Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,50

Why is that?

Despite my apprehension, I allow him to guide me across the grassy field, our final destination unknown. Knowing Beck, we could end up anywhere. Vegas. Mexico. Locked in a closed theater for an entire night, which yes, actually happened once and was as fun as it sounds.

“Where’s your head at, Wills?” Beck asks, tightening his hold on my hand.

“I was just thinking about stuff.” You. Us.

“What kind of stuff?” He hikes deeper into the field, and I follow him without a second thought. “You’re not worrying about money and school and shit, are you? I told you that you weren’t allowed to do that tonight.” He turns, walking backward, and gestures at the sky. “This is a worry-free night. No stress allowed. In fact, you’re only allowed to appreciate everything that is peaceful and beautiful.”

“I’m trying to, but it’s hard not to worry sometimes.” About you. Us.

He tsks at me, swaying from side to side.

I try not to laugh. He’s so drunk.

Seconds later, I stumble over a rock and nearly fall on my face.

Okay, maybe I’m so drunk.

He giggles at my clumsiness, and a very unattractive snort erupts from my lips, which only causes him to giggle like a hyena.

“See? Fun, right?” he asks after his laughter dies down.

I nod, grasping his hand. “Yep. But probably only because you’re here.”

He smiles, stopping in the field. The movement is so unexpected I crash into him, which leads to another fit of giggles from both of us.

After we stop acting like ditzy girls, the air quiets, and stillness settles over us.

Beck angles his head up to gaze at the stars, pulling me closer to his side and draping his arm across my shoulders. “How can you worry about anything when you have a view like this?” He kisses the side of my head for the second time tonight and calmness blankets over me, yet my heart contracts with a terrified sputter. “It’s like someone painted this just for us. Wouldn’t that be so cool? If someone actually painted the entire sky … What if that’s why the sky exists? What if someone just decided to paint it one day, and we’re just living in a canvas?”

I snort a laugh. “Dude, are you high? You sound so high right now.”

He draws me even closer until the sides of our bodies collide. “Nah. I’m just buzzed. And really, really happy.”

The happiness in his voice brings a smile to my face. “Well, I don’t want to ruin your dream of living in a canvas, but there’s a ton of proof that completely discounts your theory.”

He dips his mouth toward my ear. “Oh, come on; where’s your dreamer side?”

I shiver from the feeling of his breath and mentally curse myself. What’s the deal tonight? I’ve done that, like, five gazillion times!

“I don’t think I have a dreamer side,” I admit. “I’ve always been more of a realistic kind of girl.”

“No way. You have a dreamer inside you. I know you do.”

“Nah, I don’t really think I do—”

He turns, bringing me with him, and wraps his arms around my waist. “Yes, you do. And I’m going to prove it to you.” Then he begins to sway us around, dancing to music only he can hear.

I have no clue what he’s doing, but I dance with him, anyway, because I’m relaxed and calm and desperate to latch on to the feelings.

“Can you hear it?” he whispers in my ear.

Another shiver. Another confusing skip of my heart. “I don’t know …”

“Are you cold?” he asks, his breath feathering across my skin.

I manage not to shiver this time, but goose bumps and tingles sprout across my skin. “I’m not cold … I’m just ….” Confused. Lost. Weirded out. Clearing my throat, I loop my arms around his neck and shift the conversation elsewhere. “So, what am I supposed to be hearing? All I hear are crickets.” And my heart beating like a freakin’ lunatic.

His hands find the small of my back, and he urges me closer to him. “The music, silly.”

“You can hear it all the way from the house?”

“No, not that music. Our music.”

“Our music?” Huh?

Instead of answering, he starts to hum. And just like that, it clicks.

Our music. Our song. The first song we ever danced to back in seventh grade. We were at a dance and Beck, being his popular, outgoing self, had a line of girls waiting to dance with him. And I, being the shy, awkward girl I still am, spent most of