Deciding Travis had his fun and would now leave her be, Delaney opened her book, immersing herself in the one part of her life that always made sense. She loved school. Thrived on learning.
English. History. Science. Math. She embraced them all, her mind a sponge, eagerly soaking up every bit of knowledge.
Advanced calculus was a highlight of her day. Though Delaney had little trouble with the curriculum, Ms. Bennett had the ability to make the subject interesting—at times, even challenging.
"The test on Friday will cover chapters six through ten," Ms. Bennett informed them just before the end of the class. "If you have any questions, let me know."
"Do you have any questions?" Travis whispered as they filed from the room, his voice low so only Delaney could hear.
"No." Delaney knew the smartest thing to do would be not to engage, but she found the reply passing her lips before she could remember to bite her tongue.
"Silly question. You always know the answers."
"No. I don't." Not about anything really important.
Travis fell in step with her, drawing the kind of attention Delaney had always succeeded in avoiding. Until now.
The popular jock and the invisible girl. The oddest of odd couples. Not that they were a couple. God forbid.
Delaney's thoughts raced as she tried to think of a way to get rid of Travis. She couldn't begin to guess where his thoughts ran.
"I would love to know what questions could possibly stump you," Travis said. "Another time. Want to eat lunch together?"
"No."
"I have practice after school, or I'd offer to walk you home. Maybe tomorrow?"
"No!"
Travis didn't seem to hear the horror in Delaney's voice. Or he chose to ignore it.
"Okay." Travis shrugged, obviously not the least bit concerned by her terse response. "See you later."
Dumbfounded, Delaney watched as Travis wound his way through the hall, answering as somebody called out to him. Nodding to his friends. Flirting with every girl as if by osmosis. Acting as though nothing unusual had occurred. And for him, she supposed, nothing had.
Giving herself a mental shake, Delaney took her seat. She couldn't worry about Travis Forsythe and his whims. He'd forget about her soon enough when something bright and shiny caught his eye.
But still. Travis was a puzzle.
THE WEEK PASSED quickly. Travis didn't have time to pursue his friendship with Delaney. She would have been surprised to find out how often she entered his thoughts. Usually when he was lifting weights or running laps.
When his body was occupied with repetitive workouts, his mind always drifted. More often than not, he ended up thinking about Delaney.
As long as Travis could remember, he thought she was strange. If he thought of her at all. Now, he realized the problem didn't lie with Delaney, but with him. With all the students at Green Hills High School. They were so wrapped up in their own lives that they couldn't be bothered to see what had always been right in front of them.
Delaney wasn't strange. She was lonely.
One look into her eyes and he knew. Perhaps the age difference was the culprit. Or the fact that she was just so much damn smarter than the rest of them. For whatever reason, she hadn't made friends after the administration skipped her ahead a few grades.
The idea that he could help curb a bit of Delaney's loneliness might seem odd. But in some ways, Travis needed a friend as much as she did.
Weighed down by expectations, he sometimes felt isolated from the people he'd known his entire life.
Travis' father wanted him to be a success. Alan Forsythe's dreams rested on his son stepping higher than he had. Pick an occupation. He didn't care. Baseball player. Mathematician. The job didn't matter. Alan didn't want Travis to live from paycheck to paycheck, always wondering if next month would bring the day he didn't have enough money in the bank to meet his obligations.
Then there were Travis' friends. His peers.
The girls wanted to hang off the arm of a famous athlete. The guys wanted to latch onto a future superstar. Even Eddie—the person Travis would have once sworn could never be blinded by celebrity—seemed more and more interested in the time when he could start sponging off his famous buddy.
Eddie always laughed off his comments. But each time—delivered with increased frequency—Travis felt a wave of unease he found harder and harder to shake off.
"There you are," Eddie called out. Dressed in street clothes, he fell in step with Travis, puffing hard before they finished a half lap of the track. "What's the deal running during lunch hour?"
Travis had a fairly steady workout routine. In fact, most days one could set one's watch by it. However, there were times when his dad needed help on a job. After school today, instead of hitting the gym, he'd be on his way to the nearby town of Prescott.
"If Dad doesn't finish Mrs. Banks' roof today, he'll miss out on the job rewiring Mayor Detwiler's hunting lodge."
"So, skip running for one day."
"Can't," Travis said, not missing a stride when Eddie stopped. "Don't want to fall behind.
Eddie bent over, resting his hands on his knees. Using the last of his breath, he yelled, "You're a freaking machine, man."
Travis chuckled, increasing his speed. Four more laps. He could have easily done ten, but time wasn't on his side. Tomorrow, he promised himself.
Out of the corner of his eye, Travis caught a streak of dark gray. Delaney rushing toward the music room. Funny. A week ago, he wouldn't have noticed how fast she was when she wanted to be. Or how she stayed as close to the buildings as possible in an attempt to blend in—to go undetected.
Those days were over.
At least as far as Travis was concerned.
IF SHE WERE asked, Delaney wouldn't have been able to explain exactly how Travis managed to finagle his way into her life.
If he'd pushed, she would have been able to push back—in her own way. Force she understood. After living in the same house as Munch Brill for seven years, Delaney was practically an expert.
