Chapter Eleven Artemis
Chapter Eleven
Artemis
“Dad.” I stop him down the hall. He’s holding a stack of folders he hasn’t touched in years. He just took them from the study room, where he’s been keeping them for storage. “What the heck?”
He gives me a look like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
I place my hands on my hips, returning the look with a roll of my eyes. “Stop embarrassing me.”
“I’m not embarrassing you.”
“Dad. Coming into the room like that? Pretending to look for something you obviously don’t need?”
He presses the folders to his chest. “Do you like this boy?”
My eyes widen and I start sputtering. “No! Of course I don’t. I’m not going to have a boyfriend until I’m, like, thirty.”
His grin is wide. “Good.”
“It’s not like you’ll let me anyway,” I mutter.
He doesn’t seem to hear that.
“So will you quit coming into the room?” I ask.
“No.”
If Ryan wasn’t in the room, I’d stomp my feet like a little kid. It’s not fair. I’m sixteen for heaven’s sake. I should be free to choose when to date and who to date.
But maybe I’ll never find anyone, anyway. I’m not like the other girls at school. And of course I can’t forget that Ryan doesn’t like me, either. Not even as a friend.
“You’d better get back to the project, honey,” Dad says.
I glare at him before turning on my heels and marching into the study room, plopping down next to Ryan. “Sorry about that. Just had to yell at my dad.”
I can’t believe I told him I’ve never had a boyfriend. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Once this project is done, we’ll go back to ignoring each other. Well, he’ll go back to ignoring me. I’ll probably still have a crush on him because I’m hopeless.
The time flies as we get the report done.
We’re digging a little deeper than what’s required, but I really want to do well in this class.
History is my favorite subject. Besides, getting anything less than an A on any of my classes is like poking my eyes out with a fork.
It’s not like I have a boyfriend to spend my time with, anyway.
Mom peeks her head in. “Artemis, it’s time for dinner.” Her eyes move to Ryan. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
He nods. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m okay.” He gets to his feet.
“You know we’re almost done the project, so if you stay for a little bit longer, we can finish today and be done with it,” I tell him, knowing very well that he’d rather be done with me instead of dragging this for another day.
“I made enough food to feed an entire army,” Mom says. “It’s up to you, though.”
Ryan’s gaze darts to me, his blue eyes just as mysterious as usual, but there’s something else inside. Something I, of course, can’t read. Maybe he’s uncomfortable eating with strangers?
He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. “Okay, thanks. I’ll text my grandmother.” He whips out his phone and taps out a text. Mom slips out of the room, probably getting an extra set of dishes for him.
Ryan slides his phone into his pocket. “She’s out, anyway, and will grab some food with friends.”
He follows me into the kitchen, where Dad’s on the phone like usual, but as soon as he sees Ryan, he hangs up and gives him a look like he’s looking through him. Seriously? Can’t a guy eat dinner with us without having my dad treat him like some criminal?
“Glad to have you, Ryan,” he says.
Sure he does. If my dad had his way, he’d lock me in a tower like Rapunzel.
Jason, on Dad’s right, holds out a fist to our guest. “Hey, man.”
Hmm. Since when are those two friends?
Ryan and I sit side by side, our chairs so far apart we might as well be on different continents. Dad’s doing? Seriously?
I scoot closer to Ryan, just to piss my dad off.
Ryan subtly, though not too subtly, yanks his chair away.
I focus on my food, then remember this is my favorite dish, the one I’ve loved since I was like four.
And Ryan’s eating it. Why the heck do I care?
He’s just my partner on this project. And so what if we shared a moment at the dance?
It didn’t mean anything. Not to him, and I’m trying to forget about it, too.
Our guest hardly touches his food. I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t like it. There’s something else going on. What’s his deal? What’s up with him?
And why for the millionth time do I care?
He compliments Mom, so there’s that. Her face brightens by his praise and a part of my frustration is chipped away. He has a nice, kind side to him. I see it now and I saw it at the dance. But then he shuts off, transforms into a different person. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I don’t get it.
Dad holds most of the conversation, talking about events happening in River Spring. He doesn’t take his eyes off my partner and it seems like he wants to ask him a million questions, but he doesn’t.
Once we’re done with dinner, I lead Ryan back to the study room and we resume our homework. More like I resume it. Ryan just stares at the spot in front of him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, and I’m not even sure he heard my question. It doesn’t look like his brain is here.
I gently shake his arm. “Ryan?”
He glances down at where my fingers are wrapped around his bicep, then looks at me. Those blue eyes…they seriously suck me in.
He shakes my hand off, then brushes his fingers through his long hair, pushing it over his face like he wants to hide behind it. “Your family is great,” he says in a low voice, staring at the wall before him.
“What?”
“You should appreciate them.”
