My Clueless Broken Heart (School Dayz #3) Page 2

  I give him a side-long glance. “How do you know all of my secrets?”

  He laughs. “I can see the treehouse from my bedroom. I look for your flashlight.” He reaches over and takes my chin in his hand. “Was this enough talking for you?”

  Suddenly, my body feels hot and cold at the same time. In the backyard, a cricket chirps its high-pitched lullaby. Travis leans in and hesitates. I reach my arms around his neck and he touches his lips to mine. He whispers my name and kisses me again, then lowers me to the blanket without breaking our connection. An owl hoots on a nearby branch. Cool night air blows through the open windows, but Travis is warm, and I curl into him for protection.

  The stars move across the sky as time passes, fuzzy and slow, like a dream. My eyes drift open and closed. Travis pushes a loose lock of hair away from my face. “Have you ever thought about … us … like this?”

  “No,” I lie, but my pink cheeks betray me. “Only because you’re older than me, and you always keep your distance. When we were younger, I wanted you to notice me, but you never did.”

  His hand skims down my spine. “I noticed you. I tried not to, though.”

  I place my hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. “Can there be an us?”

  “Someday, maybe.”

  “Not now?”

  “Now, as in tomorrow, I need to go back to school. And I don’t think your family would approve of—us.”

  “Why not? Gran and Avery like you.”

  “But your mom and dad, and your grandmother, too—they want the best for you. Not a guy who can barely afford his college room and board.”

  I scoff. “So they should they lock me in my room and throw away the key until I’m twenty-one?”

  He smiles. “Something like that.”

  “You know what? I don’t care what my parents think.” At the mention of them, I frown. “They’re not here. They don’t deserve an opinion.”

  “Becca,” Travis says, patiently, as if he he’s spent a long time thinking this through. “We come from different circumstances. That matters. To certain people.”

  I begin to protest, but he quiets me with another kiss.

  We hide out in the treehouse until the temperature drops lower and I start to shiver.

  “You’re cold. I’ll walk you home,” Travis says, pulling me up from the blanket.

  I point to our back door. “I think I can find my way.”

  “I know you can. But, if I kiss a girl, I like to make sure she gets home in one piece.”

  I fling my hair over my shoulder. “Travis. We’re hanging out in the treehouse. It’s not like I’m comparing this to a real date.”

  But to be honest? For me … it is.

  ***

  I find Gran puttering around the kitchen, trying to look busy.

  “Where were you? It’s late.” She lifts her eyes from the cookbook she was pretending to read.

  “In the treehouse. Watching the stars.”

  “Out there alone all this time?”

  “No. Travis was with me,” I say, deciding to test his theory. Gran’s quiet for a minute, and I think maybe she didn’t hear me.

  She shuts the cookbook and sets it aside. “You need to think long and hard about what you’re doing with him.”

  I raise my hands to my hips, jutting out my elbows. “Who said I was doing anything with him? We’re friends.”

  “Becca … you two… I’ve watched you together for years. Not together, exactly … but always close to each other.” Gran drums her fingers on the granite countertop. “I thought Mrs. Hunter told me he has a girlfriend.”

  Mrs. Hunter, our old nanny, and a friend of Mr. Brennen’s. She’d know more about Travis than me, but when I try to picture him with another girl, it’s impossible. In the past few days, he’s become completely mine.

  “We’re just friends, Gran,” I repeat. But we’re not quite friends. We’re something I can’t describe. Travis is part of me, has been part of me since the day we met. Somehow, he knows my deepest, darkest fears, the ones I never tell anyone. He’s seen me on good days, he’s seen me in pain and he still wants to be with me—someday, maybe.

  “I recommend you stay friends, with him, then. He needs to concentrate on his schoolwork. And you’re busy, too, Becca. Don’t allow him to become a distraction.” When she’s finished giving advice, Gran flips off the overhead light and begins to make her way toward the back staircase.

  “I can’t control the way I feel about him,” I say, more to myself.

