Complicate Me (The Good Ol' Boys #1) (2 page)

“Guys, this isn’t fair!” I shouted from below.

“Life’s not fair, Half-Pint,” Lucas called out.

“But I want to play in the tree house, too.”

“Can’t you read?” Jacob yelled, pointing to the crappy sign that looked like it was drawn with women’s lipstick. The bright red, boy handwriting clearly stated, “No Girls Allowed.”

“That’s a stupid rule if I ever heard one. I’m not a girl, I’m one of the boys, exactly how I’ve always been. I’m one of you.”

I put on my best boy stance, as they peered down at me, leaning all my weight on one leg and crossing my arms, giving them one hell of a standoff. If they didn’t let me up there, I would find my own way. Even if that meant I had to climb the tree all by myself. By the look on all four of their faces, they knew it, too.

We grew up in the small town of Oak Island, North Carolina. Our families had all been friends growing up in this Southern beach town. My parents, Nathanial, and Jana owned a restaurant right on the water where I spent most of my childhood along with my four best friends, who all happened to be boys.

Jacob Foster was the oldest. He took on the "Big Brother" role before all of us could even walk. He was thirteen and tall for his age, nearly six foot. He was still a gangly kid, all skin and bones, but with the sweetest smile and vibrant green eyes. He always had a ball cap permanently glued on his head. He was like the poster child for surfing, always wearing all kinds of different surf brands. He protected me fearlessly, but I didn’t need any protection, I could carry my own weight and I often reminded him of that. His parents, Ginger and Lee owned a grocery store up the road, where they sold all kinds of tourist crap and food. They preserved a farm on his grandparent’s old plantation in South Port that they only opened on Sundays. The church folk would gather together and go to town just to get the freshest produce near us. He had two younger sisters, Jessie, and Amanda, who bored me to no wits end.

Why would I want to play with dolls when I could be climbing trees and building forts?

Dylan McGraw was thirteen, just a few months shy of Jacob. They were always the closest to one another. I think it’s because their personalities were somewhat the same, both acting as if we owned the beach whenever kids passed through town on vacation. He was also tall, almost the same height as Jacob, with hazel eyes and skin that tanned like the best of them. He had long blonde hair that went past his ears. His mom was always on his butt to get it trimmed but he refused, saying it was his style. During the summer the sun and salt water would bleach his hair almost white. His parents, McKenzie and Steve mostly worked from home. They had an act for refurbishing old furniture and turning it into something modern, new, and unique. Some of the items were sold in local shops, some from their online store, and some were loaded up and hauled to flea markets, where tourists flocked and overpaid for the quality work. Dylan and I both had the only child syndrome.

Austin Taylor was eleven and the shortest among the boys, although he would punch you in the face if you ever told him that. He was a rambunctious kid that was always trying to make up for the fact that the other boys were bigger than him. He was a cute kid with red hair and green eyes. His mom said he had some Scottish bloodline, hence the red hair. He hated it growing up, but once we reached high school, it had its perks. The freckles on his face became more prominent, which were very enticing to the girls at Oak Island high school. They fawned over him because he looked so different from the other boys around here. He had a baby brother named Hunter, who was five years younger than him.

Last, but definitely not least was Lucas Ryder or Bo, as I called him. It meant commander and that was him to a T— born to lead, not to follow. He was twelve, almost thirteen, and had a temper like no one else I had ever met before though he was always the sweetest boy to me. No one could tell him no and if you did, he would do it anyway just to spite you. We’re the closest to one another. He always looked out for me and defended me when the boys called me a girl. I hated when they pointed out I couldn't do something they could do, just because I didn't have something dangling between my legs.

Who would want that anyway?

Nothing pissed me off more than being called a girl.

I was constantly showing them up because I had to. I was always covered in bruises, skinned knees, and dirty clothes. My hair tied up high on my head, either in pigtails or a ponytail. When I was four years old I took a pair of scissors that I found in my mama’s nightstand and walloped off all my hair, cutting it short just like the boys. From then on out they hid the scissors from me and always tied my hair up, fearing that I would do it again if given the chance.

Lucas was secretly my favorite out of all the boys. You could even go as far as saying that I loved him a little bit more than the rest of them. I didn’t know why, I just did. It had always been that way for me and I often felt like the feeling was mutual. Though we never spoke about it until we were older and understood the emotions that circulated through the years. He was always the most handsome out of all the boys and girls were pining over him since the day he was born. He had dark hair that complemented his baby blue eyes that resembled the ocean water on a warm summer day. He had prominent facial features that I never got tired of looking at, and even at that young of an age, he knew it.

Lucas was just as tall as Jacob, maybe slightly taller. He was built broader than the other boys because he surfed like crazy. All the boys did, but Lucas was obsessed with it. You could always find him on the waves whether it was night or day. He wanted to grow up to be a professional surfer, often riding waves that no one else dropped into and making all of us nervous.

The boy had no fear.

