Don’t Take the Girl

Prologue

LANEY

AGE TEN

" A w, man. Dad, come on. Do we really have to take her?" my neighbor London complains as I stand beside his dad's pickup truck.

"Yes, London, she's going. The more the merrier," Mr. Hale says as he loads the fishing gear into the back of the truck bed.

"But you said it was just going to be me and you, like old times," he whines.

"Well, the plan has changed," he says with a hint of annoyance at his son's nagging, and I cringe.

I didn't ask to play the third wheel on their fishing trip.

We might be neighbors, but London and I are not friends, and I didn't think my mother and Mr. Hale were either, but somewhere between her mowing the lawn this morning and a call from the hospital to pick up a shift, I got shafted and Mr. Hale was tasked with babysitting me.

I told my mother I didn't need a babysitter.

I begged her to give me a chance, but she refused.

Now, here I am, the unwanted spare on a father-son day.

I've dreamed about the day London Hale would look up and notice me, but it never looked or sounded like this in my dreams.

"Then can I bring Fisher? I'm sure his mom will say yes if I call him up," London pleads .

His dad sighs before he concedes. "Fine, run inside and call Fisher. Make sure he knows we are leaving now, then bring me my cell phone when you're done. I left it on my nightstand."

"Yes!" London hisses excitedly before running past so fast it creates a slight breeze in the stifling Texas summer heat.

"Laney," Mr. Hale calls from the back of the truck.

I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jean shorts and walk toward the tailgate. "Did you change your mind?" I ask.

His kind eyes find mine. "Don't tell me you don't want to go either.

" I shrug, not wanting to say no and add to the headache my presence has already caused.

"Don't worry about London." His eyes flash up to the house.

"He'll come around." I don't say anything, my anxiety getting the best of me.

He closes the cooler. "Do you have a hat? "

"I do, inside."

He nods toward my house. "Go grab it. The sun reflecting off the water gives you a double dose of its intensity. I don't need you getting sunburned on my watch."

"Sure," I say before running back into my house, grateful for the small reprieve of doing something other than standing beside his truck, looking pathetic.

I take an extra second to put on sunscreen when I grab my hat, not wanting to end the afternoon looking like a crab.

Those extra seconds spent lathering my skin grant me a few glorious moments in the comfort of the air conditioner to cool my heated flesh.

Still, the relief is short-lived, because the second I step out my front door, I'm thrown right back on the coals as I walk across my front yard, and the screen door to the Hale house swings open.

London sulks out of his house, his steps heavy on the wooden porch. "Fisher is sick," he mopes as he kicks a pebble. "I don't want to go anymore. Let's just stay home. I'd rather do that than take a girl."

Mr. Hale closes the tailgate as London trudges down the front steps. "Laney, what do you say we put this to rest?" Mr. Hale says, stepping between the truck and me. "Do you want to go fishing? "

I dig my nails into my palms. I want to say no, but he just finished packing a cooler and loading up the back of the truck, and saying no after he went through all that hassle feels rude, so instead, I give him another honest answer.

"I've never been fishing."

His eyebrows rise in surprise before he clasps his hands together. "Then that settles it. We're going fishing."

"She's never even been fishing?" London groans as his dad rounds the truck to the driver's side, leaving me in plain sight of his son's scornful study.

London Hale notices me for the first time since I moved in, but the offense in his glare as he leans, arms crossed, against the truck makes me wish he didn't. I'd rather be invisible than on the receiving end of his annoyance.

When his dark eyes finally connect with mine, they lock and narrow slightly before a scowl takes over his face.

He disappointedly shakes his head before pulling open the front door of the truck.

Climbing up, he mutters, "This is the worst."

Adjusting my baseball cap to hide my discomfort, I get in the backseat and mentally echo London's sentiments. It's the worst day ever.

"No, no, no. Don't take the bait. Drop it," I whisper-yell at the fish as though it were a dog that would release its bone.

We've been fishing at the lake for almost an hour now, and no one has caught anything.

The last thing I want to do is catch the first fish.

I can already see the fit London will throw if I catch the first fish on a pole that's not mine, with bait I refused to touch, on a line I didn't cast. I set the pole down, walk to the water's edge, and squat to see if I can see a fish.

