move, or a prelude to a kiss.
He was holding on for dear life.
At first, her muscles tensed, numbing her to the feel of his skin next to hers. But then, something crazy happened.
Warmth from his hand beckoned her to relax. And as it radiated into hers, she let go. Her fingers and palm melted into his. Her chest filled with grief, sorrow, anger, and all the horrible unspoken emotions that a human can endure. But they weren’t his emotions.
They were all hers.
Shame for the embarrassment and hurt she’d caused her family. Self-loathing for what she’d done. Anger at the girls who’d attacked her. They poured from her heart, and it was okay, because she had a lifeline too.
They sat on the bench, not speaking, hanging on to the world, their souls connecting through clasped hands until the sky slowly turned pink.
Finally, he looked at her and said, “Are you ready?”
She nodded and together they stood, their hands still clasped. He didn’t acknowledge her tears, nor she his.
He hesitated before he opened the passenger door of his truck, and looked into her eyes. Any other time, she would have expected a kiss. But he wouldn’t kiss her. Not now, maybe never. But what had passed between them was way bigger than a kiss. They were lost and broken, neither really knowing the other’s story. Where that left their friendship was bound to be as bizarre as what had blossomed there on the bench.
*
He wiped the remnants of his tears away with his forearm and pretended not to notice her fish a Kleenex out of her purse to wipe her eyes. If Mrs. Walters hadn’t walked up, he’d have probably been okay. But as soon as she started telling Ryan about that painting, he’d had to get out of there.
Just leaving the gallery wasn’t enough. The pain and sorrow threatened to pull him into that dark place that held his mom. He needed to feel something alive to remind him not to go there. So he’d done the only thing he could—he’d held Ryan’s hand and fought his way back. He hadn’t expected the emotions that passed between them. She had hung on to him, too. Her tears weren’t for him; she carried her own set of mental luggage.
He watched her dab hopelessly at the mascara under her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.” Thank God she didn’t want to talk. Whatever the hell that had been, it was way bigger than saving her from the fountain. The last thing he wanted to do was analyze it. “Wanna get a coke?”
“Yeah.”
He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Neither spoke as he made his way to the drive-in. He angled into a slot and shifted into Park. “What do you want to drink?”
“Cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper.”
He pushed the red button below the sign and turned to her. “Do you want to share chili cheese fries?”
“Sure.”
He gave the order and the mood in the truck began to lighten. A Beatles tune played over the drive-in’s speakers. Ryan lowered her window and sang along. If anyone could take a sad song and make it better, it was Ryan. She didn’t have a great voice or anything, but he liked it.
While they waited for their order, they didn’t talk, didn’t really look at each other, but it was okay. His chest felt lighter than it had in a long time and he was happy. Not the fake smile he forced on his face to get through the day, but genuine, from-the-gut happy. When the two dozen repetitions of the chorus began, he joined in.
As they progressed, they got louder. They didn’t look at each other or do any crazy music swaying. They sat in their places with their heads pressed against the back of the seat and sang. Their food arrived just before Paul McCartney broke into the final riff.
Justin sat the boat of fries on the console between them and passed Ryan her drink. The moment he made the handoff was the first time their eyes actually met. They held and he felt an enormous geeky grin form on his face. It was okay, though, because she had
He was holding on for dear life.
At first, her muscles tensed, numbing her to the feel of his skin next to hers. But then, something crazy happened.
Warmth from his hand beckoned her to relax. And as it radiated into hers, she let go. Her fingers and palm melted into his. Her chest filled with grief, sorrow, anger, and all the horrible unspoken emotions that a human can endure. But they weren’t his emotions.
They were all hers.
Shame for the embarrassment and hurt she’d caused her family. Self-loathing for what she’d done. Anger at the girls who’d attacked her. They poured from her heart, and it was okay, because she had a lifeline too.
They sat on the bench, not speaking, hanging on to the world, their souls connecting through clasped hands until the sky slowly turned pink.
Finally, he looked at her and said, “Are you ready?”
She nodded and together they stood, their hands still clasped. He didn’t acknowledge her tears, nor she his.
He hesitated before he opened the passenger door of his truck, and looked into her eyes. Any other time, she would have expected a kiss. But he wouldn’t kiss her. Not now, maybe never. But what had passed between them was way bigger than a kiss. They were lost and broken, neither really knowing the other’s story. Where that left their friendship was bound to be as bizarre as what had blossomed there on the bench.
*
He wiped the remnants of his tears away with his forearm and pretended not to notice her fish a Kleenex out of her purse to wipe her eyes. If Mrs. Walters hadn’t walked up, he’d have probably been okay. But as soon as she started telling Ryan about that painting, he’d had to get out of there.
Just leaving the gallery wasn’t enough. The pain and sorrow threatened to pull him into that dark place that held his mom. He needed to feel something alive to remind him not to go there. So he’d done the only thing he could—he’d held Ryan’s hand and fought his way back. He hadn’t expected the emotions that passed between them. She had hung on to him, too. Her tears weren’t for him; she carried her own set of mental luggage.
He watched her dab hopelessly at the mascara under her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.” Thank God she didn’t want to talk. Whatever the hell that had been, it was way bigger than saving her from the fountain. The last thing he wanted to do was analyze it. “Wanna get a coke?”
“Yeah.”
He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Neither spoke as he made his way to the drive-in. He angled into a slot and shifted into Park. “What do you want to drink?”
“Cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper.”
He pushed the red button below the sign and turned to her. “Do you want to share chili cheese fries?”
“Sure.”
He gave the order and the mood in the truck began to lighten. A Beatles tune played over the drive-in’s speakers. Ryan lowered her window and sang along. If anyone could take a sad song and make it better, it was Ryan. She didn’t have a great voice or anything, but he liked it.
While they waited for their order, they didn’t talk, didn’t really look at each other, but it was okay. His chest felt lighter than it had in a long time and he was happy. Not the fake smile he forced on his face to get through the day, but genuine, from-the-gut happy. When the two dozen repetitions of the chorus began, he joined in.
As they progressed, they got louder. They didn’t look at each other or do any crazy music swaying. They sat in their places with their heads pressed against the back of the seat and sang. Their food arrived just before Paul McCartney broke into the final riff.
Justin sat the boat of fries on the console between them and passed Ryan her drink. The moment he made the handoff was the first time their eyes actually met. They held and he felt an enormous geeky grin form on his face. It was okay, though, because she had
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