A moment later, I murmur, “Thank you.”
He nods. “This thing weighs a ton. What do you have in here?”
“Rocks.”
He cracks a smile. “Sure feels like it.”
I crack a smile right back. “It’s all my textbooks. Surely yours is just as heavy.”
“Nah. I don’t bring many books home.”
I frown. “How do you do your homework without them?”
“I wing it. I usually read the assigned chapter in class while the teacher is talking, then I only have to answer the questions at home. Only book I have to bring home every day is my math book, and that one’s not heavy.”
“How do you remember the questions if you don’t bring your books? Some of them are really long.”
He digs into his pocket and pulls out a smart phone. “You just take pictures of the assigned questions. Saves you having to haul around a big bag of books all the time.”
“Oh, I see. That’s a good idea, but I don’t have a cell phone,” I inform him.
His green eyes widen like I just admitted to being an alien. “What? Who doesn’t have a cell phone?”
“I know,” I agree, rolling my eyes. “My mom insists I don’t need one yet.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s considered child abuse. Blink twice if you need help.”
I shake my head, smiling faintly. “It’s fine. I think she just says that because she can’t afford another line and she doesn’t want to admit it. She had to change jobs recently and I think she makes less at the new one because she went into major budgeting mode. Taking coupons out of that little box at the library, painstaking attention to our grocery list, no more cable. I’m sure she’ll get me a phone when she can afford it.”
“That sucks.”
I shrug. “I don’t watch TV much, anyway. It does suck, though, because right before she switched jobs I started reading this trilogy called Hunger Games. I got books one and two, but I figured I would pick up book three after I finished those, and now we don’t really have the book budget. It really sucks, because book two ended on a massive cliffhanger. I’m on the waitlist for the third book at the library, but I still have a month to go and waiting is the worst. I just want to know what happens and if she and Gale live happily ever after.”
Hunter smirks at me. “You’re such a dork.”
He says it without malice, but I wouldn’t care much either way. I am a bit of a dork; I’m not ashamed.
“I’m heavily invested,” I inform him. “Katniss is awesome, I love her. You should read the books, then you’d see. I’ll loan you my copy of book one if you want to. It’s not a romance or anything, it’s this awesome dystopian story. You’d probably like it.”
“Based on all you know about me?” he asks, amused.
“Based on the fact that it’s awesome, and I assume you like awesome things.”
“I do like awesome things,” he allows.
“There. See? You’d like it.”
“I don’t really read books I don’t have to read for school.”
I blink at him. “Why?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have time.”
“You probably just haven’t found the right book to pique your interest. Maybe Hunger Games is it. I’m committed to this cause now. You have to read it.”
“You just want to get me hooked so I’ll buy the third book and you can borrow it from me. I see through this smoke screen, Bishop.”
I laugh. “That’s not true. I never even thought of that—although now that you’ve brought it up… that would be a nice silver lining.”
Once we reach the end of the trail, Hunter’s steps slow to match mine. I look over at him, then gesture to the sidewalk to our right. “I’m that way. I should probably take my backpack now.”
Hunter shrugs. “I’ll carry it the rest of the way.”
“You sure? You really don’t have to walk me all the way home.” I try to make it seem like I just don’t want to be a burden, but really I’m not sure about letting a boy in the house when I’m home alone. It has never come up before, but I’m pretty sure my mom would freak out.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he assures me.
I’m still hesitant, but I feel too awkward explaining why, so I keep my mouth shut and take off toward my house. It’s only a few houses past the walking path which is why I take it, but the closer we get, the more antsy I get.
We sort of have a ‘no boys in the house’ rule, it’s just that it normally only applies to my mom. I haven’t gone on anything like a date yet. Mom does, but she doesn’t bring “boys” around unless she’s super serious about them. It has only happened with two guys in my whole life, so generally “no boys allowed” is gospel in our home.
