Breaking Rules (7 page)

“Except when you let those things affect how you interact with
other people,” he said. “Then it becomes everyone’s burden.”

“Right,” I said, swallowing hard.

His tone had said it all. I’d made my impression, and it wasn’t a good one. He didn’t like my attitude, he didn’t like that I had a mind of my own, and he didn’t like who I was even on a very basic level. He’d made up his mind about me, he knew how he felt, and that probably meant that I didn’t stand the slightest chance at winning the scholarship at the end of the program.

It hurt to think that my worth as a person, as a member of his team, was being chalked up to what very little he knew about me. Maybe I hadn’t had the best attitude from the start, but he’d had a lot to do with that. He was taking what little observation he’d had, and he was making one very big assumption about who I was. And was that fair? Did Gabe have any right to judge me based on so little?

Did I have a right to judge him?

I didn’t know. Maybe what we saw on the outside, maybe that first impression was it. Maybe there was never anything more beyond that. Maybe he was right about me, and maybe I was the one who’d been wrong all along.

Either way, I’d made a commitment, win or lose. If I planned to stick it out at RI and continue until it adjourned at the end of six weeks, I had to do whatever it took to impress Mr. Big Shot and change his mind at all costs. I didn’t want every run-in we had to end up in an argument, and I didn’t want to see his smug smile one more time. Nor did I want our time spent together to be uncomfortable, and when I was around him, discomfort was all I could feel. I couldn’t let that go on forever. I had to clear the air, even if it killed me.

“
Gabe,” I said, tasting the sweat on my lips. “For what’s worth, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry you were standing in the middle of the street.”

He
tucked his chin and raised his brow, acting as if that’d been the exact kind of apology he’d expected. I took a deep breath and let it pass slowly through my lips.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m sorry I hit you. It was my mistake
.”

“It wasn’t completely your fault,” he admitted, finally taking some of the weight off
of my shoulders. Had he known how long I’d prayed to hear him say that? “I shouldn’t have been in the street, you’re right.”

“
I felt awful,” I said because I thought maybe he should know. I hadn’t tried to apologize out on the highway.

“I went to the doctor
; I had it checked out,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about.” 

“
You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he said, waving a hand. “Don’t get yourself worked up about it.”

“But you were limping.”

“It’s a character trait
.” He cracked a smile, but I didn’t follow. “Listen, if it makes you feel any better, Mandy, please know that you didn’t cause my limp, okay? Give yourself a break. It was an accident. Now can we call a truce?” he asked, looking down to his hands before turning to look up at me. “Start over? Try again?”

There was something mischievous in his grin, and I hated that it intrigued me.

“Yeah,” I said slowly, shaking the hand he’d extended across the table. “Truce.”

Trying to ignore the steady pitter-patter smacking against my chest, I looked down at his blue
, RI shirt and decided a change of subject was probably the best direction in order to move things along.

“So do you always pitch in and help on the projects?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from him and back to the menu. “You don’t normally hear of the founder and president of
anything
stepping down and getting his hands dirty, and yesterday… well, Gabe, you looked borderline-homeless in that get-up you had on.”

He tried to restrain a laugh, but
he failed miserably.

“I do what I can,” he said. “I pitch in where I’m needed, skipping around from time to time.
We have the school competition now, the soup kitchen in Desden, the street team, and the park crew. I try to mix it up. It keeps life interesting.”

“And how long have you been doing this? Running the Raddick Initiative, that is?”

He tilted his head. “Really? I would’ve thought someone like you would’ve done your research.”

Someone like me?
I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the assumption, but I took it as a compliment anyway.

I
allowed myself to sit there and ponder his meaning for so long that Gabe leaned forward to catch my gaze. “You all right there?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to think of the best way to respond. “To be perfectly honest, I
didn’t
do my research, and I’d never even heard your name until they ran the article on the front page of Thursday’s paper. I’ve only learned a little about the program since Lashell hosted the assembly at school on Friday, and I know nothing about RI except what she and Carla have told me. That’s not much.”

I tried to distract myself from his fixed st
are by looking down at my hands, but that didn’t last long.

