Page 29 of Things We Left Behind
Lucian stalked into the backyard. Unfortunately, he was wearing a shirt. His shoulders were hunched, and he was absently rubbing his right arm while staring pensively at the ground.
Our backyard, thanks to Dad’s green thumb, was a fenced-in wonderland of flowers and trees and shrubs. It was late March, and the cherry trees were blooming, an official announcement of the arrival of spring.
Lucian’s backyard looked more like an abandoned lot. The grass was patchy, and there were tufts of knee-high weeds against their side of the fence. A rusty grill was abandoned against the side of the garage. I didn’tmeanto judge, of course. Lots of people had better things to do than play in the dirt every weekend.
Though maybe Lucian should think about helping outaround the house if his dad wasn’t going to take care of the yard work anymore. There was a push mower next to the grill, for gosh sakes. I didn’t want to have a crush on a lazy, entitled guy.
I willed him to approach the mower.
Instead, Lucian kicked at a rock on a bare patch of lawn and sent it flying. It soared through the air before smacking against our fence with a loud crack.
“Hey!” I yelled.
His gaze instantly came to my window. I flattened myself on the seat cushion and put a pillow over my face.
“Well, that was stupid, dummy. He already saw you,” I said into the pillow. I sat up again. But Lucian was nowhere to be seen.
The cherry tree outside my window shuddered, and I heard a grunt.
“What the—”
There was something in the tree. No. Not something,someone. I blinked several times and wondered if I needed a new glasses prescription, because it looked like Lucian Rollins was climbing my tree. He shimmied up the trunk and gave the branch that skimmed over the porch roof a testing bounce.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.A hot, popular junior had just climbed my tree because I’d yelled at him.
It was with a heady mix of horror and excitement that I watched him scale the branch before nimbly jumping onto the roof.
I slid off the cushion and backed toward the middle of my room as Lucian Rollins threw a leg over my windowsill and climbed inside.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.Lucian Rollins was in my bedroom. Shit! Lucian Rollins was in mybedroom!
I glanced around, hoping my room wasn’t totally embarrassing. Thank God Mom had insisted on giving me a room makeover for my twelfth birthday. My doll house and hammock full of stuffed animals had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling bookcases my dad had installed. The pale pink walls had been covered with a moody blue paint.
But I’d just dumped two loads of clean laundry in a haphazard pile on the floor in front of the closet because Mom needed the laundry basket. I’d also emptied the contents of my backpack at the foot of my bed because I couldn’t find my favorite berry-pink highlighter that I reserved for only the most important class notes.
Dear lord. I had a favorite highlighter, and this past fall, Lucian had broken the school’s passing record on the football field.
My uninvited guest said nothing as I panicked silently.
Lucian picked up my book, flipped it over, and read the back. He raised a mocking eyebrow.
I crossed to him and snatched it out of his hand. “Why are you in my room?” I demanded, finally finding my voice.
“Mostly considering apologizing for the rock,” he said, his voice low and smooth.
“Mostly?”
He shrugged and began to wander the room. “I’ve never been inside your house before. I wanted to see what it was like.”
“You could have used the front door,” I pointed out. If I were a cheerleader, I’d know how to flirt. I’d have showered and be wearing matching pajamas and lip gloss. I’d toss my hair without hurting my neck, and he’d feel compelled to kiss me.
But I wasn’t a cheerleader. I was me, and I had no idea how to talk to my hot neighbor crush.
He paused at my desk and flipped through my CDs. His lips curved in a smirk. “Destiny’s Child and Enrique Iglesias.”
“You can’t just break into my house and judge my taste in music.”
“I’m not judging. I’m…intrigued.”
