The Color Of Grace (10 page)

But Ryder Yates frowned at me as if I were the source of his
entire life’s misery.

Thinking he had to believe I was the world’s most ungrateful
person, I managed a winded, “Thanks.”

He glanced down at his feet and slowly slid his fingers from
my arm. “Mmm hmm.”

I jerked my hand off his sleeve and backed up a step,
wobbling on the ice, but not daring to fall again.

He stared at the ground another moment. Then he turned on
his heel and walked off.

I could only watch him go.

“Okay,” I said to myself, rattled by the brief encounter.
“That was definitely odd.” I spun back to head in the opposite direction.

And fell on my butt.

“Not again,” I moaned, all humor gone. This falling business
was getting irritating. And painful.

I’d just heaved myself up when that all-too-familiar voice
returned. “Why don’t you follow the already-made footsteps in the snow? There’s
more traction there.”

I pushed my hair out of my face and scowled. “I like to make
my own way.”

Ryder lifted his eyebrows. “Well, Miss Independent. Your way
seems to get you bruised and battered.”

I shrugged. “But it’s
my
 
way.”

He shook his head and sighed, remaining close despite his
obvious irritation over my stubborn determination to forge my own path. I know
he was ready to reach out and catch me if I stumbled again. It was irritating,
and nerve-wracking, and so completely sweet, I—

Catching another slick spot, I flapped my arms, and he
caught a swinging elbow, immediately steadying me.

“You’re kind of like a backward church song, aren’t you?”

I frowned. “How so?”

“Amazing Grace, how graceful thou aren’t.”

I blinked. “You just mixed two songs. ‘Amazing Grace’ is
totally different than ‘How Great Thou Art’.”

Then I slipped and he caught me again.

“You’re not great either,” he supplied as he struggled to
keep me upright. “Maybe you should buy new shoes.”

“Maybe you should let me go so I can move at my own pace. I
tend to fall less when I’m not being rushed.” I jerked my arm out of his grasp
and wobbled, feeling like I was on the slipperiest ice skates ever made.

He cracked off a laugh as he caught my arm again. “How many
times do you plan on trying to fall?”

“As many as it takes,” I spat back. This time I knew better
than to make any sudden movements.

Since I was in no longer in danger of wobbling—not with the
death hold he had on me—I paused to send him a frown, letting him know he could
let go now. “Don’t you have a
girlfriend
to help through the snow?”

He grinned and slowly complied, easing his grip away. The
sweet, adorable
monster
 
actually grinned at my muttered question.
“She’s inside the gym, doing something cheerleader…ish before the game
tonight.”

“Cheerleader-ish?” I repeated.

He gave a nod.

“Is that a word?”

“Sure.”

I quirked a brow. “In what dictionary?”

“This one.” His grin was pure dazzle as he tapped the side
of his temple.

Rolling my eyes, I shoved my hands in my pockets. When I
reached a cleared sidewalk that had been scraped clean of snow and ice, I had
to step over a pile of drifted mush by the curb before I landed on the bare
concrete walkway. No chance of falling now. Yet Mr. Green Eyes stuck to my
side, strolling merrily along beside me.

With a slight crinkle in his eyebrows, he gave a confused
frown. Glancing over his shoulder at the school’s parking lot we were leaving
behind, he scratched his head. “Umm. Where’re we going?”

“We?” I asked, sending him an are-you-for-real look that
would’ve done Bridget proud. “I have no idea where
you’re
going, but I’m going home.”

Whirling around to walk backward as he kept pace with me, he
pointed toward all the parked vehicles. “You didn’t drive?”

“No,” I muttered. “I did not.” Why the heck was he loitering
around me?

He shivered and bundled himself more snugly into his jacket.
“Bet that’s going to be a cold walk.”

Narrowing my eyes, I demanded, “Why are you following me?”

He shrugged. “I’m curious.”

“About what?”

His grin was mischievous and—ugh—adorable. “Can’t tell you.”

I growled. Fine. I didn’t want to know anyway.

Spinning so he could face forward again, he continued to
walk with me. “So how far do you have to go?”

Like I was really going to tell him where I lived.

Prepared to stick my nose in the air and coolly refuse to
answer, I caught sight of an abandoned glove dropped forgotten in the thick
snow lining the sidewalk out of the corner of my eye. Sidetracked and
spellbound by the contrast of the bright red and black stripes of the glove
against the pure white of the snow, I paused and stared a moment, thinking what
a nice picture it’d make. The solitary object lying lonely and forgotten in the
cold could mean so many different things.

It reminded me of my English assignment.

“What’s wrong?” Ryder asked, though I was so hooked on my
thoughts, his voice sounded muffled as if it came from a great distance.

Ignoring him, I slung my book bag off my shoulder and rested
it on my feet. After unzipping the front pocket, I extracted the cell phone
Barry had given me.

“What’re you doing?”

Frowning, I powered up the LG and waited for the welcome
screen to flash on.

Ryder moved closer and leaned over my shoulder to examine
the phone as well. Either the heat from his body radiated into me or my own
full-body flush from his proximity made me grow warm. I’m not sure which, but
suddenly I was no longer cold.

“I haven’t seen that model before.”

I tried to act distracted, inspecting my new phone. “It’s
new.”

He whistled. “Must be. I got my phone this summer and didn’t
see that version in the store then.”

Finally, my LG was ready for action; I clicked into the main
menu and pressed the multimedia icon on the screen. “My stepdad bought it last
week.”

“Hmm. So what’re you doing?” he asked again, the heat from
his breath fogged out a cloud in front of me. “Calling lost and found to report
a missing glove?”

