Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow - By L.L. Muir Page 0,6
nothing. She knows nothing. I was never there.
The door opened and a ball of white and gray unfurled. He watched like someone had commanded him not to take his eyes off her. So much for cool.
She must be cold. More layers than usual. A leather book bag dug into her shoulder. A white glove pushed the door shut and she turned. Sunglasses. Clever.
Were they allowed to wear sunglasses? Plastic, black sunglasses?
“Hey.” She smiled as she walked toward him, but she revealed nothing. “You’re Kenneth’s grandson.” She held out a gloved hand and stopped two feet away. Guess she forgot she was in a hurry.
“That’s me.”
“You’re wondering if I’m allowed to wear sunglasses.”
Holy shit, he thought, but he kept his face blank, except for his raised eyebrow. Granddad had taught him that, years ago.
“I’m teasing. Don’t imagine I can read minds. I just get asked that every time I wear them.” She started to take them off, took one look into his eyes, then replaced them.
“Hungover?” He couldn’t believe he just asked, but he covered the slip with a friendly smile.
“That’s not allowed.” She laughed. “But I am allowed to shake hands.”
Stupid! Her hand was still out there, hanging!
He grabbed it a little fast, a little hard, but she just laughed again. It wasn’t a silly Tickle-Me-Elmo laugh like most girls. It was a real laugh, like...the kind of laugh that made you think a person got you. And he wished there was a stupid red button on her palm he could push to hear it again.
Push here.
He still held her hand, not looking up as a kid ran past even though he felt the guy staring. Her gloves were the softest he’d ever felt, like the angel hair his mother always laid under the nativity scene at Christmas time.
“Lamb’s wool. Nice, huh?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, still holding firm. She’d given him the excuse. Not his fault. “Like angel hair.”
She snatched back her hand, biting her bottom lip.
“Nope. Just wool.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Skye.”
“Skye what?”
What an idiot. He’d let a little bit of small talk make him forget all about Ray and Burke, about what the Somerleds may have done to them to keep them from making it to school that morning. Ray knew how Jamison dreaded that first day. If somewhere, deep down, there was any trace of the best friend he’d grown up with, Ray wouldn’t let him down today. Not if he had a choice.
“Somerled.”
“Skye Somerled?” Skepticism snarled out around his tongue. “Do they make you change your name when you join up?”
Her lips pursed like an old woman’s, but with less wrinkles, pushing the tip of her nose up slightly. Cute nose.
“I’ve always been Skye Somerled, thanks. And no one joins up; you’re either a Somerled, or you’re not.”
“And what if you start craving hamburgers?”
She smiled and folded her arms. Ray’d been right about the vegetarian stuff.
Jamison guessed she’d be blowing off the whole first period too, and the thing he’d dreaded all day—running into her—was the last thing he wanted to end.
“Or what if you fell in love with...blue jeans?”
“Ha!” She tossed her head back and put her hands on her hips, holding back all those layers of sweater, coat, and scarf. Actually, the white jeans looked pretty hot.
“Or if you got caught wearing black sunglasses?”
He didn’t want to let the chance pass to learn more about her cult rules. The thought of them punishing her for misbehaving made him want to retch.
She bit her bottom lip again and looked down, adjusted her bag, preparing to walk away. “I found them in the car.”
She’d mumbled, but he’d heard her. It was his turn to laugh. She didn’t sound like she was afraid of punishment. She was just embarrassed to get busted. Sunglasses weren’t allowed, after all.
When he could speak again, he meant to say something smooth, but what came out was, “I’ll keep your secret.”
Her head snapped up. Damn it!
“You’d better be careful, though. Don’t forget you’re wearing them and drive home like that.” He gave her a teasing smile to distract her from the smell of fear in the air—his fear. It blew in and out his nose with each breath. He hoped she had a cold so she’d miss it. Surely girls who helped blow up people in mid-air knew what fear smelled like.
Jamison struggled to keep a straight face and block the image of Ray and Burke being lifted off the ground, knowing they