Double Clutch - Реинхардт Лиз - Страница 16

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“Uh, yeah, some. I had to buy a lot of new parts for the truck. And I want to get a new dirt bike.”

“Yeah, I saw your picture on Facebook.”

His face brightened. “You saw me on Facebook?”

“Yeah. I asked to be your friend. Don’t you check?”

“Hell, I’m gonna check now.” He smiled and leaned his chair back.

“Don’t lean back like that,” I warned. “You’re going to flip the chair back and smash your skull in.”

“There’s nothing in there to hurt anyway.” But he let his chair fall down with a thud. “So what are you reading for English again?”

“Lord of the Flies by William Golding. Have you ever read it?” I doubted he would have, and I could only imagine how painful that particular book on tape would be to listen to. The language in the book could knock you unconscious if the plot didn’t revolve around savage English kids.

“Is it worth reading?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. It’s about some English boys who go nuts and turn into delinquents after a plane crash that strands them on this island. No adults.”

“Sounds cool. Lord of the Flies. Why is that the title?”

“Can’t tell.” I gave him my best sidelong glance. “You’re just going to have to read it.”

He didn’t say anything, but when he ducked his head to work on his designs, I saw his mouth curve into a smile. I loved that he took my opinions seriously, that he wanted to read what I read and that he was open about being excited if I sent him a friend request.

“So, are you going on a date or something tonight?” He kept concentrated focus on the careful lines he sketched.

“Are you trying to ask if I’m single, Jake Kelly?” I teased, flicking the corner of his paper.

He laughed sheepishly, but still didn’t look up. “Maybe.” His mouth moved back and forth like he was debating saying something else. “You don’t have to answer.” Again, his voice went to that guarded place I wondered about.

“I’m not FBI, Jake.” I doodled a tiny star on his paper, then flipped my eraser around and rubbed it out. He trailed the tip of his finger through the eraser shavings. “You can ask me things. I do have plans tonight.” I felt a wicked kick of glee when I watched his face fall a little, knowing that it was all because he thought I was going on a hot date. “With my friend Kelsie. We’re going to paint our nails and watch sappy girl movies.”

“I like the sound of that.” He reached out with a jerky motion and caught my hand. I felt the breath catch in my throat and hold. He examined my nails. “They look nice like this.”

I realized that they had still had the remnants of slightly chipped blue polish on them. “They look terrible. You don’t have to lie to me to be nice, Jake. You can just say, ‘Wow, your nails look crappy.’” I did my best boy voice.

“Well, I will tell you that’s a crappy imitation of my voice.” He smiled so wide I could see his eyetooth from across the table. “But you’ve got to know you’re totally hot, chipped nails and all.” He burned beet red all the way to the roots of his hair. “Man, you get me to say some embarrassing stuff, Brenna.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck.

“Hey, don’t blame me when you feel moved to make strange declarations.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the giggles back. Then, feeling flattered and very brave, I added, “And you’ve got to know you’re totally hot, Jake.”

The blush that had been wearing away flamed bright red. “Thanks,” he said, not meeting my eyes, but smiling and shaking his head.

“Is this weirding you out?” I nudged his arm with my elbow.

“No.” Then his voice got very serious, “Just giving me a lot to think about.”

I leaned so close I could smell his crisp aftershave. “I knew I smelled something burning.” I tapped my head suggestively.

This time when he laughed the teacher looked up at us with a warning glint in her eyes, and we both ducked our heads and got back to work.

A few minutes later, I passed him a note.

Where do you ride your dirt bike? I wrote. I did it without thinking, the way I had done with someone sitting by me in school who I wanted to talk to a thousand times before. As soon as I turned the sheet and saw the nervous flicker in his eyes, I felt like a huge ass. He told me the first time I met him how hard it was to read and decipher.

He took out a pen and licked his lips nervously. Vernon. He wrote it very carefully and slowly.

Do you compete? I wrote. I did it because I didn’t want him to think that I thought he was stupid or that there was anything he couldn’t do.

He read it carefully, moving his lips around the words. He picked the pen up again. Yes. And I win.

I wrinkled my nose and wrote. So you’re a big shot? Maybe I’ll come and see you sometime.

I slid the paper to him and looked away while he read it. I didn’t want him to feel pressured, but I watched out of the corner of my eye as he moved his mouth and squinted. It reminded me of the few times I’d met a really cool kid in Denmark and struck up a conversation. A lot of people in Denmark take years of English, but they don’t always get to use it, especially in Jutland, which is the countryside. So I’d be rattling away, so excited to have anyone to talk to, and the kid would be working overtime trying to keep up and string together an answer that made some kind of sense. For me, it was all fun and then guilt. For them, it was just exhausting work.

You better. I have a race in 3 weeks. He wrote in neat, blocky writing, like a very textbook version of little kid print.

I’ll be there. Where? I asked.

The track at Vernon Valley.

With the snow? As far as I knew, they covered it with snow for skiing.

Not in He stopped and I saw him write an ‘a’ and a ‘t’ before he stopped again, erased and wrote, finally, fall.

I just nodded, and his shoulders actually sagged down with relief when I didn’t write more. I noticed that, when he thought I wasn’t looking, he slid the paper off of the edge of the table and put it into his front pocket.

We worked in companionable silence until the final bell startled us out of our peaceful little world.

I don’t think I have ever, in my entire life as a student, felt sad to hear the final bell ring on a Friday afternoon, but I definitely felt it that afternoon. My time with Jake was over, and I wouldn’t see him again until Monday.

He grabbed my backpack and walked down the long hallway full of jostling people.

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