Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Jasper, Age Twelve
Technically, I’m not doing anything wrong, but you’d never know that with the way my heart pounds as my feet carry me closer to the creek.
The shallow water cuts through the woods between Jennings land and Smith land, winding among the trees like it didn’t care about property lines or family feuds or decades-old grudges.
The creek belongs to neither family. It’s been here long before either of our families started fighting, and it’ll probably still be here long after.
That’s the excuse I tell myself, anyway, because I’m not really supposed to be here. At least not this close to the Jennings side. And definitely not alone, where anybody might see me.
My dad’s never sat me down and explained the feud.
Nobody has. The details are always vague, if any at all.
But I know enough. I know that, according to my entire family, the Jennings are bad news.
They aren’t our friends, and they aren’t people I’m supposed to talk to. It’s always been crystal clear.
Except, standing beside the creek on the hottest day of July, with sweat sticking my t-shirt to my back and the sun trying its hardest to melt the entire town, I can’t find it in me to care very much.
I drop onto the muddy bank beneath an eastern cottonwood tree and pull off my boots. The second my feet touch the water, I groan. “Much better,” I murmur. The only thing that would make this better would be a popsicle.
The creek gurgles softly around my ankles while dragonflies skim across the surface and birds chirp somewhere overhead.
For the first time all day, I feel human again.
The cool water flowing around my legs makes me feel less like I’m burning from the inside out.
But then a rock skips across the water, and I suck in a sharp breath.
One… Two… Three… Four… Five.
I think maybe I just imagined it, but then another rock follows, and I know I’m not as alone as I thought I was.
Turning toward the sound, I freeze when I spot a boy sitting maybe twenty yards downstream beneath another tree.
He’s got light brown hair and a blue t-shirt on, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, sitting in a folding chair set up beside the creek.
There’s another empty one next to it, but looking around, I don’t see anybody else.
Even at twelve, I know exactly who he is. Chesney Jennings.
Everybody in town does. The Jennings and the Smiths aren’t exactly subtle about hating each other.
My stomach tightens painfully when he looks up and spots me, instantly tensing up like I am.
For a second, neither of us moves. We’re like two stray dogs trying to decide if the other one is dangerous.
Chesney looks away first, before picking up another rock and skipping it across the water.
It’s like I’m not even here, and for some reason, that annoys me.
I watch quietly as he throws another, and another.
The stupid rocks keep bouncing over the surface of the shallow water.
I frown.
How the heck is he doing that? And why is it so mesmerizing?
Silence stretches between us, long enough that I consider leaving.
That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing.
It’s what anybody else in my family would do.
Instead, I stay, but only because it’s too dang hot to move.
That’s the only reason. Not curiosity, or the fact that Chesney looks completely comfortable sitting here by himself.
And definitely not because his eyes are the brightest blue I’ve ever seen.
A minute passes.
Then another.
Finally, Chesney glances over again. “You gonna keep staring, Smith, or are you gonna sit down?”
I blink, swallowing thickly. “Wh-what?”
Pointing to the empty folding chair beside him, he says, “I brought two.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “No reason.” That’s obviously a lie. Who brings two chairs by accident? Does he think I was born yesterday?
I should say no. I should grab my boots and go home. But I find myself walking to the other side of the creek, stopping when I reach the empty chair. Chesney looks up at me like he’s waiting to see what I do. As soon as I sit down, I regret it.
“What if somebody sees us?” I ask timidly, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
Chesney snorts. “Like who? The cows?”
Despite myself, I smile. “We’re not supposed to talk.”
“Then don’t talk.” He shrugs, saying it so easily. So simply.
“You’re talking,” I point out.
He nods before picking up another rock. “Yeah.”
My eyebrows pinch. “That makes no sense.”
This earns me another shrug. “Most things don’t.”
I can’t help but stare at him, probably for longer than acceptable, but he stares right back.
Then suddenly, we’re both laughing. It’s small at first, kind of awkward, but it’s real, and it manages to melt away some of the tension simmering between us.
Not all of it, but just enough that I find myself settling deeper into the chair and letting out the weighted breath I’ve been holding since I spotted him.
The creek moves gently around us, and the summer air is buzzing with cicadas.
I don’t know why, but I love that sound.
It’s soothing and takes away some of the nerves I have sitting next to a Jennings boy.
If my dad saw me right now, he’d no doubt bust my ass, but I can’t find it in me to want to leave.
Right now, it’s easy to forget that Chesney is still a Jennings.
He just feels like a kid. A boy my age, sitting in a creek, trying to cool off.
He’s got one of those hand-held lunch pales on the ground beside him, probably filled with snacks or drinks.
Despite the feud, we’re actually not all that different.
Chesney tosses another rock, and it skips six times.
Show off.
“How do you do that?” I ask, unable to help myself.
He looks over at me, his brow pinched. “What?”
“The rock thing.” I gesture toward the creek.
Something like understanding flashes across his face.
“Oh.” A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, and it catches me off guard.
It’s big and bright, like sunshine breaking through a group of clouds.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Jennings smile before.