I’m about to say something, but he focuses on the project, and whatever he said flows out the window like a soft breeze.
It takes us another hour and a half to finish the project. I’m proud of our work. Even though we’re not friends and hardly talked, we work well together.
I smile at him. “I’m pretty sure we’ll get an A.”
He shrugs.
“You don’t care?” I prod.
He shrugs again, pushing that hair over his face. “No.”
“Oh. But how will you get into a good college if your grades suck?”
His eyes slowly move to mine. I can’t see them well because they’re hidden in his hair, but I can tell they’re empty. Hollow. Like the life has been sucked out of them.
“I don’t care about college,” he says. It looks like he wants to add that he doesn’t care about anything.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess it’s not for everyone. So what do you want to do after you graduate? I know we’ve got two years until then, but...”
He shrugs for a third time.
We sit in silence. I’m kind of wondering why he’s not leaving. Now that the project is done, he has no reason to stay.
“There are so many art schools,” I find myself saying. “You plan on applying to any?”
“No.”
“Can I see your drawings?”
“No.”
I tap my fingers on the table. He watches me with those empty eyes.
Why in the world isn’t he leaving? Could it be he wants to spend more time with me? No, that’s silly. He doesn’t like me.
“So, um…” I’m trying to come up with something to say to ease this awkwardness. I’m not comfortable just sitting here like this. And I’m driving myself crazy wondering why he’s not going home.
His eyes shift to mine. It looks like he wants to say something, but presses his mouth shut. I stare at the wall, then the ceiling.
My phone rings, and I’m so glad for the distraction that I grab it with so much force it soars off the table, landing near Ryan’s foot. He sweeps it off the floor and hands it to me.
“Thanks. Hey, Jenna,” I say into the phone.
“Hey. Jason told me Ryan came to your house to work on your history project.”
My eyes move to his and I find him watching me like he has nothing else to do. “Yeah, he’s, um, still here.”
His eyebrows furrow. I hope he doesn’t think I’m talking about him. I mean, I am, but not in that way.
“Ooh,” she says. “Looks like you guys like each other as more than friends. But Art, are you sure about this? He ditched you at the festival. I know you have a crush, but—”
“I don’t anymore,” I quickly say. “And we’re just working on the project.”
“Good, because the last thing I want is to see you get hurt. You know, people are starting to talk about him. He’s a little weird, don’t you think?”
“I don’t care what anyone says.” Why in the world am I defending him?
His eyes are still locked on mine, his eyebrows knitted even more. I really hope he doesn’t think he’s the star of our conversation.
She sighs. “Okay, just be careful. You’ve never had such an intense crush on someone before, so you need to protect yourself.”
“Thanks, Jenna, but you don’t have anything to worry about.”
We hang up. Ryan still didn’t leave. Is he dreading going home or something?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I force the words down. “Want to do more homework? Maybe algebra?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“I’ll grab my textbook from my room.”
I leave and am about to dart up the stairs, but stop when I hear Ryan’s name mentioned in the kitchen.
Mom and Dad are inside, cleaning up. They’re talking about Ryan moving in with his grandmother.
“It’s so sad what happened to his parents,” Mom’s in the middle of saying. “The poor boy. And Lauren didn’t really have a relationship with her son and his wife. She hardly knows her grandson. She told me the other day that she doesn’t know how to reach him.” She shakes her head. “It’s really sad.”
Dad wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Lauren’s a strong woman. She’ll get through this. And Ryan, too. He seems like a good boy.”
Curiosity pricks me. What happened to Ryan’s parents?
Mom and Dad talk about other things and I quickly grab my book from my room. When I return to the study room, I find Ryan looking through a folder with all my kiddy artwork that Mom must have stashed here.
Mortified at how sucky I was as a little kid, I grab it from him. “What are you doing?”
He nods to it. “Cute drawings.”
“Cute?” I hold up the first page. “This is supposed to be a bear, but it looks like a ball.”
He rolls his shoulders. “It’s still cute.”
I freeze. Did he call me cute?
No, silly. He called my drawing cute.
“Oh, uh, thanks, I guess.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Why are they dumped in here?”
“I told my mom to throw them out, but she must have kept them. No idea why.”
“Because you drew them,” he tells me. “My mom…” His voice trails off as he averts his gaze.
“What?”
He’s on his feet like he’s been struck with super speed. “It’s getting late. I should go home.”
“What about algebra?”
He’s out the room like his butt is on fire. I follow him, where he thanks Mom and Dad, then flings the door open and rushes out.
I watch him from the window as he walks off, his body bent over like a question mark.
Later when I’m lying in bed, I can’t stop thinking about him. What is it about this guy that I can’t shake? It’s not the crush—it’s much, much more than that. Almost like something is calling me to dig deep, to get to know him. To not let him be alone.