Rush
Page 28
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m not sure I want to be a rule maker, or even a rule breaker.
“He found me,” I say.
Luka lifts his brows. “Who?”
“J—” I press my lips together, not certain I’m supposed to say his name. Then I throw my hands in the air. “This is ridiculous.” It is. I’m supposed to censor every word I say because some invisible entity might be watching? I understand the need for a certain amount of discretion, but second-guessing my words is making me paranoid. “Jackson,” I say. “Jackson went running with me.” Only as I say it do I remember that it must be okay because Jackson said names out loud, too.
It’s confusing to try to play by rules when I don’t even know what they are.
Luka’s eyes widen. “Wow. Okay.” He doesn’t sound happy. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I.” I hold out my hand. Luka takes it, and I pull him to his feet. Once he’s standing, I have to tilt my head back and look up to meet his eyes. He definitely got taller during the year he was away. His shoulders are broader, his jaw leaner. “Why’d you call him?”
“Because I couldn’t stand letting you—” He holds his hands to the sides, elbows bent, palms up, obviously looking for the right word.
“Freak out,” I supply.
“I was going to say lose your shit, but that works. So where is he?”
“Jackson? I left him at the park.”
“Couldn’t stand another minute in his company?”
I press my lips together, remembering the way I felt with Jackson’s arms wrapped around me, the way I rested my cheek against his chest and listened to his heart beating slow and steady. I don’t know how long we stood like that. I think that given the choice, I might have stayed there forever, but at some point Jackson dropped his arms and stepped away from me, leaving me feeling awkward and weird.
While he was holding me, it felt right. But once it was over . . . well, that was another story. Suddenly, I’d wanted—needed—to be away from him, because standing so close, breathing in the scent of his skin and feeling his arms warm and strong around me, had pushed me into water far out of my depth.
Luka laughs, mistaking my silence. “He has that effect on people.”
“Actually, I couldn’t imagine running back here with him and having my dad pull in as we arrive,” I say. “That’d be great, trying to explain who he is and where I know him from.” Dad had been the perfect excuse, and Jackson hadn’t offered any argument. So either he’d been as anxious to ditch me as I was to ditch him or he’d sensed my discomfort and decided to be kind. If I were a betting sort of girl, I’d lay money on the former.
As if my mention of Dad summons him, the Explorer pulls into the drive.
“Perfect,” I say at the same time that Luka says, “Perfect.”
We look at each other and laugh. Which actually is perfect because Dad climbs out of the SUV to see two classmates laughing together instead of a boy and a girl standing tense and awkward and uncertain.
Dad walks over and I make the introductions. It’s easy. Painless. “Dad, this is Luka. He goes to school with me. He’s on the track team.” Dad grabs hold of that last bit of information and decides Luka’s trying to convince me to join. He grins and pumps Luka’s hand because he thinks an organized sport would be good for me. I don’t bother to correct him.
He glances at me and, taking in my running gear, frowns. “It’s Sunday,” he says. He thinks I run too much and eat too little, which is actually funny because I’m not the one who skips lunch half the time.
“Yup.” I offer no explanation. What am I supposed to say? That I changed my ironclad schedule because of aliens and a girl who died seven months before I met her? “Hey, it’s pretty hot out,” I say. “I’d better get the groceries in before the ice cream melts.” I unbuckle the belt that holds my now-empty water bottle and hand it to Dad. “Take this in for me?”
Dad heads inside, and Luka follows me to the car.
“I tried to talk to you,” he says. “Before my dad got transferred. After you lost your mom.”
Lost my mom. Stupidest euphemism ever. I didn’t misplace her; she died. I swallow a quick retort that I know I’ll regret. “I know. I remember. I wasn’t up for advice.”
“I get that.”
He does. Luka’s mom died when we were still at Oakview. Grade four. He got really quiet and withdrawn for a couple of years after that, and I’m not proud of the fact that I was just like most of the other kids and went on and lived my life and didn’t really make a huge effort to stay friends with him. By the time he wasn’t quiet anymore, we were at an age where, for the most part, the boys hung with the boys and the girls hung with the girls, and when the two mixed, there was a lot of giggling and punching in the shoulder. If I’d known then what I know now about the grinding pain of losing someone you love, I would have tried harder.
My expression must give away my thoughts because Luka says, “Hey, we were kids. What do kids know about dealing with death?” He juts his chin toward the Explorer. “Ice cream’s melting.”
We reach for the groceries at the same time. My hand’s already on the bag’s handle, and his hand closes on mine. I pull back. He leans forward. We end up with arms tangled, his chest against my back. He bends. I straighten. His chin bumps my cheek. We both laugh. An easy laugh. One I don’t have to force.