“I started the Raddick Initiative six months after I left Iraq,” he said, and the corner of his lip twitched as he reached for his coffee. “It was never in the plans to start the program so early in life, but I had a
wake up call, and I realized that if I wanted to do it, it had to be now. So Lashell and I teamed up when I got home, and RI is heading into its second year.”

“That’s
great.”

“I knew what I wanted,” he said, trying to shrug it off as something that wasn’t nearly as impressive as it was. “I’ve always known.”

“So the Raddick Initiative was
always
in the cards?”

“Always,” he said. “I never doubted it.”

“And the military?” I asked, leaning forward. “What happened? Was that your wake-up call?”

A slight nod put an end to that discussion very fast, and the faint twitch at the corner of his lip made me think that maybe I
’d pressed too far. See, that’s what I hated about shared meals. I always found a way to put my foot in my mouth.

“Well, whadaya know?” I said, finally meeting his stare again. “You’re not half-bad, Raddick.”

“Careful,” he said, taking a sip from his mug. “Compliments are dangerous. You wouldn’t want to feed into my big, fat, celebrity ego, would you?”

“No,” I said
. “I most certainly wouldn’t want to do that.”

I checked my cell phone for the time.
Even though we hadn’t ordered anything but our drinks, I couldn’t fathom the idea of sitting there any longer. No doubt I’d say something else to make the morning more uncomfortable than it already was.

“Listen, I
should go.” I dug a few bills out of my purse and set them aside on the table. “But before I do, can I get your number?”

“My number?”

“Or e-mail address,” I said quickly. “My editor really wants that interview on her desk sometime this week. And… you know what? Forget it. My dad says you’re a really busy guy and that your schedule is jam-packed. I didn’t even ask you to do the interview. I just assumed you would, and like an idiot I sat here rambling on and on—”

“Hey, take a breath,” he said, reaching across the table to lower my hands
for the second time that morning. The moment his fingers touched mine, there was an unexpected spark, a tiny snap that exploded between our hands—something took me by surprise and set my heart off on a wild cadence. I think Gabe felt it, too, because he jerked his hand away and examined the finger where his skin had touched mine.

“I’ll do the interview,” he said,
finally looking back up to me and dropping his hand to his lap.

He sat there trying to pretend
that spark we’d both felt had been nothing more than static electricity, but I think we both knew better. It had been something else, something huge. Something I couldn’t begin to understand.
What was going on with me?
What was going on between
us
?

“But let’s do it in person, okay? We’ll do dinner tomorrow night at Shae’s.”

“No, no, no,” I said, still caught off guard by the spark. I tried to steady my breathing as I collected my thoughts. I was nowhere near ready to sit through another awkward conversation, like the one we’d just had, so I shook my head. “A phone interview will do just fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t mind meeting you.”

“
I
mind,” I said. “I just… I don’t do well in one-on-one settings.”

“You’re doing fine now,” he said
, and I felt my cheeks flush red with warmth.

“Just let me call you, Gabe, please.”

“Okay, sure,” he said. I programmed his number into my contacts. “Call anytime.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing my phone
back into my pocket. “I will.”

I stood up
, slung my purse over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

“’Ey Mandy,” he said
, tilting his head back. “I’ll look forward to your call.”

Six

“I’ll look forward to your call,” I mumbled under my breath as I stopped at the only traffic light in town. I shook my head and listened to my left turn signal click—click, click, click, click. I swore even my car mocked me. The clicks seemed faster than usual. Today they were unusually taunting.

A faint groan slipped through my lips.

I pulled away from the diner trying to let Gabe’s words roll off my shoulders—in one ear and out the other, you know? And it shouldn’t have been too hard. Dad always complained that Bailey and I had an incredible knack for tuning out and ignoring things, so why did it suddenly feel impossible to ignore just six, simple words?

Of course I knew. It was because
Gabe
said them. I only wished I could understand why
that
meant anything. And what was with that spark? What was it about that guy?

A chill got the best of me.

Back home and far enough away from everything that had happened back at the diner, I spent the rest of the day avoiding any thought of Gabe, the Raddick Initiative, or my upcoming volunteer hours with the program.

I dedicated the better part of the afternoon working on an English essay and avoiding my sister, and thankfully, my father, too. I’d noticed that Dad was spending most of his free time working
. That kept him out of the house and down at his office most evenings. Sundays were certainly no exception. As for Bailey, it was always hard to nail down exactly where she’d be.

