“That’s stupid!”
“That’s how it is. We worry about you.”
I roll my eyes. “How am I supposed to grow up and be independent if you keep trying to protect me? I can take care of myself. Even if Iama girl.”
Mom shoots me a look. “Don’t turn this into something it’s not.” She sighs, reaching for my hand. “You have a big heart, sweetie. And you’re a romantic. We just worry you might not make the right choices at your age, that’s all. We think you need to grow a little before you’re ready to have a boyfriend.”
I pull free. “Don’t you think it’s up to me to decide if I’m ready? And Ryan isn’t my boyfriend, anyway. We’re friends. I think. I mean, I’m trying to be his friend. He doesn’t have any.”
Mom smiles proudly. “That’s very nice of you. Lauren mentioned to me that he’s having a hard time fitting in.”
I nod. “So can he be my platonic plus one? He probably won’t want to come anyway. So you have nothing to worry about.” I guess I’ll sit on the side like some loser. Or maybe I’ll find some rich guy to talk to. Ha. Sure.
My parents once again have their telepathic conversation.
“Okay, you can invite Ryan,” Dad says.
“Thanks.”
He holds up a finger. “But only as a friend. You promised me that.”
“Yep.”
Now the hard part is asking him to come.
Chapter Fourteen
Ryan
I stare down at the drawing I’ve just spent the last few hours working on. Like usual, I didn’t go in with a game plan, just did whatever felt right.
So why is a brown-haired beauty staring up at me? I drew her again. Why do I keep doing this?
Because you’re always thinking about her, the little voice in my head reminds me. Fine, maybe that’s true. But what does it mean? And what do I do about it?ShouldI do anything about it?
I rub my temples. No, I can’t.
I hear Grandma rummaging around in the kitchen. Dinner wasn’t as awkward as it usually is. We didn’t talk much, but we weren’t stiff with each other, either. Maybe things will get better for us. And I can’t forget we’re going to the art museum this weekend. I know my grandma only chose it because of my love of art.
Shutting my sketchpad, I go to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for bed. But before I do that, I stand before the mirror. The guy staring back at me looks semi-decent. My long hair is brushed back, eyes are still empty, but not as much as they were when I first moved here over a month ago. There’s still pain in there, and I don’t think it’ll ever leave.
But there’s something different about me, something I can’t figure out. And I don’t want to. It’ll only make me examine my feelings and I’m worried what I might discover.
If I let myself be happy, I’ll forget them, which is the last thing I want.
I get in the shower, not letting my thoughts wander to that night, then brush my teeth and head back to my room. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out cold.
***
The cries ring in my ears long before I turn the corner to my house. And the smell of smoke is so overwhelming it chokes my lungs.
I stop dead in my tracks as I stare at the blazing fire tearing through the house down the street.
My house.
I rush forward. A crowd is gathered around, watching the flames devour the house. I whirl around, searching for my parents, but I don’t see them anywhere. My heart lurches in my throat.
Are they still inside?
