Bryce's PoV

"NOW YOU'RE GONNA GET IT!" a random jock yells as he runs towards me. Man, I hate these assholes...

I use my small stature to get under him, punching him in the balls. As he howls in pain, I smile to myself. That sort of thing always makes my day. "You can have her back. I treated her well, just so you know."

Yup. That's me. Bryce Dickens. You may ask yourselves how it came to this. Well, it's not really a surprise if you know me, so let me introduce myself real quick while I bash the jock's head against his locker. I was born in the slums in New Jersey, but moved to Adelanto, California with my deadbeat mother.

I have to thank her for that, as much as I despise her. I would never have joined a band as a singer, hadn't I moved here. We're quite small, so to say. And still, we're getting some gigs at birthdays and city events... And girls, of course. At least I do. Relationships? Nah. I just use girls for some time and let them go. I'm not really interested in this 'real love' thing. The world never did anything for me, so, yeah, why should I?

This guy I just beat to a pulp? Possibly the boyfriend of one of my female classmates. Don't really care either. I know how to defend myself one way or another. "You're insane!" the jock yells at me. "Maybe," I simply reply. As I walk off, few other students gather around the jock. "Are you okay?!" "Does it hurt?!" Dickheads. All of 'em.

Soon enough, I sit in front of the principal's office once more. The door opens, upon which a dark-brown haired girl with brown eyes and light skin steps out. Another one I could use for some time, perhaps... "Dickens, get in. Now." I sigh as Mr. Reeds, the principal, calls me in. "Yes, sir," I answer, being as sarcastic as I possibly can.

He clears his throat as soon as we both sit down. "So, yet another fight." He tries his death stare, but I just look at him. Unimpressive. "I just want some fun. Not my fault that some people try to ruin it," I reply.

Mr. Reeds sighs in frustration. Sigh all you want, you old bastard... "Look... I know you're not as bad as you think yourself to be. I know there's more behind that than that...well, teenage dirtbag behavior, for the lack of a better term. You know, there's more to you than misogyny and fighting. I can see it in your grades." Misogyny? He doesn't have to go that far.

"Right, right," I answer. Of course, I don't let his words get to me. "Alright. I give you one last chance to change. You've seen the girl coming out of the office, right? That's one of the new students, Naomi Kaminari. She wants to join the band club, you know, where you are with few of your classmates. Treat her well, or else." Great. Now I have to be all lovey-dovey with that chick?

"Right. You can go now. Remember, another case of delinquent behavior and I won't be Mr. Nice Guy anymore." "Got it..." I mutter with a sigh.

In front of the door, my bandmates and friends were waiting for me. First, we have the drummer, Ronnie O' Connor. American-Irish. Wears sunglasses, even in the nighttime. Green mohawk that makes him resemble a bird. Sort of an asshole.

Then, we have the guitarist, Michael Johnson. American. Blonde hair, down to his shoulders. The happy-go-luckiest of our group. Possibly bisexual. Wouldn't know, as he never had a partner yet.

"Dude, Bryce, what the hell did you do again?" Ronnie asks. "Haven't you seen it? Dude beat some jock to a pulp!" I simply chuckle. "Yeah, these fuckers deserve it, I'm telling ya. I'm just being me."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Well, fuck me. It seems that this Naomi chick is in my class as well. As the teacher introduces her, I fall asleep. Oddly enough, the teacher didn't disturb me while sleeping this time. Maybe he just doesn't give a shit anymore.

We are about to walk to the room we practice our music. As we do so, I notice the new girl looking at me before she gets pulled away by someone. Whatever... "Hey, did you find a bassist for our band? We've been without a bass for a long time, I can't take it anymore!" "Chill the hell out! I thought it was your job!" "Me?!" "Of course, blondie!" "WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?!"

