Distraction: The Distraction Trilogy #1 Read online

  “You could have been killed.”

  “Oh the horror,” I say, my tone laced with sarcasm in an attempt to hide the fear that is clogging my throat. I turn back towards the road, this time checking both directions before walking across. The guy who saved me seems to have vanished.

  Oh well.

  “I’m calling your dad,” my uncle shouts. I flip him off over my shoulder and ignore his chuckle as I walk away.

  Christ… I almost died right then. That’s scary.

  With that lingering thought in my mind, I make my way home, being extra careful of roads and parked cars.

  I wonder who’d miss me if I die. Genuinely I don’t want to die, but I can’t help but wonder. All of my friends would probably place flowers by the road upon which my body was mangled; my dad would be distraught; my mum would probably shut down and my uncle and cousins would no doubt be quite sad.

  I think I’ll live for now. That would be better for everyone.

  It would definitely be better for me. I’m going to a live band mash up next month. Woohoo!

  Isaac

  I shouldn’t care. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. How can somebody be so stupid? She’s probably lived here her entire life; she probably knows this crappy small town like the back of her hand, yet she can’t even stop at the road side and check for cars.

  Stupid mobile phones and new technology.

  No, I shouldn’t blame the technology. It’s the users of said technology that screw everything up. She shouldn’t have been so immature and careless.

  If I hadn’t been there, she’d probably be dead and even though saving somebody’s life should bring me a small amount of satisfaction and pride, it doesn’t. It only makes me wonder, yet again, how somebody could be so careless with their own life.

  That said, she couldn’t have been older than twenty, so I guess being young and naïve can take part of the blame.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say as I walk into the house where I grew up. It hasn’t changed much, apart from the fresh paint job in the hallway. Still the same shade of magnolia, just brighter than it was due to being new and clean.

  “You’re not,” he responds, patting me on the back. “Your mother is just finishing dinner.”

  I glance through to the kitchen where I hear her soft voice as she talks to herself. This isn’t part of her illness; it’s something she’s always done. It’s one of the many things I loved about her as a boy and one of the many things I still love about her as a man.

  “I’ll just go in and see her,” I tell him and make my way into the kitchen. The minute she sees me, she smiles brightly, her plump arms opening up ready for me to embrace her. I do so instantly, feeling like a small boy again, even though I’m a foot and a half taller than she is.

  “You look more handsome every time I see you,” she says, grinning as she tilts her head back to look at me. “So much like your father.” Her hand pats at my cheek and she steps back. “You need a shave.”

  I rub the stubble along my jaw and around my mouth and decide she’s not wrong.

  “I have some things for your classes when term begins,” my dad states as he takes his seat at the dining table across the kitchen. “If you could drop by my office tomorrow to pick them up, I’d be grateful.”

  I smirk, folding my arms across my chest. “I heard you bike everywhere now.”

  “Good for the heart.” He pats his chest, which has gained a couple of inches of meat since the last time I saw him three years ago. I didn’t notice this yesterday when I arrived in town, but in my defence I was exhausted after a long drive and zero sleep. My dad was always a health freak as I was growing up; he was into exercise and a balanced diet. I’m assuming that stopped when I left home, because the man I knew twelve years ago would never let himself become overweight.

  “What time? I’m meeting some old friends at four.”

  “Any time before then. I’ll be in from nine. Got a few things to deal with and it’s quiet there during the holidays.”

  “No shit,” I mutter, earning me a slap on the shoulder from my mum. “Sorry.” It doesn’t matter how old you get, you never ignore a chastisement from your mother.

  “So, is there a woman I should know about? Wedding preparations? Grandchildren on the way?”

  Jesus Christ, I hope not. “Sorry Mum, still looking for the one.” The next one to open her legs at least.

  She sighs deeply, clearly disappointed, and now I feel guilty because she might never get a grandchild before she loses her mind to this awful illness. “Maybe you’ll meet somebody local.” This time she sighs wistfully. “Maybe you’ll fall in love and come home more often.”

  Now I feel extremely guilty. I only smile in response and take the seat across from my dad as Mum brings the prepared plates of food over. “So, is there anything I should know about the kids I’m teaching? Who to watch out for, who to pay attention to, etcetera?”

  “They’re mostly good kids,” Mum answers and takes the seat beside Dad, after making sure we both have everything we need. “There are a few who I don’t approve of, but they aren’t bad kids. The year nines are the worst.”

  My dad nods his agreement. “I dread to see how bad they are now they’ve gone up to year ten. The older kids in sixth form are a lot better than they were last year. We got a bit worried about some of them. They started dabbling, but most of them snapped out of that phase.”

  “Thankfully,” Mum inputs and dabs at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “You’ll be able to keep them in line; just make the lesson fun. When they get bored, they get restless and reckless.”

  “I know how to teach.” I frown, forking mashed potato into my mouth. “I have to go soon. I have a flat viewing. The sooner I’m in my own place, the better.”

  “You’re welcome here, always.” I take my mum’s hand as she places it over mine and thank her. As much as I’d like to stay, I’m too used to living alone.

