Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
I gripped the silver chains connected to the swing, swinging my legs to guide me in a light, easy sway. Drake stepped to the left, standing near the metal bar.
“Are you here to play?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything, just folded his arms and pressed his back against the metal. The sun beamed down on him, causing sweat to prickle at his forehead. He swiped it away, grunting a little as he pushed from the metal.
“You can take that swing,” I offered, as if it were mine. “No one’s gonna bother when you’re standing right beside it. Plus, swinging will help you cool off. It helps me cool off.”
I stopped my legs from moving, planting the bottoms of my feet on the ground. Drake looked at me through the corner of his eye. He never looked me completely in the eye. It was as if he was afraid to.
Now that I thought about it, it seemed he didn’t like to look anyone in the eye. Not that he was afraid of the others; I just figured he didn’t think they were worth his time.
Finally making a move, he walked towards the swing, grabbing the chain with his large, bruised hands. He yanked it, causing a loud clanking noise on the metal above.
Sighing, he finally twisted around and sat on the leather seat, adjusting himself as he gripped the metal in his hand.
We sat in silence for a few seconds. I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. He’d obviously come my way for a reason. In some sort of way, I think I felt safe. So I kept my regularly blabbering mouth shut, waiting on him to speak.
When he finally did, I perked up, giving him my full attention.
“This is what you do?” He squinted his eyes as he looked ahead at some of our peers playing kickball.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean…” He paused for a moment. “I see you swing a lot. Most times you’re by yourself or with that girl with the red hair. Why are you always alone?”
“Oh.” My lips twisted. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He looked at me and my heart pranced in my chest. His green eyes held mine (they seemed a little darker today), and he remained still on his swing. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s… cool. I don’t mind being by myself.”
I looked at each group of kids. The nerdy group sitting by the bench, reading thick novels.
The athletic boys that would soon become jocks, challenging each other with their grand-slam kicks in kickball.
The girly-girls that always wore pink and had their hair curled in spirals. It was the trend for this year.
And then there were the kids like me. The stragglers. We kept to ourselves and didn’t mind it, whether it was swinging, balancing a soccer ball on the tip of our foot, or simply walking the track.
Then there was Drake Davenport, who sat in the same spot every day. Every day except this particular one.
“I don’t care either,” he replied.
I picked at my nails again. “Do you have any friends?”
“Not really.” He thought on his response, most likely not wanting to seem like too much of a lame-o. “Well, I hang with my cousins a lot. They don’t go to this school though. They get homeschooled.”
“Oh.” I paused. “Besides Melissa, I don’t really have friends here either. I used to tell my brother a lot of stuff but—” I clamped my mouth shut, frowning in his direction before gripping the chains.
My eyes drifted, landing on anything but him.
Drake watched me intently as my words failed me. I glanced sideways.
I almost stopped breathing. I didn’t mean to look at him. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want his sympathy.
“You don’t need to tell me. I heard about your brother.”
“What did you hear?” I ask.
“That he died.”
“Oh.” My lips twisted. “Do you know… how he died?”
“No.”
“Well, I guess that’s good,” I sighed with relief. “You’re the only person in our class that doesn’t know. Better if it stays that way.”
He shrugged and sorta-kinda laughed. It was a quiet huff. Nothing too major, but at least it was a smile. He kicked his legs, pushing himself into a full swing. It was easy-going and brisk, and I decided to start with him.
We swung for about ten minutes until Mrs. Pots blew her whistle, the sound for us to round up and meet her at the sidewalk.
I dragged my heels through the mulch, hopping off the swing and landing with an awkward oof.
Drake was practically mid-air as he jumped off the seat with a smooth landing.
“That’s dangerous,” I said, shielding my eyes as I started towards Mrs. Pots and the rest of the students.
“Me and my cousins used to do it all the time when my mom would take us to the park.” After he said that, his forehead creased and he frowned, suddenly angry. He stopped walking, and I noticed his fists clenching.