THE BAD NEW BOY

CHAPTER 01

Dring... dring... dring...

"Ugh, Jesus," Mikah groaned, trying to sink deeper into her bed, hoping for just a few more minutes of sleep.

Dring... dring... dring...

"Hmmm..." She frowned, her hand reaching out for the alarm clock on her bedside table, but she felt nothing.

Dring... dring... dring...

"Ahhhh!" She groaned in frustration, throwing the blankets off herself. As she sat up, she blinked in surprise.

There, standing in the doorway, was her stepmom, Isabella, smiling brightly and holding her alarm clock.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Isabella greeted, her tone cheerful and sweet.

"Good morning, Mom," Mikah muttered, stretching her arms above her head, still half-asleep.

"You better hurry up, it's already 7:45," Isabella added, walking closer to Mikah's bed.

WHAT?! Mikah almost screamed, scrambling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom.

"Jesus, if I hadn't come in, I wonder when you'd have gotten up," Mikah heard Isabella's voice as she brushed her teeth.

Mikah hastily brushed her teeth, took a quick shower, and threw her hair into a messy ponytail. She'd never been much of a morning person, and she hated rushing like this.

MIKAH'S POV

I'm Mikah Rayce, and I'm 15 years old.

My long, wavy brown hair reaches down to my waist, and my eyes are the color of caramel. I'm nothing special.

My mom, on the other hand, has straight, platinum blonde hair, and crystal-blue eyes that almost seem to glow.

Today, I wore a black crop top and a blue pleated skirt that reached just above my knees. The cold weather had me pulling on a pair of over-knee black socks and white sneakers. I didn't wear makeup, since I'm allergic to some cosmetics, but I always add a dab of lip gloss.

I grabbed my white blazer with blue lace details, shut my bedroom door, and headed downstairs.

As I descended the staircase, I ran my hand along the photo frames hanging on the wall, remembering happy times.

The living room was warm and inviting, with cozy furniture and bright colors. The dining room, just beyond, was where the rest of my family was.

"Good morning!" I called out, my voice more cheerful than I felt.

My dad, Nathaniel, looked up from his newspaper and smiled warmly.

"Good morning, Mikah! How'd you sleep?" he asked, setting down the paper.

"Not enough," I replied, a smile tugging at my lips as I joined them on the dinning table.

My dad was always so easy to talk to. He was 48 but didn't look a day over 40 his brown hair was speckled with gray, but his eyes still had that spark of youth.

My older brother the younger copy of our dad, Jhonathan but we also call him Nathan or Nate, was on his phone, scrolling through something on his screen, completely immersed in whatever he was reading.

Mom brought over a plate of pancakes, setting it down with a grin. "Here you go, sweetie. Hope you're not running late."

I took a bite and grinned. "I'm trying not to. You're lucky I didn't sleep through the whole morning."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'd like to see that," she teased.

"Maybe tomorrow," I laughed, looking around the table at my family.

Dad chuckled and sipped his coffee. "You know, you've got to stop staying up late watching those cartoons, Mikah."

I shrugged, grinning. "No promises, Dad. I'm too hooked."
And beside,

I frowned. "They're not cartoons, Dad. They're anime."

Nate raised an eyebrow and snickered. "Anime? That's just kids' stuff, Mikah."

"No, it's not!" I argued, feeling my frustration building. "Anime has real stories, with complex characters and deep emotions. It's not just for kids."

Mom walked over, drying her hands.

"Oh, Mikah's right, you know," she said, sitting down at the table. "Anime can be a lot deeper than cartoons. It's not just for kids."

"See?" I said, feeling a little relieved that Mom agreed.

"It's more than just jokes and silly stuff. The stories in anime can be really intense, and the art is beautiful."

Nate laughed. "So, you're telling me you cry over cartoons?"

"Ugh, I don't cry over cartoons," I huffed. "But anime makes you feel things. It's different."

Just as Mikah was about to make her point again, Kayla strolled in,  her heels clicking against the tile floor. She tossed her purse onto the counter and glanced at us with a bored expression.

"What's all this talk about cartoons?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she grabbed a glass of juice.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "It's anime, Kayla. Not cartoons. But no one gets it."

Kayla looked at me with a smirk, clearly uninterested in the whole conversation. "Oh, whatever," she shrugged.

Kayla, my 18-year-old stepsister, was sitting at the table, her long, shiny hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore a stylish pink dress and ate an apple as she casually joined in the conversation.She looked stunning as usual, she had a confidence that I could only envy.

"Kayla, sweetheart, why don't you eat more? You're too thin," Mom said, setting a plate of pancakes in front of her.

Kayla smirked, her eyes narrowing as she took a bite of her apple. "I don't want to get fat," she replied, her gaze flicking over to me.

I pushed my plate aside, my stomach not quite as full as I’d hoped.

Kayla finished her apple with a soft crunch, tossing the core into the trash. She stood up, adjusting her dress with a practiced flick.

Mom cleared her throat, her gaze softening as she looked at me along with dad and Nate.

"Good luck today, sweetheart," Mom said as we finished breakfast.

"You've got this." Dad softly added.

I smiled, feeling grateful for their support as I grabbed my things.

Kayla and I headed out to the car, the cold morning air biting at my skin.

I climbed into the passenger seat and pulled out my phone, popping in my AirPods. My mind wandered as I listened to soft music, thinking about the upcoming school year. Maybe this time, things would be different.

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