The Right Guy - Liz Lovelock Page 0,5
was no mingling—Dad’s rules. He’s no longer here. I can actually hang out with any friends I make. Actual real friends. People to talk to. No one is here to hold me back now.
An unfamiliar face stalks past me with a furrowed brow. I smile. He looks at me, puzzled, but keeps walking. I don’t care. I’m free of the man who held me back, and I plan to live the life that’s intended for me.
Turning my head around the room, I drink up the atmosphere. It’s buzzing, electric even. My skin tingles with excitement. Not paying attention to where I’m going, I collide with a large body. I fall back, landing flat on my ass, a throbbing pain taking up residence in my butt cheek.
“I’m so sorry.” I scurry to get up, dusting the imaginary dust from my clothes. A large hand takes hold of my arm, helping me up then releasing me. “Sorry again, I didn’t see you there.”
Slowly, my eyes connect to those of the person I collided with.
Of course it would be him.
“Charity? Is that you?”
My head spins as I stare at the older yet familiar face of Jase, the boy I had a major crush on when I was younger. I’d thought for sure he would have tried to contact me. We were connected at the hip.
He has changed so much from how I remember him. He’s no longer this scrawny little boy with messy blond hair. Well, the messy hair is still the same, but it suits him so much better now. My heart is pounding in my ears. That’s totally not normal. Why does it have to be him I run into the minute I step foot into this place?
Jase’s stare holds me hostage. I keep my gaze trained on those blue eyes, clear and questioning.
“Ah, yeah. It’s me. Who are you?” I stand a little taller and give a teasing smile. Of course I know who he is, but I’d like to see how he feels when he’s forgotten.
“Surely you remember me.” He laughs while running his fingers through his blond locks. “You’re really here, aren’t you? I’m not imagining it?” He chuckles. He reaches out and takes my arm again. His warmth wraps itself around my arm and spreads quickly. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. That’s exactly how I’m feeling—breathless.
I move and pull my arm from his grip, then I say, “Yeah, it’s really me. I’m back. Still not sure who you are, though.” I shrug. The heat in my cheeks becomes stronger. I shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of Jase. He was my friend long before my father took me away, yet he never tried to reach out to me like he said he would. I’d given letters to my dad to post. Did he ever send them, though? “Anyway, I have to get to class. See you later.” Or not.
I nod and step around him, feeling somewhat stupid over this whole encounter.
As I settle into my first class, I can’t focus on what the teacher standing before me is saying. I should be paying attention given the fact that I’ve already missed so much school, considering it’s partway into the semester. Jase’s touch still lingers like it’s been etched into my skin. So unforgettable.
He was the one person I could rely on. He’s in all my memories from as far back as I can remember. We would write notes to each other and stick them in each other’s letterbox. He lived seven houses up from me, and now I’ve come back. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and open the message.
Mom: Hey, honey, just wanted to check in and see how your day is going.
I’ve never had these nice messages or been checked up on. I’ve always had texts that read “You should be home by now” or that featured something more aggressive. I type a quick reply.
Charity: Hey, yeah everything’s going well.
Mom: I’m so glad to hear that. Well, call me if you need anything. We still have to go shopping to pick out some things for your bedroom. I know you have things coming from your home, but maybe we can update other items if you want. Have a think about what you’d like. See you this afternoon.
I don’t reply. Instead, I stare at her words. She is my mother. She actually does care about me. This feeling is foreign; I’ve not experienced motherly love in a long time. My chest swells at