Chapter Eight Violet #2
Shock pours through me. I stare at Ren, unable to hide my disbelief.
He doesn’t deny it. He stares back at me, face bleak, verging on empty.
I sensed he had a hard past, but jail? Is he a member of the yakuza?
Are they all? I’ve misunderstood everything.
I can’t team up with Ren. I stumble back but then dart forward to grab my laundry satchel.
Before I can, Ren steps in and picks it up.
“Wait,” he says, so softly that only I can hear.
“I don’t think I will,” I say. “Give it to me.”
“It’s heavy.” His voice is still low, as though shame has dragged it to the ground. “Let me carry it for you.”
Anger crashes over me. Ren is a criminal.
I grab the strap and yank, hard, just as he lets it go.
I stumble at the sudden redistribution of weight.
Quickly, he steps forward and grabs my elbow so I don’t fall.
His hand is strong and calloused, but his touch is gentle.
Despite my panicked thoughts, my skin warms underneath his touch.
I viciously try to stop it. As soon as I’m stable, he releases me.
“Sorry,” he says, apologizing even though he’d been stopping me from tripping. He pauses, eyes stricken, then says again, “Sorry,” and it seems to encapsulate so much more—as though he’s apologizing for shocking me, for having gone to jail, for existing. “Will you please let me carry it for you?”
A strangled note in his voice surprises me. I wonder if he wishes to explain. I think about sitting with him on the rock and how close I felt to him.
“Very well.” I cross my arms and tap my foot. Ren ducks his head and easily picks up the satchel. If it hurts his injured shoulder, he doesn’t show it. He slings it over his good shoulder without so much as a wince.
“Ren’s in trouble. His girlfriend is mad,” Kai says, and the others laugh. Has Ren told his friends that we’re a couple? I look sharply at Ren, but he’s turned toward the others. Redness, though, rushes up the back of his neck.
“Shut up, Kai,” he grits out. “She’s not my girlfriend. Never said she was.”
His protestation makes the young men laugh even harder. The mischievous grin on Kai’s face grows. He’s handsome in his own right, but unlike Ren he tosses around charismatic smiles with the ease of a football. “Don’t worry. Your other girlfriends will never know.”
Yet another wave of shock comes over me. I never considered whether Ren was with someone, but why wouldn’t he be? He’s tremendously handsome and brave. Some girls might even find his illicit activities alluring.
“Let’s go,” Ren mutters, not meeting my gaze.
We head back toward camp, but while we’re still in the shadow of the warehouse, he stops and faces me.
Finally, he looks at me. Dejection lurks behind his eyes, as though waiting to pour out and dissolve him in the process.
“I didn’t tell them you were my girlfriend. ”
I slowly nod. I believe him. Ren might have his faults, but he isn’t the sort to give false illusions about himself. In fact, he wears who he is with resignation, like it’s something he couldn’t shake off even if he tried.
“And I don’t have a girlfriend.” He awkwardly shuffles, satchel still perched on his shoulder. “Also…are you all right? Is your hand okay? And your pencil didn’t break, did it?”
I glance at my hand. My knuckles are grazed and white skin peels back, revealing pinkish-red ovals underneath. It aches, every joint illuminated in pain.
“He slapped you.” I shudder, remembering Mr. Boser’s arm around my waist and his cheek against mine.
He’s gone, yet the moment is alive in my mind, clear and terrifying.
“Thank you for helping me.” I clear my throat and straighten, as though I can force away the memory of what happened.
“Though it wasn’t necessary. I can take care of things myself.
” Ren stares at me and then his mouth twitches up in that same unimpressed smile from before.
“It’s true!” I insist. “You don’t need to get involved in my affairs. ”
“Whatever you say, slugger,” he replies, that irritating grin still on his face.
“What did you call me?”
“Slugger,” he says with a shrug that’s somehow careless yet pointed. “I didn’t realize Manzanar had its own featherweight champion. I’ll keep that in mind next time you get into trouble.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re pretty cocksure, but you don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I demand, taking a step closer to him, daring him to say I’m spoiled and sheltered.
“You don’t get how bad life can be.”
“And you do? Because you’ve been to prison? Were you—are you—in a gang?” The galling smirk disappears from his lips. All the emotion drains from his face again and even the strange, lurking sadness is gone.
“You mean jail.” He speaks coldly.
“What?”
“I was in jail for a few days, not prison. There’s a difference between prison and jail.” He’s proving his point again, showing once again how innocent I am in comparison to him. Angry heat rushes to my face. “And no, I’m not in a gang. Never have been.”
“Shockingly, I’m not familiar with the distinguishments of incarceration,” I retort, irritation growing despite my relief he isn’t in a gang. “Were you…” Now that the topic is raised, I can’t help myself. “Were you wrongfully accused?”
He lets out a sharp, scoffing laugh.
“No.” Satchel still balanced on his shoulder, he leans against the warehouse wall, his relaxed posture a contrast to his lifted chin and flashing eyes. “So now you know. I’m not the sort of guy you should be hanging out with.”
“Is that so?” I risk taking another step closer. He may have more life experience, but he doesn’t know me at all, and he certainly isn’t going to tell me what to do again.
“Yeah, it is.” The shadow of the smirk returns. There’s a hint of a dare in his voice. My heart answers, winging away in my chest, a sparrow trapped in the birdcage of my ribs.
“Your poor cheek,” I murmur, and I reach up to touch his face.
He’s rigid but he doesn’t pull away. In fact, his head turns slightly, accepting the curve of my palm as my fingers brush the crimson stain.
The satchel falls from his shoulder to the ground.
I’m going to kiss him, I realize. I’m going to kiss Ren Hamada right here and now.
A scuffling sound comes from behind me. Immediately, I whirl around, face blazing, unsure who’s crept up.
Being here has put me on my guard. I also certainly don’t want an elder seeing me kiss anyone.
I’m torn between confusion, alarm, and desire so intense that I feel it in every fiber of my being.
But there, standing much too close for comfort, is the man from the creek.