Читать книгу Fortune - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 18

Skye sat cross-legged on the bed, her sketch tablet before her, open to a drawing in progress. It was a drawing of a toad—an ugly one with warts and a distorted face. He was cowering before another creature, a princely, handsome frog, one complete with bulging muscles and a gold crown.

Skye selected an emerald green pencil and carefully added a few final strokes of color to her handsome frog. She had been working on the drawing for days. It was for Chance. A peace offering. An apology.

The toad was Len. The frog Chance.

And she was the pesky little fly, buzzing around his head.

Skye frowned, remembering the way she had acted and the things he had said to her. In truth, in the past week she had thought of little else.

You’re a know-it-all and a pest. You’re ruining my life. I want you to buzz off, scram, get lost.

Make me. It’s a free country, and if I want to follow you I will.

Skye moaned, her cheeks hot. How could she have acted that way? How could she have been such a jerk? Such a spoiled brat, just like he’d called her?

Skye moved her gaze over the drawing. She had only wanted him to like her. She had only wanted to be his friend.

She still did.

Tears stung her eyes and she tossed the colored pencil back into her box. She hated that. She hated that she cared what he thought about her. That she wanted him to like her. She had never given two flips what anybody thought about her before, and she didn’t like the way caring made her feel.

Really crappy. Like something that had crawled out from under one of the show’s Port-o-lets. Ugly and unlikable. No, she corrected herself. Unlovable.

That’s what she was—unlovable. The only person who had ever loved her was her mother. Even her father, despite what her mother said, hadn’t loved her. He hadn’t wanted her.

Skye squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears. The other day, after Chance left, she had told her mother everything. And her mother had sided with Chance.

That had hurt. Her mother had always sided with her before; she had always championed her daughter—even times when Skye had landed in the principal’s office. Skye had believed she always would.

That, more than anything her mother had said, made Skye see how badly she had behaved.

Skye drew her knees to her chest and pressed her face to them. She had been a bossy, little know-it-all pest. A big creep, she thought, her chest aching.

She didn’t like her either.

But she still liked Chance. She still wanted him to be her friend.

He wasn’t like the other boys with Marvel’s. He was smarter, for one thing. He worked harder, he didn’t drink or smoke pot or chase the local girls. And he always smelled good, even when he was working. She hadn’t figured that one out yet; the other boys sometimes smelled so bad she wanted to retch.

She liked his smile and the way he laughed. She liked the way he had faced down Len and his gross, toady friends—like the hero in a story would. Cool and kind of smart-alecky. As if he wasn’t afraid, not one bit.

She sighed. He was the coolest boy she had ever met.

Straightening, Skye cocked her head to the side, assessing her drawing. She labeled the toad, frog and fly, then, giggling, wrote at the bottom:

Frogs rule, toads drool. Or, once a toad always a toad.

I promise I’ll never act so stupid again.

That done, she rolled the drawing and secured it with a rubber band, wrinkling her forehead in thought. Now, how did she get it to Chance? She could slip it into one of his pockets or leave it someplace he would be sure to find it. That way, if he didn’t like it or if he was still mad at her, she wouldn’t have to face him.

Skye shook her head. She was a lot of things, but a chickenshit wasn’t one of them. No, she would wait for the perfect moment to approach him. A moment when he was alone but not working, a moment when she didn’t think she would aggravate him. The moment when he would be most likely to forgive her. She would hand him the drawing and hope for the best.

That moment arrived two days later, at just past 7:00 a.m. Since the carnival didn’t open till noon on Sundays, most of the troupers slept in. But not Chance. She saw him leave the deserted mess tent, screwed up her courage and followed him.

“Chance?”

He stopped and turned to her. He didn’t look exactly pissed to see her, but he didn’t look happy, either. Her cheeks heated, even as she fought the urge to look away in total embarrassment.

She held out the rolled drawing. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“A drawing. I…” She stubbed her toe into the dirt, wishing she had taken the chickenshit way. “I acted really…dumb. I’m sorry.”

He unrolled the drawing, stared at it a moment, then lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m the frog?”

She nodded, heart in her throat. “Len’s the toad.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “That’s cool.”

“Thanks. I just…I…” Her words trailed off. “Gotta go.”

She turned and started off, feeling like about the biggest nerd on the face of the planet. So much for their being friends. So much for—

“Hey! Kid? I have a question for you.”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“You really think I look like a frog?”

She didn’t know how to answer. She thought he was the coolest, cutest boy ever. But she couldn’t say that. She stared at him, cheeks on fire, totally, completely tongue-tied.

He grinned. “Lighten up, I was just teasing. I like the drawing. Thanks a lot.” He tucked it into his back pocket. “See you around, kid.”