1. Ramona #3
“I did. He asked why I couldn’t fish on Monday.” Julius lets out a short laugh. “I haven’t even decided what I’m doing after school, but everybody keeps telling me.”
“You could start by telling them you want to fish.” I shrug. “They can’t argue with you if you’re already gone.”
“I’m pretty sure my dad would find a way.” He eases around a rough patch. “Sorry. You didn’t ask to hear me complain.”
“You asked about June.” I smooth my cuff against my wrist. “I can listen to you for a minute.”
“A whole minute?” He looks toward me, smiling now.
“You’ve already used some of it.” I point through the windshield. “Keep driving.”
He laughs, and I look down before my mouth can give me away.
“I’m glad I came tonight.” His hand relaxes against the wheel.
I lift my eyes to his face.
“The calf needed help.” I pick a bit of straw off my jacket.
“I’m glad we helped her.” He pauses before glancing at me. “I’m glad I got to talk to you, too.”
I miss the straw when I try to drop it into my pocket.
I stare out the windshield and pretend I didn’t hear that.
His voice drops. “Sometimes I feel like a show horse.” He glances at me, then back at the road. “Good bloodlines, good training, and nobody ever asks if I actually want to be in the ring.”
Every single day. That’s exactly how it feels.
“Maybe I feel like that too.” I press my palms flat against my thighs. “Sometimes, anyway.”
“Yeah, you do?” He looks over too fast, then catches himself.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” I shift in my seat. “I’m not saying we’re the same.”
“I’m not saying we are either.” But he’s smiling again, softer this time. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Talking to someone who doesn’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not very good at bullshitting people.” I turn my palm up. “It usually shows on my face.”
“Then don’t bother.” He glances over with a smile. “I’d rather you tell me what you think.”
The mailbox at the end of our road appears in the headlights.
We pull into my driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. The porch light is on and the house is quiet. Julius stops the truck but doesn’t turn off the engine. The cab feels smaller with the truck stopped.
“Thanks for letting me help tonight.” He turns toward me, resting his arm across the steering wheel. “Even if I got in your way at first.”
“You listened when I told you to move.” I reach for the door handle, but leave it closed. “That’s why you survived.”
“Ramona, give me one more minute first.” He shifts toward me before I can pull the handle.
The way he says my name puts me back in the seat, one hand still on the door.
“I don’t want tonight to be the only time we talk.” He leans in, knocking his knee against the gearshift.
I let go of the door handle.
“Go home, Julius.”
He blinks, his head jerking back. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me.” I fight to keep my face straight, pressing my lips together. “Go home.”
“You’re serious right now?” He searches my face, looking for the catch.
“Very serious.” I nod toward the road. “That way. Left at the mailbox. I’m sure you can find it.”
He stares at me for a second, his mouth opening and closing. Then he catches the twitch at the corner of my lips and his eyes narrow.
“You’re messing with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re absolutely messing with me right now.” He shakes his head, but he’s starting to grin. “That’s cruel, Ramona. That’s genuinely cruel.”
“I prefer to call it payback for the whole taking-over-my-barn thing.”
“I owned up to that.”
“And now we’re square.” I put my hand back on the door handle. “Goodnight, Julius.”
“Hold on, wait a second.” He catches my sleeve, just barely, just enough to make me turn back. “You’re really going to leave it like that? Just go home?”
“What else would I say?”
“I don’t know.” He runs his hand through his hair, and his cap goes crooked. “Maybe that you don’t completely hate me? That tonight wasn’t the worst night of your life? That you might possibly consider talking to me again at some point in the future?”
“That’s a lot of maybes.”
“I’m aware of that.”
I look at him. Really look at him. The dashboard glow is on the side of his face and he looks younger suddenly, a seventeen-year-old boy who’s way out of his depth and trying not to show it.
“I don’t completely hate you.” I take my hand off the door.
He sits up straighter. “You don’t?”
“Tonight wasn’t the worst night of my life.”
“Okay. I’ll take that.” He’s smiling now, no almost about it. “And the talking to me again part?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I push the door the rest of the way open and the cold hits hard. I’m halfway out when his voice stops me.
“Hey, Ramona, wait.”
I turn back.
He’s gripping the steering wheel with both hands now, his knuckles white against the leather. His jaw is tight. All that easy confidence from the drive is gone.
He swallows hard, his throat moving. His fingers squeeze the wheel tighter. He won’t look at me. Then he does, and the porch light catches his eyes, and I have never once seen Julius Wyatt look nervous until right now.
“Are you doing anything Friday night?”