  Eloise

  “I’m home,” I call and throw my bag onto the hanger by the door. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

  No answer… huh. They better not be bonking; that would be awkward, not to mention disgusting.

  “Hello?” I shout again and finally hear my mum call back from the dining room. Opening the door leading to the beige room holding antique shelves and a large dark oak table that seats six, I immediately notice the headphones hanging around my mum’s neck and roll my eyes. “Jamming it to the seventies again?”

  “You know I can’t dust without music.” She squirts the table with white foam and wipes it down with a yellow dusting cloth. “You could help me, if you like?” Her smile is wide and welcoming. I cringe away.

  “I did my chores already. Besides, I’ve just finished work. Give me a break.”

  “Coffee?” She offers politely.

  “Please.”

  “You know where the kettle is.” She starts cackling and puts her headphones back on her head.

  Smiling whilst rolling my eyes again, I mouth, “Where’s Dad?”

  To which she shrugs and points at the ceiling. He’s in his man cave then.

  Making my way up the staircase, I enter my room and dive onto my bed, where my laptop and tablet wait for me. Both flash with unseen messages and alerts.

  I quickly update my status on Facebook:

  Almost died today, realised life is so much easier for everyone else with me here. Saved from a dragon car by a mighty knight with a very comfortable lap. ;)

  The comments start piling in.

  No way? Are you okay?

  She’s kidding… you’re totally kidding right?

  I got hit by a car last month, it wasn’t pleasant, be more careful.

  It’s funny because I have no idea who these people are. I respond anyway and, within minutes, I’m conversing with two of them in private chat.

  This is my life. This is my summer. Work, Facebook and chores.

  Riley: Are you coming out?

  Am I?


  Eloise: Yes. Pick me up?

  Riley: On my way.

  Riley is my hot friend, the one who I used to have a crush on but since decided it’s better that we remain friends. Especially since hot guy Garrett moved into town last November. He is beautiful. Way too beautiful.

  He’s also a black belt in Karate and so freaking good to look at when he takes his shirt off. He never dates though, even though he’s not shy. I’m still waiting for him to ask me out. I mean, I’ve dropped every hint possible.

  Sooner or later I’m going to have to ask him.

  Ooh, he’s uploaded a new profile picture; damn that blackish hair and those dark brown eyes!

  Swoon!

  Like!

  A chat box immediately pings in the bottom corner of the screen.

  Garrett: Thanks. :)

  Eloise: No problem. :)

  Garrett: Any plans?

  I smile when he likes a few of my pictures in return and quickly type my response.

  Eloise: Riley is on his way to pick me up. Want to hang out?

  Garrett: Are you two together?

  Yes! Finally! I’m getting somewhere.

  Eloise: No, never have been.

  Garrett: Awesome. Where are you going?

  I quickly text Riley.

  Eloise: Where are we going?

  Riley: Thought we could hit Ranger’s arcade?

  I quickly respond to Garrett.

  Eloise: Meet us at Ranger’s arcade in ten.

  Garrett: Will do. :)

  Day planned. Wicked.

  “I’m going out!” I shout and quickly check my makeup in the mirror, making sure to touch up my lip gloss and push my boobs up an inch.

  Outfit done. Wicked.

  “Where are you going?” My dad calls from his man cave.

  “Out with Riley, to Ranger’s.”

  “Home by ten thirty. No alcohol!” He says the last part with a growl to his tone.

  “Promise!” I make a loud kissing noise and bound down the stairs, taking two at a time, and startle my mum, who’s organising the coats on the coat rack in the hallway. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and leave the house, ready to meet my friends and hopefully my future husband.

  Chapter Two

  September 2014

  Eloise

  I walk into the classroom with Hayley, my mind on things other than school. The first day back is always the worst. Always. I don’t want to be here, not at all.

  The minute we take our seats at a random desk, Hayley turns to the left and starts kissing Riley, who’s sat at the table beside us, and it’s not quiet at all. They hooked up when she came back from her holiday and have spent far too much time together since.

  I’m still working on Garret. He seems into me, but mostly he stays away from me. We had a few meetings over the summer, one of them being an accidental meeting down the sweet aisle in the corner shop last week. He shows all of the signs of being infatuated, to a certain extent, and he doesn’t seem shy at all. I wonder why he’s holding back.

  It’s not fair.

  Doesn’t he see that we are made for each other?

  Hayley elbows me in the ribs and my head shoots up from the notebook on my desk. I blink and then blink again when I see the person scowling at me from the front of the classroom. When my eyes hit his, his scowl changes into a look of confusion.

  Mine contorts into the same and then I smile widely in remembrance. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he responds, cocking his head slightly before shaking it and looking back to the class. “So, as I was saying, you can call me Sir, or Mr Price. Yes, I’m the head teacher’s son and yes, I also share his zero tolerance policy.”

  “What was that all about?” Hayley asks, referring to the ‘Hey’ greeting the teacher and I shared moments ago.

  “He’s the guy that saved me,” I whisper, leaning slightly to her side but keeping my eyes up front on my teacher.

  “You didn’t say he was a teacher.”