  Gran turns back and laughs. “Of course you can. You just don’t want to.”

  She leaves me alone with my thoughts.

  ***

  Sunday morning, the truck is gone. Travis left without saying goodbye. But this time is different. I know he misses me as much as I miss him.

  Chapter Five

  Fat snowflakes drift down from the sky during soccer practice, coating the crunchy brown grass. Kicking a soccer ball through raindrops is miserable, and running in sloppy mud wrenches my ankles, but playing in snow is just plain fun.

  The feather-light flakes cool my face as Coach Dani insists on a few extra laps before she calls us together for a team chat, including a warning about overeating on Thanksgiving.

  “Heavy carbs slow you down. Nothing greasy, nothing fried,” she says, sweeping her gaze around the circle of girls.

  Next to me, Val sighs. “She’s already ruining my holiday.”

  When I pull up to the house, my old car chugging happily along with its new battery and full gas tank, the smell of burning wood accompanies the white plume of smoke rising from the stone chimney. I toss my dirt-caked cleats in the garage, change out of my practice sweats and meet Avery in the kitchen. She shoves an apple through Gran’s handheld corer while I fetch a jar of peanut butter from the pantry.

  At the butcher-block island, Gran’s busy prepping for tomorrow’s feast. She mutters to herself while wrestling a twenty-pound turkey into a five-gallon pot of salt water brine.

  Avery assembles peanut butter, cheese and apple slices into mini towers while giving a blow-by-blow description of her after-school audition for The Harmony School of Dance’s annual production of the Nutcracker. I bite into one of her snack creations and wince at the sour taste of Granny Smith, watching my sister’s reenactment of the steps she performed for the judges. She pauses in the middle of an arabesque when the doorbell rings.

  “Maybe Mom and Dad came home to surprise us!” Avery jets into the foyer. Behind me, Gran snorts, pretty much summing up my sentiments as well.

  “Oh, hey, Travis.” Avery’s disappointment hits me from three rooms away. I freeze in place, straining to catch the next bit of conversation. Travis responds, but his low voice doesn’t make it into the kitchen. Casually, I drop an empty glass in the sink before opening the dishwasher to grab a handful of silverware.

  Gran looks away from the turkey. “Go on, Becca. You’ve been expecting him, haven’t you?”

  I toss a paring knife in the open drawer on my way out.

  “He said he stopped by to say hi … to you?” Avery bumps into me in the hallway, her bright blue eyes wide and round. Without bothering to answer, I step around her, place my hand on the small of her back and shove her into kitchen, praying she didn’t totally embarrass me.

  When I poke my head around the corner, Travis waits, hands crammed in the pockets of his faded jeans, an unbuttoned, gray flannel work shirt thrown over his black T-shirt.

  I can’t hide my smile. “Hey, home from school?” Yes, I just asked most ridiculous question in the history of the universe. Of course he’s home. He’s standing right in front of you.

  “I drove back this afternoon, before the snow started.” The energy from Travis’s wide grin sends a ripple of warmth through me. When he steps toward me, I nearly burst into flames. Tilting my head back to look up at him, I’m sucked into the icy blueness of his eyes.

  “Cool.” Again. I’m supremely pathetic when it comes
to small talk.

  He glances around the entryway, like he’s expecting Gran to barge in at any minute. “So, how are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you.” I aim for polite conversation to distract myself from thinking impolite thoughts about Travis. “Are you coming to dinner tomorrow?”

  Gran invites Travis and his dad every year, along with our neighbors, close friends, and basically anyone in Harmony without a place to eat on Thanksgiving. Over the years, as attendance climbed at her holiday feast, Gran rented tables and chairs and set up smaller groupings throughout the first floor of our home. I usually sit with Val and her family if my parents are out of town. But, If Travis decides to join us, I’m changing the seating arrangements this year.

  While I mentally plan the Turkey Day festivities, Travis edges closer. His shirt smells faintly of smoky wood, like the fire burning merrily in our hearth.