Travis wasn't a bull, getting his way by smashing everything in his path. He was more subtle. Like a big, blue-eyed puppy. Seemingly harmless and impossible to resist.
Her original plan to simply avoid him had been doable; she was certain he'd grow bored with the novelty of hanging around the weird girl. Travis didn't really want a new friend. He wanted a challenge. A new, unusual way to pass his time between school and working out—he always seemed to be running in circles or lifting weights.
Or—what was the term—shagging balls? Why did so many things that had to do with sports sound slightly risqué? Even downright dirty?
Delaney smiled at her wayward musings.
"Want to share the joke?"
She glanced at Travis, swerving back to her original train of thought. He walked her home most days. Through the back alleys where nobody could see them. The first time, Delaney had insisted he stop two blocks from her house. Travis hadn't asked why, as if understanding the subject wasn't open for debate.
Maybe that was the secret to his method. Travis recognized Delaney's boundaries, immediately backing away when she tensed or became uncomfortable. Yet, he never gave up.
A month of walking by her side. A month of innocent conversations about school. Or his father's current job. Or how old Delaney was when she first began playing the piano.
They were on the cusp of friendship. Which was why Delaney felt comfortable enough to tease Travis for the first time.
"Why do guys who are innately homophobic have no problem playing with each other's balls?"
Travis stopped in his tracks.
"Excuse me?"
"You know. Baseballs. Basketballs. Footballs," she clarified.
When Travis' expression didn't change, Delaney wondered if she'd made an error in judgment. Had she offended him with her joke? And if so, how would he retaliate? She inched away, ready to
flee. Then, to her relief, Travis threw his head back and laughed.
"You are full of surprises. Smart and a sense of humor." Travis wiped the moisture from his eyes.
As Delaney tipped her head up so she could look Travis directly in the face—a move she wouldn't have considered until recently—she automatically raised a hand to push her glasses up her nose. But they weren't there. The moment they were alone, Travis would take away the frames with the clear glass, keeping them in his pocket as they walked.
At first, Delaney protested. Travis simply ignored her. Now, she handed the glasses over without a second thought.
"Don't you miss riding your motorcycle to school?"
Travis shrugged.
"The damn machine is broken down more often than not. Besides, I like walking. With you. Unless I can talk you into riding with me."
The twinkle in his blue eyes told Delaney Travis wasn't serious. He was so sure she wouldn't agree to get behind him on his bike. But he was wrong. If circumstances were different—if she weren't certain Munch would blow a gasket—Delaney wouldn't hesitate.
She wanted to believe her streak for adventure—the one she'd embraced as a child—lurked deep inside. The longing to take a ride behind Travis gave her hope.
"I want to. But…"
"When you're ready, I'll take you." Travis sent her a sideways grin. "If the motor on that old machine cooperates."
"Really?" Delaney heard the neediness in her voice but didn't care.
"I promise."
"Thank you."
"I haven't done anything yet," Travis said, his smile warm.
"Yes. You have."
Before Travis could ask her what she meant, Delaney snatched her glasses from his pocket, turned, running the rest of the way home. She slowed her gait before entering the house—Munch insisted she conduct herself in a ladylike manner. Taking the stairs, she shut her door, falling onto her bed with a happy sigh.
Travis had given Delaney something to look forward to—even if she never found the chance to take him up on his offer
"Delaney?" Alma's voice echoed down the long hall. "Put your things away and come help me with dinner."
Carefully, Delaney placed her school books in a neat pile on the small desk. Neat as a pin—just like the rest of her room. Before she left, she smoothed the blanket on the twin bed, straightening her pillow.
She hated the faded pink sheets splashed with pale yellow daisies. Just as she hated the twin bed with the carved white headboard. And the pile of stuffed animals that seemed to mock her from their perch on the window seat. Even the attached bathroom was pink from the walls to towels to the toilet.
The decor was Munch's idea. His way of keeping Delaney a little girl—until…
Hastily, Delaney left the room. With a firm pull, she closed the door, wishing she could shut off her thoughts as easily. Why couldn't she have held onto the dream of riding on Travis' motorcycle just a little longer?
Because this house is filled with fear and sadness. The walls seemed to sniff out any hint of happiness with frightening efficiency. Not so long ago she would have said the same about the town in which she lived.
Abandon hope all ye who enter here. True, Dante hadn't written about Green Hills However, the sentiment fit well enough.
Lately, when Delaney walked outside, she could feel a change in the air. She had a friend. She had somebody to laugh with. Something to look forward to.
Delaney—at least for now—had Travis.
CHAPTER SIX
● ≈ ● ≈ ●
MAY WAS DELANEY'S favorite time of the year.
For one month—without fail—Munch went to Mexico. He and varying members of his family made the trip to do who knew what—Delaney didn't care. He was gone, and that was all that mattered.
"Pancakes for breakfast?" Alma asked as she passed by Delaney's bedroom, her arms filled with freshly washed laundry.
Delaney wouldn't say her mother had a bounce in her step—the weight of the world had been bearing down on her shoulders for too long. But her voice sounded lighter. As if the ever-present world had been—at least temporarily—replaced by a mere continent.
