Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 1: Carter

Carter Ortese is Trouble is out in paperback. This version will still be available for free, but it is not polished or proofread. Enjoy!

The so-called turkey sandwich tastes like cardboard that someone left out in the rain for several days. Qualifying for "free" student lunches barely means anything when the food is this inedible. I'd rather eat the gum stuck to the bottom of my ratty should-have-been-retired-three-years-ago sneakers than try to swallow another bite of the mayonnaise macerated mush.

But I eat it anyway, because who knows what we'll have at home to make into a decent meal. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

I have my headphones in, drowning out the sounds of the cafeteria with a different kind of noise. Music helps me focus, and if my teachers would let me without suspending my ass, I would always have a soundtrack going in the background. It'd become an integral part of my existence, something the drown out the opinions of my peers.

Which is why it takes me a moment to realize that Emma Williams is hovering on the opposite side of the faux-wood cafeteria table. Her black clarinet case is in one hand, but she has no tray or backpack. She shifts on her feet before sitting in the chair across from mine. The expression on her face is similar to a deer caught in headlights.

I glance to the very end of my row of tables, past the four seat buffer where everyone else refuses to sit near me, past the drug users and rejects, past the additional buffer that people added to not sit near any of "those people", and see her friends gaping at us with wide bug eyes. When Emma slides her clarinet case onto the table, they start to giggle. I pop my earbuds out and give Emma my full attention.

There are two reasons why people at my school talk to me: they want drugs or they want a fake ID. And when I tell them I know nothing about either, they call me an asshole for not selling to them.

Because, according to everyone, I'm trouble. Therefore, I should have access to everything related to the word. Fakes, alcohol, pills, the harder stuff. You name it, I've been asked about it. My old clothes don't help my reputation, but you'd think people would realize I know nothing about drugs by now.

I glance back and forth between Emma's face and her sleek clarinet case, mottled black with polished steel edges. Her amber hair is gathered in a loose ponytail at the back of her neck, and when she sees me staring, a deep maroon blush spreads across her cheeks.

Emma doesn't look like a drug user, but some people surprise even me. I'm betting she wants a fake, and if that's the case, she'll end up telling me off like the rest of them. But why would goody two-shoes Emma Williams need a fake ID? I wonder what she gets up to in her free time. Though I assumed an being an honors student and lead clarinet wouldn't give her much time for recreational substances.

After squirming in silence for a second longer, she clears her throat and says, "Hey."

"Hey," I answer. My gaze settles on her case again, and she slides it off the table, placing it on the floor between her feet like I'd try to steal it from her. Yes, that's my reputation, and no one lets me forget it. I have to wonder, what use would I have for a clarinet anyway?

She goes quiet, and so do I, because I never let anyone get out of asking me for a fake or drugs easily. If they want to ask me about something illegal, they have to ask. I won't say anything until they do, because why make it easy? If anyone wants to ask me, they'll have to work for it.

I suppose that's why everyone calls me a dick once I can't provide what they want.

"How's it going?" Her pale hazel eyes glance between me and the table, as if she's not sure which she should talk to—human or inanimate object. I almost feel bad making her stumble this much, almost. Her pointed chin makes her look indignant, but her round cheeks give her more of an innocent look for a junior.