Naomi's PoV

As I see the guy walking past me with his buddies, I notice some people hiding from him. "What the..." I was about to shrug it off and go to the practice room, but someone pulls me aside before I could! "Hey, don't let this guy fool you or anything, girl!" I cock my head. "The hell are you talking about?" She scoffs. "Let's just say he's not...the nicest guy around. Not the loyalest person either." So, the typical bad boy casanova high schooler?

"Pff, yeah, right. I'll handle him," I answer with a smile. While I catch up to my future bandmates, let me introduce myself: Naomi Kaminari, of Japanese descent. My father left the family when I was five, so I live together with my mom, even though she isn't home a lot due to her job. So, yeah, basically, you could say that I live alone.

"Whaddya want?" one of the three boys, the one with the green mohawk, says as soon as I catch up. "I-I'm Naomi Kaminari. I want to join your band." The boy with the unkempt black hair looks at me. "Haven't seen you around here before. You new?" I nod hesitantely. "Y-Yeah. Moved here from New Jersey some time ago."

Bryce's PoV

I use all the charisma I can muster and smile. "Cool, cool. I'm Bryce, the punk's name is Ronnie, the blondie's Mikey." "You can call Bryce Grumpy as well." "Who's grumpy here?" I ask before giving him a slap on the back of his head.

"Sorry... But you sure that she can do anything? Maybe she's just a pretty face and nothing else- OW!" "Do you hear yourself talk at times? Jerk..." Mikey mutters. Naomi simply smiles shyly. "Well, I only can sing. And I can play the bass-" "YOU'RE IN!" What goes on in that punk's brain will always be a mystery to me. If he has one, that is.

Naomi's PoV

"Listen, we're just gonna let you watch for now. Maybe this'll be a bit too much for ya." I simply nod and lean myself against a wall as they start playing. "I'm begging, begging you~..." As soon as they finish the song, I clap. "Honestly, that was great! But it still needs something..."

Bryce's PoV

I look at her with curiousity. "Well, if you say so. From the top, then."

After we did the entire song again, with Naomi's help, I smile. "That was awesome. You're in." She lets out a squeal of happiness and hugs me and the boys. For a rather thin girl and someone who's approximately 4'9 tall, she's got some power in her arms... "Yeah, yeah, you're welcome..."

Mr. Reeds' threat just went through my head. As if by reflex, I wrap my arms around her and hug her back. Huh. That's a weird feeling. "Alright, I'm excited to be in your band, you're amazing! Especially you, Bryce!" After letting us go, she looks at her watch. "Crap, it's late! Gotta go, see you, boys!"

"Y-Yeah, see you around...!" I feel my face heating up as she leaves. Then, I notice both Mikey and Ronnie staring at me. "...What?!" "Bryce and Naomi sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" I groan in frustration. "Yeah, yeah, don't push it. I'll play her too, you'll see." "Whatever, lover boy!" Ronnie exclaims as he pats me on the shoulder.

As always, all three of us were on our way home together. "So, your momma's out and about again, huh?" "Yeah, definitely, fucking bitch... Maybe I'll watch a movie or something to pass the time." "Maybe a romantic comedy or something...?" "LISTEN, I'M NOT IN LOVE OR SOMETHING!" "YOU DAMN KIDS GET OUTTA HERE, IT'S SIX P.M. AND I WANT TO TAKE A NAP!" "SHUT UP!" Damn neighbors.

I kick the door to my house open. "GUESS WHO'S BACK!" ...Yeah, that's a habit of mine. I do that basically every time I enter my house. Don't ask.

The first thing I do: Go into my room and turn on Netflix. I'm looking for something regarding music or violence or horror or something, but just these stupid cringeworthy romance movies! "OH, COME THE FUCK ON!" I toss the remote towards the wall. It always goes through such things, it'll be fine.

Whatever. Don't wanna play games or anything either, so I gotta fall asleep. But I can't. I only could think about her. About how she plays the bass. I groan out of frustration and bury my face in my pillow. "COME ON, MAN, THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE!" Yet, she runs through my mind. I imagine me and her playing in the practice room. Then, I mumble to myself:

"I'm begging, begging you~..."