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Authors: Rachael Brownell

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BOOK: Holding On
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I was extremely grateful that none of my teachers made us do
the whole new-student tell-us-about-you introduction thing. That was
until last period. I thought I was going to escape the miserable display, but as I tore off six too many pieces of toilet paper (yes, toilet paper), I
was beginning to regret signing up for
electives.

“Okay,
you have six sheets of industrial strength
TP.
You
have
to tell
us
six
things
about
yourself,
and
your
name
does
not
count.”
My teacher
was
a
little
too
excited
about
this.
Of
course,
this
was
yearbook. I
got
excited
just
walking
into
this
class
at
my
last
school,
but
back
there I
was
the
editor-in-chief.
I
was
responsible
for
the
damn
thing,
and
now my baby was being taken over by someone else. I didn’t want to
think about that because I knew who it was, and I knew that she was
smiling
about it. I wanted to smack that smile off her face and kick her
little…

Focus! I was going to lose my mind dwelling on the past,
wishing
it
was
still
the
present
and
future.
I
was
going
to
deal
with
this
situation,
like
I
have
every
other
situation,
and
make
the
very
best
of
it.
I
was
going
to
love
this
class!
Just
as
that
last
thought
crossed
my
mind,
I opened
my
mouth
to
speak—at
the
same
moment,
the
door
swung
open, and my heart dropped into my
stomach.

Chapter
Four

 

 

 

 

As casually as possible, I averted my gaze from his. No sunglasses
this time, and now I could see his beautiful eyes. I wanted to
look deep
inside
of
them,
but
I
was
supposed
to
be
telling
people
about myself,
and
they
were
all
staring
at
me,
waiting.
I
wondered
if
they even
noticed
him
come
in.
Was
I
the
only
one
who
noticed?
I
cleared
my throat and looked back out around the
room.

“Well,”
I began, “I’m from Michigan.” I tossed one piece
of “industrial
strength”
TP
in
the
garbage
can.
“I
moved
here
with
my mom
and
little
sister
for
my
mom’s
new
job.”
I
toss
another
piece
in the garbage can. “I was the editor of the yearbook at my old school,
so
hopefully I will be able to contribute here as
well.”

I
took
a
small
breath
before
I
continued.
What
else
do
I
want
to reveal about myself? “Um, I like to play tennis.” One more piece in
the garbage can. Only two more pieces to go, but I was at a loss for
words.
“Uh…I…well,
um...”
I
had
revealed
about
as
much
as
I
want
to,
and
the teacher could see
that.

Ms.
Phillips
cleared
her
throat
to
draw
the
attention
away
from me.
“Well,
that’s
enough
for
today,
but
once
you
feel
a
little
more comfortable, you can share the rest with us.
We
have all been
working
together for a while
now,
and we are like a big incredibly
dysfunctional family.” Her emphasis was on the dysfunctional part. She motions
for me to take a seat, and as I’m about to sit down, he speaks
up.

“Did you plan on telling us your name, or do we get to choose
one for you?” he asks, his voice rich with
sarcasm.

I
turned
to
look
at
him,
but
that
was
a
huge
mistake.
I
could
feel
my throat
tightening,
and
I
needed
to
answer
him
before
I
lose
my
voice. “Oh, my name is Rebecca. Becca.”
With
that, I took my seat and
tried to drown myself in whatever the teacher was going to talk about
today.
The
problem
was
that
she
didn’t
break
out
in
a
lecture.
Instead, everyone got up and headed to the computers or out of the room, and
I was left sitting by myself.
Yearbook
wasn’t about lectures; it was
about the school, the people, the photos, and the layouts. They were all
either gathering or inputting information to complete their
book.

“Ethan,
why
don’t
you
give
Becca
a
tour
of
the
campus
while
I figure
out
what
I
need
for
you
to
work
on
next?
I
will
have
assignments for both of you tomorrow.” Ms.
Phillips’s
words made me take
notice who
was
left
with
me
in
the
classroom,
and
I
cringed
on
the
inside.
I don’t
know
if
being
alone
with
him
was
the
best
idea.
My
body
was
hypersensitive
to
him.
Even
being
in
the
same
room
with
him
was causing my heart rate to
increase.

As I stood to grab my things, I felt my phone vibrate in my
pocket. I forgot to check my messages earlier, so I decided to check once I
get out
of
the
classroom.
He
was
waiting
for
me
at
the
door,
holding
it
open, before
I
realized
that
I
was
just
standing
there
staring
at
him
like
an idiot. I slid my bag further up my shoulder and slowly walked
toward him.

When
his
eyes
meet
mine,
I
realized
that
they
were
the
most
amazing shade of emerald, and as I went to grab for my phone, I realized that
I was
playing
with
my
ring
again.
His
eyes
were
the
exact
same
color.
Crap!

 

 

Brad: Just wanted to wish you luck on your first
day.   
 

That was the first one I missed this morning from Brad.  

 

Brad:
Since
you
havent
text
me
back
i
have
to
assume
u
r
not
talking to me.

 

That was the one I just
missed.

It wasn’t that I was avoiding him. I just happened to be busy
since the
last
time
I
talked
to
him.
Who
was
I
kidding?
I
was
completely avoiding
him.
I
was
trying
to
make
things
easier
by
telling
him
to get
back
together
with
Claire,
but
it
was
making
me
miserable,
and I
couldn’t
stop
thinking
about
it.
I
was
trying
to
decide
what
I
really wanted, and hearing his voice would make that decision harder for
me. I knew the second I heard his voice I would fold and tell him the
truth. The truth would only make things more complicated.
Today,
as busy
as it
really
has
been,
was
the
first
day
that
I
had
not
even
thought
about
the situation. Until now that
is.

