Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
But before I can say anything, the bus lurches and pulls out, and I stumble forward, gasping. Then I feel a strong grip on my shoulders – a warm grip – steadying me, putting me upright. But more than that I smell tangy apples.
Abel Adams smells of apples.
He’s so close to me that I can count his eyelashes, which are darker than his hair and thick, probably like a jungle. It will take time but I’m sure I can count them.
Abel Adams is also touching me. In broad daylight, in front of all these people, with sun shining down on his golden hair.
Oh my God.
This is the exact thing that shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be this close to him and I shouldn’t be counting his eyelashes or thinking about his brown eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper for saving me from the fall.
He pushes me away until I’m standing on my own. “Don’t mention it.”
Like an idiot I never wondered about his voice. I mean, I’ve seen him talk to Mr. B and a couple other people at the stores in town, but I never heard it before now. His voice isn’t like the voice of any boy I know. It’s not boyish or anything, but also, it’s not grown up. I’d say maybe it’s on the verge of being grown up.
Abel has turned away, and now he’s looking out the window. I notice a drawing pad on his lap, which is snapped shut with a pencil peeking over the edge. Does he draw and like photography? Another question added to the list of questions I’ll never get to ask him.
“You gonna sit?” he asks, looking at the passing scenery before glancing at me. “Or you gonna stare at me the whole way back?”
He raises his eyebrows and they hit the messy strands of his hair. I’m familiar with that look. That’s the look Sky always has when she’s trying to get me to do something.
There’s a full-blown smirk on his lips and his eyebrows haven’t come down. Oh, and he’s blocking the seat next to him with his long, stretched-out legs. He’s daring me to sit in the front.
I put my hand on my hip and shoot him an arrogant look — for about two seconds before the bus lurches again and I stumble. Again. He presses his lips together, no doubt trying not to laugh at me. I don’t think I like him very much right now.
“Well, if you must know, I’m going to sit.” My voice, in comparison to his, is squeaky and high and so childish. I hate my voice for being so stupid and I hate his voice for being so awesome. There’s no justice in the world.
I take my backpack off and raise my own eyebrows, asking him to make space for me, which he does with twitching lips. I plop down on the seat and shove the backpack between my legs.
Some people are still watching me, so I narrow my eyes at them. Sniffing, I slide up the seat and sit back. I’m not going to say a single word. Nope. My lips are sealed. I swing my legs. The toes of my shoes graze the floor. I look at the white metal ceiling.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him.
Darn it. I gave in.
His clothes rustle against the leather seat and I feel him turning toward me. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs like he doesn’t care one way or another and turns toward the window, keeping his silence.
I fully face him then. “No, tell me. Why would you think I’m afraid of you?”
Scoffing, he gives me his full attention again. “Look, I don’t care either way, all right? I don’t care that you can barely look at me or that you run away when I’m around. Doesn’t matter to me. Now, if you’ll leave me the fuck alone, I’ll be grateful.”
I gasp. It’s not as if I haven’t heard the f-word before. When you’re best friends with Sky, you hear it all. But Abel says it like he’s been saying it since the day he came into this world, like fuck was his very first word. It sounds strong, confident and practiced from his mouth.
“Hey.” I poke my finger in his bicep; his skin is warm but I don’t want to think about it right now. “I don’t run away when you’re around.” That’s not exactly true but he doesn’t need to know that.
He scoffs again.
“No, seriously. I’m not afraid of anything. Least of all you,” I insist, rolling my eyes.
Abel leans against the window, sprawling in the seat and crossing his arms across his chest. He’s wearing a black t-shirt again. I wish I could tell him to wear another color. Black is so… dull.