Don't Kiss the Class Clown (Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 4) Read online

  Don’t Kiss the Class Clown

  Sally Henson

  Contents

  Don’t Kiss the Class Clown

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Also by Sally Henson

  About the Author

  Don’t Kiss the Class Clown

  Billionaire Academy YA Romance

  Nothing like an injury and a move around the world to crush your dreams.

  I should be training for the Olympics. Instead, I'm a comeback gymnast at Mount Rainier Legacy Academy. This school is known for two things: billionaires and grueling academics.

  Though I ‘ve mastered the art of focus, there's one distraction I can't ignore: Ryan Jacobs.

  He cracks jokes…

  Constantly chatters in class…

  And, wears a smile that says he's up to no good.

  His carefree view of the world annoys me just as much as his bent for being the center of attention.

  But he does have the most mesmerizingly perfect lips...

  And when I need help after a sprained ankle, he says he's my guy.

  I didn’t mean to lead him on...

  I didn’t mean to fall for him...

  I certainly didn’t mean to kiss the class clown...

  But maybe it’s too late for my heart to forget that magical moment.

  Maybe I’ve already fallen in love.

  Chapter 1

  A chill shot down my spine as I stretched for my run, causing me to shiver. The cold air reminded me just how far away from home I was. Not that I had forgotten. Twenty-five days at Mt. Rainier Legacy Academy didn’t make it my home. It never would be. If the temperature didn’t prove that fact, the group of giggling girls in their designer outfits heading straight for me sure did. Leggings, T-shirts, and leotards had always been my style. But now I had the school uniform to add to my wardrobe.

  I stepped off the concrete walkway into the grass as they walked past and entered the girls’ dormitory without so much as a glance my way. Being the new girl sucked.

  I put in my ear pods and scrolled through my music, opting for the HeartCandy heavy playlist—something with a good beat to make me sweat and forget about the ball of anxiety lodged in my chest.

  Another stretch and I was off. It took me a bit, but I finally found a good pace. One thing I did like about MLA was the trails throughout campus. I breathed in the clean, moist air and veered off of the wooded path toward the edge of the island.

  No joke … an island.

  Money could buy a lot of things, including tuition to a private school on an island near Seattle. That is, if your net worth was high enough. I hadn’t even known billionaire academies were a thing when I’d been forced to choose between this place and moving overseas. Choice … My choice would be to stay exactly where I’d been: Houston, Texas, in the world-class Elite Powerhouse Gym.

  My watch buzzed, causing the bubble in my chest to show back up. I checked the screen, expecting to see Mom’s name flash across it, but it was a message from the girl that lived in the room across from mine.

  Gamela: I’m ready. Let me know when you get close. Meet you outside.

  She was not an athlete. According to her, she was uncoordinated and could never be a gymnast like me. Running didn’t take much athletic ability, but she had asked me to teach her.

  I snorted to myself. To me it was simple: just do it. Gamela saw it differently, so I agreed to help her. It was nice to have at least one person who would talk to me.

  My watch buzzed again. I assumed it was Gamela sending me a goofy emoji or something. “Mom” flashed on the screen. I slowed to a walk, took a deep breath, and answered, “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, Ally-girl. What are you up to?” Saudi Arabia was ten hours ahead of Washington. I think that was where she and Dad were at the moment. His oil consulting had them moving from place to place in that area.

  I tried to slow my breathing. “Going for a run. It’s cold.” Tiny pinpricks pelted my cheeks from the frigid air.

  “It’s Saturday night there, right?” That question and the tone of her voice reeked of disappointment. “I thought you’d be hanging out with your new friends.”

  I continued on the path that looped back to where I split off. It was dark, but between the lampposts and the ground lighting, the trails were well lit. “I don’t have friends here, Mom. All my friends are in Houston.” I knew she wouldn’t like my comment, but it was true.

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “If you would make an effort, join in the activities instead of running off by yourself that wouldn’t be the case.”

  “Training takes up all my time. I have to work hard if I want to make it to the trials.” I spent as many hours as possible in the gym, rebuilding my strength and increasing the difficulty of my skills.

  I heard Dad’s voice in the background. Mom answered him with a no, and he mumbled something else. They were discussing the fact that I wasn’t giving up on gymnastics. My vote didn’t seem to matter. Why couldn’t they have let me stay in Houston?

  “I’m getting stronger. Let me go home so I can train with Coach Steff full time again. Please,” I begged.

  “We’ve been through this so many times, Ally. You’re at a fantastic school with so many opportunities to grow. We were lucky to get you in midyear. Take advantage of your circumstances.”

  I stopped and squatted down with my head in my hands. Every single phone call with my parents broke my heart all over again. Tears pooled in my eyes, trickling out the corners as I squeezed them shut.

