Chapter 11
Skylar waited by Jeb”s locker at the end of the school day. It was a habit she had formed over the years and secretly loved. Painfully aware that his looks and athletic prowess had deemed him one of the popular guys, she was thrilled that he still walked her home whenever he didn’t have practice.
She glanced up at the clock on the wall above the lockers and observed that it was later than usual. Wondering if she had misunderstood his baseball practice schedule, she hesitated, pondering if she should go ahead and walk home alone. The lockers in their school were not just against the walls but located in pods. Hearing a giggle from the other side, she was surprised when she heard a female voice call out his name.
“Jeb, I don’t know why you have to walk her home every day,” the voice whined. “She’s nobody. It’s not like she’s your real sister.”
“I always walk her home when I don’t have practice,” he replied.
“Then just pretend you have practice today. Or that you have somewhere you need to be.” A high-pitched giggle sounded out. “In fact, that’s not a lie. I think you need to be with me.”
“Skylar is my friend,” Jeb said.
Skylar knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but considering the conversation was just on the other side of the pod of lockers, she was hardly being sneaky. Yet she was torn between wanting to dash away and hearing Jeb’s defense of her.
“Your friend! She’s such a pathetic nerd.”
“She’s not a nerd,” Jeb said. “She’s just really smart.”
The female cackle sounded out. “Smart girls are nerds. Smart guys can be hot, like you.”
Skylar’s breath halted in her throat, and she waited to hear Jeb reply against the words from the interloper trying to insert herself between them.
“You think I’m hot?” Jeb’s voice held incredulity as well as a dose of pride.
Just as the other girl began to assure him, all the air rushed from Skylar’s lungs. She knew the other kids thought she was a nerd. The quiet one. The weird one. The loner. But she’d also reveled in the fact that Jeb was, too. It was a trait they shared. But now, it seemed the idea that all it took to pull him away from her was a giggling girl telling him he was hot.
Tears pricked her eyes, and she hurried down the hall as quietly as she could, flinging open the door to the outside. Stomping heedlessly, she headed home. She kicked a stone on the sidewalk, anger filling her at the unfair societal expectations. She knew there were smart girls in her school who were also popular, but they tended to be more outgoing. Society was harder on introverts. We’re not exciting. We don’t always know exactly what to say. People think we’re rude when sometimes we’re just happy with silence. People think we don’t care when we offer quiet, soft support. It didn’t help that she was already taking college-level math at fifteen. Being in a classroom with all seniors simply meant that she had no friends her age there.
She made it home, greeted Mrs. Baker, and then said she was going upstairs to do her homework. Mrs. Baker gave her a kind look and a gentle hand on her shoulder as she walked past. It was too cold to climb out the window, but desiring to be alone, she pushed the button on the doorknob and locked the door behind her.
Stomping up the stairs, she walked over to the window and looked out, sighing heavily. Tears pricked her eyes, and this time, several made their way down her cheeks, dropping onto her shirt.
She hated feeling sorry for herself. She’d learned at an early age it did no good. But all the turbulent emotions of being a teenage girl seem to swirl, creating a maelstrom inside.
I’m not statuesque. I’m not a great beauty. I don’t have the gift of knowing exactly what to say in any situation. I don’t know how to laugh breathlessly or hang on a guy’s arm. I don’t brag about what I can do, but neither will I deny who I am.
The sound of the doorknob below had her swirling around, suddenly unsure. She waited, wondering if someone would call out for her or just walk away. But it only took a few seconds for the doorknob to jiggle again, then the click of the lock to give away and the door to swing open. Before she had a chance to blink, Jeb jogged up the stairs, his gaze immediately landing on her.
“Why did you lock the door?”
Placing her hands on her hips, she groused, “Why does anyone lock a door?”
His chin jerked backward. “You wanted to keep me out?”
“You say that as though it’s unheard of. It’s called privacy, Jeb.”
He continued to hold her gaze, but his brows lowered, and his expression could only be described as confused. “If you want privacy, you only have to ask, Skylar. It’s just you never have tried to stay away from me before.”
A grimace twisted her mouth. As angry as she had been, just staring at him eased her ache and embarrassment. She backed against the wall and slid down until her ass hit the floor. Drawing up her legs, she encircled her shins with her arms and rested her chin on her knees.
He followed suit, mimicking her actions, except he balanced his forearms on his knees with his hands dangling in front of him.
They sat side-by-side for several minutes, the peace of the attic settling around them like a favorite blanket. She knew he wondered what was going on but, as always, gave her a chance to gather her thoughts.
“Do you ever hate being a foster kid?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could pull them back. She had no idea where they came from, yet with all the emotion swirling inside her, that was what she blurted out.
“Sure,” he said.
Her gaze stared out over the attic, afraid to look at him. Some of the kids that passed through the Bakers’ house for shorter stays often talked about being a foster kid, being in a foster home, hating the title, or loving being with others they felt safe. She and Jeb talked about almost everything else except that. He’d shared how he came to be at the Bakers’ house, but she kept her story to herself. Not that she didn’t want him to know everything about her, but she didn’t want him to look at her differently.
Now, hating the direction she’d sent the conversation, she sighed heavily. “I guess right now, I just hate feeling different. I’m not in classes with people my age. The seniors look at me like I’m odd for being in their class. The sophomores barely talk to me because they think I’m just a nerd.”
As soon as she said the word, she felt Jeb jerk slightly and could tell his gaze swung over toward her.
“You overheard what Lauren said.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know who Lauren is.”
He leaned to the side and gave her a little shoulder bump.
She slumped in defeat, then tightened her arms around her legs. “Well, I didn’t know Lauren was the name of the girl you were talking to. But yes, I heard what she had to say about me.”
“You shouldn’t let what others say bother you so much, Skylar. You should be proud of who you are and everything you’ve accomplished.”
Now, she jerked her head to the side and gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “Yes, well, that’s easy for you to say. She thinks you’re hot. After all, smart guys can be hot!”
“I admit I was surprised she said that.”
Jerking slightly, she reared back, studying him. “Seriously?”
“I never thought of myself as that. It sounded kind of weird hearing it.”
Realizing that he’d been surprised when Lauren called him hot and he hadn’t just preened, looking for more compliments from her, gave her pause. Wanting to hold on to her righteous indignation, she said, “At least you get called hot. I’m just the weird one. The nerd.”
“Well, if you were listening so closely, then you must’ve heard me tell her that I thought you were worth more than any of the other empty-headed girls at school.”
At that, her mouth dropped open, and her eyes bugged out. “Really?”
Now, it was his turn to jerk. “You didn’t hear that?”
“I must’ve left before then,” she mumbled.
“Well, that’s exactly what I told her.”
They sat in silence for another minute as she turned this new information around in her head. Finally, she asked, “Do you really think that?”
“Skylar, you’re the best friend I have. You’re smart, kind, and you always make me feel like I’m good enough just the way I am. And there was no way I was going to let some entitled girl put you down.”
She wanted to say so much. Thank you for defending me. Thank you for caring about my feelings. Thank you for making me feel like I’m good enough. Mostly, she wanted to thank him for protecting her, even from her own thoughts.
From the smile on his face, he already knew all of the things she wanted to say.
So they sat side-by-side in the attic until they heard Mrs. Baker call out for dinner. He stood with his hand extended toward her, and she looked into his face. She knew she loved him, but a part of her wondered if she wasn’t falling in love with him. And that was a dangerous place to go. Pushing those thoughts to the side, she reached up and placed her hand in his, allowing him to draw her to her feet.
Heading downstairs, they shared a smile before greeting the others and helping the younger ones as they all settled around the table.