  “Am I still invited?” He closes in, invading my rather strict definition of personal space. I back up until my shoulder blades make contact with the wall.

  A shaky breath hijacks my voice. “Of course.”

  “Then, yes. I’ll be at your party,” he says. Leaning forward, he kisses my cheek. This light touch ignites visions of happy, dancing stars in my head.

  “Did you miss me?” He whispers in my ear.

  I lock my knees to avoid slithering into a puddle on the floor. “Yes.”

  “I missed you too.” His hand finds mine. “I wanted to call, but I didn’t want to upset your housemates.”

  “Who, Avery? She’s clueless.” At least, she was clueless until about two minutes ago. “And Gran knows.”

  Travis tilts his head to the side. “Knows what?”

  “Knows we were together in the treehouse. The night before you went back to school.”

  Dropping my hand, he frowns. “What does she think we were doing?”

  Heat blooms in my cheeks. “I didn’t exactly provide all the gory details. I said we were friends. And she told me I shouldn’t let you be a distraction.”

  Travis’s expression blanks out on me. “I’m glad I didn’t call, then.”

  “No, I wish you had called. Friends talk. And we are friends, right?”

  “Is your grandmother okay with us being—friends?”

  “She didn’t seem mad about it.”

  I can almost see his brain processing my response. My foot taps on the tiled floor. This isn’t turning out to be the happy reunion I’ve daydreamed about the past three weeks.

  “Would she be upset if we went out tomorrow night?” he finally asks. “Catch a movie, or something, after dinner?”

  A dorky smile lights up my face. “Really? Like a date?”

  He nods. “Something like a date. Good idea or not?”

  “Great idea.” Sheer joy propels me into his arms. He kisses me again, a real kiss this time, his mouth moving slowly over mine. My heart wants to explode in my chest, but no amount of internal combustion could cause me to stop kissing Travis. By the time we break apart, we’re both wearing matching grins.

  “See you tomorrow,” he says. “You pick the movie. Nothing too girly, though.”

  “Sure. Non-girly it is,” I agree as he turns to go. When the door shuts behind him, I wipe the smile from my face and return to the kitchen, where Avery has assumed my job of emptying the dishwasher.

  “Becca? Travis? Becca!” she wails, waving a handful of silverware over her head.

  I maneuver around her. “Can you please put down the knives?”

  “He’s our neighbor. His dad works for Gran. Travis is like – I don’t know -- our BIG BROTHER.” She tosses the silverware into the drawer and bangs it closed with her hip. Spoons and forks clatter. “At least he is to me. Why are you two all googly-eyed over each other?”

  “We are not! Wait. How do you know what we are?”

  “I hid behind the sofa and watched you from the living room. Gran, he kissed her!”

  Gran’s eyes remain glued to her stack of recipe cards. “Last I heard, you and Travis were just friends.”

  “Friends who kiss,” Avery insists.

  “Would you stop, Avery, before I tell Gran a few of your secrets?” But the little brat knows I possess not one shred of incriminating information about her.

  “Is he better than Will Gamen? You kissed him when he dropped you off after the homecoming dance,” she says, unmoved by my bullying.

  My mouth drops open. “How often do you spy on me?”

  “Not much. Just enough. Gran likes to hear the gossip.” An evil, toothy smile spreads over my sister’s face. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I’m not answering any of your questions.” But my cheeks flame again.

  Avery howls. “You’re so red, Becca. I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow. You and Travis!”

  “Enough, Avery,” Gran interjects, rising to my defense at last. “Your time will come, and Becca has a long memory about these things.”

  “One word in front of Travis and you’re so dead, Avery. I mean it!” I pick up a damp dish towel lying on the counter and fling it at her before stomping out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Six

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Becca!” Avery pounces on my bed like a giant kitten, shaking me awake with her tangled mess of knobby knees and bony elbows.

  I groan. “It can’t be morning, already.”

  “Yes, it is. Parade’s on TV.” She rips open the curtain. Bright daylight hits my eyes and I scream.

  “Get ready for our food-a-thon,” she says, on her way out.