  “Ally? Are you there?” she asked.

  I wished I wasn’t. Not at this school or this state. “I didn’t have a choice.” I said. “You dropped me off and flew halfway across the world.”

  “Sweetie—”

  “I have to go,” I said, and I hung up, knowing where the conversation was heading. Where it always had for the past few months. A future without gymnastics.

  Part of me wanted to go to my room, lock the door, and hide under the covers until I couldn’t stand to lay there anymore. The other part wanted to run until I collapsed.

  The music for my floor routine played through the speakers of the gym. The call from my parents flickered in my mind for a brief moment, but I pushed them away. I was getting closer to doing my full elite routine. Proving them wrong, that I could make a comeback, drove me every second of the day. If it weren’t for the tiny scars from surgery, no one would even know about my injury. Not even a twinge of pain or discomfort was left.

  Readying for my second tumbling pass, I took a deep breath and posed before I sprinted a few steps and began … roundoff, back handspring. The spring of the mat assisted my launch into the air for a double tuck. The closer I pulled my knees to my body, the faster I spun—o
ne turn, two, straighten. Except I wasn’t able to straighten and landed in the tucked position.

  Not quite elite ready.

  One foot twisted off the extra mat that Coach had placed there specifically for that trick. A fire arrow shot through my ankle. I grimaced but kept my chin up as I stood. Pain happened sometimes. All gymnasts went through it. Tumbling wasn’t for the weak or the fearful.

  I moved parallel with the edge of the mat and leaped into a switch leg split. Next was a half turn split jump. Point your toes! Wolf jump. I took a step and spun on one foot, lifting my leg for two rotations, completing the Memmel. At the corner, I stepped into position with a cleansing breath, blowing it out as I lowered my arms.

  The throb from my ankle pulsed.

  Finish strong, Ally.

  I sprinted into my next tumbling pass. With every step, the pain worsened. I punched my feet into the mat for a front tuck. The fiery arrow shot up the side of my leg. I had no choice but to finish the trick, tucking at the top of my block and readying myself for the impact of the landing.

  The next skill was a front handspring, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, I cried out and crumbled. Heat spidered in every direction from the outside of my ankle. I squeezed my eyes closed, biting my lips together. Please don’t let it be bad. Please don’t let it be bad.

  “Ally!” Gamela’s voice rung out.

  Before I could open my eyes, memories of my injury from last summer flashed through my head. So did the words my parents had said when they’d dropped me off less than a month prior: “You need to face the truth. The Olympic trials are no longer an option. Mt. Rainier is a fantastic school with so many opportunities, sweetie.”

  Sweetie? As if a little sugar on top of the crap pie would make it any more appetizing. I swallowed the memory and the nausea down.

  Feet scuffled across the floor, drawing nearer, and I opened my eyes as Coach kneeled next to me. “Your ankle? Let me see.”

  Gamela approached, worry strewn across her flawless face.

  “I think I’m okay,” I answered. “Just tweaked it, that’s all.”

  Coach Heidi’s thin lips stretched thinner. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Ally,” Gamela said skeptically. “I don’t think you are fine.”

  Coach poked and prodded above around my ankle. As hard as I tried to keep from doing so, I hissed in pain.

  She let out a long breath. “Let’s get you to the trainer.”

  Coach Phillip came over. He had been working with the girls on bars when I’d started my floor routine. He and Heidi were married, the perfect team to whip us girls into shape.

  Gamela helped me up as Coach Heidi explained what had happened. Gymnasts were allowed one visitor a week per the coaches’ rules, unless we got special permission. Gamela had joked that maybe the athletic abilities would rub off on her.

  “Can you put any weight on it?” he asked. His dark eyebrows pulled tight above his dark eyes. Tessa, one of the other gymnasts, had told me he had ranked number one in the US when he was in college. The guy was still in competition shape.

  I did, but not for long, because the fire coiled around my leg like a snake.

  His gaze connected with Heidi’s. The man was the strong, silent type. Literally. When he spoke, everyone listened.

  “Come on,” she said.

  Gamela tried to crouch down so I could put my arm over her shoulders. Tried. The girl was a giant compared to me. With one arm around Coach Heidi and a hand grasping Gamela’s shoulder, we slowly made our way toward the office at the back of the building.

  Coaches Heidi and Phillip seemed like good people. The gym was state of the art, including the trainer’s area in the back. The machines still had that new smell to them. I had to give that to MLA.

  But I missed my old gym. I’d spent most of my life at Elite Powerhouse Gym. For the last two years, it was where I’d spent more than forty hours a week at, and then, all of a sudden, I was surrounded by billionaire kids who didn’t care what I could do on a pair of uneven bars. They didn’t know me long enough to care that I’d been dropped by my parents, who didn’t have time for me anymore.