He had a baby sister, Lily, she was a few years younger than me, but we didn’t become friends until much later in life. I swear the girl came out singing with a guitar in her hand, they put her in lessons by the time she was five. Their dad, Dr. Robert Ryder was one of the only doctors we had in town, often seeing patients that weren’t even part of his medical degree, while his mom Savannah was a housewife.

I couldn’t tell you how many times Dr. Ryder stitched us up right in his very own living room, not bothering to take us to his office. Bringing home medical supplies became a thing of the norm since we were constantly getting hurt. I remembered the first time I needed stitches. I was six years old and tried to jump off the riverbank like Dylan and my knee caught the rock at the bottom of the river. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t cry, I never cried. I bit my lip as hard as I could to keep the damn tears from falling down the sides of my face. Lucas tried to sit me on his handlebars, but it hurt too much to bend my knee. So I sat facing him on his lap as he rode his bike home.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on as tight as I could, while my good leg draped over his lower back and my hurt one sat stiff as a board in the air. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, but I couldn’t hold back the tears. I cried the entire way to his house. His shirt was covered in nothing but my sissy tears by the time he parked his bike on his front lawn. He didn’t say a word about it when he kissed my forehead, telling me everything was going to be alright and that he would never let anything happen to me. He carried me inside while the rest of the boys patiently waited for the wrath of our mothers, knowing they would be yelled at for letting me do something so careless.

Lucas held my hand the entire time his dad stitched me up and not once made me feel bad about crying. The rest of the month, while my knee healed, I rode on the handlebars of his bike. The boys continuously offered me to hitch a ride with them, but Lucas was adamant that I was only riding on his handlebars. If they thought he was being possessive over me, they never shared it.

That’s just how we were with each other and they knew it.

And then there was little ol’ me, Alexandra Collins. The truth was everyone thought I was supposed to be a boy, even the doctor. Much to my parents and families surprise I came out a girl, screaming like a bat outta hell to put me back in. My parents already had a name picked out for me. They were going to call me Alexander, Alex for short. Seeing as they didn’t have much time to decide on another name, they wrote down Alexandra on my birth certificate and still called me Alex for short. I grew up with these boys, at ten years old I was a Half-Pint compared to all of them. They had been calling me that since the day we watched an episode of Little House on the Prairie and the dad called Laura Ingalls, Half-Pint.

I never crawled, I went right to walking and my first word was, “Shit.” My mom slapped my dad on the back of the head the moment it came out of my mouth, at least that’s what they told me. Like I said before, I was the only child, Dylan and I had that in common. I never wished for siblings, I didn’t need to I had my boys. I stuck to them like gum did on the bottom of your shoe. One way or another they were my big brothers. I loved each one of them in my own way. The feelings were very much mutual, I would do anything for them and vice-versa. We were best friends, day in and day out.

I stomped my foot on the ground to emphasize my words. “You let me up there! Before I… before I…” I stumbled on my words.

“Before you what, Half-Pint? Go running to mommy and daddy and tellin’,” Dylan shouted.

My mouth dropped open. “I would do no such thing! I ain’t no tattle tale. Now you let me up there, ya hear?”

“Come on, guys, just let her come up,” Lucas reasoned, looking from me to them.

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah come on, guys, just let me up there,” I repeated.

Sometimes they would get a stick up their ass and just want to pick on me for no good reason. I hated when they did this, I think they got a kick out of me not backing down. They wanted to see my feisty spirit, the same one they so proudly claimed was due to them.

Austin rolled his eyes. “I knew you would be the first one to cave!” He pushed Jacob in the chest. “Told ya! You owe me five dollars.”

Jacob glared at him and then back at me. “Fine! We were just teasing you, we were going to let you up here anyway. You’re so easy to tease, being a Half-Pint and all.”

“Yeah, whatever.” I shrugged, brushing him off. “I could take you on any day, just tell me when and where, Jacob Foster.”

“You and what army,
Alexandra!
”

“Don’t call me that! My name’s Half-Pint.”

Lucas laughed and threw down the ladder for me to climb. As soon as my foot touched the last step he held out his hand for me to take and I smiled as he pulled me up the rest of the way.

“Wow! This is awesome!” I said, looking all around me. They had made it into our own little fort, but their heads barely cleared the roof. I opened the lid of one of the compartments near the front entrance.

“No!” Lucas shouted, shutting it forcefully behind me, making the floor rattle.

The rest of the boys broke out into laughter.

I cocked my head to the side, confused. “What?”

“Nothin’. You don’t need to go in there is all,” Lucas justified.

I put my hands on my hips. “Why not?” 

I caught Austin blushing. Jacob and Dylan were grinning like two fools. I thought their faces might get stuck like that.

“What?” I repeated, wanting to know what the big deal was about.

“Just let her look, Lucas, she’s going to find out eventually what’s going to happen to her,” Jacob interjected, making Lucas scowl over at him.