Or maybe I’ve just never paid enough attention.
“You don’t know how?” he asks without judgement.
I cross my arms. “No.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I repeat.
He looks genuinely shocked. “Well, that’s tragic,” he drawls.
“Shut up,” I huff, feeling my cheeks heat. They’re probably red enough for him to see.
Chesney laughs, and something I can’t quite name settles low in my chest. Before I even realize I’m doing it, I’m laughing too. It’s contagious, and all I want is to hear it again and again.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
“Why?”
He scoots forward toward the edge of the creek, then glances over at me. “Well, come on. Don’t be a chickenshit.”
I snort, reluctantly following him. “You’re not supposed to say that.”
“Who’s around to catch me?” Chesney lifts an eyebrow, almost like he’s daring me to answer. When I don’t, he picks up a flat rock. “This is your problem,” he says, holding it up for me to see.
“What? I haven’t even thrown one yet.”
“Exactly.”
What’s this kid’s problem? He acts like he just let me in on some big secret, when in reality, he’s told me nothing.
I scowl, but he ignores it as he hands me the rock. Our fingers brush as I take it. I’m not sure why I even notice, but I do. The brief touch feels like a shock to my system, my heart beating a heck of a lot faster than it was a moment ago.
“Now what?” I ask, my voice small.
“Hold it like this.” Chesney shifts closer.
Close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
Close enough that I can see the smattering of freckles across his nose.
Close enough to notice that his eyes aren’t just blue…
They’re ridiculous and bright as creek water.
The kind of blue that doesn’t seem real. “You’re not listening.”
I blink, swallowing roughly when I realize I’ve zoned out. “Sorry. What’d you say?”
Chesney rolls his eyes. “See? Not listening.”
Heat inches up my neck once more, but not from the sun, and I can’t help but squirm in my seat.
“Do it this way,” he says, demonstrating with his own rock. I don’t know what’s more mesmerizing—the rock gracefully skipping over the water or the way Chesney tosses it so effortlessly, with so much confidence.
Taking a deep breath, I give it a shot.
The rock sinks. Cool.
“You’re awful at this,” he says with a small chuckle.
I glare at him. “And you’re very annoying.”
His grin widens. I feel it in my stomach. “That’s what my brother says too.”
The mention of his brother softens something in his voice.
It’s coated in affection, and I like it.
Probably way more than I should. As far as I know, he has two brothers—a younger one and an older one—but I couldn’t tell you their names.
The only reason I know Chesney is because we’re in the same grade.
I see him around at school a lot. You’d think living next to a family my whole life, I’d know all their names, but nobody in my family ever refers to any of them by name.
It’s always the Jennings kid or the Jennings boy.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh as I find another suitable rock. “Show me, then. I wanna do it right.”
Chesney steps behind me and adjusts my hand around the rock.
I suck in a breath, and I know he heard it.
There’s no way he didn’t. “There,” he says.
The contact lasted maybe two seconds. It was nothing—no, actually, it was less than nothing—but my pulse jumps anyway.
That’s weird… Like, really weird. Why is my body reacting this way?
I wish it’d knock it off. “Now, throw it.”
I do, but once again, it sinks immediately.
Chesney bursts out laughing while I groan, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
“Oh my god,” I grumble.
“Dude, you threw it straight down! What’d you expect it to do?”
“I don’t know!”
He snickers again, and it annoys me. Shoving his shoulder, I nearly make him fall into the creek.
Laughter bubbles out of me before I can stop it at the shocked look on his face, and for a moment, I think he might be mad.
But then he’s cracking up all over again, loud enough that birds scatter from the nearby branches.
When we finally manage to pull ourselves together, he grabs another rock and hands it to me. I throw and throw and throw, all of them sinking, until rock, like, six or seven, I finally manage to get it to glide over the top of the water.
“I did it!” I boom, jumping out of the chair and throwing my hands in the air.
“Heck yeah, you did!” Chesney nudges me in the arm, then winks. “About time, Smith.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t hide the curve to my mouth.
This feels good, hanging out with him like this. I don’t get all the drama—not about the feud, or our last names, or about what our families would think. We’re having fun. This is what kids are supposed to do.
Eventually, the laugher fades, the creek keeps lazily moving, the sun dips lower in the sky, and neither of us seems all that eager to leave.
“Your family really hates mine, huh?” Chesney asks.
I pick at a loose thread on my shorts. “Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Mine too.”
“I don’t get it.”
We don’t say anything else for a moment. But then Chesney mutters, “Seems dumb.”
The honesty of it makes me laugh. “Very dumb.”
His eyes meet mine, blue against brown, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes my heart pound. “Wanna come back tomorrow?”
My stomach flips.
I know what the answer should be: No. Absolutely not. We can never do this ever again. But instead, I hear myself say, “Same time?”
Chesney smiles and nods, and something tiny but important shifts between us. Like maybe this is the beginning of something neither of us understands yet.
A friendship.
A secret.
A promise made beside a creek that doesn’t care about family names and history. One we’ll spend years keeping, even when the rest of the world tells us not to.