And that’s basically how the rest of the weekend
played out. Monday morning rolled around and it was time for school, so I stuck to my everyday routine and got ready.

The drive to
school was an interesting one because this time I had Bailey in tow, and she was only one more distraction that I didn’t need while behind the wheel. Since hitting Gabe on Saturday morning, I’d suddenly become the most paranoid driver on the planet. I paid extra special attention to the road as I turned off Main Street and drove by the park gates off of Highway 6.

“You’ve been quiet this morning,” Bailey said, observing me from the passenger’s seat. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t need to know that I’d been thinking of Gabe as we passed the park, and she most certainly didn’t need to know about the spark.

The less Bailey
knew, the better.

“Nothing.”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Try again.”

“I’m allowed to be quiet.” I barely darted a look at her before focusing my attention right back to the road. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, my infallible twintuition says otherwise,” she said. “You’re gripping the steering wheel
; your knuckles are white. Your voice is shaking, your forehead’s sweating, and I’ve never seen your cheeks that shade of pink. Something’s different.”

“
Nothing’s
different.”

“And I’m going to go ahead and say it’s a guy
.” She squinted at me. “You’ve met someone.” When I didn’t respond, not even with the slightest look, glance, or indication that she might be right, she sat straighter and readjusted her seatbelt. “Oh my God, you’re not denying it. You are
so
in love.”

“Will you let it go
already?”

“
Who is he
?
” she asked, and her jaw dropped. “I heard you were working with Fletcher Wilson. Is it him? You and Fletcher?”

She faced the windshield for a moment, trying to picture the idea of that match-up. When she shook her head and cringed, I couldn’t help but
do the same.

“It’s not Fletcher,” I promised.
“No way.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, p
utting her hand over her heart. “Then who is it?”

“L
et me stop you right there.” I slowed down as I approached the backed up traffic just outside school. I flipped my turn signal and waited to turn into the parking lot, and then I finally cleared the turn. “There isn’t a guy. I’m not in love, and I
don’t
want to talk about it.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“I didn’t bring it up,” I said, parking the car in my assigned spot. “You did.”

“Because… you’re like… you’re like the freakin’ Queen of Solitude, Mandy,” she said. “And somebody has done something to
bust up that ice-cold exterior of yours. Someone’s gotten to you, whether you like to hear it or not. It’s all over your face; it’s in your movement.”

“What?”

“You’re usually calm and relaxed,” she said. “You’re chill, at ease. And you act like that because you’re always getting your way—you’re alone, and you like that. But when someone gets too close, your whole body goes berserk. You get all tense.”

“
What are you talking about, Bailey?”

“You parked the car two minutes ago
, and you’re still gripping the freakin’ steering wheel like we’re going to blow up if you let go! You’re on edge.”

“I’m not on edge,” I said, finally peeling my hands away from the steering wheel
and throwing my seatbelt off. “I’m simply trying to be a better driver, that’s all. A group that
I’m
involved with is about to host an awareness fundraiser about the consequences of unsafe driving habits, and I’m just trying to practice what we preach.”

“Well
, that’s a load of bull,” she said, finally getting out of the car. She reached in and found her purse and back pack, and without another word, she turned on her heel and headed for the school entrance. I didn’t bust my butt trying to keep up with her, but I didn’t need to. She was waiting just outside the door by the time I caught up.

“I know you think no one knows you as well as you know yourself, but that’s where you’re wrong.
You walk around acting like you’ve got it all figured out, but you’re just as lost as the rest of us. Get the stick out of your butt, and quit pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re human. You’re allowed to feel things, Mandy.” I rolled my eyes, hoping she’d see my impatience, but she ignored me. “Not everyone is going to hurt you like Mom did. Not everyone is going to break promises like Dad. Having friends, that’s okay. A boyfriend? That’s fine, too. You can’t push everyone away forever just because you got hurt
once
. Those stupid rules you made up, that’s all they are—
stupid
.”

I looked down
at my feet and she quickly stomped my toe with the point of her heel.

