The Problem with Forever (11 page)

Chapter 10

I don’t remember gathering up my textbook or shoving it into my bag. I also didn’t remember picking up my bag or standing. I was in a tunnel that was dark around the edges and the only light was the doorway.

Another girl was standing and introducing herself, but I couldn’t hear anything she said as my legs moved. In a daze, I was out of the classroom and into the silent hall. My chest burned as I kept walking, half running, and I didn’t stop until I was outside, dashing toward my car as the thick, overcast skies threatened to let loose with the rain.

Oh my God, I couldn’t believe it.

Stopping at the side of my car, I dropped my bag and bent over, clasping my knees.

I’d just run out of class.

Breathing heavily, I squeezed my eyes shut, clenched them so tightly, I saw tiny pinpricks of light. I was so damn weak and so
stupid
. All I had to do was stand up and say my name. Say one thing I liked and one thing I didn’t. That wasn’t hard, but my brain... It just didn’t work right. It shut down, gave up on me in a moment of panic.

“Mallory?”

I jerked upright and spun around, nearly losing my balance as my gaze locked with hazel eyes. Rider stood in front of me, the fragile notebook clutched in his hand. Of course, he’d left class to come after me.

Nothing had changed.

A new rush of mortification burned my cheeks as I turned away from him, staring out over the empty football field. Tears of frustration leaped to my eyes.

“I said you got sick,” he said after a moment. “No one thinks anything weird. Hell, you ate school lunch, so it’s believable. Santos let me leave class to check on you. I’m supposed to go back, but...”

But he wasn’t going to.

Closing my eyes, I shook my head. My skin prickled like a thousand angry fire ants had started marching across my arms and back. Four days at school, and I’d run. I’d done just what Rosa and Carl most likely feared. I’d done exactly—

“Mouse, are you okay?” There was a pause and I felt his hand on my arm.

Mouse
.

I wasn’t
her
anymore.

I pulled away as I faced him just in time to catch the flicker of surprise flashing across his face. He lowered his hand, his gaze searching mine intently, and all I wanted... All I wanted was to be normal.

God, normalcy
wasn’t
overrated when you had a brain like mine.

“You...you shouldn’t have followed me,” I said after a moment.

“Why not?” he asked as if he genuinely had no idea.

“Paige, for one.”

“She understands.”

I seriously doubted that, because if I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t understand. Not in a million years. “Then...you shouldn’t have followed me because...I’m not your problem anymore.”

He lifted his chin, his shoulders heaving on a lengthy sigh. “I want to show you something.”

I frowned.

He extended his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Can I see your car keys?”

My frown increased. Was he going to leave the school? There was still at least thirty minutes left, and...and wait a second. I so doubted he cared about leaving early and it wasn’t like I was going to head back inside.

“I have a license,” he continued when I didn’t respond. “I swear. I know how to drive. I’m not going to steal your car or anything.”

My brows flew up. “I...I didn’t think you’d do that.”

Rider cocked his head to the side. Did he really think I believed that about him? Swooping down, I picked up my bag and dug my keys out then handed them over. His long fingers closed around them. Without saying a word, I walked around to the passenger side and got into the car, tossing my bag into the backseat.

He followed, his long body cramped behind the wheel. With a sheepish grin, he reached down and hit the lever on the seat, adjusting it. He turned the key in the ignition and then backed out. He glanced at me as he eased the Honda between the rows of cars, but didn’t say anything.

My hands were curled into tight balls and my thoughts were rushing through my head with the speed of hurricane-force winds. Leaving school like this was crazy for a whole multitude of reasons. Just like when he showed up at my house last night, if Carl and Rosa found out about this, they’d flip out.

But right now none of that mattered.

How could I even show my face Monday? I leaned back against the seat, knuckles aching. I slowly forced my hands open.

Staring out the window, I had no idea where Rider was heading at first, but quickly, traffic clogged the roads and I recognized that we were heading out of the city, using one of the older roads that was still congested.

“Will you get in trouble if you don’t come home immediately after school?” he asked.