The thought made me smile, and I realized that Ethan was
staring at
me
and
waiting
to
give
me
a
tour.
I
snapped
my
phone
closed
without
replying to his text and shoved it in my pocket.

“So
where
to
first?”
I
tried
to
should
nonchalant,
but
I
thought
I heard my voice squeak a
little.

“Well,
we can take a minute if you want to return your
boyfriend’s text,” Ethan replied, sounding hesitant.

He
was
staring
at
me,
waiting
for
my
reply.
Brad’s
not
my
boyfriend, but he didn’t need to know that. I could live in the fantasy that he
was
if I wanted to. Why? I wanted to live in reality, and maybe
eventually, I would find someone here that I want to date. Then I would have to
go through
the
trouble
of
breaking
up
with
my
fake
boyfriend.
Maybe
I have already found someone I want to
date?

“No
boyfriend,
just
a
friend,
and
I
can
text
them
when
I
get
home.” I was extra careful using the word “them” versus “him.”

“Okay,
then
let’s
go
for
a
little
tour.
How
about
we
start
at
your locker and work our way toward the tennis courts? By the time we
get there, school will be over, and we can hit for a while if you
want.”

Straight to the point much? Holy crap, this guy is
forward.         

“Um,
okay,”
I
replied
with
obvious
shock
in
my
voice.
That
was
the best I could come up with. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hit around
with
him. How did he even know that I had my stuff with
me?

He
started
to
walk
toward
the
stairs,
and
I
followed
him,
eventually catching up to him and walking side by side.
We
made our way into
the next building and grabbed my bag and purse out of my locker. As
we walked toward the tennis courts, he gave me what was actually a
pretty good tour, much better than the self-guided tour I gave
myself.

Right before we got to the quad, we detoured into the last
building and
stopped
at
his
locker.
He
grabbed
a
large
bag
and
his
car
keys.
I didn’t realize that I was staring at his chest until he cleared his throat. He
had
shut
his
locker
and
was
waiting
for
me
to
move
so
that
we
could head
to
the
courts.
I
felt
the
blush
creep
into
my
cheeks
and
turned quickly
around.
I
walked
out
the
doors,
but
no
matter
how
fast
I
walked,
I could feel his eyes on me and his body was
close.

As we rounded the corner to the tennis courts, I came to an
abrupt halt,
and
he
slammed
into
me
from
behind.
He
grabbed
onto
my
shoulder
to make sure that I didn’t fall forward, and his touch ignited
something
deep
in
my
body.
I
hadn’t
realized
that
he
was
so
close.
I
inhaled
deeply and let it out. He was still standing only inches from my back. I
wanted
to turn around, but I was actually afraid of what might happen, of
what
I
might
do
if
I
was
that
close
to
his
face,
his
lips,
his
chest,
his
anything. I
tried
to
move
forward
a
few
steps,
but
he
still
had
his
hand
on
my shoulders and was holding me in
place.

“Just give it a few minutes, and the courts will
clear.
The class
will
go inside about ten minutes before the final bell rings.” As I turned
to look at him, his hands slid down my arms to grip my wrists. I
watched
his
hands
as
they
glided
down,
and
when
I
look
up
at
him,
he
was
smiling
at me, of
course.

“How is it that you can read my thoughts like that, and you
don’t even
know
me?”
I
asked.
I
was
completely
out
of
breath
and
almost
at
a loss
for
words.
This
boy,
this
man,
had
me
completely
unraveling
at
the seams. No one has ever done this to me, not even
Brad.

“Your
body language gives you away most of the
time.” Ethan smirked.

With
that, I turned back around to see the class was headed
inside, and so I headed down the walk to the
courts.

As
we
were
stepping
inside
the
gate,
I
realized
that
this
was
the
very spot we were the first time we met. It brought on some creepy
feelings, and I gave a small
shudder.
He had been watching me practice that
day,
but I had never given any thought as to why he did. I didn’t realize
that he must have come down here to practice
himself.

“How old were you when you first started to play?” I asked. I
had given away enough about myself
today.
I needed to focus on
learning something about someone
else.

“I’ve
been
playing
since
I
was
about
five
or
six
I
guess.
What
about you?”

Back to me again.
Crap!

“Same,”
and
I
left
it
at
that.
It
was
the
truth,
but
I
didn’t
feel
the need to elaborate on it. The special coaches, special travel leagues,
and special
attention
my
parents
paid
me
until
the
divorce
was
not
something
that
I
wanted
to
rehash
with
someone
I
barely
knew.
I
threw
all
my
stuff in
a
pile
and
pulled
out
a
racket.
I
had
planned
on
practicing
after
school
today,
but
I
had
also
planned
on
changing
into
something
other
than jeans
and
a
sweatshirt.
I
had
nowhere
to
keep
extra
balls
except
my sweatshirt pocket and that was going to be
annoying.

“I
am
probably
still
going
to
be
a
little
rusty.
Do
you
mind
if
we
just hit back and forth for a while? I worked my shoulder pretty
good
Saturday,
and I don’t think I am fully recovered yet.” My voice
cracked as I spoke. I was afraid to make a fool of myself in front of
him.

BOOK: Holding On
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