  I look at her, my gaze saying ‘are you stupid?’ “We didn’t introduce ourselves. He was quite mad at me.”

  “He is so hot! I mean… you didn’t tell me how hot he was… is,” Hayley hisses, her eyes never leaving Mr Price as he switches on the smart board and loads up a PowerPoint presentation on Mussolini. “Seriously though, how old is he? He can’t be older than twenty nine. Who cares? Look at his arse. I would so…”

  “Stop, you’re putting images in my head that I don’t need,” I laugh quietly and look to my friends at the desk to the left of me. “Want to swap? I have a feeling I’ll be dealing with this all year.” Wyatt, the boy in front, chuckles and shakes his head no. Sighing, I relax back in my seat and return my eyes to the teacher.

  She is right, though. He is extremely good looking, in that stop and catch your breath kind of way. Definitely.

  “What’s that?” Riley asks, frowning petulantly at his girl, who only giggles in response.

  She leans over and the sloppy noise that is their mouths connecting begins. I shudder, ignoring the giggles from the class around us, and look up to our new History teacher, Mr Price. I watch him walk between the two seat desks, a thin book in hand. The way he moves shows a confidence you don’t see in most men, but then again, I can understand why he has such confidence. His body is tall, lean, definitely toned from what I can see of the tight white turtleneck top that clings to his skin underneath a dark grey suit jacket.

  The grey really brings out the strange blue and green mixture that makes his eyes, especially now they’ve darkened angrily.

  The room stills when he quickly, in one swift move, pushes the book between Hayley and Riley’s faces, effectively separating their mouths.

  “You,” he barks at Riley.

  “Sir?” Riley blinks up at him, looking slightly worried. He tries for charming, his smile now lighting up in his face in a way that would definitely work to persuade a girl his age, but would most definitely never work to persuade a man like Mr Price, who is hotter than sin and has probably used the same smile a few times in his life.

  “Swap with your friend.”

  “But…”

  “Now.”

  “Fuck sake,” Riley mutters angrily, standing sharply. He waits for Josh to move and plonks himself into the seat he vacated, his eyes shooting daggers at Mr Price, who doesn’t seem to notice or just doesn’t care.

  “Anyway,” Mr Price calls, silencing the laughter and chatter immediately. “If all of you could write your names on the cards I’m about to hand out and place them on your desk facing me, that would be a huge help. I’m terrible at remembering names.” He gives us all a warm smile before passing the cards to Anne, who’s sitting at the desk closest to him. She takes one and passes it on.

  I scribble my name on mine and fold it like everyone else, so it stands up on its own.

  “Brilliant.” Rubbing his hands together, he moves towards the board. “This year we’re learning about Mussolini and Churchill for your A Level studies.”

  “Yay,” I mutter sarcastically and his eyes shoot to me. The look he gives me is long, lingering and chastising and, unfortunately, my classmates’ eyes follow the direction of his. I roll my own back to my notebook.

  “It’ll be hard. There will be a lot of reading and even more writing. I refuse to teach people who refuse to learn, so if you’re planning on being an idiot, I suggest you leave now.” Nobody moves. We all wait, yet not one person moves. “Good. Also, I refuse to accept lower than a B. You’re going into the real world. This is your last year before you go to University, or you go on to get a job. In the real world, less than your best will get you fired. I’m going to use the same terminology. I will not accept less than your best. It doesn’t matter how stupid you think you are; if you study, if you read the material and if you listen to me and show up, I will make sure you get that grade.”

  “I’ve never achieved higher than a C average,” Kim mumbles from beside Anne. “No matter how hard I work.�
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  He shrugs, his broad shoulders flexing the material of his jacket. “For those who struggle, I’ll pair you with those who aren’t. If you still struggle, we’ll figure something out, but honestly, this is not difficult. It is all opinion based on fact. As long as you know the facts, there’s no wrong answer.”

  His instructions drone on until finally we’re told to put pen to paper and to copy down the information on the board. Taking notes is something I can only just manage on the first day back. If something requires brain power, people best not hope that it’ll get done by me, because it won’t.

  When the bell rings, signifying that class has ended, we all stand and pack away our things, giving our name cards back to the teacher on the way out.

  “Eloise Blackburn,” Mr Price calls, not looking up from the tablet on his desk. As if teachers are allowed phones, tablets and laptops in school. So unfair. “Can you hang back a minute?”

  Hayley looks at me expectantly. I sigh and inform her, “I’ll catch you up; grab me a Boost bar from the vending machine.”

  She nods and leaves, her eyes lingering on the teacher as she turns the corner.

  Making my way over to his desk, I bunk my bag up my shoulder and wait patiently as he taps at the screen of his tablet.

  “How are you?” He suddenly asks, startling me.

  Why does he want to know how I am? “Fine.”

  His eyes slice upwards, catching mine before his brow quirks. “I mean about the almost accident.” He leans back in his seat and folds his arms behind his head. My eyes trail up and down his chest. The way it expands when he breathes, forcing the fabric of his turtle neck to press against every contour of his chest and sculpted stomach, makes my mouth go dry. “It was quite a traumatic experience.”