I linger on the front porch, fidgeting with my fingers, then I clear my throat and turn back to Hunter. “My key’s in my bag, so I need it back now.”
He swings it off his shoulder and hands it back to me. I meet his gaze for a moment, feeling strangely naked as his green eyes bore into me, then I abruptly drop it to dig in my backpack for my house key.
“Um, thank you for bringing it all this way,” I tell him.
“No problem.”
He still isn’t budging or taking what I feel are very obvious vibes that I don’t want to invite him in. It feels rude telling him he can’t come inside after he carried my heavy, broken backpack all this way, so I shove down my reluctance, unlock the door, and push it open.
Hunter follows me inside, looking around our smallish home. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, just as much space as we need. It’s not big by any means, but it suits two girls living alone.
I don’t know Hunter Maxwell, but I do know his mom is a former model who has been divorced twice—and the town gossips say each divorce added a lot to the fortune she had already amassed on her own.
“Your house is probably bigger than mine,” I offer, needing to break the silence.
Hunter nods, still looking around. “Little bit.”
I nod, easing my backpack to the ground. “Do you have any younger brothers or sisters?”
Now he shakes his head. “Nope. Just me. My mom and husband number three talked about having a baby, but I think they’re headed for a divorce instead.”
“Aw, that sucks. I’m sorry.”
With an indifferent shrug, he says, “I’m not. I hate that guy.”
“Oh. Well, then I guess I’m not sorry.” Looking around for something to make me feel less awkward, I catch sight of the kitchen. “Come with me.”
Hunter follows me slowly, but now that I have a mission, I’m more comfortable. I open the freezer and take out a bag of frozen corn for Hunter’s eye. I point to a wooden chair by the table, gesturing for him to sit. Hunter flips it around backward, then straddles the chair instead of sitting on it like a normal person.
I crack a smile that he even has to sit like a cool kid. I bring the bag of corn over and hand it to him so he can press it against his eye.
“Is your mom married?” he asks, apparently continuing the conversation I sought to escape.
“Uh, no. She’s never been married.”
“Not even to your dad?”
I shake my head. “She was 17 when she got pregnant with me, and I guess my dad wasn’t exactly marriage material. Not father material either, I guess.”
“You never met him?”
“A few times, but I was a baby. I remember him being there once when I was two, but that’s the only memory I have of him. Me and my mom moved away a year later and I haven’t seen him since.”
“I never see my dad either. He was engaged to someone else when my mom got pregnant, and I guess they still got married, so… you know, he has a real family and they’re not eager to embrace me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “That’s not really fair. It’s not like it’s your fault.”
Hunter shrugs. “Life’s not fair. I don’t worry too much about it. I figure if he doesn’t even w
ant to see me, I can’t be missing much.”
I nod my head in firm agreement. “I think that’s a good way to look at it.”
“As long as my life coach approves,” he jokes.
We share a smile—the warm, genuine, unguarded kind, and it makes my heart happy.
This time, he appears to be the one made uncomfortable; he drops my gaze and clears his throat. “Thanks for this, by the way,” he says, tapping the bag of corn he’s holding against his eye.
“No problem,” I assure him, dropping into the chair nearest his. “How’d that happen?”
“How’d your backpack break?” he fires back.
I quirk an eyebrow. “That wasn’t an answer. That wasn’t even a smooth segue.”
“I think it was pretty smooth.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Little bit,” he insists.
“Not even at all.”
Hunter smiles, another unguarded one. “You gonna answer my question or not?”
Folding my arms across my chest, I tell him, “After you answer mine.”
Finally relenting, he says simply, “I got punched in the face. Your turn.”
My face falls. “Oh. Shoot. Well, my answer isn’t even interesting; it’s just a cheap backpack and the threads gave out when I was putting it on my shoulder to leave school one day. Who punched you in the face?”
“Someone who doesn’t like me,” he answers dryly.
“Someone from school?”
