But still.
It was one thing to create a persona for himself-if things went wrong it was his own damn fault. Faith, though? He didn't know her well enough to tell what she was really like, but she seemed like one of those nice girls who would move to the other side of the hall if he headed her way. A shiny dancer girl with a clean image. It seemed a shame that she'd throw all that away on a little revenge, but guys like Cameron brought the worst out in people for damn sure.
Kyle tidied up the pile of broken branches, then went for a spade and a crowbar. He needed to work off his anxiety, and there were a few large photinias along the fence that needed to go. Why the hell did anyone plant these? They took over yards, spread fungus, and they weren't all that much to look at. They also were a pain to dig out, and that's exactly what he needed right now. Hard labor and a vendetta. Well, that, and time to imagine the look on Cameron's face when he heard the news.
He hacked at those photinias like they'd done him personal harm. Just thinking about that asshole made some horrible memories surface. His first run-in with Cameron's pack at school had been in seventh grade. The memory still stung.
They'd swaggered into the bathroom, following him inside. Then, they'd all been bigger than him.
"Who's the shrimp?" Cameron had asked, voice cracking on the last word.
Kyle, stupidly, had glared at him. "Why do you sound like a girl?"
That one comment. That one jab-it had started everything. Two of Cameron's friends had grabbed him and forced him to his knees in front of the toilet. He'd never forget Cameron's sneer as he forced Kyle's head into the bowl and flushed.
They'd left, laughing their asses off. Kyle was too ashamed to leave, and hid in the bathroom for the last two periods before calling Grandpa for a ride. He'd cried, trying to keep Grandpa from seeing, but he'd noticed.
"Kid, one of these days," he'd said, his voice deep and commanding, "you'll have a chance to knock them off their high horses. When it comes, do it, and don't look back."
With Faith's offer, it looked his best chance had come. He just needed to take it. Still, the memory left a bitter taste in his mouth. To this day, he hated himself for not fighting sooner, harder.
Kyle slammed the spade into the ground, ripping up the roots of the hedge. The only way to forget would be to work so hard his hands blistered and his brain went dark. And that's exactly what he did. He disappeared into a world of green, of aching muscles, of earth. And he didn't want to come back.
Sometime later, hours by the slant of the sun, Mrs. Gladwell called, "Kyle?"
He jumped, dropping the spade, and pulled his earbuds out of his ears. Judging by her amused smile, she'd been calling to him for a while. "Um, sorry. Yes?"
"Honey, it's almost six. You've been at this a while. Maybe you should take a break and come back tomorrow?"
Almost six? He looked down and winced. His legs, arms, and chest were caked with dirt and he had a half dozen new scratches. It looked like he'd been mud wrestling a tiger. And the backyard was a disaster.
"Oh, um, I should clean up everything first."
Mrs. Gladwell chuckled. She had a nice laugh-kind, not mocking. A total mom-amused-by-a-kid laugh. "As long as you promise to come back tomorrow, I think we can leave it. I must say, I'm impressed by the level of, uh, destruction."
He flushed. At least she wasn't pissed about all the holes, mounds of dirt, and stacks of branches. "Don't worry-it'll look brand-new by the time I finish with it."
"I trust you." She handed him his T-shirt. "Now run along home. I'm sure your folks are wondering where you are."
"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly, his cheeks going hot. I'm such an idiot. "I'll be back by eight tomorrow, if that's okay. I'll let myself into the backyard."
"That sounds great. Thanks, Kyle."
As soon as she went back inside, he pulled the shirt over his head and collected all his tools, marveling at the mess he'd made. He'd lost all track of time, going into a zone he normally reserved for games, but instead thinking about his deal with Faith.
Apprehension prickled down his back. A sure sign that he might've made a mistake saying yes. How long could he make her-and everyone else-believe he wasn't a complete dork around girls? He wanted to pull this off, to show up Cameron, but it could blow up in his face instead.
Suddenly, he felt like he was being watched, and he glanced up at the second-story windows. The blinds on the right-hand window shifted against the glass.
Had Faith been watching him all this time? Huh.
He stared up at the window, waiting. A minute passed, then the blinds fluttered. He smirked when Faith noticed he saw her. Her eyes popped open wide, and the blinds crashed back into place. Feeling a little better about everything, he went to the Toyota.
