He put his earbuds in and went to work clearing out the last of the ornamentals that would have to go. By the time he finished, it was late afternoon and his back ached. Once again, hours had passed and he'd missed them all.
Neither Faith nor Mrs. Gladwell came out to tell him good-bye. It was just as well. He had one last chore to complete. He drove home and parked in the garage, but didn't get out. Time to start a wildfire-and he knew exactly who he'd hand the match to.
He pulled out his phone and texted Tristan. Man, what's up?
T: Nothing much. You?
Kyle sighed. This was it-the line was about to be crossed. No turning back now. I met someone from Suttonville this weekend. She's hot. You know that Faith Gladwell girl? Dancer?
T: Yeah. 'Course I know her. She was Cameron's girlfriend. Heard she wouldn't put out. Not your type.
K: Really? She seemed pretty into me yesterday. You know me-I'll take a rebound. Lots of fun and they don't stay long.
T: You're gonna hit that? Bullshit.
K: Twenty bucks says I am. By the time we go back to school.
T: Dude, you're on. Easiest twenty bucks ever.
Kyle winced. Tristan didn't need the cash, but he'd lose this bet based on Kyle's lie. But that's what he did-lied. Unfortunately, he'd become very good at it.
He went inside. Dad and Grandpa were laughing about something in the living room. The sounds of a hockey game played in the background, and the scent of pizza lured him forward.
"Look who's home!" Dad crowed, toasting his arrival with a beer.
Dorky as it might be, a rush of affection overtook him. At home, people were glad to see him, which helped when the welcome wasn't as kind at school. "Any pizza left for me?"
"Bought you a medium supreme so you wouldn't have to share," Grandpa said. "Figured you'd be as starved as a wolf pup after working all day."
"You're my favorite grandpa," Kyle said. "I'm going to shower. Down in five."
"He's your only grandpa," Dad called after him.
Maybe, but it didn't make it any less true.
The next morning, Kyle showed up at the Gladwells' house promptly at nine, wearing clothes a little too nice for gardening. It wasn't like taking Faith flower shopping was a date, but he'd had a sudden urge to look decent when considering a pair of ratty cargo shorts and a T-shirt with a hole in the underarm. He'd gone to his closet, realizing he had way too much black in his wardrobe. For some reason, that hadn't cut it, either.
So here he was, in a pair of khaki shorts, a dark blue Polo and a pair of Sperrys without socks, feeling more and more self-conscious as he waited for the door to open. He hadn't dressed this preppy in town in years. The outfit was from vacation last summer, when Dad insisted that he have "nice restaurant on the beach" attire for their trip to the Florida Keys. Grandpa had choked on his Mountain Dew when Kyle wore the outfit the first time.
And now he was wearing it again. He'd thrown the ratty shorts and T-shirt into a drawstring backpack to change into later, but what would Faith think about his clothes?
He paused. When had he started worrying about how he looked around her? It wasn't like they were dating. Not really. Right? He stared at her front door, hoping he wasn't making a giant mistake. Shaking his head, he pushed the doorbell.
No one answered. He rang again. Nothing.
He checked the time on his phone: 9:02. Okay, what was taking her so long? She had to be here-the only car in their driveway was a yellow Volkswagen Bug with those silly accessory eyelashes on the headlights. If that wasn't Faith's car, he'd eat his shoe.
He raised his hand to knock, in case the bell was broken, just as Faith flung it open. Now he could see why it had taken her a minute. Her hair was damp, and she had on wrinkled PJ shorts and a tank top.
Her cheeks turned pink after she took a look at him. "Sorry-I overslept."
"It happens," he said, distracted by the miles of bare leg those shorts left uncovered. "Um, I can wait out here if you want."
"No, no, come in," she said, waving him inside. "You look … nice."
She said it like a question and he bit back a smile. "You say that like you're surprised."
"It's just … " She frowned, peering at him. "You usually wear a lot of black. And a hoodie."
Now it was his turn to flush. Maybe he shouldn't have made such an effort. "Only to school."
She led him through an entry with a staircase into a living room made homey with soft leather furniture, hand-scraped wood floors, and a piano in the corner. "You play?" he asked.
