Page 59 of Stealing for Keeps
I stay in the back for added protection, but just knowing that Austin is out here has my pulse racing.
The girls’ team is on the far field, and both teams are in the middle of practice.
“How did you know they were here?” Lacey asks Andie.
“I saw Rowan when I got here. He looked a little rough.”
“Looks fine now,” Lacey points out. The three of us huddle against the wall, peeking out around it.
I find Austin first. His cheeks are red from the wind and exertion, and his dark hair is messy for the same reason. He’s standing next to Vaughn. Both have their hands on their hips while they exchange words. Austin gives a firm nod, and they jog down the field.
Rowan is pointing and calling out something I can’t make out. While they wait for the action to begin, he bends over with his hands on his knees. It’s the only indication he’s tired. Otherwise, he has that same relaxed, nonplussed expression on his face, like he didn’t drink more than anyone else at the party last night. And as soon as the ball is kicked into play, he perks right up without missing a beat.
We watch from our hiding spot until Coach Collins blows the whistle and tells them to get water. The girls’team is also on a break, and the teams mingle as they get water. Sophie approaches Austin. A twinge of jealousy picks at my already wounded pride.
He says something to her as he bends down to get his water bottle. It’s a short interaction but long enough for her to touch him and laugh and for Austin to smile back at her. He said he wasn’t interested in her being his girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to hook up with her at some point.
“Well, I guess he’s not traumatized,” I say glumly and move back away from the wall.
Andie and Lacey follow me.
“Well, you saw him, and you’re not blushing. How do you feel?” Andie asks.
“Like he doesn’t know I’m standing here, so it’s not the same. Monday, I’ll have to face him and talk to him.”
“Or not,” Lacey says. “You could just avoid him forever.”
She’s kidding, but it sounds like the best plan I’ve heard all morning.
I spend the rest of the weekend watching TV, doing homework, researching colleges, and avoiding thinking about Austin. Mom and Ruby get back late Saturday night, and they’re still sleeping when I get up on Sunday. Mom doesn’t bring up Austin, and I don’t say anything to her. She didn’t punish me for the drinking or the boy being in my room, but I’m convinced it’s only because she’s been too focused on Ruby to remember me.
By Monday morning, I’ve worked myself into a full-on frenzy over running into Austin. I go to the art room and ask Mrs. Randolph if I can use her supplies to keep working on my art project. If I can finish my pieces, then there’s no reason for Austin and me to get together after school thisweek.
I do the same thing at lunch, which works great until the bell rings. I know I’m not going to be able to avoid Austin any longer.
I feel the second he enters the room. Breathing is harder, and my skin flushes. I’m at the back, rinsing out the paintbrushes I was using, as he takes a seat at our table. I hide out there until class starts, then slide into my seat with a smile. I turn my head but don’t meet his eyes. Instead, I look somewhere over his head.
“Hey,” he says in that familiar deep voice. “Where’ve you been all day?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling my face get warmer.
“I haven’t seen you all day.”
“Weird,” I say, voice tight. “I guess we’ve just been missing each other.”
I’m grateful when Mrs. Randolph asks us all to quiet down. She spends the rest of class going over the next section. We’re moving from a drawing project to painting. She shows us some examples from her students last year, including one of mine. “We’ll spend today and tomorrow on this assignment. You’ll need to use your time wisely to get it all done, so focus on technique, not perfection. By the end of today, your drawing should be complete so you can paint tomorrow.”
I get to work more eagerly than I have for any assignment ever. Out of my peripheral, I can see that Austin is flipping to a blank page in his sketchbook, but he’s glancing at me.
“So how was the rest of your weekend?” he asks.
“Fine.” I stand abruptly. “I need to ask Mrs. Randolph about something.”
I flee, then spend the next five minutes asking ourteacher questions about the assignment I already know the answers to. Austin seems to take the hint though, because when I take my seat, he doesn’t engage again.
I work with the kind of distracted concentration that makes my hand hurt from gripping the pencil tightly. I keep my head bowed over my work, the hair falling around my face keeping me from seeing the guy next to me.
I can hear his quiet sketching, feel every time he shifts in his chair or taps his pencil against the desk in concentration.
