The Color Of Grace (20 page)

Barry laughed softly as if he could read every thought racing
through my head, as if he knew just how uncomfortable he was making me. “I’m
sorry,” he told me in a soft, intimate voice. Then he touched my hair. “It’s
just that you’re so pretty. I don’t want some boy to hurt you.”

Brain buzzing as all kinds of alarms ignited inside me, I
nodded. “He hasn’t.”

“Good.” Barry smiled.

I could feel tears building. Motioning toward the hall that
led to my bedroom, I wheezed, “You know, I just remembered…I need to finish my
homework. I probably shouldn’t watch a movie.”

Barry stepped back as if he realized that he was coming on
too strong. He nodded. “Oh, sure. Sure.”

I didn’t apologize for flaking out on him but spun around
and hurried toward my room. I wanted so badly to lock my door, but I was too
afraid to push the lock, because then he’d hear the click and know how scared I
was.

With shaking hands, I went to my mirror and looked at my
reflection.

You’re so pretty
.

I hadn’t ever thought of myself in terms of pretty or not
pretty. I was just…there. Not fat, but not skinny. I was simply—yeah—there.
Dark hair stretching down past my shoulders, face a bit too long with a skinny
nose, wide mouth and tall enough forehead that I’d have to wear bangs for the
rest of my life to hide all that expanse of skin above my eyebrows. My eyes
were kind of nice, I guess. They weren’t that sparkly green like Ryder’s, but a
pale version of brown, whisky-colored and set deep enough into my head to give
me a sort of soulful look.

Really, it was nothing amazing. Just me. Certainly not
stunning enough for any male to tell me I was pretty before—even the two boys
who weren’t technically fighting over me had never called me pretty.

I shivered and rubbed at the goose bumps that had popped out
on my arms. Why had he told me I was pretty? How did that have anything to do
with whether or not he wanted some boy to hurt me?

I pressed a hand against my mouth to muffle a sob, catching
sight of my necklace in the reflection in the mirror. Suddenly sickened by the
gold thread lying against my skin, I fumbled to unhook it and set the piece of
jewelry in my jewelry box. I stared at the red rose, wondering why he’d picked
that flower. Didn’t roses symbolize passion or something like that?

Barry hadn’t made a move that constituted sexual harassment,
but what he’d said gave me the
heebie-jeebies.

Still,
I
couldn’t tell my mom about it. Not only
were we not speaking, but how could I explain the look he’d had in his eye or
the way his voice had gone all soft and private? And would my mom even believe
me? After the way we’d been getting along lately, she’d probably just think I
was lying to cause friction between her and her new husband.

Mom was happy with Barry. Besides, what if I was simply
overreacting? Maybe this was just his way of being fatherly. Todd had made me
turn my uncomfortable-around-the-opposite-sex dial to full blast and now I was
growing paranoid, suspecting my own stepfather of depravity. I didn’t want to
get him into trouble if he hadn’t meant anything inappropriate by what he’d
said.

Blaming my suspicions on a severe case of melodrama, I told
no one about what had happened. But I didn’t put his necklace back on again
either.

Chapter 16

Everyone thinks white is so pure and
good. The white knight. The merciful white flag. Does no one care how cold it
is, freezing like snow and ice? Does no one know Japan says a white carnation signifies
death? They put white into a “white lie” for a reason. I think white is
actually deceitful, like Hemingway’s story, “
Hills
like White Elephants”
. There’s more than
meets the eye. White wants you to think it’s good. But it can also be a cold,
lying death.

I used to think in black and white.
Pure good, pure bad. But I’m starting to suspect something dark lies behind the
blinding color of white. Something dark just might lie behind everything I
thought was so pure.

* * * *

The Sunday before my second week at Southeast brought a
fresh fall of snow and a surprise visitor.

Mom’s work called her in again. From listening in on one of
her conversations with Barry, I learned a co-worker of hers had been fired, so
she would probably be working a lot of overtime and strange hours until a
replacement was hired.

Half of me was happy; I wouldn’t have to ache inside,
missing the woman she used to be whenever I saw her. The other half wanted to
cling to her leg and beg her not to leave me alone in this huge lonely house
with a grown man I didn’t know and wasn’t entirely convinced I could trust.

Thinking it best to keep a low profile, I camped out in my
room, cruising the internet in an attempt to see what my crew from Hillsburg
was up to. But none of them were online. I wanted to call, but things had been
so strained the last time we spoke, I didn’t know if I should bother them. If
they were through with me, I should have the dignity to bow out of their lives
gracefully, right?

Oh, who was I kidding? I freaking missed my friends. I
missed my mom. I missed my cramped bedroom and small bed.

I wanted to go home.

Glancing around the room, I realized why I’d yet to completely
unpack, why I hadn’t decorated with my personal tastes. My stay here felt
temporary, like I was on vacation.

But this was permanent. This was home.

I shivered and rubbed at my prickling arms. Adjusting to my
new life was not going as smoothly as I’d hoped.

When the doorbell rang, I didn’t even twitch with the need
to find out who was calling. Wasn’t my house, wouldn’t be for me, right?

But, “Grace,” Barry’s voice called seconds later, “you have
a visitor.”

I gasped and bolted to my feet. Immediately, Ryder’s face
popped into my mind. Then I snorted and rolled my eyes. Why in the world would
Ryder, of all people, visit me?

Maybe he’d come to collect the five bucks I owed him,
because I definitely owed him. Todd had done exactly as Ryder had predicted,
which irritated and scared me, giving me that whole rabbit-trapped-in-Todd’s-gloating-clutches
sensation again.

But no. Ryder had a girlfriend. Ryder would not visit.

Geesh, what was wrong with me, wanting a boy I should in no
way, shape, or form even like?

