She tucks her brown locks behind her ear, unmoved by my sarcastic tone, and grins at me while pulling out a yellow paper from her front shirt pocket. She lays it flat on the table and presses her palm on it to remove the wrinkles, then slides it in my direction.
“Sublime Chaos will be playing at Mike’s Bar as part of the Fourth of July entertainment. You should totally ask her to go with you before someone else does.”
Ivan and I share a look. We both know the chances of someone asking her are quite slim. MJ spent most of her high school years in New York and only came back here to visit her grandmother during the holidays. She has no idea about the rumors that followed Grace through high school.
All of a sudden, I want to ask Grace to go with me—strictly as friends—if only to prove to her that not everyone from high school is an asshole.
My gaze flickers to the booth at the back, only to find Grace watching me. Before I can read her expression, she ducks her head and starts fumbling with the papers scattered across her table.
“So plan B,” Ivan says, and I focus on him again.
I raise my eyebrows. “There’s a plan B?”
“If you’re planning to go to war, you always need a plan B.” I start to protest, but he waves his hand, dismissing my words. “Anyway, as I was saying . . .”
I tune him out as my mind wanders back to Grace. That girl needs a friend. I saw her, saw the fear written all over her face that I’ve never noticed before today. There was bitterness and loneliness there, too. For just a second, she reminded me a little of Seth when he first joined the youth group. I hate that life has changed her from that ten-year-old girl with an optimistic smile and encouraging words.
She’s like a rose whose petals have been trampled on so many times that the only form of protection she found was to build a fort of thorns around herself. Keep everyone at arm’s length.
I’ll find a way to get through those thorns.
I’ll show her I can be the friend she needs, even if she doesn’t realize it.
Stunned into silence, I watch Sol’s long legs cover the distance back to the booth where Ivan is sitting. In mere minutes, he literally tipped my world upside down with just a few words and managed to take my mind off my current predicament of tackling the Brown issue with my mom.
I sigh, reluctantly admiring the way his gray T-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, and the way those shorts hug his hips.
I shiver involuntarily, my eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to squash the sight of him still haunting my vision.
Wrong move.
The mental image of his eyes is all I can see behind my closed lids; the way he looked at me—still a bit shy, but there was also playfulness in them and a hint of . . . something wild. Something that wanted to be let loose.
To explore.
In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him look at me like that.
He probably doesn’t realize what’s simmering inside, but I can see it clearly because I recognize those same things inside myself. Every time I look in the mirror, my reflection stares back at me, and I see a yearning for freedom in it, the need to run wild.
My eyes open, and I take a fortifying breath before focusing on Sol. Regret slams into me.
Why am I so paranoid? Sol was just trying to be friendly, and I treated him as though he’s the enemy.
This is what happens when you are so busy trying to keep everyone at arm’s length.
I learned early on that boys hurt you and break you. I love living in my own world and ignoring everyone. Ignoring the twinge of loneliness I sometimes get when I see couples holding hands and sharing tender smiles and sweet kisses.
Admittedly, ever since the pep rally at Winston High three years ago that brought my reputation crumbling down around me, I kept my head down. I chose to ignore everyone at school and bide my time. I knew they talked behind my back and actively avoided me like I was contagious. The people I thought were my friends dropped me like I was garbage. Something nasty they couldn’t stand to be near. So I armed myself with confidence and disinterest and stopped giving a shit about anyone but myself. It was like surviving a jungle filled with snakes and creepy-crawlies.
I bite my cheek to smother a reluctant grin when he looks over his broad shoulder at me. And when he slides back into the seat across from Ivan, a gust of air rushes out of my mouth, the weight of it knocking me back in my seat.
Wow.
I force my gaze back to my laptop.
I can’t remember the last time anyone was as determined to talk to me as he seemed to be. I want to ignore the fluttering inside my belly and brush him off, but his words cut through me like a well wielded sword. I want to go back into my little bubble where I feel secure from my own insecurities, but I’m not sure it’s even possible now.
Something fills my chest. Something warm and foreign. I bite my bottom lip when a goofy smile threatens to split my mouth into two.
On a scale of one to ten, Sol is definitely a fifteen—a tall, lean-muscled giant of a boy-man with a mop of longish, dark hair he keeps hidden under a baseball cap. A strong, square, scruffy jaw, broad shoulders, trim waist, and narrow hips giving way to long legs. When he put his elbows on the table, I almost licked my lips at the sight of all the veins running up his arms and hands.
My breath catches in my throat as I realize I’ve memorized so much of Sol without even trying or meaning to. And now I’d lumped him with the rest of the assholes in school.
Part of me is desperate to believe he wants to be my friend. I want to believe he can be trusted. The way he watched me with rapt attention sitting across from me, those blue eyes made me feel like I was free-falling into the wide-open sky. Even though he seemed nervous, it didn’t stop him from approaching me and talking to me.
It’d taken him eight freaking years to gather the courage to finally talk to me.
Oh my God. I’m such a bitch.
My thoughts are interrupted when a familiar girl with dark brown hair enters the diner and glances around. She seems to find what she’s looking for, and a dazzling grin takes over her face as she heads to the booth Ivan and Sol are occupying. Even from here, I see her cheeks flush across her tanned face.
Mary-Jane Walker, known around town as MJ, is stunning. She’s slightly taller than me. I’m shorter with a body full of curves. She walks with purpose and confidence as if she’s already figured out her whole life. I can see why Ivan can’t take his eyes off her. He is just as confident as she is. I like him. He and Sol were the only people in Winston High who were always kind and smiled at me, even when my only response was a sour look of disbelief.
“Okay, you’re officially freaking me out.”
Those words snap me back to the present. I jerk upright in my seat and look up at my mom leaning over the table with both hands planted flat on its surface.
I clutch the silver pendant attached to my necklace nervously and stare at my laptop’s screen to avoid her gaze. “I’m almost done working on—”
“Grace, sweetheart.”
I stop talking and look up at her.
“Smiling looks good on you.”
In her voice, I hear wonder and hope. In her wavering gaze, I see shadows swirling in the brown depths. There are bags under her eyes, evidence that she hasn’t slept in days.
Her fingers twitch as they sweep back a dreadlock from her forehead. She sits down across from me, momentarily swaying sideways before righting herself and smiling reassuringly. Even from this distance, I can smell it. The faint smell of alcohol slams into me.