right," he says matter of factly. "I won't text her again. It's not worth it. All we're doing is reminding each other how much we don't get along."
We share a triumphant smile, both of us happy with our new decision. "I'm glad you're here," he says, handing me an unopened can of soda. "I came here to take my mind off things but it's hard when I'm all alone."
"Glad I could be of service," I say with a wink. Oh gosh. A wink? What is wrong with me?
A chat window pops up in the middle of the screen. It isn't from Facebook—it's from a messages app under Jace's account.
The username is Loren and the avatar is of a beautiful strawberry blonde girl with sun kissed skin. The message says, "I'll do whatever it takes to win you back."
I glance over at Jace, the beautiful boy who lives next door to me for the summer. His eyes are closed, his neck resting on the back of the chair as he faces the stars. He looks serene, happy. Not stressed out like he was earlier.
I delete the message.
Chapter 13
I may or may not spend the entire day peeking through my balcony window, hoping to see Jace outside, wearing those funny-looking dirt bike pants. And I may or may not jump at every single noise, every car passing by, and every grunt of disapproval my grandfather makes at the off chance that it's really the sound of Jace's dirt bike starting up.
I can't exactly call him because I don't have a phone and even if I did, I don't have his number. It's funny that he's so ridiculously close to me, yet so far away. I wonder if Grandma has a carrier pigeon I could send.
Grandma drinks a cup of coffee in the living room, a roll of yarn bobbing along the floor as she crochets. I plop down next to her and watch as her knobby fingers work the metal hook through the yarn, growing her creation more with each stitch.
"That's really cool," I say after a few minutes. Our house is filled with Grandma's throw blankets and doilies, but I've never put any thought into how they're made. She flexes her fingers, wincing from the arthritis and continues crocheting. It's a labor of love, no doubt.
"I could teach you," she says, continuing to loop and hook the yarn while she looks at me.
"I don't know, that looks really hard." Maybe something hard is what I need right now, to take my mind off the boredom.
Grandma shakes her head. "It only looks hard. I could have you making granny squares in ten minutes."
"Granny squares?" I laugh. "That sounds lame. Do you have any teenager squares you could teach me?"
Grandma playfully slaps me in the arm and then hands me a pink metal hook and a ball of multicolored yarn.
It took way longer than ten minutes, but I finally got the hang of this granny square thing. It's essentially the same few stitches over and over, and the yarn I'm using cycles between pinks, purples and blues that look pretty on the finished piece. Technically, the squares are supposed to be a few inches wide and then you make a bunch of them and stich them together to make a blanket. But I opt to just keep going around and around, making my square as big as it can be.
A few hours and several soap operas later, I have a mini lap blanket and my mind is completely off thinking about Jace.
Well, you know…mostly.
The doorbell rings, a loud ding dong that thunders throughout the whole house, making me jump. Grandma pats my leg as if to comfort me, and gets up to see who's at the door. It's probably one of their old people friends, so I keep working on my crochet. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm loving making this blanket. It's cool to see something productive come out of my time that would otherwise be wasted.
"Oh, hello." Grandma's startled voice makes me look up. I can't see who's on the other side of the door. What if it's a robber or a scam artist or someone who preys on elderly people? I pull the yarn off my dull crochet hook, gripping it tightly in my hand as I stand, my heart racing. I'm not equipped to fight off an intruder, but neither is
We share a triumphant smile, both of us happy with our new decision. "I'm glad you're here," he says, handing me an unopened can of soda. "I came here to take my mind off things but it's hard when I'm all alone."
"Glad I could be of service," I say with a wink. Oh gosh. A wink? What is wrong with me?
A chat window pops up in the middle of the screen. It isn't from Facebook—it's from a messages app under Jace's account.
The username is Loren and the avatar is of a beautiful strawberry blonde girl with sun kissed skin. The message says, "I'll do whatever it takes to win you back."
I glance over at Jace, the beautiful boy who lives next door to me for the summer. His eyes are closed, his neck resting on the back of the chair as he faces the stars. He looks serene, happy. Not stressed out like he was earlier.
I delete the message.
Chapter 13
I may or may not spend the entire day peeking through my balcony window, hoping to see Jace outside, wearing those funny-looking dirt bike pants. And I may or may not jump at every single noise, every car passing by, and every grunt of disapproval my grandfather makes at the off chance that it's really the sound of Jace's dirt bike starting up.
I can't exactly call him because I don't have a phone and even if I did, I don't have his number. It's funny that he's so ridiculously close to me, yet so far away. I wonder if Grandma has a carrier pigeon I could send.
Grandma drinks a cup of coffee in the living room, a roll of yarn bobbing along the floor as she crochets. I plop down next to her and watch as her knobby fingers work the metal hook through the yarn, growing her creation more with each stitch.
"That's really cool," I say after a few minutes. Our house is filled with Grandma's throw blankets and doilies, but I've never put any thought into how they're made. She flexes her fingers, wincing from the arthritis and continues crocheting. It's a labor of love, no doubt.
"I could teach you," she says, continuing to loop and hook the yarn while she looks at me.
"I don't know, that looks really hard." Maybe something hard is what I need right now, to take my mind off the boredom.
Grandma shakes her head. "It only looks hard. I could have you making granny squares in ten minutes."
"Granny squares?" I laugh. "That sounds lame. Do you have any teenager squares you could teach me?"
Grandma playfully slaps me in the arm and then hands me a pink metal hook and a ball of multicolored yarn.
It took way longer than ten minutes, but I finally got the hang of this granny square thing. It's essentially the same few stitches over and over, and the yarn I'm using cycles between pinks, purples and blues that look pretty on the finished piece. Technically, the squares are supposed to be a few inches wide and then you make a bunch of them and stich them together to make a blanket. But I opt to just keep going around and around, making my square as big as it can be.
A few hours and several soap operas later, I have a mini lap blanket and my mind is completely off thinking about Jace.
Well, you know…mostly.
The doorbell rings, a loud ding dong that thunders throughout the whole house, making me jump. Grandma pats my leg as if to comfort me, and gets up to see who's at the door. It's probably one of their old people friends, so I keep working on my crochet. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm loving making this blanket. It's cool to see something productive come out of my time that would otherwise be wasted.
"Oh, hello." Grandma's startled voice makes me look up. I can't see who's on the other side of the door. What if it's a robber or a scam artist or someone who preys on elderly people? I pull the yarn off my dull crochet hook, gripping it tightly in my hand as I stand, my heart racing. I'm not equipped to fight off an intruder, but neither is
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