  I yank my hair into a ponytail and head to the kitchen, blinking away sleep. Avery waltzes in front of me, practicing her ballroom dance class footwork, turkey baster in hand. At the island, Gran mixes up a batch of homemade cornbread to be cubed for stuffing.

  “Ready to help?” She hands me a peeler. “Start with the yams.”

  After prepping the main course, we move on to desserts. Gran refuses to measure cups and teaspoons of ingredients, so everything’s a guessing game, throwing spices in, adding flour or water to achieve her desired consistency.

  By noon, the air teems with the scents of pumpkin, cinnamon, and roast turkey. I rush to shower and dress before the caterer delivers trays of appetizers, or hors d’oeuvres, as Gran says. I’m trying on my third outfit, a sleeveless dress with a black and gray patterned skirt, when Avery bursts into my room.

  “I like that. Travis will too,” she announces.

  I toss a loose curl over my shoulder. “I’m not dressing for Travis.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Puh-leaze, Becca. Last Thanksgiving you wore jeans with a hole in the knee.”

  I check my side view in the full-length mirror. “Besides the fashion critique, is there a reason why you’re here?”

  “Yes. So you can tell me how stunning I am.” She twirls around, showing off her sparkly pink dress. She was always the more princessy of the two of us.

  “You look absolutely beautiful. Is there someone you’re hoping to impress?”

  She juts out her lower lip. “No one at all. There aren’t any boys close to my age coming, besides Travis. And apparently, he’s taken. Whatever. Thanksgiving’s boring.”

  We snap a selfie on her phone and she texts it to Mom and Dad.

  After swiping on mascara and lip gloss, I teeter down the back staircase in heels, adjusting to three extra inches after weeks of running around in boots and sneakers. Gran and Avery’s chatter floats out of the kitchen, prompting me to hide in the sunroom, hoping to avoid further comments about my choice of holiday apparel.

  Beyond the glass doors, sunlight bounces off untouched snow in the backyard and flashes through the wall of windows, soaking the room with warming rays. I pick up a stack of china resting on the marble-topped server and begin setting the long table.

  “You should have called for help. I wasn’t busy.” Travis strides through the open doorway, his footsteps echoing off the wood floor. He’s wearing dark jeans and a light blue shirt
that matches his eyes. My stomach flutters when he shoots me an easy grin. He crosses the room and holds out his hands. I pass him my stack of plates.

  “You and your dad are guests on Thanksgiving,” I manage to say before turning my attention to the silverware, hiding my face-flaming reaction over his appearance.

  He sets a plate in front of me, his sleeve brushing my bare arm. “You look incredible,” he murmurs, so low that if the room were packed with people, I’d still be the only one to hear him.

  I need air. After (discretely) sucking in a gallon of oxygen, I return his compliment. “You look nice, too. Did you do anything exciting today?”

  “Played football this morning, followed by hours of watching football on TV.” He steps to the side, placing a neat trail of plates on the tabletop. “I wanted to hang out with my dad. I hate thinking about him sitting home alone every night when I’m away.”

  I tilt the silverware caddy, searching for salad forks. “I should stop by when you’re at school and check on him.”

  Travis glances at me, eyebrows lifted. “What would you talk to him about?”

  “What does your dad like to talk about? Besides football, I mean. He—”

  “Hey, Travvvvis.” Avery sashays into the sunroom, batting her long eyelashes as she draws out his name.

  “Hey, Avery,” Travis replies, turning to greet my sister. She poses, one hand on her hip, her blond ringlets shellacked in place with her favorite brand of hairspray and her smile accented by neon pink lip gloss.

  “She spied on us yesterday, Travis,” I say, cluing him in. “She’s gonna blackmail you now. Because she’s evil.”

  “Hey, Avery, is your sister around? I want to ask her something.” Avery does an excellent imitation of Travis and then dissolves into fits of laughter. Travis hinges his mouth open to speak, then snaps his jaw shut. Avery doubles over, grabbing her belly.