“
Holy crap, Bailey
. What the heck?”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she said, pointing a finger in my face. I held her gaze, but I wanted nothing more than
to break down and cry right then and there. I didn’t think my oncoming tears had anything to do with my crushed toes. “This is the last time I’m going to say this to you, okay? What you’re doing, the way you treat people, it’s not normal. You need to stop this act before it gets out of control,” she said, shrugging. “Because one of these days, someone’s going to come along, someone who deserves your time and attention, someone who might really care about you, and you’re going to be too far gone to even see what’s right in front of your face. You’re going to miss out on true love, Mandy. And I’m not going to feel sorry for you when you do.”

And then she turned and walked away
.

I looked back down to my feet again, and then I shook my head.

“Love,” I whispered, and I almost choked on the word.

No one
finds the love of their life when they’re eighteen. Even if it was possible, didn’t she know that young love was always destined to end in tragedy? Hadn’t she read
Romeo & Juliet
?

What could my sister ever know about falling in love? She wasn’t in any kind of position
to give me advice. Sure, Bailey knew
a lot
about
a lot
, but when it came to love and my ability to find it… she was most certainly wrong.

I—do—not—fall—in—
love
, and I never would, especially at eighteen. But my biggest fear was that maybe I had the potential to develop a crush, and that thought frightened me to the depths of my very soul. But...if that potential could exist, and if there was even a slight possibility that I could feel something like that, did that mean that spark I felt at the diner had been real? Did that mean Gabe had become the game-changer?

I didn’t know.

But I did know one thing, and that one simple truth brought me to tears yet again: as far as Gabriel Raddick was concerned, my heart was in serious trouble.

I followed my sister into the building and watched as she turned down the right-hand corridor to meet with her two best friends. The three of them had a standing tradition: get to school fifteen minutes before the first bell, catch up on anything they might have missed since they
’d last seen each other, and then break off for the day, knowing they’d have to wait until lunch to reconvene for more juicy gossip on the happenings around the school.

I definitely wouldn
’t have pegged my sister and her friends as the school’s mean girls; that wouldn’t have been a fair assessment. Sure, they were a close-knit group with zero room for new friends or outside-infiltration. They were beautiful, materialistic, and popular, but they rarely treated anyone poorly. People liked them, and some even worshiped the ground they walked on. But the gossip they shared with one another stayed amongst their group. There was something sacred about their bond; what happened in their group, stayed in their group. For that, I was very thankful. No doubt Bailey was filling them in on her suspicions about my (non-existent) love life. I could deal with a few people thinking whatever they wanted to think, but I couldn’t deal with the pressure of the larger rumor mill at our school. So for Bailey and her friends’ silence, I at least had one thing to be thankful for going into the day.

I
started my mornings in the news room.

“Mandy,” Georgia said, sliding her chair out from under her desk. I looked up
to our editor, and she looked down at me with a disappointed glance. “I never heard back from you this weekend. You got my e-mail, right?”

Georgia St. James was a senior and the editor of the school
’s popular newspaper, the
Sugar Creek High Herald
. It was under her reign last year that the program was spared from taking the ax. The administration had nearly scrapped the whole program in order to clear some room in the budget, but Georgia swooped in with a two-year proposal and led the rally against the shutdown. In her first year as editor, only sixteen years old and a junior in high school, she came in and cut the journalism costs by 60 percent. Of course, that took us down to producing a bi-weekly paper. With a new edition only coming out once every two weeks, she was a stickler for getting the best articles from the best reporters.

She called upon my help a lot
because she knew she could count on me to do the job quickly and efficiently. Despite our mutual admiration for one another’s work efforts on the paper, we rarely exchanged a word outside the classroom. She had her group of friends, and I managed just fine on my own.

See, t
hose rules I’d created for myself weren’t stupid, no matter what my sister thought. I needed them. I needed the security. It was when people were reckless enough to
break
the rules that chaos ensued, and I had no room left in my life for chaos. So the three most important rules remained:

T
hat last rule was the most important because I knew what love could do to people; love, or falling
out
of love, destroyed families. And you can’t fall out of love if you never fall into it, so it was crucial that no one ever got too close. I wouldn’t relive my parents’ mistakes. I wouldn’t destroy another life the way my parents destroyed mine.

I’d followed the rules for four years since leaving California, and I hadn’t been hurt once.
Bailey could say what she wanted to say, but it didn’t seem so stupid to me.