Free Gabrielle's Bully (Young Adult Romance) by Doreen Owens Malek

nodded. Without the wind, the night air was brisk, invigorating, and the scenery too pretty to resist.
    We strolled along the street, past the vintage homes and the closed and darkened shops. Everything was still, with that hush that seems to blanket everything when it begins to snow. Our muffled footsteps made the only sound.
    “Did you ever read that story about the kid who’s losing his mind?” Heath asked. “He’s fascinated with snow, and as he withdraws further and further from reality, he imagines it’s snowing all the time. At first he sees it outside, like through a window, but at the end he thinks it’s snowing in his room.”
    “Good lord. That sounds terrible.”
    “Oh, no,” Heath said dreamily, “it was a pretty good story. I liked it. I had it in a literature class at Wilbraham. At the time a lot of things were going wrong for me.   I could really appreciate why somebody would want to just opt out like that, and create a dream world where everything was beautiful and nice.”
    “But Heath,” I said, a little afraid of his tone, “that’s mental illness. That’s what sick people do, give up trying to deal with their problems and pretend they’re someplace else.”
    “I didn’t say I was going to do it, Gaby,” Heath said dryly. “I merely said that I understood.”
    I stopped under a street lamp and glanced up at him. Snowflakes glistened in his hair and matted his eyelashes. He watched me with that quiet intensity that was uniquely his.
    “What was happening at home to make you understand?” I said.
    He looked away. “Oh, family stuff. My mother had just died, and her kids were fighting over her money.”
    “Her kids? You have brothers and sisters?”
    He smiled without humor. “Each of my parents was married before they were married to each other. I have two half brothers from my father, and a half brother and sister from my mother.”
    I absorbed that piece of information in silence. My mother was going to freak when she heard this. The most exotic thing anybody in my family ever did was marry again when the first partner died. My Aunt Helen had remarried when her husband died of cancer, and they had talked about her for twenty years. Conservative didn’t adequately describe them.
    “But you are the only one from their marriage?” I asked.
    He snorted. “Yeah. They were hardly married long enough to have me.”
    “Where are your brothers and sisters?”
    He gestured vaguely, at the universe in general. “Everywhere. They’re all older than I am and living in different places.”
    “Do you ever see them?”
    His eyes narrowed. “When somebody dies. They generally surface to see what they were left in the will.”
    How awful. I was afraid to speak, because I was worried my voice would give away my feelings, and I knew he wouldn’t want me to be sorry for him. I was surprised he had even told me this much; he must be starting to trust me. After a few moments I cleared my throat.
    “You see your father regularly,” I pointed out, trying to be positive.
    Heath sighed. “Yes, I do. He tries, I guess, but he’s always so busy. He does what he thinks is his duty, you know, paying the bills for food, clothes, and shelter.”
    “There are plenty of parents who don’t even do that.”
    He nodded. “That’s true.” He reached out and caught a snowflake on his fingertip. “It’s just that I wish there were somebody at home, like your parents are home at your house. I know they annoy you with all that ‘when will you be home?’ and ‘where are you going?’ jazz, but it shows they care. They would worry if you weren’t home on time, and that’s nice. I could stay out three nights running and nobody would notice except Roger, and he’s paid to notice.” He broke off, and jammed his hands in his pockets. “I guess I sound like a crybaby, huh? I’m too old to care about that anyway. I don’t need a mommy at home to tuck me in at night and read me a bedtime