Two days later, I brought it back and three days after that, when I returned to the library, a note was sticking out of the top:
An enjoyable read. I was especially impressed by the character, Pinkie. – KB
I made a disgusted sound in my throat, quickly scrawling out:
Only a truly disturbed person would be impressed by a villainous, sociopathic gang leader, who cruelly destroyed the beautiful, decent girl who loved him. What happened to Dead Man's Bluff? – TF
Then I looked over the shelf, choosing a book that was not only depressing, but disgusting as well.
Five days later, The Road:
An exciting tale of the Apocalypse . . . survival . . . cannibalism . . . underground bunkers. A book every guy will devour! – KB
I frowned.
I see what you did there with the word "devour". You really are a sicko. – TF
I went for gusto, choosing, arguably, the most depressing book ever written.
Four days later, The Bell Jar:
Nice try. I'm onto you. – KB
I laughed out loud despite myself. And damn him, I had tried to hang onto my anger and now here I was smiling at his damn note. The smile faded slowly from my face. I perused the shelf for another book, some kind of melancholy gripping my lonely heart. I leaned back against the bookshelf biting my lip. I liked him. And what was the point? And why he was bothering to amuse himself with me, I didn't know. But I had seen what happened when a woman got hung up on a man who wasn't interested in her, and I wasn't going there. I was not. Better to leave things as they were. I wasn't going to encourage this game. It would only create hope, and when it came to Kyland, hope was not something I would entertain. I sighed and gathered up my stuff, leaving the library and lowering my head against the cold as I trudged up the mountain.
CHAPTER SIX
Kyland
I went to the small library every morning for the next week, but there was never a note waiting for me. I tried to convince myself it didn't matter—it'd just been a fun distraction, and I'd actually enjoyed the books. They'd helped me pass several lonely nights. But the truth was, I was disappointed that Tenleigh, apparently, was done with our exchange. And I gathered, she might still be mad at me. I'd acted like an idiot kissing her. I brought my fingers to my lips as if some small part of her still remained there. God, she'd tasted so good, even better than I'd imagined. It had taken everything in me to pull away and I'd dreamed about that damn kiss every night since. I wasn't going to do it again, though. As much as I wanted to. I wasn't going to take something from her I could never give back . . . Tenleigh had had enough taken from her in this life. She didn't need me taking that purity away from her, too—I wasn't going to be responsible for giving her false hope and then leaving her high and dry when I left. She deserved better. And as for me, I didn't want any connection to Dennville, Kentucky. I wanted to leave and never, ever look back—in every sense. I didn't need to be forming any connections with dreamy-eyed girls who'd expect me to write them love letters from my college dorm. I planned to be kissing plenty of girls, now and after I left, but none of them would be Tenleigh Falyn. That's just the way it needed to be.
I walked out of the library and shut the door tightly behind me.
"Hey, Ky," I heard as I walked the road back home, my hands stuffed in my pockets. It was a bitterly cold morning, snow still on the ground from several recent snowfalls and I'd stupidly forgotten my gloves.
I looked back and saw Shelly. "Hey," I said.
She smiled and increased her speed to catch up to me, meeting me and looping her arm through mine. She squeezed me to her and said, "Brr! It's cold this morning."
I nodded, wanting to shrug her off, but resisting. Shelly and I messed around when one or the other of us wanted to. It'd been going on since we were fifteen. I considered it casual, and I was mostly sure she did, too. Although she didn't seem to like it when she found out I'd been with someone else. Secretly, I hoped she'd find a boyfriend and move on even from our casual encounters. They were starting to bore me. But Shelly, like me, seemed to prefer casual. And Shelly met my other requirement, too: she didn't live up on the mountain—she was poor, but not the desperate kind of poor. Not poor like Tenleigh was poor. My chest squeezed and I gritted my teeth. I didn't need to worry about the survival of anyone other than myself.
"Where are you headed?" I asked.
She looked up at me through her lashes. "Well, I was headed to Rusty's for an ingredient my grandma forgot to buy for dinner. But . . ." she looked up at me flirtily, "no one will notice I'm gone if I don't get back for a little while."
"I'm headed home, Shelly. My mama needs me," I lied.
Her expression fell. "Well, all right, then. Hey, wanna come with me to the play at school later? They're performing, A Christmas Carol." She grinned. I knew Shelly liked to get out of her house whenever she could. She was stuffed in there with her dad and four brothers. Her mama had died when she was little. She described her home like it was a zoo, but truthfully, it didn't sound half bad to me—at least no one was ever lonely.
"Is it Christmastime already?" I asked. I knew very well it was Christmastime. And I hated it. I had successfully avoided the major funk I usually found myself in this time of year with the reading and the little book club Tenleigh and I had going on, but now I'd have to deal with it.
Tenleigh. Stop, Kyland. Stop thinking about Tenleigh.