Maizie Adams is Off-Limits
By UnicornQueen
Free Chapters
Chapter 1
Can we talk about Daniel Adams? He’s your typical jock; loved by all but generally a very shitty person. Now girls in my school love him. He’s got that eight pack thing going on, that brown just-got-out-of-bed hair thing too and oh, he’s dating the lead cheerleader. I honest to God don’t see the appeal. I mean to me he’s still that whiny little twerp that just refused to grow up. He’s still that monster that would wake up first, pick his nose and stick those green booger monsters in my hair. And not to mention I distinctively remember him having the tiniest pee-pee at fourteen. My pinkie was a baseball bat compared to that thing. And so you can imagine my surprise when the girls he brings home shout and scream his name as he fucks them. Eye Roll. How fake can they be? A pinkie? C’mon. I just don’t like him. Now loving him is a totally different story, yes he scares most guys away from me, gets all the attention from our parents but he’s still my older brother. That bastard got out 2 seconds before me and he never lets me live it down. Anyway, this whole rant started because I walked past the gym five minutes ago and saw Taylor McKenney pinning Emily Wors to the bleachers like it was a scene out of The Notebook—only with more tongue and way fewer brain cells. And okay, maybe I fantasize about him just once—okay, fine, a lot—saying my name like he means it, looking at me like I’m not some extension of Daniel’s DNA. The worst part? Being Daniel Adams’ twin sister means I’m automatically off-limits to every decent guy in school. Especially the lacrosse team. Those hot sweaty gods walk around like they own the place, and they do basically, but none of them would even look at me twice. I’m just “Daniel’s little sister” – yeah, little by two fucking seconds – and that apparently makes me some kind of nun or something. Take Taylor McKenney for instance. Captain of the lacrosse team, Daniel’s best friend, and the guy I’ve been drooling over since sophomore year. He’s got these green eyes that look like they’re undressing you, and arms that could probably bench press a car. But does he notice me? Hell no. I'm just the annoying sister who hangs around sometimes when he comes over to play video games with Daniel. And it’s not like Taylor’s some saint either. The guy sleeps with anything that has a pulse and boobs. I’ve seen him with at least five different girls this month alone. But me? I might as well be invisible. Daniel actually encourages this shit too. Last week I was talking to Jake Morrison from the team – just talking, nothing major – and Daniel swooped in like some demented superhero and ruffled my hair so hard I probably looked like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. “My sister’s got homework to do,” he said, giving Jake this look that basically screamed ‘touch her and die.’ Jake practically ran away. I wanted to murder him. But then later when Jessica Zeng – that’s the lead cheerleader, Miss Perfect Blonde Bitch – was giving Amy a hard time about her glasses, Daniel told her to back off. Just like that. One word from him and she actually shut up for once. That’s the thing about having a hot brother. You can get away with murder if you want to. Like yesterday when Jessica made some comment about Amy’s nose being big enough to land a plane on, I told her that at least Amy’s nose was natural and not courtesy of daddy’s plastic surgeon. Any other girl would’ve been socially executed for that, but Jessica just glared and walked away. Because I’m Daniel Adams’ sister and even queen bee bitches don’t mess with the lacrosse captain’s family. Amy thinks this is all hilarious, by the way. She sits there with her thick glasses and her awful curly brown-red hair that never does what it’s supposed to do, wearing those long pleated skirts that went out of style in like 1955, and she laughs about how Jessica can’t touch us. But I know she’s got her own problems with this whole situation. Like the fact that she’s been in love with my brother since we were kids. It’s so obvious it’s painful. The way she stares at him when he’s not looking, how she always finds excuses to come over when she knows he’ll be home, how she practically melts when he’s nice to her. Which isn’t often because Daniel calls her “nosy” behind her back – his oh-so-clever nickname for her because of her, well, nose situation. I keep telling Amy she needs to get over it. Daniel would never date her. Not because she’s not smart – she’s literally the smartest girl in school – but because she’s not his type. His type is apparently blonde, fake-boobed, and mean to people who don’t deserve it. His type is Jessica Zeng, unfortunately. Though honestly? I kind of hope he dumps Jessica soon. Not because I care about his happiness or anything, but because watching Jessica get knocked down a peg would be the highlight of my year. Plus maybe then Taylor would stop coming around so much and I could finally get over this stupid crush and find someone who actually notices I exist. Fat chance of that happening though. This is Daniel Adams we’re talking about. He always gets what he wants, and apparently what he wants is to make my life as complicated as possible just by existing. I swear, when we were born, he took all the good looks, the charm, and the social life—and left me with sarcasm and a front-row seat to my own humiliation. “—Yo! Twerp! Taylor’s staying for dinner.” Of course he is. God hates me.