Lifting his chin in a casual bid for my attention, he says, “Who’d you say that author was? The one who wrote those books you liked?”
“Suzanne Collins,” I answer off-handedly, my concern growing each time he dodges the question. “Who hit you, Hunter?”
His gaze locks with mine for a moment, but then he drops it and pulls the makeshift ice pack off his face instead of answering me. “How’s it look?”
“Like you got punched in the face,” I state. “Who hit you?”
Slanting a slightly more annoyed look at me, he says, “You asked that already. New question.”
“Not until you answer this one. I don’t like how you’re avoiding it.”
“I don’t like pushy girls,” he counters.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t care. Was it Daryl from school? I know he doesn’t like you.”
“Please,” he says dismissively. “Daryl thinks he’s hot shit, but he’s not. He doesn’t have the balls to punch me in the face.”
“Why doesn’t he like you, anyway?”
“Because he’s stupid,” Hunter answers.
My lips curve up faintly, but my smile is tempered by the concern I’m still nursing over his eye. “So, who punched you?”
“I don’t want to tell you because you’ll overreact,” he informs me.
“How will I overreact?”
“You’ll make a big deal out of it, and it’s not. Shit happens. It happened, now it’s over, it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t seem like you think anything matters,” I tell him. Knowing he won’t share if I don’t, though, I add, “I promise not to overreact.”
That grabs his attention. “You promise not to say anything, period?”
I’m a little less comfortable with that promise, but considering the run-around he has already given me, it seems the only way I’ll get an answer. I’m starting to worry it was someone he lives with, maybe his mom or stepdad. If he leaves without telling me, I’ll worry about it incessantly.
A bit hesitantly, I try to reason with him. “If someone’s hurting you, Hunter, you should tell somebody. They shouldn’t be allowed to do that. They’re not allowed to do that, but if you don’t tell anyone, they can’t be stopped.”
Hunter shakes his head, standing and dropping the bag of frozen corn on the table. “Nope. I’m not a damsel in distress, Riley, I don’t need rescuing.”
I stand, too. “I’m not trying to rescue you, I just don’t want to see you mistreated by the people who are supposed to care for you.”
“You don’t even know who hit me.”
“So tell me,” I challenge, my eyes widening.
He rejects the suggestion immediately. “No. You’re stuck in tattletale mode like we’re little fucking kids.”
I jerk back in surprise. It’s not like I’ve never heard the f-word before, but no one has ever spat it right in my face like that. “That’s not true. I know we’re not little kids. It’s not just little kids who—”
He doesn’t let me finish. “Yes, it is.”
I open my mouth to argue, but then I close it again, unsure how to respond.
“I can take care of myself,” he assures me firmly, holding my gaze. “I don’t need you or anyone else to look after me.”
It goes against my better instincts to relent, but he’s being so stubborn, and I need him to set my mind at ease before he leaves. “Fine. I won’t say anything.”
“Promise?”
I swallow, then force myself to say, “Yeah, I promise.”
He narrows his eyes at me like he’s not sure he can trust me. After a moment, he must decide to, because he says, “It was my stepdad. He and my mom were fighting, I butted in…” He trails off and gestures to his eye.
My stomach drops, but I try to keep cool so he can’t accuse me of overreacting. “Has he done that before?”
“I mean, he’s shoved me around a bit, but he’s never hit me. Like I said, I figure he and my mom are heading for divorce this time.”
“Well, yeah, I would hope so. Is he still living with you, or did she kick him out?”
“She didn’t kick him out yet, but she will,” he assures me. “He was too drunk to drive when it happened.”
The discomfort won’t leave me. I don’t think I should have promised my silence now that I know for sure that’s what happened, but the way he talks, it seems like his mom’s handling it. She has to, right? Protecting him is her job.
“Anyway, I should get back home,” he says.
Doubling back and grabbing the bag of corn, I tell him, “Here, take this with you.”
“Nah, keep it.”