"What are you doing?" London startles me, and I shoot up.

"Nothing." I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "I was just seeing how cold the water is."

His brow furrows as he pulls up the hem of his black t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow. "Are you sure that's what you were doing?"

I roll my lips and rock back on my heels. "Mm-hmm."

His eyes flick between mine and the water. "So you weren't trying to see if there's a fish on the end of this line?"

My eyes widen, and I shake my head. "Oh, I don't a have fish.

" I chuck my thumb over my shoulder and look back at the water as I search for a lie.

"It got stuck on something at the bottom of the lake," I say nervously before running with it.

"That's why I was checking the temperature of the water.

I figured I'd go in and unsnag it so you guys didn't have to help me. "

He stares blankly, like he can't believe the words that just came out of my mouth, before picking up my pole, but to my surprise, he doesn't make fun of me.

"That bobber dipping underwater was a nibble, and now that it's fully submerged, it means you have a bite," he says as he starts reeling in the fish. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"Did your dad send you over here to say that?"

"No…" he says, his tone lacking a true defense.

After the fit he threw about me coming, I know that's a lie.

He didn't suddenly have a change of heart.

I saw him sitting on a bucket while his father was re-stringing a pole and giving him an earful.

I'm positive whatever verbal lashing he was receiving was about me.

I'm not mad at London. I get it. I crashed his afternoon with his father.

"You don't have to do that," I say in response to his lie. "A lie isn't any better than a meaningless apology that I didn't ask for."

He looks over his shoulder and purses his lips before he returns his eyes to the fish he's currently reeling in. "Fine, he may have told me to apologize, but that doesn't mean I don't agree you deserve one. I was a jerk."

I cop a squat on the large flat rock I'd been sitting on before I noticed my line moving in the water. This rock is the entire reason I chose this spot. I didn't want to sit in the grass and get eaten alive by the bugs .

"I can't believe the girl who has never been fishing is the first one to get a bite."

"It's not a big deal. I'm sure it's something small, like a crappie."

"It doesn't matter if it's small. A catch is a catch," he says as the fish I caught breaks the water. "And that's not a crappie. You caught a catfish."

I get to my feet to get a better look as he grabs the line, and the fish flops around in the grass.

"How are you going to get the hook out of its mouth?" I ask with a grimace. "Won't those things on the side of its face sting you?"

He laughs, and for once today, I'm grateful for the heat. My cheeks were red before he laughed at my expense. He does a double-take when he sees I don't find my question nearly as amusing.

"Sorry, I forgot you've never been fishing. I've never been fishing with someone who doesn't know about fish." He pulls a pocket knife out of his shorts. "Didn't your father ever take you? I mean, I know you're a girl, but…"

"Tell your dad you caught the fish. I'm going back to the truck so I can sit in the shade," I mutter as I hastily slip my Keds back on.

"Hey, Laney…" I can tell he's about to give me another shallow apology that I don't want to hear, so I ignore him. "It's Laney, right?"

"Yesss," I drone, finally getting my last shoe on. "You didn't want me to come, and I don't want to be here. We don't have to pretend." I drop my hands to my hips and roll my eyes, determined to hide the hurt his mentioning my father brings.

He grabs my arm as I turn on my heel, and I swear a tiny buzz of electricity zings through my body. It's an awareness I've never felt, probably because a boy has never touched me before, especially not one I liked or thought I liked. "Stay. I swear I wasn't laughing at you. "

My eyes study the hand wrapped around my wrist. There's dirt under his nails from putting bait on hooks, and God knows what kind of grime is on his knuckles.

It's gross, but the hum I feel from head to toe remains.

I trace his arm back to the body it's attached to, cataloging every freckle and the tiny scar on his bicep before my eyes finally reach his rich brown eyes.

The agitation I saw in them earlier has faded, and now, as they stare back at me, they almost feel warm.

The way he's looking back at me is how I'd hoped he would look at me the first time he saw me.

I don't know what I want him to see, but whatever he sees is better than what he saw earlier. "Do we really have to take her?"