. I already know how it's going to start. Today, we'll probably spend the rest of the day at his house, in his pool. Then, the rest of the time we'll have bonfires and parties. But, I also can't forget about the beach. I like to get a nice even tan while Michael fries to a crisp. It's quite funny honestly.

"Hope, you better pay attention," Michael whispers from the seat beside me. "You're staring off into Neverland, and she keeps looking over at you," he says, nodding to the teacher, pulling me out of my intense summer day dream.

"I was just thinking about summer and all the fu-" I start, but a shrieking spawn of Satan shuts me up quickly. Meet my bio teacher, Miss Mitchell.

"Hope Taylor! Are you talking during my lecture?" she yells at me. She loves it. She loves the thrill of making my life miserable here. She's always favors certain students over me. Here's how it works in Miss Mitchell's world: all students, passing or not, get loved beyond a normal and reasonable amount. Then there's me. I'm the one that she loves to yell at despite my grades and constant ass kissing. So as of lately, I haven't even tried to suck up. It's not worth it.

"I'm sorry, Miss Mitchell," I give a half, smug grin even though I'm embarrassed.

"I told you so," he smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. I playfully hit his shoulder and hold in my laugh.

The world could be ending and she would insist on shoving more bio lectures into my ears. I don't think she was ever a kid. I think she was born as a boring, twenty-nine year old hag, who freakishly finds science extremely interesting. I mean, if you can understand science easily, good for you, but if you actually enjoy it, all the more power to you. I'm just neither of those people. Luckily, there is only three more minutes until my eleventh year of high school is over.

The ring of the bell has never sounded sweeter. Every kid in class is out of the door in record time as we rush to our lockers for the last time of this school year. Locker B-27, it was nice knowing you, but I won't miss you. I cleaned out my locker last week, so the only things left were books that teachers were collecting today and a few papers. I stand on the bottom of my locker door and look into the top shelf to make sure I have everything. I'm just about to hop off when I see a folded piece of paper stuck in the back. I want to grab it to see what it is, but my arms are too short.

I see Michael coming down the hall way towards me. Our lockers are in different halls because our last names are far apart in the alphabet. "Why do you get so excited for summer? I'll never understand," he chuckles, resting his arm on the top of my locker door.

"Mikey, it's summer, that's like Christmas day for me," I laugh. "Can you reach up there and grab that paper?" I ask.

"Yeah, watch out. You should focus more of your energy on growing instead of summer," he jokes.

"Will you just grab it and insult my height later. I'll try to work on becoming a giant, like you, in my free time," I tell him. I'm not that short, but the top shelf is too tall for almost every girl. I begged Tommy, my locker neighbor to switch me, but he told me he wasn't tall enough either.

He reaches into the nearly empty locker. He picks it up and reads it, then laughs to himself. "What is it?" I ask, taking the note from him. "As your best friend, would you like to accompany me to this year's school dance?" I read Michael's messy handwriting on a dingy piece of paper. "Of course I would, Mr. Clifford!" I read my own handwriting this time. "Sounds like a date to me," I read the last line on the paper.

What I have failed to mention is that Michael has liked me since we were in middle school, but I don't share those types of feelings for him. He's never tried to make a move on me; he's always such a gentleman. I wish I liked him though, I really do. We would be a fabulous couple because we'd be more than two people kissing when the doors are closed. We have the whole backstory that a good pairing should have. We cuddle and have movie marathons, I'm comfortable enough to pig out in front of him, we treat each other's homes as if they were our own; we're inseparable. He's honestly my other half, and if I had the choice, I would give myself those feelings.

"You alright, Hope?" he pulls me from my sappy thoughts.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about all of the stuff we're going to do this summer!" I lie, shutting my locker. I turn to go to the back hallway that leads to the parking lot; my mom picks us up every day on her way home from work. He flings a friendly arm around my shoulder, and I slip one around his waist. You see, Michael and I can both drive and have cars, but my mother goes to and from work at the same time that we need dropped off and picked up, so our parents teamed us and banned us from driving ourselves "in an effort to save on gas" as his dad put it.

"Are you going to come over when we get home?" he asks, pushing the door open.

"Duh," I laugh, opening my car door. "Have I ever not come over?"

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