Q The Boyz Novels & Stories

Dave and Zoe said in unison. "Those 3 guys are the founders, owners, stakeholders and whatever else kind of ownership there is of the Bad Boys Club." At this Annabel Reed's eyes came up from her book "I said no talking! " she looked at me "I heard you got into trouble at English today? You should learn to do more than drool over people who will laugh at you after pranking you and get your nose buried in your book." The poor juniors seating with us flinched at the sight of their head girl's rage but if Annabel Reed noticed it she didn't say anything about it. With her never smiling face and commanding tone my guess is she grew up in a military base.

An incessant drumming, a strident guitar matching the voice that sings the verses I don't know. — What is this music? — Haven't you ever heard it? — he asks, shaking his head. — It's called Boys don't cry, it's by a British band called The Cure, who were very successful in the 80's? — What does it talk about? — It literally talks about a guy who has lost the love of his life, and tries to disguise his sadness in order not to appear fragile in front of others, claiming that boys don't cry. — It sounds too sad, why are we listening?

Heather squeezes my hand and drags me closer to my doom. We trudge up the front steps to a party somehow already in full swing. The bass of some awful song pounds into my skull, and eight people touch me before we even reach the door. There, a muscular frat boy puts up a hand to stop us. “By declaration of the quarterback king of all time, Everett Beck—” Heather clears her throat, and the frat boy actually looks down at us. “Oh, shit!” he yells like we’re not right in front of him. “Fucking sorry, dudes. Go right inside. Drinks on the left.”