"No, I sing, mostly. Joy-my older sister-plays."
The smile he'd been trying to swallow came back full force. "Joy. Faith and Joy?"
She rolled her eyes. "And Hope. Hope, Joy, and Faith Gladwell. Our parents hate us."
That eye roll-a good-natured weariness over the joke of her name-broke something inside him. What was it with this girl? So much humor and sweetness and talent in one person wasn't something you found every day. Maybe there was some magic in the name her parents had chosen. "I'd say the opposite. Naming their kids Hope, Joy, and Faith? They love you, I think." He snorted. "They always could've named you Grace, Patience, and Chastity."
"I think those are implied," she said, smiling a little herself.
"Which one of those three are you?" he said, his voice going deeper, husky, of its own accord.
Her shoulders slumped. "You know what Cameron would say."
"Unfortunately, everyone knows what Cameron would say." He took a step toward her, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. "But what about you?"
"I'd love to say Grace, but maybe once you get to know me, you can decide for yourself," she murmured. "I'm going to run upstairs and change. Make yourself at home."
She dashed toward the entry, and a moment later, he heard her pounding up the stairs. "You don't have to rush on my account," he called. "We have time."
"Yes, but I hate being late!" she called back.
That didn't surprise him. He wandered through the living room. Every surface was covered with family photos, and dozens of tiny Faiths smiled at him from every direction. Dance photos from recitals. Christmas mornings. School pictures. And, on the back wall, three senior photos, one of each sister. All of them were pretty, but Faith had a shine to her the other two lacked, something that said, "I'm special. You'll like me." More proof Cameron was a raging ass. This girl wasn't someone you walked away from. She was fast becoming the kind of girl he'd have trouble walking away from.
Shaking his head, Kyle went through the kitchen and let himself out on the back porch. A cool breeze blew through the screen windows and the wood floor creaked under his feet. It was worn and painted smooth. The rail he'd seen Faith stretching on yesterday turned out to be a real ballet barre. It was only five feet long, but definitely the real deal. He ran his hand along it-the wood was worn smooth here, too. This was a place she spent a lot of time.
"Kyle?"
He jumped and hurried back inside. "Sorry-I was just, uh, checking on my mess in the backyard."
Faith had changed into leggings, a pair of ripped jean shorts, and a pink T-shirt that said, "Ballet dancers do it on their toes," in white script letters.
"What is that shirt?" he asked, unable to keep from chuckling.
She smoothed it out, her shoulders bunching around her ears. "Something stupid Violet bought me as a gag gift for my birthday. I've always been too embarrassed to wear it, but I thought today … I'll just go change."
She turned to go, but he held out a hand. "No, wait. You should wear it. It's pretty funny given what we're trying to do. New rule: I promise not to laugh at any of your outfits, as long as you stop giving a shit what people think. Deal?"
She stood, back straight, shoulders thrown out. Owning that shirt. "Deal."
"Then let's go." He pulled his keys out of his pocket. "Time to show ourselves around town."
Chapter Fourteen
Faith
Faith's cheeks still burned after Kyle's initial reaction to the T-shirt. It really was kind of stupid, but, as he put it, it made sense. She was proving a point, and the T-shirt helped with that. The reason the blowup with Cameron hurt so much wasn't that he'd cheated on her, but he'd let the whole school in on it, knowing how much it would get to her. Funny how Kyle could remind her it didn't matter. That she needed to be her own person. It was hard, though.
She followed him out of the house and turned to lock the front door, giving herself time to take a few breaths. It was so strange having him over, actually inside. And that outfit-he looked like a completely different person. Nicer.
Boyfriend material.
She shook that thought off. He might be the cutest guy she'd been around-maybe ever-but they were in this situation to get a reaction, not become a couple. So what if she'd caught him running his hand over her ballet barre on the porch, like it amazed him. Or the way he stared at her-all honesty, no bullshit. If this is who he really was, she had no idea why so many people at school, especially guys, gave him so much space.
"You coming?" he called.
She jumped, realizing she'd taken way too long to put her key in the lock. "Um, yeah."