“Are you coming?” he whisper-yells, shuffling his feet and adjusting his backpack.
Great. He has a backpack. And I’m positive it’s full of supplies to kill me… or animals. Please, God, not the animals. Still, even thinking all this, I find myself at the bottom of the stairs, almost toe to toe with my prospective killer.
Clearly, I haven’t had much sleep. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, coming up with a million different scenarios of how the morning would pan out. As embarrassing as it is to admit, the most prevalent of my concerns was how to tilt my head when Leo Preston kissed me. Pathetic, I know, because why—just why?
“You ready?” he asks, and I try not to let my nerves show when I nod up at him.
He hands me the backpack and moves to sit on his bike. I simply stand there, unsure of what to do. “Hop on,” he says through a smile, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. I notice the pegs on the back wheel and instantly feel my stomach dip. I’m not exactly the thinnest girl in the world, and I feel the weight of that insecurity drop down on my shoulders.
I take a step back, deflated, and stumble through my words. “Maybe we... maybe we can just walk?”
Leo’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
He doesn’t get it.
Clearing the knot in my throat, I return the backpack to him. “You know what? I’m not feeling the greatest, so…” I start to leave, but he grabs on to my sleeve, halting me to the ground. I wish it would swallow me whole. My eyes drift shut as I fight to keep the tears at bay.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, his voice cracking.
“No,” I’m quick to reply, opening my eyes before facing him. I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything.”
“So…” His gaze drops. “You just don’t want to hang out with me?”
“I do,” I rush out, stepping closer. He looks how I feel: disappointed. But he’s also confused, and I don’t want him leaving thinking he’s done anything, so I suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “I’m not exactly…” I can’t finish the sentence, so I point a finger up and down my body.
He chuckles—a sound that echoes through the air, through my heart. “I know I’m scrawny, but I’m strong. I promise. I can carry your weight. Besides, you’re so little.”
If you ask me to describe myself in three words, I’d tell you: short, chubby, plain.
I’m not little, not by any stretch, but as I stand here, my insecurities laid bare between us, I realize that in his eyes… that’s how he sees me, and that… that means more than anything.
More than it should.
I don’t know how long we ride before he finally stops in front of a high chain-link fence. We don’t speak on the ride, and I stay quiet as we get off the bike, and he leads us with the flashlight, which was attached to his handlebars, toward a hole in the fence. I don’t know whether he or his brothers cut it or if it was there previously. All I know is that whatever we’re doing is most likely illegal. He lifts the bottom of the wire for me to go through while I ask, “Can we get into trouble for this?”
Leo sighs, but it’s playful. “Hey, remember when you thought I couldn’t handle you on the back of the bike?”
Of course, I remember. It was, like, fifteen minutes ago. “Yeah…?”
“And you still got on, right?”
I nod, chew the corner of my lip.
“Why’d you get on?”
“I don’t know. Because I’m crazy?”
“No.” He shakes his head, then stands taller. Prouder. “It’s because you trust me.”
We walk through tall grass while Leo explains that we’re going to an abandoned water tower. During the weekends, some older kids go there to party. But in the wee hours of the morning, he’s never seen anyone else around. He admits that it’s most likely illegal to be here, but the cops turn a blind eye as long as no real illegal activity happens—besides, you know, teen drinking. He mentions that Cameron, his sister’s boyfriend, was the one to show it to him. “It’s because he knows I like the quiet,” he says with a shrug. “He’s an only child, so sometimes being at the house can get a little too much for him.”
“Yeah,” I reply as if I understand any different. Sometimes Mom and I will eat dinner with the Prestons, but most of the time, we eat at the apartment and barely say two words to each other.
Once at the bottom of the water tower, he asks, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“No.”
“Will you be okay to climb the ladder?”
A giggle bursts out of me. “We have one of these on the farm.”
His eyebrows rise, then he teases, “Ooh, look at you with your fancy farm and your fancy water tower.”
“Shut up,” I laugh out, shoving his shoulder. He falls back a step, laughing with me, and there’s something about that moment that feels so significant. It’s the first time away from home that I let my guard down, let myself be me, and let myself be seen.
Once at the tower’s highest ledge, Leo unzips his backpack and pulls out a thermos, snacks, and a paperback novel. It’s the same one he was reading the night before. “What’s the book about?” I ask.
He huffs out a breath as he sits down beside me, our legs dangling off the edge. “I’m not sure yet.” He doesn’t elaborate further, and so I leave it at that. “I need to ask you a question,” he says, hesitant, as he concentrates on dividing the snacks between us. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…” He peers up at me through thick lashes, a strand of dark hair falling over his brow.
My pulse picks up, anxiousness swarming through my veins. “Okay…”
After clearing his throat, he stares ahead into the breaking dawn. He cracks each of his knuckles before turning to me, the intensity in his gaze creating fear in my chest. “Last night, my dad asked you if my brothers and I were—”
“I’m sorry,” I cut in, looking away. “I shouldn’t have lied to him.”
“I don’t care that you did,” he rushes out. “I just wanted to know why you did it.”
With a shrug, I say, “I didn’t want you guys to get into trouble.”
He doesn’t respond, and I can feel him watching me, scrutinizing.
Leo may like the quiet, but I don’t like the silence, especially when it’s between us. Hoping to make a sound, I kick my feet back and forth and shove my hands under my butt to hide their trembling.
Minutes pass, neither of us saying a word, and I keep my head low, my eyes shut. Finally, he says, “Is that why you’re like that with your mom?”
My gaze snaps up, locks on his. “Like what?”
His eyes widen in the way they do when you’re stating something obvious. “Like, you just let her treat you like shit.”
I wince at his curse and shake my head, annoyance mixed with hurt causing heat to form behind my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I murmur.
“I’m sorry,” he almost whispers. “I didn’t mean…” His tone’s so solemn that it has my chest aching. “I didn’t mean to make you mad or sad or… I shouldn’t have said anything.”