“He found me,” I say.
Luka lifts his brows. “Who?”
“J—” I press my lips together, not certain I’m supposed to say his name. Then I throw my hands in the air. “This is ridiculous.” It is. I’m supposed to censor every word I say because some invisible entity might be watching? I understand the need for a certain amount of discretion, but second-guessing my words is making me paranoid. “Jackson,” I say. “Jackson went running with me.” Only as I say it do I remember that it must be okay because Jackson said names out loud, too.
It’s confusing to try to play by rules when I don’t even know what they are.
Luka’s eyes widen. “Wow. Okay.” He doesn’t sound happy. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I.” I hold out my hand. Luka takes it, and I pull him to his feet. Once he’s standing, I have to tilt my head back and look up to meet his eyes. He definitely got taller during the year he was away. His shoulders are broader, his jaw leaner. “Why’d you call him?”
“Because I couldn’t stand letting you—” He holds his hands to the sides, elbows bent, palms up, obviously looking for the right word.
“Freak out,” I supply.
“I was going to say lose your shit, but that works. So where is he?”
“Jackson? I left him at the park.”
“Couldn’t stand another minute in his company?”
I press my lips together, remembering the way I felt with Jackson’s arms wrapped around me, the way I rested my cheek against his chest and listened to his heart beating slow and steady. I don’t know how long we stood like that. I think that given the choice, I might have stayed there forever, but at some point Jackson dropped his arms and stepped away from me, leaving me feeling awkward and weird.
While he was holding me, it felt right. But once it was over . . . well, that was another story. Suddenly, I’d wanted—needed—to be away from him, because standing so close, breathing in the scent of his skin and feeling his arms warm and strong around me, had pushed me into water far out of my depth.
Luka laughs, mistaking my silence. “He has that effect on people.”
“Actually, I couldn’t imagine running back here with him and having my dad pull in as we arrive,” I say. “That’d be great, trying to explain who he is and where I know him from.” Dad had been the perfect excuse, and Jackson hadn’t offered any argument. So either he’d been as anxious to ditch me as I was to ditch him or he’d sensed my discomfort and decided to be kind. If I were a betting sort of girl, I’d lay money on the former.
As if my mention of Dad summons him, the Explorer pulls into the drive.
“Perfect,” I say at the same time that Luka says, “Perfect.”
We look at each other and laugh. Which actually is perfect because Dad climbs out of the SUV to see two classmates laughing together instead of a boy and a girl standing tense and awkward and uncertain.
Dad walks over and I make the introductions. It’s easy. Painless. “Dad, this is Luka. He goes to school with me. He’s on the track team.” Dad grabs hold of that last bit of information and decides Luka’s trying to convince me to join. He grins and pumps Luka’s hand because he thinks an organized sport would be good for me. I don’t bother to correct him.
He glances at me and, taking in my running gear, frowns. “It’s Sunday,” he says. He thinks I run too much and eat too little, which is actually funny because I’m not the one who skips lunch half the time.
“Yup.” I offer no explanation. What am I supposed to say? That I changed my ironclad schedule because of aliens and a girl who died seven months before I met her? “Hey, it’s pretty hot out,” I say. “I’d better get the groceries in before the ice cream melts.” I unbuckle the belt that holds my now-empty water bottle and hand it to Dad. “Take this in for me?”
Dad heads inside, and Luka follows me to the car.
“I tried to talk to you,” he says. “Before my dad got transferred. After you lost your mom.”
Lost my mom. Stupidest euphemism ever. I didn’t misplace her; she died. I swallow a quick retort that I know I’ll regret. “I know. I remember. I wasn’t up for advice.”
“I get that.”
He does. Luka’s mom died when we were still at Oakview. Grade four. He got really quiet and withdrawn for a couple of years after that, and I’m not proud of the fact that I was just like most of the other kids and went on and lived my life and didn’t really make a huge effort to stay friends with him. By the time he wasn’t quiet anymore, we were at an age where, for the most part, the boys hung with the boys and the girls hung with the girls, and when the two mixed, there was a lot of giggling and punching in the shoulder. If I’d known then what I know now about the grinding pain of losing someone you love, I would have tried harder.
My expression must give away my thoughts because Luka says, “Hey, we were kids. What do kids know about dealing with death?” He juts his chin toward the Explorer. “Ice cream’s melting.”
We reach for the groceries at the same time. My hand’s already on the bag’s handle, and his hand closes on mine. I pull back. He leans forward. We end up with arms tangled, his chest against my back. He bends. I straighten. His chin bumps my cheek. We both laugh. An easy laugh. One I don’t have to force.
