Page 168 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

into the car, I make it a point to drive while Ryan leans back in the

passenger seat. There’s still a thin line of smoke coming from the

burning stump. It’s chipping, and the afterburn on the remaining

bark is bright red when we drive by it. The pregnancy test in my

pocket feels like a brick, and I try to keep my eyes on the road, the

remainder of Ryan’s car visible from the rearview mirror where it

lays in a pathetic frame and nothing more.

“Hey, what’s up there,” he mentions, pointing out the front window.

“It’s a plant nursery,” I reply. “They grow flowers and plants and

things.”

Almost as though our minds are connected, I pull into the driveway.

It’s still early in the morning, but I hope someone is here at the little

farmhouse up front. When the owner comes outside, I’m a little

surprised to know it’s an old teacher of ours. Her son was in our

school and graduated in our class.

“Boys, how can I help you today?” she asks, her voice still like that

elementary school teacher that she was when we were growing up. “I

recognize you. Percy and Ryan, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” we answer in unison.

She nods with a hint of a grin now. “How can I help you on this fine

morning?”

I bite my tongue, looking to Ryan for a reply.

He musters the courage like he’s about to read from the textbook to

the whole class. “Well, I don’t know if you saw the fire trucks last

night, but I did something really stupid. I was just hoping you could

help me make it right.”

“And do something nice for my fiancée,” I add.

She nods, waving to us to the back where I can see a string of

greenhouses and above-ground trees ready to buy. I’m not going to

say that I like Ryan Jones. I’ll probably never be a good friend to him,

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