  I sent Gamela away to eat supper and bring me back a banana when she was done. Being alone was for the best at the moment. I didn’t want to talk about another injury.

  Pinpricks stung my skin from the ice bath Dr. Dave, the in-house doctor and head of the school’s training staff, ordered for my ankle. I closed my eyes and breathed through it. The ball of anxiety swelling in my chest soon had my attention. A sprained ankle was not what I needed. Especially now.

  Instead of focusing on the bad stuff, I visualized doing my routines perfectly. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate, my mind kept wandering back to the night my parents told me their plans to work overseas. Their plans just so happened to exclude my plans.

  Giving up wasn’t an option I was willing to take. I had to get my mindset back in line, claim positive thoughts.

  I am a great gymnast.

  I am strong and capable.

  I work hard.

  I will get through this and be better on the other side.

  I will perfect my routines.

  I will make the Olympic team.

  Gamela and I crossed the gym to the lobby and outside. She held the doors open so I could get through with the specialized motorized scooter Dr. Dave had set me up with. It had an adjustable knee rest seat. I thought he’d gone overboard with the air cast, but I was willing to do anything to get back to tumbling as soon as possible.

  After the ice bath and electronic stimulus, the walls of the trainer’s office were closing in on me, and I had to get out of there. The open space and fresh air helped. Darkness took the place of the gloomy daytime sky, bringing an extra chill with it. I took a deep breath and told myself I’d be back in no time.

  Gamela squeezed my shoulder and said, “So, it’s not broken. You’ll be doing your flips soon, right?”

  “As soon as it heals. I have to stay off of it for a few days.” I let out a groan. “I need to be training, not nursing a sprained ankle. If I don’t get that double down …” I looked up at the dark sky covered with clouds and shivered. The ice bath had chilled me to the core. I couldn’t wait to get under my covers.

  “Well, I hear there’s a paper coming up for English class, so maybe you can get that finished early and be done with it.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Thanks for coming back and helping me.”

  Gamela touched my shoulder. “No worries.” When I had told my mom I didn’t have any friends here, it was a lie. Gamela had become my friend. Her mom traveled a lot for work, which was how she’d ended up at a boarding school. Like me. All she’d said about her dad was that he wasn’t in the picture and she was fine with that. Snobby wasn’t Gamela’s style, and there was something about her that brought calm to my storm.

  We walked in silence around the library. The warm-up pants and jacket I had on weren’t warm enough for February gusts in Washington state.

  “Oh,” Gamela gasped. “I almost forgot. I’ve got something to cheer you up.”

  Her unexpected burst made laugh. “What?”

  “Guess who I saw watching you all practice long,” she asked, her voice full of excitement.

  Gamela was the only outsider there. Those in the gym were either on the girls’ team, on the boys’ team, a coach, or a trainer. “Who? One of the freshmen?” I asked.

  She shook her head and a devilish grin stretched across her face. “Nope,” she said, popping the P. “Guess again.”

  I wasn't in mood for guessing; I was in the mood for going back to my room and falling asleep. The pain medicine Dr. Dave had given me was working already, and I was going downhill fast. Passing out on a scooter with a bad ankle would not end up well. “I have no idea. Tell me.”

  “Your favorite delinquent.” She gawked at me, awaiting my reply.

  I shrugged. As if I should know who that was. Less than a month ago was t
he first time I’d ever stepped foot on this island. If Gamela hadn’t knocked on my door the day I’d moved in, she would still be a stranger to me. To say that I was a fish out of water was the understatement of the semester … maybe the year. “I don’t know. Who?”

  She stopped at the door to our dorm. Her arm swung out as if she couldn’t believe she had to explain. “Ryan Jacobs.”

  Ryan Jacobs was in my economics class. He cracked dumb jokes and chattered pretty much the entire time. Even if we weren’t in the same class, I knew him from lunch. Always goofing around. My heart did this weird triple twist the same time my stomach dropped out as his adorable smile flitted through my thoughts. It was a stupid way to react to a guy’s name, and I did my best to ignore it.

  I mimicked her posture. “So?” I had no idea what Ryan Jacobs would have been doing at the gym. I didn’t recall seeing him there … ever.

  “So, he was mesmerized by your awesomeness.”

  “Please. If the guy even was there, it was by mistake.” I motioned for her to open the door.

  She sighed. “It was him. And he had hearts in his eyes.”

  I rolled my eyes at her comment as I passed through. “I’m sure he was watching everyone. The guy has an attention span of a flea.”

  We crossed the commons area to the hallway before she spoke again. “I think the lady doth protest too much.”