Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(17)

"Good to see you survived over vacation," a voice cut through the crowd. Evidently not everyone had gotten over it.

Evan stiffened as the jeering words found us. My chest tightened in response. Evan spun around and pinned a guy against a locker with his forearm across his chest. I looked on in complete shock, and everyone in the hallway froze.



       
         
       
        

"What did you say?" But it wasn't Evan asking the question. Several other seniors were surrounding the guy, who by the size of him, must have been a freshman. Joel Rederick leaned in closer as Evan kept the guy immobilized. The freshman stared back in complete panic, sweat beading along his forehead.

"Nothing," he choked.

"That's what I thought," another senior threatened.

"Don't bother walking down the senior halls again," Evan seethed.

"What's going on here?" an authoritative voice questioned from behind the crowd. Evan released the freshman, and the seniors began to part. The guy scurried away in search of the small pack who had abandoned him.

"Dick," Jill snapped from behind me. Everyone continued on their way, and the talking resumed. No one looked twice at me as I remained still, attempting to digest what had just happened.

"Sorry about that," Evan offered, taking my hand once again.

"It's okay," I replied slowly, recovering from my befuddlement. "Thank you."

He studied me with eyebrows raised, not expecting my reaction, then grinned before leaning down to kiss me.

"Ahh, you're in the middle of the hall," Sara stated with an undertone of omigod. Evan pulled back, and I looked at her oddly.

Sara and I continued to our lockers, and I asked, "Since when do you care if Evan kisses me in the hall?"

"You don't like to draw attention, remember?" Sara stated from within her locker.

"Sara, is there something wrong?" I questioned, sensing she was still not right.

"No, I'm fine," she returned, closing her locker with a smile.

I watched her walk off, knowing she wasn't being honest with me.



After basketball practice, I arrived home to find my mother at the kitchen table writing down a list of what we needed―which was practically everything from the looks of it.

"Hi," she greeted. "I think I have some ideas for meals. Is there anything you don't like?"

"I'm pretty open to trying anything... except for meatballs," I told her with an inadvertent shiver. "But you don't have to do anything crazy. Besides, I usually come home late because of basketball."

"We'll pick out some easy things. How's that?" she offered, scanning her list again. "That way you can throw something together for yourself if you come home late or if I have to stay at work."

The thought of preparing anything beyond a sandwich was intimidating. "What?" she questioned anxiously, when she saw my scrunched face.

"Um, I'm not exactly adept in the kitchen," I confessed sheepishly. 

"You can't cook?" she clarified in shock.

"Does oatmeal count?" I shrugged in embarrassment.

My mother laughed. "Well... I guess we'll be shopping in the frozen food section, too."

We got in her car and drove to the grocery store in the next town over. She spent the ride reviewing the list and asking for my input. I'd never really had a say before, so I didn't contribute much. When I lived with Carol and George, I would write the basics of what I needed on the grocery list―cereal, granola bars, and the like―since I wasn't allowed to eat it unless I'd asked for it. But for the most part, I ate what was put in front of me, no questions asked―even when it made me violently ill.

We ultimately decided to make up the list as we went along. Which was pretty much our approach to everything―including our relationship.

"You know I'm not exactly very good at this mother thing, right?" my mother said, picking through a pile of apples and putting a few that met her approval in a produce bag.

I didn't know how to respond. It was the start of a conversation I never expected to have in a grocery store.

"I mean, I don't want you to think that I'm expecting to walk back into your life and take charge or anything," she continued, her voice laced with apprehension. "I just want... I think it would be nice if we were... friends. You know, instead of..." She looked at me with her lips pressed together. "I just want to get to know you. Does that make sense?"

My shoulders eased in relief. I had no idea where the conversation was headed, but this was a welcome surprise. I wasn't exactly sure how to be her daughter any more than I expected her to be my mother.