Something in the Way (Something in the Way 1)

I didn’t move an inch, my heart beating harder.

“It’s all right,” he said, nodding. “It’s safe.”

I opened my hand. He poured the bracelet into it, and I put it in my pocket.

He removed his hardhat. He’d rolled and knotted a red bandana around his head, but it didn’t seem to do much; he had a lot of thick, black hair that spilled over. Picking up his shirt, he wiped his temples, giving me a glimpse of his hard, rippled stomach, and a smattering of fine dark hair. He dropped the hem immediately, but I averted my eyes anyway.

“Sorry,” he said.

“For what?” I asked the pavement.

“If I made you uncomfortable.” He removed the bandana and used that on his face instead. Dirt smeared across his olive skin. He was making it worse. I could see his eyes better now, dark brown like soda pop, but against the sun, there were lighter flecks, gold as the chain in my pocket.

My stomach tightened. I was uncomfortable, but him knowing that made it worse.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and hit it against his palm. “You should get the clasp checked,” he said before he walked away.

I made it all the way to the front door when I remembered I didn’t have my house keys. I could picture them on my desk between my phone and a stack of Sassy magazines. I hadn’t even thought to take them this morning. Why would I? Tiffany was supposed to be with me. Even the gate into the backyard was locked. Dad had been extra diligent about securing the house since construction had started.

I shuffled back down the walkway, sat on the curb, and took out my book. Somehow, I could sense the man watching me. I wanted to look back. I liked his dark eyes, and how he looked scary, but he’d done something nice for me. I read the same paragraph three times and still didn’t know what it said, so I gave in and glanced up. He sat on a brick wall that surrounded the lot, his hand cupped around a lighter as he lit the cigarette between his lips. He wasn’t looking at me.

I realized what was bothering me. I hadn’t thanked him for returning the bracelet, and that was rude. I closed my book and got up. This time, he did watch as I walked back along the street toward him.

“Thanks,” I said from the curb.

“For?”

I put my book under one arm, took out the bracelet, and showed it to him. “You could’ve kept it. I wouldn’t’ve known.”

“What would I do with women’s jewelry?” he asked.

“Give it to your girlfriend.” I pretended to concentrate on getting the bracelet on so he wouldn’t see me blushing. The longer he was silent, the more uncomfortable I got. I had no idea how he’d taken the comment. Unable to help myself, I finally glanced up at him. “Or your mom. Or sister.”

“If I’d kept your bracelet, I would’ve taken it to a pawn shop.”

Heat soared up my chest, right to my cheeks. A porn shop? If he hadn’t seen me blushing before, he definitely did now. I’d never heard of a porn shop. Well, I knew what porn was. Boys at my school bragged about looking at it. My dad got Playboy in the mail. But what kind of things did a shop sell?

“You get locked out?” he asked.

I stepped onto the lot. “My sister has the key.”

He nodded. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. Because he was older and bigger, he seemed unapproachable, but I wanted to talk to him anyway. He took a drag of his cigarette. “What’re you reading?”

I gave up trying to get the bracelet on. “The Grapes of Wrath.”

“The one with the farmers?”

“It’s about the Great Depression,” I said.

“Why’d you pick that?”

“Because it was next on the list.”

His forehead wrinkled. “The list?”

I walked a little closer to him, holding my unclasped bracelet in place. “Required summer reading.”

He stubbed out the cigarette he’d just lit. “You want to sit?”

The wall probably only came up to his waist, but for me, it was tall enough that I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by trying to get up. “I’ll stand.”

“So this list . . . you just go in order, one by one?” he asked. “What if you’re in the mood for something different?”

Was anyone ever in the mood for the Great Depression? This paperback had taken me longer to read than any other book so far and not just because it was almost five hundred pages. I hadn’t thought to tackle the list any other way. “I guess I could try something else.”

“You’re not enjoying it?”

My mouth went dry just thinking about all the lengthy descriptions—traveling across country, drought, dust. “There’s a lot of . . . information.”