Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,70

is nearby, too, with Emilio. Off somewhere to our right is Tamika, who joined in because we have an odd number. But all my attention is on Vann moving his hands in circles. He’s mirroring my movements as we spit out factoids about ourselves.

“My stepbrother used to wet the bed,” I mutter, zombielike.

“I had a cat that ran away in Chicago,” Vann responds in just as similar a drone. We’ve already shared fifty-seven things.

“But, like, when he was fourteen,” I amend. Fifty-eight things …

“The cat was named Ursula, same as the sea hag.”

“I sometimes wonder if I’m adopted, because my mom looks nothing like me, and I barely remember my dad.”

The voices of others deadpanning random personal facts to each other buzz around our ears like fruit-hunting flies, but Vann and I stay focused only on each other—and the now sixtyish things we’ve shared. Our facts seem to be taking a more personal turn.

“I miss the beach,” says Vann. “I loved the beach. The beach was my safe haven in California, the one place that brought me real peace, my only peace.”

I flinch, meeting his eyes, for a moment forgetting to copy his hands. Or is it him copying mine? “I used to go to this beach town as a kid, down by the Gulf. It’s my only happy memory I have with my family, stepbrother and stepdad included.”

“I miss the taste of salt on my face.” He chuckles. “It’s a weird way to say it, but it’s how it feels like.”

“The taste … of salt … on your face,” I murmur thoughtfully.

“Don’t break the chain,” Vann half-scolds me.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat and resume moving my hands. Ah, he’s copying mine. “I do like to swim, though. I love swimming. But the Spruce pool is only open during the summer, and it’s always overrun by children who probably pee in it. I don’t get to go out to the Strong Ranch to swim, unless Jimmy’s home.”

“I wish my mom would stop looking at me like I’m a monster.”

“I …” His words catch me off-guard, my hands slowing again. I try to stay focused. “I … wish my stepdad would respect me more.”

“I’m thinking of stealing a motorcycle.”

My face wrinkles up. “You want to steal a motorcycle?”

“It belongs to me. My mom has the keys. I want it back. Don’t break the chain, Toby,” he growls again.

“Sorry, sorry,” I hiss, then snap back to it. “I wish I … had more f-friends.” Ugh, that was humiliating, coming out.

Now it’s Vann’s turn to hesitate. After a moment, his voice softens when he says, “I’m thankful I took a chance on this play, because I get to spend more time around you, and you make this town suck less. A lot less,” he adds, his eyes flicking to mine.

I feel my cheeks warm. “I’m really glad you got kicked out of your old school and came here, because I was dying a slow, painful death in this town until you arrived.”

“I wasn’t actually kicked out. All my friends were rich pricks with trust funds. Cash to burn. Drugs. Alcohol. Connections.”

My eyes flash. “I … I think I’m the reason my dad left.”

Vann stops mirroring my hands. “I feel like I always bring out the worst in people, no matter where I live.”

“I think I was an accident,” I murmur, losing steam, “and the stress of having a kid split my parents apart.”

Both of my hands drop to my lap. His do, too. I don’t know if he’s mirroring me, or if we both just gave up.

“Art is the only constant in my life,” he tells me.

“I don’t know where my dad lives,” I admit. “Or if he lives.”

He stares at me awhile, something curious flitting across his eyes, like a troubling thought.

“Don’t break the chain,” I taunt him halfheartedly.

He draws breath. “I can’t remember the last time I—”

“Good!” announces Ms. Joy, clapping her hands, and at once, our exercise is yanked to a halt. And while she explains all of the merits and uses of the exercise to build our character chemistry, Vann and I continue to stare at each other in wonder. Why does it feel like I’ve known Vann for years already yet have so much left to learn?

When rehearsal comes to an end an hour or so later, I put my script away into my backpack slowly, still lost in a swirling cloud of thoughts and feelings. I spot Vann a few rows away where he’d tossed his bag,