I hurried through the house, that little wishful part of me
still hoping to see him. When I reached the entrance, I skidded to a jarring
halt, utterly shocked at who
had
come. After a couple of blinks, I dropped my jaw.

“Adam?” I had to whisper his name because I still couldn’t
believe my eyes.

But there he stood, the only boy from the nerd herd, as tall
and lanky as ever, his dark hair growing down over his ears because he hated
his ears, and a guitar strapped over his shoulder.

It felt so good to see someone from home, I didn’t even
question why he was alone, or ask where Schy and Bridget were. I simply opened
my arms and charged forward.

“Wow. Oh, wow. What are you doing here?”

Plowing into him with a huge hug, I embraced Adam for the
first time ever.

Must’ve shocked him. He jerked in my arms before awkwardly
lifting a hand to give me a brief one-armed hug back, then patted my back
before letting go and stepping away to make space between us.

I let him go, still smiling like a lunatic as I repeated,
“What’re you doing here?”

“I…” He opened his mouth, but stopped short when he glanced
behind me.

I turned to find Barry still hanging around, watching us.

Eww. Creepy.

Clearing my throat, I sent my stepdad a forced smile. Then
grasped Adam’s elbow tight as I said, “We’ll talk on the porch.”

Adam stumbled along behind me. “But it’s freez—well, okay.”

It
was
 
freezing and still snowing like crazy. The air
sent a gust of wind up into the porch and congealed my bones to icicles. But I
refused to take Adam back inside. Not with Mr.
I’ll-kill-him-if-he-does-more-than-kiss-you still inside.

“There,” I said, sending my friend a smile as I huddled into
myself, madly brushing my icy hands up and down the sides of my arms.

Though he still wore a thick coat, Adam curled his shoulders
in and rubbed his hands together before blowing on them.

“Where’s everyone else?” I demanded.

It struck me then how close I really wasn’t to Adam. I’d
always considered him one of my best friends on earth because of his ties to
Bridget and Schy, but honestly, we’d never connected, hardly ever talked to
each other. It felt awkward to realize this so suddenly.

“Bridge really misses you. She’s so sad.”

I blinked, wondering how Adam of all people would notice if
Bridget was sad. Poor boy didn’t even notice when he wore mismatching socks.

“Well…” I started slowly, not sure what he wanted me to say.
“I could call her more often.” Then I bit my lip. “Does she
want
me to call? I just kind of thought
you guys didn’t want to talk to me since—”

“No, no,” he cut in, lifting his hands to reassure me. “We
just…well, we’re a little intimidated, I guess. I mean, you’ve got a boyfriend
now and—”

“But I don’t—”

“And all the Southeast people who comment on your Facebook
page let us know how popular you are and stuff. We just thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong.” I rolled over him since he kept
interrupting me. “I miss you guys. A lot.”

“Yeah, well Bridget misses you too. A lot.”

Frowning because this was the second time he’d said as
much—mentioning Bridge and no one else—I stood there silently as he ran his
hands through his hair, obviously distressed.

“I wrote her a song,” he blurted out unexpectedly, eyeing me
with a hopeful look.

“Actually, I wrote it for her a long time ago, but now that
she’s all depressed, maybe…I don’t know. Maybe I should sing it to her and see
if that cheers her up any.”

Yearning filled his eyes and it finally dawned on me. Adam
was in love with Bridget.

My jaw came unhinged and plopped open. “Oh!” I quickly
covered my mouth with both hands, trying to hide the shock so as not to upset
Adam, but I probably only emphasized it.

How long had this been going on?

“Oh, my gosh, you… Wow, Adam. Wow.” I couldn’t think of
anything else to say. I was too stunned.

A petty, vain part of me felt stung he’d chosen Bridget. I
was just as close to him as she was; why hadn’t he written a song for me? But
another small part embraced relief because I did not like him in that way and
now I didn’t have to feel all awkward and guilty because he might like me more
than I liked him.

But for the most part, outside of the utter shock, I was completely
excited.

Adam and Bridget? Together?

What a brilliant idea.

I loved it.

Looking sick with unease, he asked, “Will you listen to it?
Tell me if it sounds like her?”

“Me?” I pulled back. “You came all the way over here through
the snow to have me listen to a song? Why didn’t you just ask Schy?”

“Because you’re Grace. You…you wouldn’t make fun of me if it
sucked.” His jaw tightened as he glanced away.

Everything inside me brightened, flattered he thought so
sweetly of me. “I…well, of course I’ll listen to it. I’d love to. Oh, my gosh,
Adam. I can’t believe you actually wrote her a song.”

Enthused now, his grin widened as he perched on the edge of
Barry’s porch swing and slipped his guitar strap over his shoulder, situating
the instrument into position. I knelt down in front of him, sitting on my knees
so I wouldn’t freeze off my bum. As Adam bent his face over the wooden neck,
his fingers found the strings by feel, and a melody unlike anything I’d ever
heard before flowed out. It was soft and tender. Lovely and yet heartbreaking.
Like a gentle current on a warm, sunny day—so unlike the frozen tundra
surrounding the porch where we sat.

The stream of music he created almost made me cry. And then
he began to sing. He thoughtfully placed each word together. Bridget would have
to be deaf and blind not to know what Adam felt for her when she heard this.

I covered my mouth as my throat went dry and my eyes went
moist. This was art created with love.

By the time he finished, I was laughing with tears streaming.
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.” I surged to my feet and threw open my arms.
“She’ll love it.”

I hugged him again, but this time when he hugged me back; it
was with both arms. He squeezed me gratefully, his happiness soaking out of him
and filling me.

When we pulled away from each other, we both had these goofy
grins on our faces and tears on our cheeks.