Résultats pour "the accidental" dans Roman d’amour

I’ve been listening to my father sing for my whole life. I carry him in my pocket on my MP3 player. It’s just that we’ve never met face to face. My mother would never tell me how I came to be, or why my rock star father and I have never met. I thought it was her only secret. I was wrong. When she dies, he finally appears. Suddenly I have a first-class ticket into my father’s exclusive world. A world I don’t want any part of - not at this cost. Only three things keep me going: my a cappella singing group, a swoony blue-eyed boy named Jake, and the burning questions in my soul.

Johanna has had more than enough trauma in her life. She lost her mom in a car accident, and her father went AWOL when Johanna was just a baby. At 16, life is steady, boring...maybe even stifling, since she's being raised by her grandparents who never talk about their daughter, her mother Mandy. Then he comes back: Robert Newsome, Johanna's father, bringing memories and pictures of Mandy. But that's not all he shares. A tragic car accident didn't kill Mandy - it was Johanna, who at two years old, accidentally shot her own mother with an unsecured gun.

When Ella receives an exciting invitation to attend an exclusive boarding school, she knows she won't fit it. These kids are elite, wealthy, and driven. She's 'average Ella' on a scholarship, at least, that's what she wants everyone to believe. A lost shoe, a lost shirt, oh my. When events push her to need a boyfriend, Ella asks hot senior Hale. His response? "No." Yep. That's her fairytale.

It all starts when Marisa picks up the wrong cell phone. When she returns it to Rene, she feels curiously drawn to him. But Marisa and Rene aren’t exactly a match made in heaven. For one thing, Marisa is a chola; she’s a lot of girl, and she’s not ashamed of it. Skinny Rene gangles like a sackful of elbows and wears a calculator on his belt. In other words, he’s a geek. So why can’t Marisa stay away from him?

I feel like I’ve been given a place in life–expectations of me–that it’s useless fighting. So I don’t bother. I’m the guy they all think I am; fighting, smoking, drinking. Because what else is Roman Lombardi but a troubled teen? No one’s convinced I’ve got anything going for me. I take what–and who–I want when I want it, and never think about anything more than a couple of hours in the future.