“But your eye,” I insist.
He smiles faintly, glancing at the bag of corn but not taking it. “I think you’re actually supposed to do that when you first get hit, so… it’s not really doing anything at this point.”
“Oh. Right,” I murmur, dropping my gaze.
I guess it should have occurred to me to ask when it happened before trying to nurse him back to health, but I’m unaccustomed to dealing with any kind of violence or its aftermath. The memory of a couple minutes earlier replays, him straddling the chair and thanking me for the cold bag of corn against his face. Was he laughing at me on the inside, or just being nice?
“I feel stupid now. You could have told me that instead of just… letting me put frozen corn on your face.”
Hunter smirks. “Nah. It was sweet. It’s the thought that counts, right?”
My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I can’t quite meet his eyes now. I follow him to the door and lean against the frame to tell him goodbye and watch him leave. When he hits the sidewalk, I close the door and lock it. Content in the belief that everything is under control and all the wrongs will be righted, I grab my busted backpack and set about doing my homework.
Chapter Two
THE WEEKEND FLIES by. My mom is off Sunday and the weather is still pretty warm for fall, so we grab some chips and sandwiches and head for the park. I get a splinter in my thigh from sitting at the bare picnic table, but getting some fresh air and catching up while we hike is nice.
When we get home, the sun is setting and the sky is a beautiful mix of pink and orange with blue splashes. I sigh contentedly, wishing I had a cell phone so I could snap a picture.
“Wonder what that is,” Mom murmurs as she cuts the wheel and turns into our driveway.
I glance away from the sunset and look at her to see where she’s looking. Her gaze appears to be on the front porch, s
o I look to see what she’s talking about. There’s a box propped up against our front door—a sizeable one. “I dunno.”
I grab the picnic stuff and both our water bottles while Mom walks ahead to retrieve the package. It’s a large box, so I also dig out my house key since she won’t be able to unlock the door and hold it at the same time.
“That’s odd,” she says, frowning as she reads the label on the box. “This is addressed to you.”
“Huh?”
She shrugs and carries the box inside. “Were you expecting something from school?”
I shake my head, walking inside and unloading all the stuff I’m carrying. “It’s from Amazon,” I tell her, noting the tape.
“Where are the bomb-sniffing dogs when you need them?” she jokes.
“Sniffing out actual bombs,” I return. “I don’t think you can order those from Amazon.”
Wrinkling up her nose, she says, “What? I thought they carried everything. One star!”
I crack a smile and rip into the mystery box. There’s packing paper on top, so I rip that out to reveal a cute pink and gray backpack.
Grinning, I look back at my mom. “I love it! I didn’t know you ordered me a new—” I stop, because her confusion has deepened.
Seeing it’s a gift for me, I figured she was just toying with me before about not knowing what the box was so I’d be surprised, but she looks legitimately baffled.
“I… didn’t.” She grabs the backpack out of the box and inspects it suspiciously. “Let me look at the packing slip.”
As soon as she pulls the backpack out, I see there’s something else in the bottom of the box. My heart does a funny free-fall as I reach in and carefully draw out a sky blue, hardback copy of Mockingjay—the last book in the Hunger Games trilogy.
My stomach turns into a pit of warm goo, and a helpless smile transforms my face as I run my hand across the smooth cover of the book I’ve been dying to read. Aside from my mom, there’s only one person who knows how badly I wanted this.
“Who’s Venus Keller?” Mom asks, then her eyes widen as she recognizes the name. “Wait, why is Venus Keller sending you school supplies?”
“She’s not, her son is,” I explain, still unable to wipe the helpless smile off my face. I usually tell my mom pretty much everything, but because I was afraid I would over share, I did not tell her about my run-in with Hunter Maxwell. “He carried my backpack home Friday when he saw me struggling with it.” I hold up Mockingjay for her to see. “I told him he should start reading this series and that I didn’t have the last book yet.”
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