I twirl my hair around my fingers, thinking her words over. For a brief moment, I wonder again why such a good soul wouldn’t want his biological daughter for seventeen years. But then the guilt hits because I’m here now, aren’t I? And, really, I don’t know him. I can pass all the judgment I want, but in the end, all that does is tell me more about myself than it does him.
“I have to go,” Mom says quietly. “But do me a favor, will you?”
“Yeah?”
“Take pictures—of yourself, of you and Tim, of nature around you. Anything that touches you. Email me everything at least once a week. Okay? Will you do that for me?”
I nod, my brows knitting. We’ve never been big on pictures. “Yeah. I can do that,” I say even though I don’t own a camera. My phone has one, but it stopped working a long time ago.
“Love you forever, Bluebell.”
“Love you too.”
When we hang up, I don’t move from the window. Mom and I are as close as a mother and daughter can get. Our souls match. But we also spend a lot of time apart. She goes on trade shows or lone adventures for weeks at a time, and she always comes back revitalized. Renewed.
Where the earth lifts me higher, it heals her. I just wish I knew what she’s healing from.
Hunt
She has a flower in her hair today. As in, anactualflower. It’s purple, tucked in the pink streak behind her ear.
Who does that?
I’m leaning back in my seat, my head tipped toward my textbook, but I have no clue when I started watching her instead. She’s braiding her hair again, except this time, she wraps a tie around the bottom to keep it in place. It’s too silky, and strands keep falling out. My gaze travels down the side of her neck, tracing the loose waves. Then the smooth slope of her tanned shoulder.
I shift, stretch out my legs, and tell myself to look away.
When she slips her sandal off, my gaze drops to follow the movement under her desk. She rubs the bottom of one foot against her toned calf, her toes curling around her ankle. Slides her foot up her skin, then down again. Up, down. Slow and smooth.
Heat spreads through me, and I swallow as I finally rip my gaze away, finding a random spot on the floor to focus on. When that doesn’t help, I scan the rest of the classroom to distract myself, but my brow furrows when I realize I’m not the only guy with a staring problem. Tommy, who was on the school’s basketball team with me last year, sits on the far right side of the room rubbing the tip of his pen across his lower lip while he watches Blue like she’s the only girl here.
The hell?Not that I care, but he can be a little less fucking obvious.
“So that’s it.” My attention snaps to Mr. Lancer when he clasps his hands. “If you need help with the assignment, see me after class. And please, don’t rush this one. I want a full detailed essay that really gives me a glimpse of the person inside.” The bell rings, and students are already pushing back their chairs. “All right, all right, everyone. See you tomorrow.”
Confused, I glance from my notes to the whiteboard, then back again. Shit.
“Ah, Mr. Lancer.” Pushing out of my seat, I snatch my books in one hand and my backpack in the other, then head to the front of the class. My muscles burn with each movement, fire stretching beneath the bruises and fresh cuts. Yesterday’s match was straight up brutal, but at least I was able to pay my phone bill. Still, I can’t afford any more distractions. By the time I reach his desk, I’m feeling pretty sheepish. “I, uh ...” I rub the back of my neck, wincing at the throbbing ache that shoots down my arm. “I think I missed some of the details on that last assignment.”
His thick grey brows pucker while he stares up at me from his seat. I feel the disappointment down to my gut. He’s spent so much of his personal time with me—not just working on English but tutoring me hard-core in AP Calc and AP Science too. Even helped get my college applications together. Not paying attention in his class is basically giving him a giant middle finger.
“It’s not like you to miss any details, Mr. Hunt,” he finally says.
“No, sir.” My jaw tightens. “Won’t happen again.”
He watches me for a second, then gives a small nod. “All right. If you say so.” He turns his attention to his desk, sorting through the messy stack of papers in front of him. “In the meantime, I’m sure Miss Everest here will be happy to share her notes.”
“Who?” Just then, a loudthunkyanks my attention toward the empty classroom. Well, mostly empty.
When I see her, my grip tightens around my books, the hard edges digging into my tender rib cage. Blue’s picking up a chair she must’ve knocked over when she was gathering her things. Once it’s upright, she glances across the room at us. She smiles as she spots me, and I grit my teeth. I’ve never seen anyone smile so easily. It can’t be normal.
“Sorry. Did you say me?”
“I did.” Mr. Lancer doesn’t look up from his papers. “Saw you getting a lot of writing done in that notebook of yours today. I’m sure you can fill Mr. Hunt in on the latest assignment?”
“Oh, I ...” Her eyes dart to the closed notebook on her desk, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth, taking my gaze with it. “Um, yeah.” She looks back up at me, her green eyes bright. “I can give them to you after school.”
My stare narrows on hers. The girl who couldn’t pay attention in class if her life depended on it. Images of her staring out the window and playing with her hair seep into my mind, and,Jesus, I can’t believe my grade for this assignment is riding on her notes. But then I remember why I’m depending on her, that it’s my own damn fault, and of course she has no clue how important this is to me.
