The Bad Boys Songs - This Entire Book is Under Major Construction!!

Chapter 1

A/N: the bad boy's songs is currently under editing so if things seem outta place or you're just plain confused, please comment or just put it down to my bad part. Thanks for reading.

Fhyre xxx

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" Mr Greter ordered, a grey old man with a permanently set facial expression of displeased emotion. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the worse you've been!" He said looking at each of the four. "Antonio," He turned to the eldest boy whose actual name is Braxton, not Antonio. "You slow down at bar 12, each time. This final part is the most important! Marta..." His attention went to Brontë, the second eldest. "Where is the emotion?"

Mr Greter, the old fashioned music teacher who taught them - the four home-schooled siblings of two girls and two boys - daily. His clothing style that of an old man from 1970, and did not like the names of the four. Each of their names began with 'Br'. He found this appalling, depriving the ‘children’ of normality and so on making up things that makes no sense what so ever. With this dislike, he addressed the four Hernandez siblings by their middle names and refuses to do otherwise.

"With our freedom." Briar snarled, hastily pushing the stray locks of her dark wavy hair behind her ear. The youngest of the four at 13, Briar Estrella Hernandez has a sharp wit and the concentration that only makes an appearance when she is sat at the sleek black piano and her hands are gliding along the Ivory.

"Estrella..." Mr Greter started, before the final boy, Braedon, interrupts.

"It's Braxton, Brontë, Braedon, and Briar." He reminded for the hundredth time that day, even now it’s a bit of a tongue twister. "Not Antonio, Marta, Francisco and Estrella. They would be our middle names."

"I do not appreciate your tone young man. Now let's begin again. And one, two, three," Brontë resettled her violin beneath her chin and began again. Adding drama and passion to her strokes, especially when she arrived at the part that always sets Mr Greter on another rant.

The summer day outside was teasing. Clear blue skies, hot sun, Dusty paths between the half harvested grapes, the workers were picking away, hats on their heads to block the blistering sun from their skin. The children's aunt often preached hand-picked wine is the best. Their aunt, Carmen Hernandez, runs the vineyard in which they live on and the international wine company - Mountain View Wine - that distributes the best, carefully handpicked by the children and the Mexican workers who live in a nearby community.

Their father was a bit of ladies’ man, so the four Hernandez siblings, weren't fully related. Half siblings to each other apart from the two eldest, Braxton and Brontë who shared the same parents. They all had their father in common with each other. Form which they all inherited the brown eyes, olive skin and dyslexia. But there was different ranges in height and hair colour. Dusty blonde like Braedon to light brown like Braxton, to the brunette colour of Brontë and Briar.

They all lived on the Vineyard in Napa Valley, California, whilst their father and mothers go off and make money, the kids are left in the hands of Mr Greter, Beatriz - the nanny you could call her, Carmen and various other guardians.

Brontë gazed out the window, looking down at her reading tree at the end of one of the fields. Her eyes darted back to the sheet music when she approached a section she always got mixed up with.

She looked from the sheet, once the section had passed, to the open door opposite the window. In the large entrance hall it was dark, unable to make anything out in the shadows, apart from the large mirror along the left wall. No lights on, the door wide open at the end of the narrow corridor leading from the grand entrance hall, letting in the only light. The house was large, too large. Their furniture fit in so easily but there was still so much space so the house looks empty and bare. The doors and windows are always open letting in the little luke warm breezes in the blistering Californian weather.