Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,37
Walden Island Ferry. He parked in a nearby lot and took my hand. “Have you ever been to the island?”
I shook my head. It had never topped my dad’s list. Why go to Walden Island when you could go to a private beach in Barbados? “I haven’t, but my friend’s been there a couple of times. She and her boyfriend carved their names in the cave there.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “That’s supposed to be off limits now. How did they do it without getting caught?”
I smiled and shook my head. “They went when the island was closed.”
“Ah.” He reached into his pocket and gave a few dollars to the ticket taker. They gave us a couple of stubs, and we walked over the metal bridge to the boat. It rattled under my feet, and I couldn’t help feeling self-conscious. Most of the time I felt good about myself, but next to Ronan’s light steps...I questioned myself. Did he notice? Did it bother him?
If it did, he didn’t give it away. He kept a hold of my hand and led me up the stairs to the top level. There was hardly anyone here, since it was a weekday, and we got one of the tables closest to the railing. We had an amazing view of the dark blue ocean and miles of shoreline. In the distance, I could make out the fuzzy shape of the island we’d be going to.
“How long does the ferry take?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Half an hour? Give or take.”
I nodded, but I could hardly focus on his answer. He’d yet to let go of my hand, and even though we had all this beautiful scenery around us, I couldn’t stop taking in every single detail of his hands.
They were rough, clearly not moisturized or manicured like Ryde’s regularly were. I felt callouses along his palms where he gripped his motorcycle handles, and his knuckles protruded, large and stable. The nails were short and broad, utilitarian. These hands were capable, in the best possible ways. His skin was olive toned, but not quite as dark as mine. I liked that both of our skin got darker at the knuckles, lighter around the pads of our fingers.
He swept his thumb over the back of my hand. “Have you ever skipped school before?”
I shook my head. “Did you?”
He scoffed. “Does the last year count?”
“You didn’t graduate?”
“No.” His eyes were dark, even with the sunlight trying to lighten them. “I packed up my bags one night and left. Figured the streets would be better than where I was. Shade, this guy who lived in the apartment before me, took me in, kind of like the other guys. On the condition I got my GED.”
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“Married, kid on the way, working in construction and living the life.” His features eased at the topic of Shade. I could feel how much he respected him—looked up to him.
I had to know more, to feel more of this levity that had come over him. “What would ‘the life’ look like to you?”
His lips curved softly, and he met my eyes. “Married, a kid on the way, working as a writer and living the life.”
The thought of Ronan as a father warmed my heart in a way I didn’t understand. He practically fathered the other guys in his apartment this morning. How would he be with a smaller version of himself?
“Have you ever thought of getting your BFA?” I asked, “Studying creative writing?”
“No way,” he said, casting his gaze over the ocean. “Everyone acts like writing is a formula you can follow. It’s not something you know. It’s something you feel.”
I could have listened to Ronan talk about writing for hours. “What do you want to write?” I asked, if only to keep him on the subject.
“Something that makes people see there’s more beneath the surface.”
“What do you mean?”
He gestured at the scant other people on the deck with us. “What do you think they see when they look at me?”
I tried to picture Ronan from their eyes, imagine him as how I’d first seen him, but I couldn’t imagine him as a stranger anymore.
“They see me as a tattooed thug. They never think there might be something behind the tattoos, that I might have more to offer.”
The thought made me sad, especially since I already knew how incredible Ronan was. “So you’re speaking for yourself?”
“And everyone else who’s ever felt like they didn’t have a voice.”