I’m trying to word the perfect reply in my head when I see that shock of red hair at the bus stop. She’s sitting there, shivering in the cold, staring at the phone in her hand.
I don’t even think it through—I just pull over.
“Need a ride?” I ask, flashing her a smile.
She stands up. “Where do you live?”
“Why does that matter?”
She bites her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to go out of your way. I’m sure the bus will be here soon.”
“The bus makes a stop every five minutes,” I say, waving my hand for her to join me. “I’ll get you home faster. And nothing is out of the way here in this town. It’s like two miles long.”
She rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at her lips. She gets in my truck and I hope she doesn’t look in the backseat, where the box of stationary is. She might ask about it, and I don’t want to lie to her.
I guess the irony isn’t lost on me. I don’t want to lie to her, but I’m about to go home and write her a letter and pretend it’s from Santa.
Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.
Chapter Seven
Heat rushes over me as I climb into Connor’s truck. He’s got the heater on full blast and it draws me to it like a moth to a flame. I hadn’t realized how cold I was at that bus stop until now. I lean forward and hold my hands and face in front of the air vent.
“This feels amazing,” I say, closing my eyes as the heat blows through my hair.
Connor chuckles. “I wish I had driven by sooner. How long have you been waiting there?”
“About ten minutes.” I sit up and click my seatbelt into place, then wriggle my chest out of the chest strap so I can keep leaning close to the air vents. “I live in Oakridge Apartments.”
“Cool,” he says, driving back onto the road. “That’s on my way.”
I know I should be making conversation with my friend who was nice enough to give me a ride, but I’m still fighting back the stress of Mom’s phone call. I’m happy that the money in my pocket will keep the lights from being turned off, but it feels like such a punch in the face. Like I took one step forward and two steps back. Keeping the lights on is important, but so is Christmas.
My whole body hurts knowing that I still don’t have anything to put under the tree for Max. And if there’s not going to be any presents, I don’t want to get the free tree from Mr. Harris. I think it would be better to just pretend Christmas doesn’t exist than to make it obvious that there are no gifts this year.
I really hope nothing comes up next weekend that way I can spend my next eighty dollars on Max.
“You seem stressed out,” Connor says, breaking my internal thoughts.
I shake my head as I turn my hands over in front of the air vent. “I’m fine.”
I try not to look over at Connor while he drives, but I can’t help it. There’s something about him, and I wonder why I never noticed it before. He’s not like the other guys at school. He hasn’t even made one dirty joke since I hung out with him in detention.
The silence feels a little awkward, so I look around and try to think of something to say. I see a photograph on his dash by the speedometer. I lean over and get a closer look. “Aww, is that you?” I say, looking at the smiling toddler who is sitting in his mom’s lap while she takes a selfie.
“Yep,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.
“Your mom is really pretty,” I say.
“Yeah, she was.”
A lump rises in my throat. I stare at the picture and then glance at Connor, and I’m filled with so much dread and guilt. I can’t believe I forgot! The whole school was talking about it sophomore year. Connor’s mom died of cancer. It was right around Valentine’s day, so it hasn’t even been a full year yet.
“Connor—” I touch his arm. “I’m so sorry. I… I forgot. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He gives me a sad little smile before glancing back at the road. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about my mom.”
I take my hand off his arm because the touch sends a weird shiver through me. “I’m sorry she’s gone,” I say, knowing there’s no words that would make him feel better. For everything my family has lost this year, at least we still have each other.