Well, if Rosa and Carl knew what I was doing and where I was, that would be a big
hell yes
, but they wouldn’t know. “They won’t be home for a while.”

“Cool.” When I peeked at him, I found him focused on the road. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Reaching back, I scooped up my hair and started twisting it into a thick rope. “Why would you get me in trouble?”

He shot me a bland look I didn’t understand. A moment passed. His gaze flipped back to the road. “Do they know—the people who took you in—that we’ve run into each other?”

I nodded. “I told them.”

His brows rose, and I thought he looked surprised again. “And they know about me? From before?”

I started to nod, but forced myself to talk. “They know.”

“Everything?” he asked.

“Most of everything,” I whispered.

He nodded slowly. “What did they think of me and you being together?” Pink swept across his cheeks. “I mean, that we’re at the same school?”

Part of me thought that was a strange question for him to ask, but then I figured out where he was heading with it. He thought that the reason why Rosa and Carl wouldn’t be happy to know he was back had to do with who he was, but he would be wrong. It was what he represented.

At least, I hoped that was it.

“They...are just worried about me...fitting in,” I told him, and that was true. “About whether I can handle it, which...obviously I can’t.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw, but before I could say anything, he announced, “My name is Rider Stark.”

Um.

“I like working with my hands,” he continued as he slowed down, hitting the brakes at a stoplight. “And I don’t like classrooms.” He glanced at me, lashes lowered. “Maybe saying I didn’t like classrooms would be a bad choice, but I could say something like I don’t like bananas.”

“Bananas?”

He nodded with a small grin. “I discovered about three years ago that I absolutely hate those damn things.”

“But they’re just bananas.”

“They’re the fruit of the devil.”

A surprised laugh burst out of me. “That’s ridiculous.”

The half grin spread and the dimple appeared. “It’s the truth. Now it’s your turn.”

I knew what he was doing. Trying to prove that what had been asked in speech class was something that I could do, but obviously that wasn’t the case. What was the point in doing this now? It wasn’t the same.

“Mouse?” he said softly, but I shook my head. He didn’t respond immediately. “Okay.”

Letting go of my hair, I looked out the window as the interior of the car darkened. We were driving through an underpass. A few moments later Rider turned right and pulled off into a small parking lot in front of a long, rectangular building that had more busted-out windows than it did glassed ones. “Where are we?”

Rider turned off the car and unbuckled his seat belt. “It’s an old factory. Looks bad but it’s safe. Promise you.”

I glanced at the ominous building that seemed straight out of one of the ghost-hunting shows I liked to watch on TV. See? Ghost shows. I could’ve said I liked those in class. If anyone else said this place was safe I would’ve kept my butt in the car, but even with the four-year gap between us, I trusted Rider. I took off my seat belt and climbed out.

He joined me on the other side, slipping my keys into his pocket. The pavement we walked across was cracked, and weeds poked through the fissures. Large chunks were missing. I glanced up at the sky. The scent of rain was heavy in the air as we neared double doors with faded red paint.

“We’re not heading inside. Not today.”

There was going to be a later? An odd flutter took root in my chest. I ignored it, thinking it was a good thing that we weren’t going in. Mainly because I really didn’t need to add breaking and entering to skipping school on the fourth day.

Also, I was sure the place was haunted.

Reaching down, his warm fingers found mine. Startled, I tried not to trip as he took my hand and led me around the side of the building. A musty scent clung to the old brick walls. He didn’t talk as he led me around the side of the building, beyond long-forgotten Dumpsters. He headed to the left, and I saw several old stone picnic tables, and then the back of the building came into view.

I ground to a halt.

My lips parted in shock. I didn’t know where to look; there was so much color. Someone had transformed a decrepit gray wall into a living kaleidoscope of reds. Yellows. Greens. Purples. Blues. Blacks. Whites. Letting my eyes rove everywhere, I saw giant letters—random initials and words that didn’t look English. Then there were the murals. I could make out people and cars. Buildings and trains. All of it was spray-painted. Most of it put my soap figurines to shame. The talent implied by the intricacy of the letters and the detail in the faces was amazing. And to be able to do this with spray paint? I couldn’t even do it with a paintbrush and Diego Rivera guiding my hand.

