Read Online Saving Ruth by Zoe Fishman - Free Book Online Page B

for his fall season at Mercer.
    â€œHuh?” He looked at me like I was speaking Swahili.
    â€œUh, soccer? You know, that thing you got a scholarship for?”
    â€œOh yeah.” He nodded. “I was at practice.”
    â€œWas it tough?”
    â€œWhat is this, twenty questions?”
    â€œTake it easy. I was just making conversation.”
    â€œYeah, well, don’t bother if you’re going to grill me. You’re as bad as Mom.”
    â€œGreat. See ya, sunshine.” I didn’t understand why he hated me so much. What had I done? We were supposed to be on the same side here. I got to my bike, knocked the kickstand up, and walked it angrily up the hill.
    The gravel crunched, signaling the arrival of a car. I looked up to find Chris pulling into the lot in his black Jeep. It was a little ridiculous how good-looking he was in his Ray-Bans and white V-neck shirt—like a movie star on his day off. I blushed, remembering our run-in at Bootsie’s.
    He smiled at me shyly, as though he was just as surprised by the fact that he was sitting there. I realized that I was wearing giant, ripped athletic shorts and a tank top that had seen better days. I was also pushing my bike. If he flirted with me now, it would be a miracle.
    â€œWhen did you take off last night?” he asked.
    â€œOh, I dunno. Around twelve-thirty, I think? What about you?”
    â€œProbably a lil’ after. It was a decent party.”
    â€œYeah, it was good to see everyone.”
    He rolled his eyes. “I see those clowns all the time. I liked seeing you, though. You leaving?” he asked. A blush began creeping up from my chest.
    â€œYeah. Shift’s over.”
    â€œWhat are you up to tonight?”
    â€œGot plans with M.K.” That was a lie. Why was I lying?
    â€œListen, would you want to go out sometime?”
    I gulped in disbelief, but tried to cover it with a cough.
    â€œYeah, definitely,” I replied, hoping to appear nonchalant if not a little bored by his invitation.
    â€œOkay. Maybe Thursday night?”
    â€œOh yeah, sure.”
    â€œGreat, I’ll call you.” What was I supposed to do now? If I let go of my bike, it would crash to the ground. Plus, he was still sitting in his Jeep. Was I supposed to hug him good-bye over the door frame? Shake hands? Wave?
    â€œSo, see ya, I guess,” I offered, opting for no physical contact.
    â€œSounds good. I’m gonna see if I can finally corner your brother.”
    I jumped on my bike and wobbled off through the gravel and onto the street. Chris Fuller had just asked me out. Holy shit.

8
    T he early morning was my favorite time. No car engines or human bustle to drown out the birds and crickets chirping, the untouched grass glistening with dew. You couldn’t help but feel hopeful when the world looked and sounded like that. I coasted down the hill on my bicycle, thinking about the drills I would run on my guppies. The first day of practice was always important. It set the tone for the rest of the summer. You had to be in charge, 100 percent. The minute you let their cuteness get the better of you, you were toast.
    David was already in the water, winding the lanes through the pool. This was a tricky process that almost always involved some cursing and a little blood, especially if you did it alone. I hopped off my bike and made my way onto the deck to help.
    The lane reel sat near the deep end like a giant’s spool of blue and white thread. I unwound a bit of lane that had gotten caught on the edge of a diving block to give David more leeway.
    â€œThanks,” he called out. “The wrench is on the diving board.” I grabbed it to tighten the steel rope that ran through the plastic buoys and kept the lane in place.
    David’s head surfaced next to my hand. “G’morning, Ruthie.” He looked so sweet for a second, like a little boy. None of that too cool for school attitude—just my