Faith shook her head, smiling ruefully, then shrugged. "Kyle, this is my best friend, Violet. She knows the plan."
Violet sat up straight, eyes gleaming. "And I wholeheartedly approve. I will be your rumor mill, your publicist, your event planner. I'll need your number in case we need to plot or something. Seriously, though, name the task and I'm yours."
"Did I happen to mention that she's like a high-voltage battery?" Faith said, grinning at Kyle.
"Shocking and full of pent-up power?" he asked.
Faith looked pleased that he caught on so fast. "Exactly."
"Ooh, I like that." Violet laughed. "I'm stealing that one."
Looking at the two of them-one tall and warm with honey-colored skin and brown hair, the other tiny and all stark contrasts in black and white-they seemed like unlikely friends. Like he and Cade had been once.
"I like high-energy people," he said. "I've been accused of being too chill."
"Indeed. I couldn't tell," Violet said in a passable British accent. She turned to Faith and gripped her arm. "Girl, he's an amazing straight man. This is going to work."
"Yeah, it will," Faith said. She nodded at Kyle. "So let's start making plans."
Chapter Twelve
Faith
Kyle had a funny expression on his face. It was this cute, faint wrinkle to his forehead, and his eyes had widened, so the blue sparkled in the afternoon sun. Faith couldn't decide if he was confused, amused, or appalled. Then again, Violet tended to inspire all three in people, even guys who supposedly had seen it all.
Warmth filled her chest. How had she been so lucky to find a friend like her?
"So, I was thinking," Violet said. "And I told Faith about this, but you two need to make an appearance at Dolly's on Wednesday-a lot of people will be there then. I can find a way to make sure Cameron shows, too."
Faith hazarded a glance at Kyle, nervous. What if he decided the whole thing was stupid? From everything she'd heard, he didn't strike her as an "ice cream" kind of guy. Jack straight from the bottle maybe, not a chocolate chip cone with sprinkles. "If you don't want to … I mean, I know it's not your kind of place … "
"The drive-in?" He shrugged and picked up a rake. "I like a good shake now and then. That's fine with me. I have practice that afternoon, but I could do it in the evening."
What? He actually drank something other than malt liquor and Red Bull? "You've been there before?"
He turned to smile at her, and her neck grew warm. God, he had a nice smile, one that came out of nowhere and socked you between the eyes. He'd mastered the effect, for sure. This might be harder than she thought. What if she accidently developed more than a crush on him? She couldn't stand to be tossed aside twice.
And yet she was still blushing.
"Everyone's been there before," he was saying. "Why wouldn't it be my kind of place?"
"Because she thinks you hang out on dark street corners, smoking and playing with your switchblade," Violet pronounced.
Faith groaned. And now I'm going to die of embarrassment. I won't even see the new backyard.
Kyle leaned on the rake, studying her best friend. "You have a mouth on you."
"I've heard you do, too. And that you know how to use it," Violet said, standing up. "Fess up, hot boy. Tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine."
His face turned bright pink, and he busied himself with raking up leaves, almost like Violet had frightened him. "I don't have any secrets."
"Which guarantees that you do." Violet hopped off the steps. "Girl, I like this one. He's multifunctional. There's depth there." She planted a kiss on top of Faith's head. "Just don't drown."
"Wait," Faith said, as Violet sauntered over to the gate. "You're leaving?"
"My work is done here." She glanced at Kyle, who stared uneasily back. "Dolly's, Wednesday. And Kyle? Start talking big to your friends about her. Make it good. But not too good. Save the big story for Thursday after everyone sees you. It'll require some acting, so maybe you two ought to practice actually looking like a couple. You know, try holding hands, kissing."
With a devilish smile and a wave, Violet disappeared around the corner of the house, but Faith could hear her cackling madly. Her cheeks flamed, probably turning the same color Kyle's had just been. Oh God, what had she done?
Swallowing down her embarrassment, Faith said, "Sorry. What can I say? She has no filters."
