Page 12 of Pieces of Me

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, warmth coursing through him when Scott winked at him in response. And that, Rylan suddenly realized, is how Scott Ashworth got through life, with a devastating smile and a look that made you feel as if you were the only one in the world who mattered at that moment.

With a rueful shake of his head, he followed Scott to the admin office to get his schedule, looking on in bemusement as the middle-aged secretary blushed like a teenager when Scott focused his charm on her. People were so fucking shallow, Rylan thought, too impressed with the packaging to be interested in what was under the wrapping. Himself included, apparently. Shit, something else about his character that could use some work.

“Be a dear and show Ryan to his first class, Scott,” the secretary cooed, ignoring Rylan’s correction of his name.

“I will, Mrs. Johnson. Thank you so much.”

She waggled her fingers at Scott, and it occurred to Rylan she hadn’t spoken to him directly during the entire encounter, addressing every single one of her remarks to Scott as if Rylan was invisible. Next to him, I guess I am. Rylan sighed.

Before long he was ensconced in his first-period class, Earth Science, and the morning flew by. Lunchtime brought more “new kid” torture as Rylan stood uncertainly in the entrance to the cafeteria, clutching his cooler bag, not sure where to sit. He could see Scott at the far end, sitting with Lisa, Steve, and a couple of other people. Scott had his arm around Lisa’s shoulders, and she was tucked into his side.

All of a sudden, Rylan spied the girl from the bus sitting by herself at one of the tables, her shoulders hunched as if she was trying to make herself as small―as unnoticed―as possible. On impulse Rylan headed over and sat across from her.

“Hey,” he said. “Remember me? The kid from the bus?”

She looked away and shrugged. When she didn’t ask Rylan to leave, he unpacked his PB&J on wheat and bag of Cheetos.

“I’m Rylan,” he said. “I didn’t catch your name this morning.”

She lifted her eyes, and Rylan was struck by the look in them, a kind of pained hopelessness. “Ga―Gracie,” she muttered, but her gaze skittered away, her lips tightening. She ran her hand nervously over her close-cropped hair, and her large flannel shirt gapped just enough to reveal a tuft of hair in the armpit of her upraised arm.

“Nice to meet you. I’m new here, in case you didn’t know.”

Gracie huffed. “Yeah, figured that out all by myself.” She shot him a withering look, which morphed into a reluctant quirk of her lips when Rylan gave her an irrepressible grin around a mouthful of Cheetos.

“So I could use a friend.” He washed the orange goop down with a huge slug of water. Gracie picked at her own food, one of those prepackaged cheese and cracker things with the slimy mystery meat.

Rylan shuddered in sympathy. “Want some sandwich?” He tore his PB&J in half and offered it to her. After a brief hesitation, Gracie reached out and took it, mumbling her thanks. She nibbled at the sandwich, but waved away the extra bottle of water Rylan offered her. He also noticed the fruit drink that came with her own lunch was shoved off to the side, untouched.

He shook his head in puzzlement, wondering why she wouldn’t want to drink anything. A group of girls passed by their table, giggling and flipping their hair as they disappeared through the doors into the bathroom a short distance away. Gracie followed them with her eyes and flicked a glance at the boys’ bathroom next to it, her face flushing a dull red.

Rylan didn’t know why, but a sudden jolt of understanding went through him. The butch appearance, the stutter over her name, and the intense fixation on the gendered bathrooms just…clicked, and before he could think it through, he thrust his hand out toward her.

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you a minute ago. What’s your name?” He kept his gaze steady, his hand unwavering, even though his heart was thundering in his chest. Gracie searched his face, her mouth pinched. Then she squared her shoulders with visible resolve and reached out to shake his hand.

“Gabriel. My name is Gabriel.”

“Nice to meet you, Gabriel.” Rylan let go of Gabriel’s hand, fussing with his lunch and giving Gabriel a minute to collect himself. Eventually Gabriel peeked at him through his lashes.

“You’re committing social suicide right off the bat, dude, being seen with me like this. You don’t care?”

Rylan took a sip of his water. “I wouldn’t be completely honest if I said I didn’t care,” he replied, “but you looked as miserable as I feel. Figured that misery could use a little company.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I think you might be fucking crazy, man.”

“Thanks.” Rylan tossed the half-full bag of Cheetos at Gabriel.

“Where you from?” Gabriel asked, stuffing Cheetos into his mouth, and Rylan gave the CliffsNotes version of the last few months, his dad’s marriage, and their move from Crestview.

Gabriel’s eyes were wide. “Your new stepbrother is Scott Ashworth? Whoa.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table like he was going to impart a great secret. Rylan mirrored his pose, his head cocked as he listened.

“The rumor around here is that his shit smells like chocolate chip cookies. Is that true?”

Rylan’s shout of laughter drew a few stares, but Rylan didn’t give a fuck. He snorted, enjoying Gabriel’s sudden open grin. “Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling it,” he said, his voice husky with mirth. “But considering everything else is so perfect about that dude, it wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Gabriel smirked. “You do that.”

Rylan shook his head. “Gross,” he said, throwing his balled-up napkin in Gabriel’s face.