Free Curse of the Wickeds (The Cinderella Society, Episode 2) by Kay Cassidy Page A

right now.”
    “No problem.” I changed the subject, and we started talking about football and school and summer jobs.  
    “Why do you work so much?” I wondered aloud. “I mean, it’s great, but . . . you know.”
    “Know what?”
    How could I say it without sounding snobby? “Well, I mean, I’ve been to your house. I figured kids who live in houses like that, and whose dads are doctors, wouldn’t have to work two jobs.”
    Ryan considered that. “I don’t have to, I guess. But I want to. I need to. For me, I mean. I’m saving up for something.”
    “A car?” Now, that I could understand.
    “Sort of, yeah.”
    “Me too. Though at the rate I’m going, I’ll be out of college by the time I scrape together enough for something that’s not a complete embarrassment.” I settled back against the wall, propping my feet on the shoeboxes I’d lined up neatly along the floor. “What kind of car do you want? Isn’t the Escape yours?”
    “They’re more like community cars in my family, but I usually get dibs on it. The one I’m saving for is a vintage Mustang. My mom’s favorite.”
    I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to lose my mom. All the attention she was heaping on the twins’ arrival might’ve been getting under my skin, but I couldn’t imagine life without her. “Do you miss her a lot?”
    “All the time.” I heard him shift and figured he was on his bed. “She painted a picture right before she died. I have it in my room, so it’s the last thing I see every night.”
    “The dandelion,” I said, as much to myself as to him.
    Long pause. “How did you know?”
    Oh, flip! I almost did another forehead smack but heard a grin in his voice. “Have you been in my room, Jess?” he teased.
    “It was maybe a teeny-weeny little peek at the overnight,” I said, feeling my face flush. “I didn’t go in or anything, but your door was open, and—”
    “It’s okay.” Ryan chuckled. “It’s kind of cool, actually. Now I can lie here on my bed and imagine you standing in my doorway.” I heard the mattress squeak and visualized him stretched out with his arms behind his head. “Oh, yeah. I can see me getting a lot of mileage out of that image.”
    That was way too intimidating to think about.
    “What does your room look like?” he asked. “I want to picture it.”
    I leaned around the closet door and took in the apple-green walls, obnoxious flowered comforter from fifth grade, and ancient white wicker furniture. Even I didn’t want to picture it.
    “It’s very girly.” And babyish. “It doesn’t really fit me anymore, but I haven’t gotten around to updating it. With all the moves, redoing my room was never a big priority.”
    “Yeah, I can see that. My mom was big into decorating. She’d make our room a project with us every few years to make sure it reflected our personality. She was big on ‘the space makes the person’ and all that.”
    I bet I would’ve liked her. “What does your room say about you?”
    I pictured him looking around his room, taking it in with fresh eyes, as I’d done with mine. “It’s calming. Just like she was. I can be sort of intense, so it works. I shut down when I get overwhelmed.”
    “You’re hard to get to know.”
    “Am I?”
    I nodded as though he could see me. “I feel like I catch these glimpses of you, but most of what I come away with is surface.”
    “Maybe it’s better that way.”
    “Safer, maybe, but not better.” Wasn’t it?
    “You really get to the heart of it, don’t you?”
    I cradled the phone on my shoulder and picked lint off my pink chenille robe. “I’m not big on games, I guess. Probably why I haven’t dated.”
    “You haven’t dated?”
    I could not believe I’d said that out loud! The exhaustion and easy conversation had lulled me into a false sense of security, wreaking havoc on my brain. “Well, plus, I move a lot, so it’s hard to get to know people.” Plaster that neon loser sign to my