Page 25 of The Tattered Gloves
The fact that I’d gone out of my way to completely avoid him in History class? Total coincidence.
As I stepped up to the stoop of the old shop, pushing open the door, I found myself taking a deep breath, as if I were preparing to go underwater.
Seeing Sam’s stern expression meet mine, I would have preferred the water.
Hell, the middle of the ocean would have been a cakewalk compared to this.
He didn’t greet me with his normal,You’re late, Mittens.
Instead, our eyes met briefly before he quickly turned away. It was enough time though for me to catch the hurt and anger painted clearly across his face.
He deserved it, I reminded myself.
I tried not to linger too long on his downcast eyes as he worked on the computer.
Selfish… and pathetic excuse for a — what was the rest of my speech?
“You going to stand there all day, or are you planning on actually working?” he asked, his voice filled with a bit more grit than usual.
“What’s up with you and Allison Greer?” The words flew out of my mouth faster than my mind could contemplate whether it was my place to ask.
Sam turned to me, the old wood counter still separating us. He set down the book he had been holding and folded his arms across his chest. I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to.
I could see why Allison — and every other girl in school — was obsessed with him. There was nothing trendy about Sam Shepherd. He was the kind of handsome that transcended style and generations.
I remembered watching an old eighties movie on the small television in our DC apartment and rolling my eyes at what the girls back then considered hot.
Had they had eyes?
But I was sure that even those girls, with their crazy acid-wash jeans and hot-pink scrunchies, would agree with me about Sam. It wasn’t his clothes or the way he cut his hair. It was the feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when he looked at you with those dark green eyes.
The feeling that you were something more than ordinary.
Does he make Allison feel that way?I wondered.
Did she care that he was a worthless idiot, or did none of that matter when the guy was gorgeous and popular?
“So, that’s what this morning was about? Sticking up for your friend?” he said.
My mind tried to wrap around my convoluted feelings.
“Friend?” I said, slightly bewildered.
“That was what you were doing, right? Sticking up for Allison? Not that it was necessary.”
“And why—” I began to ask but was quickly cut off.
“Look, you lost your chance for an explanation when you decided I wasn’t worth the time and tried to embarrass me in front of half of the school. I told you before that first impressions weren’t always a given. Maybe that wasn’t accurate because my first impression of you was spot-on.”
I was immediately taken aback.
His words hurt more than I could comprehend.
Hearing his footsteps on the wood floor, most likely heading for the stockroom, I stood frozen, as if I’d been physically harmed.
But my gloves were still firmly in place.
His steps halted, and his deep voice filled the quiet void once more. “I’m not the guy you’re trying to pigeonhole me into. If you trusted your instincts, you would have realized that by now. I’m going to work in the back today and give us some space. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The rest of my shift was spent in relative silence. There were the few random customers. One even bought a book, despite my awkward lack of words as I rang her up.
But I just couldn’t get Sam’s voice out of my head.
Deep down, I did trust him. I had walked into this bookstore on my own, had seen a nearly full-grown man, and hadn’t run out the door, screaming.
Why?
I always rolled my eyes at stereotyping and labels in high school, but as I sat there, alone in the bookstore, listening to Sam’s words bounce around in my head, I couldn’t help but wonder…
Was I just as bad as my peers?
