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Bad at Love (Underlined) - Softcover

Martins, Gabriela

 
9780593483442: Bad at Love (Underlined)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593483448 ISBN 13: 9780593483442
Verlag: Random House Children's Books, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

"An open-hearted exploration of loneliness and love against the backdrop of the vibrant L.A. music scene."—Aiden Thomas, New York Times bestselling author of Cemetery Boys
 
This fun and flirty romance follows a teen rocker with a bad boy reputation and the aspiring journalist who’s determined to dig up the dirt on him . . . if they don’t fall for each other first.

Ever since Daniel moved to L.A. from Brazil to join the band Mischief & Mayhem, he’s become the tabloids’ bad boy. Paparazzi follow him and girls swoon over him . . . except for Sasha, who hates bad boys. When a chance encounter brings them together, Sasha sees an opportunity to get close to Daniel and write a story that will make a name for herself at the celebrity gossip magazine where she interns. But Daniel is surprisingly sweet and extremely cute—could she be falling for him?
 
The truth is: Daniel is hiding something. When Sasha discovers his secret, will she follow her heart or deliver the hottest story of the summer?
 
Underlined is a line of totally addictive romance, thriller, and horror paperback original titles coming to you fast and furious each month. Enjoy everything you want to read the way you want to read it.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Gabriela Martins is a Brazilian kidlit author and linguist. Her stories feature Brazilian characters finding themselves and love. She was a high school teacher and has also worked as a TED Ed-Club facilitator, where she helped teens develop their own talks in TED format. She edited and self-published a pro-bono LGBTQ+ anthology (Keep Faith) with all funds going to queer people in need. When she's not writing, she can be found cuddling with her two cats or singing loudly and off-key. Gabriela is the author of Like a Love Song.
 

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1


Daniel


These sunglasses were a major mistake.

My agent, Bobbi, gave me the shades so I don’t squint at the paparazzi flashes. With them, no matter how harsh the lights, I’ll still look good for the pictures. The downside? At night I can barely see an inch in front of my face.

To be clear, I didn’t even want to go to this party. I would’ve loved to be in bed by ten. But my bandmates, Sam, Wade, and Penny, wanted to par-tay after our jam session, and my sister, Helena, insists that I make friends. So here I am, at midnight, hardly awake and stumbling my way out of the Blue-Bearded Man in LA, after spending three hours pretending to drink at the club.

We step onto the dirty sidewalk and into the hurricane that is the public eye.

Oh, paparazzi, how I have not missed you.

There’s at least a dozen of them, plus a cluster of fans. Eight months after joining Mischief & Mayhem, I’m not surprised anymore when I see the M&M fans screaming and crying. Though it is weird when the fans scream, “Rotten! Oh my God, please take a selfie with me!”

That always takes me a moment. Oh. Yep. That’s right. I’m not Daniel anymore.

I’m Rotten.

Luckily, we’re shielded by security people as we make our way to our car, two tall people in black suits with earpieces and serious faces. The woman in front of me is named Yasmin. As I found out a few weeks ago in the green room at a radio interview, she can break-dance better than anyone else I know, but right now she’s an impenetrable wall, and I love her all the more for it.

Yasmin and her partner clear the way for us, but there’s still some impromptu press to be done. Sam’s the best at it. I wish I had his smooth confidence. He’s about my height, with thick longish hair mussed back, and colorful clothes. He has a triangular face with a strong jawline, light caramel eyes, and a ridiculously charming dimpled smile. Sam’s so charismatic that even though he’s just gotten in front of me, stopping a fan from getting a sort-of-not-really selfie, the girl only swoons at him instead of getting upset.

Sam’s usually the fan favorite because he’s ripped and has a million-dollar smile, but somehow I have my share of fans. People who, inexplicably, chose me as their favorite M&M band member--who think that without my addition to the band, we wouldn’t be making the most anticipated album of the year.

They’ve got it wrong. I feel like I’m bullshitting my way through this, and anytime now, someone will find out. I’m most afraid it’ll be Penny, since she’s the only one in the band who seems to value my creative opinions.

A TMZ reporter, a woman with a high bun and a ferociously bright smile, elbows her way past the fans. “Mischief and Mayhem! How are we doing tonight?”

