Free Shy by Thomma Lyn Grindstaff Page A

brown. He looks like he's got a lot on his mind.
    “Jake, what's wrong?”
    He doesn't answer, just pulls away from the dorm building, drives off campus, and heads for the highway heading out of town.
    “Where are we going?”
    “I thought we'd go to the lake for a while.”
    “Sounds good to me.” I see that Jake has his guitar with him. Maybe I'll be brave enough to sing with him today, if he sings. I don't know if he'll sing, though. He seems far away from a singing mood.
    We're silent as we drive to the lake. When we get there, we park away from the main parking lot. Jake doesn't get out of his truck. He just sits there. We both sit for several long moments before I finally say, “What's on your mind? You seem like something's really bugging you.”
    He looks at me, and his expression seems almost tortured. “How did today go?”
    “What?”
    “I was just wondering how your day went.”
    “Just a day like every other day. Classes, studying. That's pretty much it, except...” An image of Granville from this morning flashes into my mind, along with my feeling of triumph from having sung for him, with him in the room watching, and his wonderful kiss that had made me tingle and feel so warm, appreciated, and alive. From head to toe.
    One corner of his mouth turns down. “So something happened between you.”
    “What?” I say. But I know what he's talking about. He's jealous. Why he broke up with me last year, I can't understand. He's so jealous, he's sizzling in it.
    “Oh, Jake.” I want so much to cuddle up in his arms, the way I used to do the year we dated. “What is it? What's the matter?”
    He turns away from me, his jaw tightening. “Nothing.” His big hands clench on the steering wheel as though he'd like nothing more than to crush it into dust.
    “We're best friends. We can talk. No matter what. Please tell me what's the matter.”
    He looks at me then, and his eyes appear as dark fire. Whatever this is, it's really getting to him. But he still says nothing.
    “Yes, something happened with me and Granville today,” I say, deciding to spit it all out. He needs to know the whole deal. “We kissed in the practice room. He's interested in me. And I like him, too. And something else happened. He's really been encouraging me with my singing and playing. He's gotten me to play my songs and sing for him while he stands in the hall, because he figured out how shy I am, but he doesn't give me a hard time about it. And today, for the first time, I sang while he was in the room. I did okay. And he asked me to go to karaoke with him Friday.”
    He looks away from me then, but not before I see hurt suffuse his expression like a bloody wound. He's silent for a long moment.
    “Wildflower,” he finally says. “Do you know how many times I've tried to get you to sing with me? All the years I've tried to help you with it? But you never would sing with me. Or for me. And you've already done it for that guy. Well, I guess it just proves what I've thought all along.”
    “What are you talking about? What have you thought all along?”
    He shakes his head, refusing me an answer.
    I don't know what he's talking about, but everything I say seems to hurt him more and more, though I'm trying to be as honest as I can be about what's going on in my life and in my heart. I want to be completely honest and tell him I still love him and that I wish we hadn't broken up. But I also want to tell him that if we can't be together, for whatever reason, I need to feel free to explore possibilities with Granville.
    “I've hurt you,” I say. “I'm sorry. But if I can't talk to you, who can I talk to? You're the only person I'm close to.”
    “Except for him,” Jake bites out. “Granville Watts.”
    He's really angry. But he isn't angry at me. Whenever he looks at me, his eyes are fierce, yes, but his anger is directed elsewhere. At himself? Maybe. But that doesn't make sense, either. My mind whirls with confusion, and yes,