Page 55 of Every Broken Thing

“In here,” Ronnie called ahead of us, pointing to the Nike store, and Ben waved to communicate that we understood the message.

“Is it time to go home yet?” I asked.

“Stop whining,” Ben scolded.

I mocked him behind his back, but it was less satisfying when he didn’t catch me doing it. Instead, he led me through the crowd until we staggered into the Nike store. It was slightly less chaotic inside, but when Ben continued to hold my hand firmly in his, I continued to allow it.

“No, size 11 ½,” Ronnie said to an already-harassed store clerk, and the poor kid nodded before carrying the box of tennis shoes away. “They never have any displays in my size.”

“Well, you know what they say about guys with big feet,” I drawled with a saucy wink, and Esther blushed bright red.

Ronnie laughed as Ben rolled his eyes, but the moment Esther’s eyes landed on my hand in Ben’s, her embarrassment bled into confusion. I jerked my hand out of his grasp, ignoring the startled widening of his eyes as he glanced between us, like he’d forgotten we were holding hands in the first place. I shoved my hands into my pockets so I wouldn’t be tempted to take his hand again.

In an attempt to banish the awkwardness, I pointed to a pair of rainbow tennis shoes. “Hey! They made some for me!”

His awkwardness melted as he chuckled. “If anyone can pull those off, it’s you.”

“Damn straight.”

Esther shook her head as Ben and I sniggered like schoolkids behind our palms. “Boys.”

Ronnie finally found the correct size, and we walked out of the Nike store to squeeze our way past the huge crowd gathered outside the Apple Store.

“Please tell me we aren’t going in there.”

“We aren’t going in there,” Ben confirmed, and I sighed in relief.

Of course, we stopped by Aéropostale, because what kind of jocks would Ronnie and Ben be if they didn’t wear Aéropostale clothing? But I refused point-blank to enter the Abercrombie store. Ronnie and Ben went in alone, leaving Esther and me to wait outside in the hall.

We leaned against the wall, making ourselves one with the drywall as people bustled past in a rush. Esther’s purple-streaked hair was held back with a flowered headband. She wore a knee-length black sweater-dress, and her black combat boots stopped shy of the material, revealing a few inches of creamy skin.

“How long have you and Ronnie been dating?” I asked as Esther watched a group of boisterous teenagers saunter by with wary eyes.

“Since the spring,” she answered, dropping her gaze the moment one of the guys glanced our way.

The predatory angle to the stranger’s eyes made my skin crawl, and I straightened my stance defensively. This guy was a dead ringer for an Eric Boyt or a Jake Thompson. He hadentitled jackasswritten all over his smug face.

“Hey, look guys!” the guy barked above the constant hum of the crowd as the foursome paused ten feet away. “It’sEsther.”

Her knuckles whitened as her fingers gripped the material of her dress, but she didn’t respond, expression remaining blank.

“Hi,Esther,”one of the girls sneered the name like an insult.

I shifted my stance to shield her body with mine, fists clenching.“Can I help you?”

A tentative hand came to rest on my arm as Esther said, “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I studied her mortified expression. It made me want to start a fight at the mall, but her fingers dug harder into my arm. She shook her head. Just once. I huffed.

By the time I turned back around, the group had already moved on, their jeering laughter lost to the cacophony of noise.

“Come on,” I said, capturing her hand and leading her into the Abercrombie store. She followed diligently as the overwhelming cologne choked my airway, and I swore a piece of my soul shriveled and died the moment I crossed the threshold. “The cologne is killing my brain cells.”

Despite her embarrassment, Esther released a shaky laugh, and I squeezed her hand in comfort as I literally ran into Ronnie.

“Hey, I thought you’d rather stab yourself in the eyes with a hot poker than set one toe in here?” he mocked.

“Har, har,” I monotoned. “Under normal circumstances, yes, but I didn’t want to get kicked out of the mall for beating the shit out of a couple of preppy fuckboys.”

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