Sam greets her, while Penny and Wade take selfies with fans. Penny may lose the title of fan favorite to Sam or me, depending on who you ask, but she is definitely the press favorite. She’s pretty and fun, with her colorful locs matching her nail polish, and her big brown eyes, just a shade darker than her dark Black skin. The reporter eyes me like a hawk, but I stay quiet. “Rotten, word on the street is that you stole Trent Nicholson’s girlfriend. Is it true that you’re seeing Reese Brown?”

Trent Nicholson? Reese Brown? Who are these people?

I turn to Sam for help, and he chuckles. “Oh, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. Do you really think Rotten would say anything, Martha?”

How does he know her name? We’re all just seventeen. He can’t possibly be friends with this woman. This whole interaction confuses me. I tuck my hands into the front pockets of my black skinny jeans, which is tough, considering how tight they are and how many rings I’m wearing. Scanning for the car, I spot someone dart past Yasmin. The girl is fast, and suddenly her phone is in my face, so close that I stumble back and fall spectacularly onto my butt.

All eyes turn to me. Cameras flash. That’s all I needed--further “evidence” that I’m drunk, even though I’m completely sober.

Great. Absolutely great.

I lower my head, clearing my throat and pressing the shades against the bridge of my nose.

Act cool, Daniel. Here you’re Rotten.

“Rotten?” Penny asks. Wade is behind him, thick black eyebrows raised in concern. I don’t hear what Sam says, something to try to distract the reporter, Martha.

I’m picking myself up off the pavement, and Yasmin is escorting the fan back, when all hell breaks loose. I barely have time to brush the dirt off my hands before the fans seize the opportunity to break through our security line.

Security breached. This is not a drill.

A dozen fans with a wall of security people between you and them is nothing. It’s easy-peasy. But a dozen people rushing straight toward you, with absolutely no barrier, feels like a million people. And you’re prey.

My eyes widen as I backpedal.

This is not bragging. This is contextualizing my downfall: they don’t come for Penny, Wade, or Sam, not at first. They all come at me. And so I run.

It’s like I’m suddenly in a zombie movie. I’m wearing a neon-green floral shirt, and I’m acutely aware that the Los Angeles night is not dark enough to hide me.

Am I going to die if they catch me? I’d rather not find out.

Making my way around the building, I duck into an alley. A girl my age steps out of the club’s side door, probably leaving the party we left too. She’s wearing a mustard-colored dress and holding a big black leather jacket. Her long brunette bob frames her face, her nose is hooked, and her eyes are so dark that they seem black. They’re the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen, and I want to look more closely.

I’m on a mission, though, so I ditch that thought. She’s my potential shield.

Attempting a smile, I approach her. “Please save me,” I beg, breathless.

She parts her lips; then her eyes flick over my shoulder and she notices the small crowd turning the corner to find me.

“Can I have your jacket?” I try again.

Her big round eyes stare up at me, but she doesn’t protest when I close the distance between us and reach over to pluck the jacket out of her hands. I swing it over my shoulders to hide my screaming shirt.

She seems to register the panic in my eyes, because she takes charge, saying “Act natural” in a low voice and pulling me into a fake embrace--to hide me in plain sight.

Okay. Good plan.

Both of my hands awkwardly brace against the brick wall behind her. It’s cold on my fingertips.

My adrenaline is still high, and my chest’s going up and down from running, so I hold my breath, staring at her. I wish I weren’t wearing these stupid sunglasses.

She’s examining me, like she’s trying to make up her mind about something. She frowns at first, studying me from head to toe but not pushing me away. Her jacket hangs from my shoulders, threatening to push both of us into darkness.

“Where did he go?” I hear a man ask from the sidewalk.

“Shoot, they’re coming,” I whisper.

“Shoot?” she echoes, cocking an eyebrow. “Shut up and don’t look their way.” Her warm hand touches the side of my face, directing me to look at her. Her lips are shaped like a heart.

I try to stand still.

...

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Verlag
Random House Children's Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2022
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593483448
ISBN 13 
9780593483442
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
240
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Verantwortliche Person
ankabu
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