I thought about the red smudges I’d seen on Rider’s fingers and I twisted toward him. Smiling a little, he let go of my hand and walked toward the decorated wall, his long legs carrying him halfway down the length of the building. He stopped in front of a painted young boy. I inched closer, folding my arms around my waist as he ran a hand over the shoulder of the dark-haired child. The detail was astonishing, down to the hands shoved into the pockets of worn jeans. The shirt was white and looked so real, so flimsy, that I expected it to blow right off the frail body. The boy was looking up at the graffiti above him, but it was the expression on the face that gutted me.

Hopelessness.

It was in his light brownish-green eyes. Devastation was caught in the line of the child’s mouth. It was in the way his brows were furrowed together and lifted up. The bleakness was so strong it was tangible. It clouded the air. I knew that look. I’d seen it. I’d felt it.

It said, would my life be like this forever? Was there no future any different than today?

“I got busted for tagging a couple of times,” Rider said, stepping back from the wall. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his frayed jeans, just like the child on the wall. “But this is one of the places where we’re allowed to do this without getting in trouble. Helps me clear my head. Don’t really think when I’m doing it.”

“This... You did this?”

“Yeah.”

Stunned, I stared at the boy. He had done this with a few cans of spray paint? Blown away, I slowly shook my head. Rider had always been talented. He’d doodled on any spare piece of paper growing up, but this was incredible. I couldn’t stop staring.

And I couldn’t stop the pressure squeezing my chest or the burn of tears clogging the back of my throat. I knew the tears wouldn’t fall. They never did. Not anymore, but I wanted to cry as I watched him, because I knew deep down, even if I didn’t want to admit it, that the sad, wrecked boy on the wall was Rider.

“Have you seen Graffiti Alley or the other warehouse?” Rider asked, referencing the locations where Baltimore’s graffiti artists could do their work without prosecution by the city.

I nodded. “I saw the Alley once.” I dragged my gaze away from him and scanned the wall. “It’s beautiful...like this place. That’s amazing. That you’ve done this.”

Rider lifted one shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s unbelievable.” I thought again about my soap carvings and almost laughed. “I can’t...do anything like this.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I could show you.”

I choked on a laugh. I was pretty sure that would be like handing a crayon to a toddler in the middle of a tantrum and telling them to color within the lines.

Facing me, he glanced up at the fat, rain-heavy clouds. “I mean, if you want me to. There’re other places where you can do it without getting in trouble.”

I looked back at the wall and tried to picture creating something so awe-inspiring. I would end up with a spray-painted stick figure. “I wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”

A lopsided grin appeared. “You wouldn’t. Promise.”

Unsure of that fact, I didn’t respond as my gaze trekked back to the painted child. I wondered if Rider had brought Paige here before. Immediately, I knew that was a stupid thought. Of course he had. They probably did this—the tagging—together.

“Is...is Paige into this?” I asked, and my cheeks warmed.

“This kind of stuff? Tagging?” Rider’s grin evened out as he shook his head. “In the beginning, maybe? I mean, she used to come and watch me, but I honestly don’t think it was ever her thing.”

I looked back at the wall. “Would she be okay with...you showing me how to do this?”

“Yeah.” His response was immediate. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

I really had no idea how to answer that.

“She knows you’re important to me, Mouse.” He stepped closer. “And like I told you, she’s a tough girl. Doesn’t warm up to people easy, but she will with you. Eventually.” He paused. “She’s not going to have a problem with me spending time with you.”

Slowly, I looked over at him. I thought that I should explain that his girlfriend just might have a problem with that, and I couldn’t blame her if she did, but I had to take what he said at face value. He knew her far better than I did, and Paige hadn’t been mean yesterday in class. She was just stating her place in things. I could respect that. And Rider and I could be friends—we’d always been friends. Maybe she would warm up to me.