Who knew-this might be fun after all.
"Kyle? That you?" Grandpa yelled from the kitchen. The spicy scent of King Ranch casserole hung in the air.
His stomach growled loud enough to answer before he made it out of the mudroom. "Yeah. I'm beat, but dinner smells good."
"You also have enough dirt on your hands to plant petunias. Go clean up," Grandpa said, shaking his head. He wore a red apron over his jeans and Rangers T-shirt, like he actually prepared the meal, even though all he'd done was put dinner in the over to warm up.
"I'm going, I'm going." He yawned his way toward the stairs. "Dad home?"
"In his office. It's tax season."
"Oh, right." Although Dad would be working on Saturday even if it wasn't. Managing his-and other people's-money took a lot of effort. Kyle figured he'd stick to planting trees and mowing lawns. "Be down in a sec."
A shower sounded great, until he actually stood under the hot water. Every scrape and blister he'd earned in Faith's backyard stung at once, making him hiss with pain. He needed to keep his shirt on tomorrow. How would Faith like it if he covered up the scenery, though? He laughed, the sound echoing off the hard walls of the shower. In the course of one afternoon, he'd turned into Faith's boy toy. In more ways than one.
And funny how he kept calling it "Faith's backyard" when she wasn't the one paying him for the job.
After drying off and putting on clean shorts and a T-shirt, he went downstairs to help Grandpa set the table.
"You're awful cheerful for a kid who looks like he got into a fight with a Weed Eater," Grandpa said, giving the scratches on his legs a look. "I guess you won the fight, then?"
Kyle bit back a grin. "Yeah, except I was doing battle with a holly bush."
"Who's the client?"
"You know those commercials for the Gladwell Foundation?"
Grandpa scratched the side of his head with a potholder. "The pretty lady asking for donations to help with juvenile cancer? I think I wrote them a big check last year."
"So did Dad. Mrs. Gladwell is the one who hired me," he said. "She wants me to redo her backyard. It was a freaking mess. Some hotshot landscaper overdid it, and I have to rip out a ton of worthless crap before I can fix it. All their photinias had fungus, and I saw some on the hollies. So they had to go before they ruined the good stuff."
Dad came breezing into the kitchen and went to the fridge. He emerged with two Shiners and flipped one to Grandpa. "Kid, you need to wear jeans and long sleeves if you're going to be diving into someone's flower garden."
Grandpa snorted into his beer. "I think he should wear a lot less than that if he's diving into someone's ‘flower garden.'" He made air quotes. "Otherwise, I don't think it'll work out so well."
"Jesus, Dad." Kyle's dad laughed, shaking his head. "Does everything have to go there with you?"
"I may be old, but my plumbing still works. Maven seems to agree." Grandpa nudged Kyle in the side. "How about it, kid? You got yourself a girlfriend?"
Kyle flushed and went to the counter to cut up some bread to go with dinner so he wouldn't have to look at their hopeful faces. "Not exactly, but kind of."
"Kind of?" Dad said.
"Not exactly?" Grandpa said.
"She's a … a friend from school. But I think she likes me." There, maybe that would shut them up. "Actually, she's Mrs. Gladwell's daughter. I, uh, I caught her checking me out while I was working in the backyard." Forcing a little bravado into his voice, he added, "I sort of forgot to put my shirt on for that part."
Grandpa roared with laughter, and Dad pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, but he looked pleased. Not seeing him with any girls had worried them, and he couldn't exactly tell them what he told guys at school-that he hooked up with college girls on the weekends. Well, he could probably tell Grandpa that, and get an "atta boy!" But Dad would give him a twenty-minute lecture on STDs. Hell to the no on that. He wasn't going to endure a lecture for something that wasn't true.
"She pretty?" Dad asked. "This Gladwell girl?"
Relieved he could be honest, he nodded. "A dancer. Great legs. She seems nice, too."
"Good boy," Grandpa said. The oven timer dinged, and he raced to pull the casserole out before it burned up. "Hardworking kid like you? You deserve a sweet, pretty girl on your arm. Bring her by if things get rolling. I'd like to meet her."