Blinking, I lifted my attention up. He pointed down to my book of shadows perched on top of my pile that I had moments ago been ready to shove into my bag and rush across campus with to get away from him.
I didn’t answer. My lips parted while my fingers remained on his keyboard to fix the mess he’d made of a perfectly good lab report. A minor mess, but a mess nonetheless.
I knew there was some way to explain that it was basically a more accessible and prettier version of a witch’s grimoire you saw in movies around Halloween, and yet I couldn’t find one. The looseness I felt in Ryan’s presence was still tightly wound around my throat.
As he reached out to grab it, my hands, however, didn’t pause. They slapped down against the smooth cover to keep it shut.
“See, this is where you are supposed to saynunya. Like none of ya business. Not in the joking mood today just yet? Gotcha.” Ryan sat himself back down comfortably in his seat before I could point him back toward the door. “Sorry. Not supposed to touch?”
“It’s personal.” Sort of.
“Like a diary?”
My expression twisted to one side. “Like a life manual. I’m rewriting from a past version to this one. It’s not done yet.”
“Still a lot of life yet to live to fit into such a tiny book,” commented Ryan.
That was also true.
I took a deep breath. “It has different things, like my plants and their meanings, and everything inside I’ve learned since I got to Barnett and met my coven.”
“Oh, so it’s like a witchy diary.”
Well, when he put it that way, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him again. This time, I had to resist the small smile forming on my lips.
A tiny voice in the back of my head piped up,At least he is trying.
“Yeah, in a way.”
“But I can’t read it?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“But I can in the future?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“Now I’m just confused.”
I pushed his laptop back around to face him. “Reread your lab report and turn it in, so you can check it off in your planner. I’m surprised you got it done so quickly.”
“My Sunday didn’t have a lot going on at the house. Not with my leg and everything.” He flicked one of his crutches that was leaning against the table, as if in evidence.
I nodded slowly, unable to hide my gaze that traveled downward. “You took the brace off.”
“Thanks for noticing. Everything is nearly as good as new again.” He grinned. “Nearly. I go to my doctor and then the physical trainer tomorrow, who is going to give me a final therapy schedule before he signs me off the team roster for good. Then, I’m a free, injury-less bird.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“What?”
“Joke about it,” I said, trying not to show how pitiful the laughs he gave himself were whenever he referenced his leg or football. “I might not get what it is like to be a part of a football team—or any team really. You’re allowed to be sad about it even if it’s your decision to leave. It’s the right decision. If you ask me, that is, which I know you’re not.”
“I sort of am.”
“Well, you’re allowed to not make everyone else feel better about something that concerns you. It sucks,” I said.
He snorted once and nodded. “It does. Thanks. I have to keep thinking positively.”
