Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Then I get a flash of flannel rushing toward me.
I barely stop in time to prevent crashing into his chest.
Vann’s chest. I blink the sunlight out of my eyes and gaze at him. He stands before me with a knowing, lopsided smirk on his face. I came so close to crashing into him, his arms had wrapped right around me protectively. All of my anxieties and insecurities are gone at once as I stare into his eyes, lost for a minute in a country-boy dream with Vann. He could have been born and raised here. We could have grown up together, had one another’s backs, and braved this dusty, countryside town together. For as lost as he’s been in so many different cities, and as lost as I’ve been in this one Texas town, we could have found each other.
His smirk deepens. “Thought you’d eventually come crashing into my arms.”
“What’s goin’ on here?” I softly ask, lost in his eyes. “Are you doing some kind of Reverse-Sandy-from-Grease thing?”
“Oh, is it that obvious?”
“Holy crap. You really are doing a Reverse-Sandy-from-Grease thing. Are you trying to prove something? With me? And how you’re all put together? Embracing the Spruce spirit? Making up with Hoyt like that? Borrowing his clothes?”
“Just the belt buckle. The rest was a bit of a shopping spree on Main Street, which Hoyt helped out with. We ran into each other at Spruce Fellowship. It’s a long story.”
“Spruce Fellow—” I gape at him. “You went to church??”
“The truth is, Toby, I’d do just about anything to prove to you that I’m the guy for you. But I don’t want this to just be some big declaration—like another piece of theatre. This is our lives. I want this to be a conversation. A dialogue. I want you to see that I’m making improvements. I’m controlling my emotions. I’m doing what I need to do to be a better guy for you … and for myself.” He starts gently rubbing my back, his arms still around me. “And you don’t have to decide today if you want to give this another shot. You don’t even have to decide this week. Hell, wait until school’s out for winter break if you must. I’ll wait that long.”
“Vann …”
“The ball is still in your court. I support you in whatever you decide, Toby. But for now …” He gives a nod toward the door next to us. “We should probably get inside before the bell rings. I’m kinda running on two strikes and a lot of thin ice here and can’t afford so much as a tardy.”
Then with a wink—and a note of reluctance—he lets go of me, pulls open the door, and holds it for me. After a bit of hesitation myself, thoughts and emotions swirling around inside me like some kind of spicy, experimental bisque I’ve never before tasted, I walk past him with a muted, “Thanks,” and head for our table in the back. Vann joins me, and soon the bell rings. The rest of our chemistry class is, indeed, a crackling experiment in chemistry, as every molecule in my body sputters and buzzes with excitement, fear, elation, and worry.
And maybe a little hope, too.
On the way to gym class, Vann accompanies me, just like old times, and yet it feels nothing like it did before. Phys-ed has a completely different energy, especially when all of us—Vann, myself, Hoyt, Benji, and Julio—are put in a group with some others to play a quick round of shooting hoops. When Julio has the ball at one point, he quickly passes it without reservation to Vann across the court, who then shoots a three-pointer. Afterwards, Julio even gives Vann a high-five, and I’m left staring at them in wonder.
I still haven’t ruled out the possibility that I’ve woken up in an alternate dimension, by the way.
After we’ve changed, I decide enough is enough. “Do you want to join me and the theatre peeps for lunch today?”
Vann gives me a steady, calculated look. “Only if it’s okay.”
“Yes. It is. I want you to.”
He smiles. “I’m all yours.”
The lunch period that follows is the strangest yet. Vann joins the theatre crowd after a long departure, and they welcome him back like he was never gone. Kelsey asks which barnyard Vann drove his bike into, because clearly he’s rolled out of it with some random farm boy’s wardrobe stuck on him. Vann mentions he’s taking a break from his motorcycle—just for a little while. “If I want to shed the bad boy image,” explains Vann, “then I have to really commit to it. All in, or not in at all.”
It’s those words that linger when we’re leaving the cafeteria for our fifth periods. “Vann …” I start to say as we pass by the wide windows of the school library.