Kyle started raking up twigs and leaves left over from his attack on her shrubbery. "I kind of like that, actually. You know exactly where you stand with her."
Faith's embarrassment melted a little. "That's a nice thing to say. Most people don't get her right off."
He shot her that sweet smile again and she felt it in her knees. "My grandpa's a lot like that. You should hear the things that come out of his mouth." He chuckled. "He's crazy."
"And you love him," she blurted out. But it was the truth-she heard it in his voice, loud and clear and unembarrassed. Who exactly was Kyle Sawyer? The stories she knew didn't match the guy who tolerated Violet's smack talk and spoke kindly about his grandfather. Hell, half the people she knew figured he was an alien, dropped here to weigh and measure the population. The other half, mostly female, worshiped his biceps in secret, praying he might spare each of them an hour of his time.
And I'm slowly starting to fall in the second category. She picked at her fingernails, a little afraid of what he might really think of her, the good girl who went to church and doted on her cat. "Sorry. It just sounded … um … "
He turned away. "I do, actually. He and my dad are all I have. My mom died when I was young. It's just the three of us, and Grandpa raised me, pretty much."
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Kyle attacked the yard with the rake, pulling up grass as he worked. "Don't be. It was a long time ago."
An awkward silence followed, begging to be filled. Faith rose from the step. "So, um, what Violet said. Uh, about the kissing thing. Don't feel like you have to … "
She trailed off and his shoulders bowed. "I wasn't. Not unless you ask."
A tiny breath escaped her mouth. Was he saying he would kiss her if she wanted him to? Not surprising-his kisses were cheap, apparently-but he sounded reluctant. Like he, for once, didn't want to kiss the girl right in front of him. Like she might not be worth the extra effort … and that stung.
She squashed her doubts down deep. This was business. He'd made his motivation for agreeing clear: to get back at Cameron for some past sin. "Are you going to tell me why you're willing to do this?"
The raking became even more violent. "I thought I did."
"You have a score to settle. From middle school."
"That's right." He paused to look at her, and his closed-off expression told her not to press.
"Okay. I'll quit bugging you while you work." She went to the back door, an ache burning in her chest, although she didn't know why. Why should she care about his demons? "I'll be ready to go shopping in the morning."
He didn't answer, and she wandered into the house. She really wanted to dance, and the smooth wood floors beneath her feet begged her to stay, but she needed to get away from Kyle and his chameleon moods. First sweet, then guarded, then dark, and she'd had enough of trying to figure out the right things to say around him.
Without a backward glance, she shut the porch door behind her, leaving Kyle alone to wrestle with his rake and his moods.
Chapter Thirteen
Kyle
The sound of the door being pushed shut seemed to echo for an entire minute. He just couldn't stop saying the wrong thing, could he? Every single time.
Kyle growled in frustration, hacking at the stubborn clump of Bermuda grass growing at the base of the Gladwells' big oak. He wanted to avoid spraying the grass with chemicals to kill it off, but it wouldn't let go, and he didn't have the time or patience to pull it all up.
Then again, now that Faith was in the house, he had nothing but time. He'd scared her away, and why? Because some hurts went too deep. He didn't want to open up about the time some kid had scrawled fag onto his locker door, or how Cameron's best friend had tripped him in the cafeteria, sending him-and his tray-reeling. Right into Rebecca Jamison, the girl he'd secretly liked for months, who'd ended up plastered with butterscotch pudding. She'd screamed at him in front of everyone, reducing him to a speck of nothing at her feet.
But it was talking about Grandpa that made too much feeling well up the back of his throat. After spending too many years avoiding it, vulnerability wasn't something he liked to show off in public. Especially in front of a cute girl with a rabid friend who'd been nothing but kind to him.
Unfortunately, now Faith thought he was mad at her, and he had no idea how to undo the damage. Was he always going to be that scared, scarred seventh grader inside? Would he figure out how to talk to a perfectly nice girl? She was exactly the kind of girl he daydreamed of meeting, but nothing he said worked out right.
Maybe he should stick to gardening and baseball. Those two things, he understood.