Read Online Thin Space by Jody Casella - Free Book Online Page A

Kate both thought was soclever and hilarious. Like, we were all friends and brothers and boyfriend/girlfriend and had so much in common. Even though we really didn’t.
    My brother and me, maybe we looked alike, but we weren’t alike in other ways. He was the risk-taker, breaking the lock on the basement door. While I was content to sit out in the cold. He was more laid-back about stuff, except when it came to his room, which he kept anally neat. And I was the anxious slob. He . . .
    But whatever. I could go on about all the differences. In the end it doesn’t matter. People saw us how they wanted. To them, we were alike in the ways that count. Looks. Athletics. Academics.
    Kate and Logan, maybe it’s like that for them too. Both pretty, perky, popular. But I know Kate. Or I used to. She has this insecure streak that other people don’t see. Had to ask a million times before we went out if she looked okay. Constantly fiddling with her hair, sneaking looks at herself in the mirror. One word and you could crush her. It made me like her more though, that vulnerable part.
    Over by the tree, she’s still studying her boots. The plush fabric is stained with snow. I could slide over to her now, put my hands on her shoulders, lift her chin—
    My heart stutters just thinking about it. How many times did I look down at her, lean toward her, kiss her? I know the freckles spattered across her nose. I know her blue eyes, the shape of her face when it’s tilted back.
    And I know what those eyes look like closed. When she was kissing him.
    She snaps her head up, like she can hear what I’m thinking. “I’m sorry.” Her voice breaks.
    The white sky blurs. I shut my eyes, feel snow wetting my face.
    “I need to go.” She pulls away from the tree. Has she always been so thin? The coat she’s wearing swallows her up. She stumbles toward me, slipping a little on the slushy lawn. She stops a few feet away from me, pulls her hair back behind her ears, wraps a strand of it around her finger, a habit of hers when she’s nervous. “I guess I’m not ready to . . . Marsh . . . I’m sorry . . . I can’t talk . . . ”
    Her voice is a punch in the stomach. It reminds me why I can’t give up.

    Maddie’s sitting on the stoop. When I reach the edge of Mrs. Hansel’s driveway, she jumps up. “Hey,” she calls. She wraps her arms around her flimsy jacket, crosses the lawn. “You weren’t on the bus.” She looks quickly at my plastic shoes. “Are you okay? Did you get in trouble?”
    “Trouble?” I look past her at the house.
    “After the fight,” she says. “I saw the principal and then Sam wanted me to leave—I can understand what he’s thinking, but anyway, I’m sorry.”
    Second time in thirty minutes I’ve got a girl telling me she’s sorry. Must be my lucky day. “So, what’s he thinking?” I blurt it out without planning to. I don’t really care about the answer one way or another.
    “He gets a little overdramatic sometimes, that . . . someone will take advantage, that I can’t handle myself.”
    “Hey,” I say, taking a step closer to the house, because I know what I’ve got to do. “We’re getting wet out here.”
    “Can I ask you something?” She lowers her voice. “Logan . . . um, so I heard—I mean, is she your girlfriend?”
    I sigh. “Logan?” I don’t even know how to answer this question. It hits me that it’s girls who have gotten me into this mess, who’ve started this whole crazy ball rolling.
    “Are y’all serious? Because someone told me—Brad—he said that you’ve been kind of mean to her since the . . . um . . . accident.”
    “Brad?” I close my eyes and think about his mouth dropping open, his head falling back. I flex my hand, halfway enjoying the dull throb in my knuckles.
    “He’s in Sam’s carpool. That was one of the things he went on about this morning.”
    The snow’s really coming down now. The flakes plop on the ground fat and wet.