"With blueberries?"
Munch liked a healthy breakfast, and he expected his girls to eat the same way. Alma didn't go crazy when he was away—she never knew when one of his spies might drop by for a friendly visit.
However, their first morning of temporary freedom was special. They splurged on food Munch never allowed them to have. Strong coffee—borrowed from their neighbor Mrs. Thomas, a woman who understood a thing or two about controlling husbands—and pancakes with lots and lots of real maple syrup—again, courtesy of their neighbor.
"Mr. Bingley at the farmer's market had the first blueberries of the season. I was able to snatch up the last two containers. Ten minutes?"
"I'll be there."
Delaney finished combing out her long hair, slightly damp from her morning shower. She didn't own a blow dryer, not that she cared. She wasn't interested in wasting time to get the heavy length completely moisture free, only to clamp it back into a severe, boringly ubiquitous, ponytail.
What she really wanted to do was hack the thing off. Short hair would be so much nicer. So much more flattering.
Delaney picked up the small silver hand mirror—the last gift her father had given her—and studied her face. She'd never be a beauty. But with a little effort, she might be pretty.
Her long, angular face could benefit from a little color. Blush on her naturally pale cheeks. Her eyelashes were bad, but some mascara would be a nice complement. And her lips—neither particularly full nor thin? Delaney longed to cover them in crimson. Or bright fire-engine red. Maybe a startling neon orange. Anything, as long as the color was bold.
One day, Delaney promised herself as she used a brown plastic clip to subdue her long, brown hair. She'd surround herself in bright hues of yellow, and blue, and red.
Silently, she chuckled. Seemed she'd made a lot of promises to herself lately. The reason was simple. Delaney was tired of living a drab, stilted, muted life. One day, she'd find the color she knew existed beyond Green Hills, South Carolina.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Delaney breathed deeply. Munch had only been gone a few hours, and already the air was sweeter. Filled with the scent of coffee, blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, and…
Pausing, Delaney breathed in again. Bacon? She smiled. Oh, yes. May was definitely the best month of the year.
"WHICH TEAM DO you think will draft you?"
"Probably Seattle. Maybe San Diego."
"Seattle sucks," Eddie said with lip curling disgust. "Not that San Diego is any great shakes. But at least the weather is better."
"The teams with the worst records get the first picks," Travis shrugged, shoving his cleats into his old, Army surplus duffle.
"Shitty system. But on the bright side, the higher you get drafted, the better the signing bonus. Cha-ching."
Before he could snap at Eddie, Travis bit his tongue. Lately, all his friend could talk about was money. Baseball money. Travis' baseball money.
With a sigh, Travis ran a hand through his hair, counting to ten. Maybe he didn't see things clearly. Eddie was his friend. Naturally, he was excited about the Major League Baseball Draft. He wanted his buddy to land on a good team. If he seemed obsessed with money—money Travis had yet to earn—so what? Neither of them had grown up surrounded by wealth. A little cash in the bank was a heady idea.
Green Hills had just defeated their division rivals—twice. Doubleheaders weren't the norm, but they had to make up a rainout from earlier in the season. After eighteen innings in which Travis had contributed with some stellar defense and six hits, including a home run and a bases-clearing double, all he wanted was a good dinner, a few hours vegging in front of some mindless television, followed by an early night.
Now wasn't the best time to have Eddie and his dreams of dollar
signs, buzzing around. Normally, Travis saw his friend as slightly overeager, but relatively harmless. Today, he felt more like an annoying gnat.
All Travis wanted to do was swat him away. Instead, he ignored Eddie's comments, swinging his duffle over his shoulder before heading out of the locker room.
The season was in full swing, and Green Hills looked like they could finally bring home a state championship—an achievement Travis would have missed if not for his father's insistence he finish high school.
Thank you, Dad. Travis planned on using a big chunk of his signing bonus to buy his father a much-needed new truck. The least he could do after all the years of unwavering support and sacrifice.
What was left—if anything—would be slated straight for the bank. Travis wouldn't piss away his money on frivolous purchases and partying. No matter what hopes Eddie might harbor.
"A bunch of the gang is meeting out at Tillman's Quarry. Burt acquired," grinning, Eddie made exaggerated air quotes, "a keg from the basement of his dad's bar. I'm catching a ride with Janey. See you there?"
Tillman's was the place for high school drinking and other shenanigans. More than one teenager had lost their virginity while hopped up on beer and whatever drug made party rounds. Once or twice, an unwanted pregnancy could be traced back to a wild Saturday night at the quarry.
Suddenly, Travis felt older than his years. Or maybe—with his dreams so close—he'd outgrown the need to fill the small-town boredom with booze and casual sex. Either way, the thought of joining the gang made him a little sad.
And more tired than playing two full, nine-inning baseball games.
"I think I'll skip the fun this time."
"You've skipped the fun a lot lately." Eddie crossed his arms, a frown marring his freckled brow. "Is she the reason?"
Travis glanced to where Eddie indicated with a jerk of his head, just catching sight of Delaney before the door to the music room closed behind her.
For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3) Page 5