Since I’d just found out he had a girlfriend, no way was I
going to admit I thought his curious, sarcastic question cute.

With an annoyed sigh, I said, “I’m taking a picture.”

“A picture?” He sounded skeptical.

I glanced over my shoulder to glare at him but realized
doing so moved our faces closer, only inches apart. A breathy cloud puffed from
my lips. I hated that he was so beautiful. Even the movement of his eyelashes
as he lifted his gaze to mine made my body tighten with an awareness that
would’ve horrified my mother to learn her sixteen-year-old daughter was experiencing.

For a moment in time, neither of us moved, nor spoke, nor
breathed. The achy look he sent me drove a tremor of alarm—or maybe it was
excitement—straight through my system.

Ugh. I did not want to like him. So why did I keep feeling
so freaking “likeable” toward him?

I darted my gaze away. “It’s a camera phone.” I wanted to
sneer all sarcastic like, but my voice was a bit too winded to sound demeaning.

He glanced around, looking one way before turning the other,
even squinting off into the horizon. “But what’re you taking a picture of?”

“The glove.”

Swerving back around, Ryder arched a questionable eyebrow at
the article of winter wear in the snow. “The
glove
?”

Concentrating on setting the phone’s camera mode to capture,
I held the screen in position as I neared the glove for a good close up.

Ryder moved in with me. I paused to send him a scowl over my
shoulder. He paused too, glancing briefly at me before returning his attention
to the glove. “I don’t get it.”

Gritting my teeth, I turned back to my task and tipped the
phone sideways for a vertical portrait shot before tilting it back, preferring
the original landscape mode. Focusing all my attention on finding the perfect
pose, I scooted a little to the right and then the left, testing the light from
each angle before I made up my mind and took the shot.

As the final product froze on my screen, my face lit with
pleasure. “Perfect. Isn’t it wonderful?” I spun around to show off my
masterpiece before I remembered the boy behind me was the one person I didn’t
want to be around just then.

Ryder looked down at the picture. “It…” He scratched his
head, then raised his gaze and laughed. “Honestly, it looks like a glove. What
am I supposed to see?”

My face fell. He didn’t understand. I don’t know why I was
disappointed. There was no chance Ryder Yates would ever be anything to me, but
the fact that he didn’t share my passion let me down. Just like everything else
I’d learned about him today.

“You’re supposed to see whatever you want to see. Feel
whatever you want to feel.”

He concentrated hard as he glanced back down at the camera
screen before he looked up and quietly asked, “So what do
you
see?”

Touched beyond words he cared anything about my opinion, I
bit my lip as I studied the shot. After thinking it through, I gave my answer.
“Well…there’s only one glove. Right away, I wonder,
where’s the other glove
? How did it become separated from its mate?
Does it feel lost and confused without its other half? It looks lonely. Cold.
Like an outsider that has no one to turn to, nowhere to go. And the stark contrast
of the white snow against the bright colors of the glove makes the lines crisp
and clear. It makes that feeling of alienated loneliness crisp and clear. The
purity of the snow gives the purity of the glove’s solitude a stronger effect.”

When I finished talking, I held my
breath, realizing how far off the deep end and into my musings I’d gone.
Slowly, I lifted my face, desperate to know his response. Did he think I was
crazy? Totally out there? Or wise and philosophical? The response I feared most
was that he’d laugh, making fun of my foolish prattle.

But he didn’t laugh when he titled his chin up and met my
gaze. He didn’t praise my profound thoughts either. He stared at me with the
blankest look anyone had ever given me. I couldn’t read a thought in his head.
Then his features fell, ever so slightly, wafting off the hint of regret.

Not sure why my opinion of a stupid glove would send him
into a tailspin of remorse, I opened my mouth to come right out and demand to
know his thoughts.

But before I could, he whirled away from me and strode off,
fleeing down the sidewalk, back toward the school. “I have to go,” he said over
his shoulder.

I watched the back of his head—bent down as he stared at the
ground—and the stiff straight line of his spine as he hurried away in a rigid,
almost angry, march.

“Wait,” I called. Rattled I even possessed the nerve to call
after him, I slapped my hand over my mouth for shouting at him. But honestly. I
had to know what just happened.

For a moment, I thought he was going to ignore me. But after
another three steps, he slowed and swiveled around.

Lifting my hands, I demanded, “What’s the deal?”

Frowning, he shook his head as if my question was the most
puzzling part of the last thirty seconds.

“Why’re you taking off like that?” I clarified.

Again, he shook his head, but this was more of an
I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it motion. Swinging away as if to stalk off again,
he paused at the last second before rotating back.

“You don’t have to go tonight,” he said, his voice serious,
letting me know this was the whole reason he’d sought me out after school. “You
don’t have to meet Todd and the rest of us after the game.”

Mind whirling, I tried to make sense of what he was really
saying. Did he know I had reservations? Did he know I’d only said yes to
irritate him or that I planned to no-show after hearing he was the most
sexually active boy in school?

Or did he just not want to be around me?

Gnawing on my lip, I stalled. “I already said I would.”

“So back out,” he insisted, looking
desperate as if he needed me not to go tonight more than he needed his next
breath.

“Why?” What did he know that I should?

For a moment, he didn’t answer, didn’t look like he even
wanted to answer. Then he sucked in a breath and speared me with a heavy look.
“I don’t want you to go, okay? You don’t belong with this group.”

Before I could respond, he spun away and jogged back toward
the school.

As I stared after him, his words soaked into my soul until I
believed them as strongly as he obviously did.

I didn’t belong.