Chapter 2
The pounding on the bathroom door starts at exactly 6:47 AM. I know because I’m staring at my phone, trying to work up the energy to actually get out of bed, when Daniel’s fist connects with the wood like he’s trying to break it down. “Maizie! Move your ass! I need to shower!” I roll my eyes and pull my pillow over my head. “I’m not even in there yet, dipshit!” “Well get in there and get out! I have practice before school!” Of course he does. God forbid Daniel Adams shows up to school without his precious morning workout. I drag myself out of bed, my oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, and shuffle toward the bathroom. But Daniel’s already there, standing in the hallway in nothing but his boxers, that stupid eight-pack on full display like he’s posing for a magazine or something. “Finally,” he says, trying to push past me. “Excuse me?” I shove him back. “I was here first.” “By like two seconds.” “Story of our lives.” I slip under his arm and slam the bathroom door in his face, turning the lock with a satisfying click. The pounding starts again immediately. “Maizie! Come on!” “Take a cold shower downstairs!” I yell back, turning on the water as loud as possible. “Maybe it’ll shrink your ego!” “That’s not funny!” Actually, it kind of is. I take my sweet time in the shower, letting the hot water run over my skin until I know the downstairs bathroom is probably out of hot water too. When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel, Daniel’s sitting on the floor outside the door like some kind of guard dog. “About fucking time,” he mutters, jumping to his feet. “Language, Daniel.” Mom’s voice drifts up from downstairs. She’s got ears like a bat, that woman. “She took forever on purpose!” he shouts back. “Did not!” “Did too!” “Children!” Dad’s voice booms from the kitchen. “It’s seven-thirty in the morning!” Daniel pushes past me into the bathroom, but not before messing up my hair with his wet hand. “Thanks for nothing, sis.” I flip him off through the closing door. Back in my room, I stare at my closet like it’s personally offended me. Which, let’s be honest, it kind of has. Thanks to Daniel’s overprotective bullshit, half my clothes are baggy jeans and oversized hoodies. The other half are cute tops and dresses that I’m apparently not allowed to wear because they “show too much” or “give guys ideas” or whatever other prehistoric reasoning my brother comes up with. I pull out a pair of jeans that actually fit – not tight, just normal human-sized – and a sweater that’s only slightly too big. In the mirror, I look like I’m drowning in fabric. But at least I won’t have to deal with Daniel’s commentary about my outfit choices. The thing is, I know I look good. I’ve got curves in all the right places thanks to Mom’s genes, and skin that’s this perfect caramel color from Dad’s side. Amy always says I look like I could be in a music video or something. But what’s the point of looking good when your brother follows you around like a bodyguard and scares off anyone who might actually notice? Downstairs, the kitchen is already a battlefield. Daniel’s sitting at the island, shoveling cereal into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days, while Mom fusses around him with orange juice and vitamins. Dad’s at the stove, making what looks like actual breakfast, and the smell of bacon makes my stomach growl. “Morning, sunshine,” Dad says, glancing over at me. “Sleep well?” “Until someone decided to assault the bathroom door,” I mutter, shooting Daniel a look. He grins at me with his mouth full of cereal. Charming. “Daniel has practice,” Mom says, like this explains everything. “He needs to shower.” “So do I. And I got there first.” “By two seconds,” Daniel repeats, because apparently this is his favorite phrase. “Those two seconds matter,” I snap back. “Not really,” Mom says, refilling Daniel’s orange juice. “You could shower at night.” I stare at her. “So could he.” “Daniel’s schedule is more demanding.” And there it is. The golden boy treatment in all its glory. Dad catches my eye and shakes his head slightly, like he’s telling me to let it go. But I’m not in the mood to let anything go this morning. “Right, because God forbid the lacrosse team sees Daniel with dirty hair. The world might end.” “Don’t be dramatic, Maizie,” Mom says. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic.” Daniel reaches over and ruffles my hair again. “Chill out, sis. It’s just a bathroom.” I duck away from his hand. “Stop touching my hair!” “It’s just hair.” “It’s my hair!” “Okay, okay.” Dad sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. “Let’s all take a deep breath. Maizie, eat your breakfast. Daniel, finish your cereal and get ready for school.” “I am ready,” Daniel says, even though he’s still in his pajama pants. “You’re not even dressed.” “I’ll throw on some clothes. Takes me like five minutes.” Of course it does. Because Daniel Adams can roll out of bed looking like he stepped off a magazine cover, while I spend forty-five minutes trying to make my hair look presentable. Life is so fair. “Maizie takes forever to get ready,” Mom says, like I’m not sitting right here. “Daniel’s more efficient.” “I take a normal amount of time,” I protest. “You took an hour yesterday,” Daniel points out. “I did not!” “Did too.” “Did not!” “Enough!” Dad’s voice cuts through our argument. “Both of you, finish eating. You’re giving me a headache.” I stab my eggs with probably more force than necessary. Across from me, Daniel’s smirking like he’s won some kind of victory. Which, knowing our parents, he probably has. The car ride to school is its own special form of torture. Daniel’s got his music blasting some rap song that’s mostly just the same four words repeated over and over, and he’s drumming on the steering wheel like he’s performing at Madison Square Garden. I’m slumped in the passenger seat, trying to ignore the way his cologne fills the entire car. “You know,” he says, glancing over at me, “you could try being nicer to me.” “I could try a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I will.” “I’m a good brother.” I snort. “You’re an annoying brother.” “I protect you.” “You suffocate me.” “Same thing.” “It’s really not.” He pulls into the school parking lot, and I can already see people starting to stare. Daniel Adams has arrived, which means the social hierarchy of Jefferson High is about to snap into place. The lacrosse guys will gravitate toward our car, the cheerleaders will start fixing their hair and adjusting their boobs, and I’ll become invisible again. “Ready for another day in paradise?” Daniel asks, grinning at me. “Ready to get away from you,” I mutter. He laughs like I’ve said something hilarious instead of completely serious. “Love you too, sis.” Before I can respond, he’s out of the car and immediately surrounded by his usual crowd. Taylor McKenney appears out of nowhere, doing that weird bro-hug thing that guys do. Jessica Zeng saunters over in her perfect cheerleader uniform, and I watch through the windshield as she kisses Daniel like she’s marking her territory. I grab my backpack and get out of the car, but Daniel’s already there, throwing his arm around my shoulders like he always does. It’s supposed to be protective, I guess, but it feels more like a leash. “Morning, Maizie,” Taylor says, giving me that casual nod that makes my stomach do stupid things. “Hey,” I manage, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel. “Ready for the history test?” he asks. Wait. Taylor McKenney knows I’m in his history class? And he’s asking me about the test? “Yeah, I think so,” I say, probably too quickly. “Good. Mr. Peterson’s tests are brutal.” He’s about to say something else when Jessica appears at Daniel’s other side, shooting me a look that could freeze hell over. “Daniel,” she says in that voice that sounds like she’s been inhaling helium. “We need to talk about the party this weekend.” And just like that, Taylor’s attention is gone. He’s back to talking to Daniel about lacrosse stuff, and I’m back to being the invisible sister. Daniel’s arm is still around my shoulders, and I can feel other guys in the hallway glancing over, then looking away when they see his protective stance. “I’m gonna go find Amy,” I say, trying to duck out from under his arm. “I’ll walk you,” he says automatically. “I can walk myself.” “I know, but—” “Daniel.” I stop walking and turn to face him. “I can handle walking twenty feet to my locker without a bodyguard.” He grins. “I’m not a bodyguard. I’m your loving older brother.” “By two seconds.” “Those two seconds matter.” I want to scream. Instead, I force a smile and say, “I’ll see you later,” in the sweetest voice I can manage. He finally lets me go, but I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away. And sure enough, when I glance back, he’s still watching, making sure I get to my locker safely like I’m five years old instead of seventeen.