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Not sure why my opinion of a stupid glove would send him into a tailspin of remorse, I opened my mouth to come right out and demand to know his thoughts.
But before I could, he whirled away from me and strode off, fleeing down the sidewalk, back toward the school. “I have to go,” he said over his shoulder.
I watched the back of his head—bent down as he stared at the ground—and the stiff straight line of his spine as he hurried away in a rigid, almost angry, march.
“Wait,” I called. Rattled I even possessed the nerve to call after him, I slapped my hand over my mouth for shouting at him. But honestly. I had to know what just happened.
For a moment, I thought he was going to ignore me. But after another three steps, he slowed and swiveled around.
Lifting my hands, I demanded, “What’s the deal?”
Frowning, he shook his head as if my question was the most puzzling part of the last thirty seconds.
“Why’re you taking off like that?” I clarified.
Again, he shook his head, but this was more of an I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it motion. Swinging away as if to stalk off again, he paused at the last second before rotating back.
“You don’t have to go tonight,” he said, his voice serious, letting me know this was the whole reason he’d sought me out after school. “You don’t have to meet Todd and the rest of us after the game.”
Mind whirling, I tried to make sense of what he was really saying. Did he know I had reservations? Did he know I’d only said yes to irritate him or that I planned to no-show after hearing he was the most sexually active boy in school?
Or did he just not want to be around me?
Gnawing on my lip, I stalled. “I already said I would.”
“So back out,” he insisted, looking desperate as if he needed me not to go tonight more than he needed his next breath.
“Why?” What did he know that I should?
For a moment, he didn’t answer, didn’t look like he even wanted to answer. Then he sucked in a breath and speared me with a heavy look. “I don’t want you to go, okay? You don’t belong with this group.”
Before I could respond, he spun away and jogged back toward the school.
As I stared after him, his words soaked into my soul until I believed them as strongly as he obviously did.
I didn’t belong.
Blinking against the sudden rush of tears, I could only watch him retreat, his form turning blurry in my moist vision.
Confused, devastated, and forlorn, I closed off my phone and turned in the opposite direction only to catch sight of the desolate glove in the snow. It looked too miserable and cold to be left by itself.
After bending to snap up the poor, lonely thing and stuff it into my pocket, I carefully tread the rest of the way to Barry’s house, unable to stop thinking about the cruel words Ryder Yates had slung at me.
Chapter 9
I feel like I should be beige. Neutral and as dull as oatmeal. No flavor, no exciting color. Just one big nonentity. Ryder was right. I don’t belong, especially to anything as exciting as color. I’m just a deep bottomless pit of nothing.
* * * *
“So, how was your first day?”
I paused inside Barry’s foyer as the question traveled across the living room. I lifted my face to find him and my mom camped out on the couch, their legs intertwined and sock-covered toes playing footsie on the coffee table.
A week ago, I would’ve dropped my bag, dashed over there and crawled up next to Mom, burying my face in her shoulder, and sobbed out the entire, sordid day. A part of me ached with regret because I didn’t feel like I could do that today. Not only did I still feel bitter toward her, but she looked all comfortable and happy with her new husband. No room for third-wheel Grace.
So I speared her a glare and hissed, “Like you care,” as I passed through the room and rushed to my lair.
“Hey,” she called after me, her voice surprised and indignant. “Get back here, young lady. Grace!”
