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“Hell,” he breathes out, making me wince.
This can't be happening.The entire situation is awful. I watch Ryder squint as he leans over to pick it up off the floor. His gaze slowly moves to me, and I try to speak, but my mouth is too dry. His eyes rake over me, stopping on my chest. I look down and sure enough the girls are completely out, covered only in the pink bra I put on this morning.
“Shit!” I squeak, dropping my textbooks. I gather the ends of my shirt and pull them together, trying to cover myself.
“I uh…think you lost this,” he says quietly, setting one of the buttons carefully in the palm of my hand.
I let it drop to the floor. Not ever wanting to remember this moment again. “It’s useless now. Let the janitor sweep it up,” I mumble, standing and wishing the Earth would open and swallow me whole.
Is this karma for lying to him?
He scoops up my forgotten books, before rising to stand beside me. My cheeks are burning with shame. I feel as if I’m on fire, but sadly, not enough to spontaneously combust and put me out of my misery.
I try to take the books back as he tries to hand them to me, but with only one free hand—because the other has a death grip on my shirt—it’s impossible for me to hold onto them.Can't he just walk away already?Sadly, he tries to help me hold them a few more times, before giving up once we fail to find a position where I can comfortably carry them.
“Maybe I should walk you back to your locker,” Ryder suggests.
“I may need to go to the office and steal a shirt out of the lost and found first,” I grimace.
“I have an idea.”
“An idea?” I ask skeptically.
“Yeah, to help you,” he responds, his voice gentle as he smiles at me.
“Does it involve dying of embarrassment and being thankful I'm dead, so I don't have to see you through the funeral? Not that you would go because you can't even remember my name after three years, but still...”
Ryder laughs and I guess I should at least be glad I can entertain him. “Just follow me.”
“Fine, but only because you have my books hostage, and we’re going in the direction of the office.”
We make it through the hallway much faster with his tall, broad frame clearing the way. I mostly hide behind him as he leads us over to a locker. I figure the least amount of people that can see me with my shirt open the better. He effortlessly shuffles my books as he opens the combination lock.What would it be like to be that graceful?Once he gets the locker open, he puts my books inside and fiddles around in the back of it. When he turns back around, he’s holding a gray and blue jersey. I recognize it immediately. I’ve seen him wear it often when I’ve followed Emily to the field to watch him play ball after school.
“I have this for baseball practice. You can wear it,” he says with a grin.
“You don't have to do that. School offices always have a lost and found. They keep a shirt or two in there. I know because I'm always having to use one. I'm a bit of a klutz,” I mumble as I stare at his offering.
He laughs, shaking his head. “You're cute. Just wear it. I’ll get a real one when the Astros pick me up to be their star pitcher.”
“The Astros?”
“Major league baseball. Don’t you watch?”
“There’s not much baseball in Maine—at least not where I grew up.”
“Oh,” he responds, staring at me. “Well, just wear it. Besides, you have no idea whose shirt you're wearing if you grab it out of lost and found. It could be Stinky Pete's.”
I can't help but curl my nose at the idea. I'm not even going to bring up that one day in middle school when I started my period. I needed a long shirt to cover the stain on the back of my pants. I can confirm that Stinky Pete is stinky because he has no idea what deodorant is. Just that it happened is embarrassing enough. I don't need to bring light to that situation.
“If you're sure…” He nods and I try to smile. “Okay, then,” I relent.
“Good. Now, put your hands up,” he instructs, gathering the shirt up in his hands by the collar and waiting for me.
I lift one arm, still not releasing my shirt with the other hand. “I can't.”
He looks down at my hand, clutching my shirt. “Sure, you can. I'm blocking you so no one will see.”
“But—” “I promise not to look. Besides, you have a bra on.”
