Snowed In by Rachel Hawthorne Page B

to Nathalie’s, I said, “Thank Nathalie for letting me use her skis.” 134
    “You’re not coming up to the house?”
    “No, I think I’ll go on.” I don’t know why, but I was afraid she’d see evidence in my face that I’d kissed her boyfriend. Like maybe he was branded on my lips or something. Silly, I know, but guilt can give you really weird thoughts.
    “Well, thanks for going with me,” he said.
    “Yeah, sure.” I stopped myself from saying,
    “Anytime.”
    Because the truth was, I really couldn’t do this with him anytime. As a matter of fact, I could never do it again, because already I was wishing that we’d kissed a little longer, that I had a few more minutes of the memory.
    “Thanks for sharing the bats with me,” I said.
    “Even though they aren’t rodents.”
    “It was sure an experience I’ll never forget,” he said.
    I thought he might have been talking about more than the bats, but he didn’t elaborate, and I was glad. I wanted to believe that the attraction had taken him completely by surprise and that he wasn’t a jerk.
    That he wasn’t like my dad.
    I loved my dad, but it hurt that he was marrying someone else. I tried so hard not to think about it.
    Josh stopped at the fence in front of Nathalie’s 135
    house. I probably should have stopped too, but I kept going.
    “I’ll see you around,” he called after me.
    Not if I see you first.
    A totally childish thing to think. Fortunately, I didn’t give in to my instincts to say it. Instead, I gave him a wave and continued on, wishing I didn’t know what it was like to spend time with him, to share moments with him, and most of all to kiss him.
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    I know some girls load up on ice cream when they’re feeling blue. Others gorge on white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies—preferably warm, with the chocolate still melted. Tara usually curls up with a romance novel that she sneaks out of the stash beneath her mom’s bed.
    But me? I indulge in horror movies.
    Fortunately, our little section of the island had a video store, cleverly named Videos, Etc.
    Although it was already dark, I walked over.
    Apparently the crime rate here was zero. Back home no way would I have walked several blocks, alone in the dark. But it was different here. I felt totally safe.
    The clerk behind the counter greeted me when I came in. He was tall and skinny. It seemed like every day was a bad hair day for him. His was sticking up at all angles, and obviously not due to any effort on his part.
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    The place was ominously quiet except for a Disney video playing on a small TV behind the counter.
    The store was also noticeably absent of customers. I wasn’t in any hurry, so I browsed the aisles looking for something different.
    I could never get worked up about watching romantic movies. When Tara slept over, we always rented chick flicks— Bridget Jones’ Diary , Pride and Prejudice . Tara has a real thing for English accents.
    We once did a twenty-four-hour marathon of chick flicks. They’re fun when I’m watching them with someone who really enjoys watching them.
    But when it’s just me . . . I like to be scared silly. Of course, my preference for scary movies over chick flicks made me a popular date. At least back home.
    I hadn’t even seen a movie theater here.
    I finally made it to the horror aisle, and much to my surprise, they had quite a selection. I heard a door open. The guy behind the counter issued his standard “hi,” and a low voice answered back.
    I crouched and picked up the case for The Darkroom. I hadn’t seen it yet. My film selection of choice and my best friend were incompatible. When we did rent horror together, Tara had a habit of curling up in a chair with her eyes and ears covered for most of the movie. Where’s the fun in that?
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    “You’re kidding me. You like horror?” I jerked my head around. Josh was standing there, studying me, acting like nothing had happened between us that afternoon. Like all was