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

story.”
    “Everybody needs somebody to care about them.”
    He searched my face. The overhead illumination cast deep shadows along his cheekbones, making the hollows beneath seem more pronounced.
    “You’re sweet, Gaby. You always make me feel better.”
    I flushed from the compliment. “Come on,” I said to cover my embarrassment. “Let’s see what’s at the end of the block there.”
    There was a fence at the intersection where the road forked right and left. Beyond it was a clearing with a stable and some outbuildings and then a thick stand of trees faded into the enclosing dark. The property was large, rolling away into the distance, its boundaries masked by the falling snow.
    Heath leaned on the fence and propped one foot on its lower rung. “Robert Frost,” he said.
    “What?”
    “That poem. ‘Whose woods these are I think I know…’”
    “Oh, sure. I memorized that for the Christmas pageant in sixth grade.” I paused, watching him stare out across the open land. “You read a lot, don’t you?”
    He looked back at me. “Yes. But don’t tell anybody. There seems to be a prevailing opinion among your classmates that if you like to read you must be some kind of freak.”
    “Don’t pay any attention to them,” I said soothingly. “That’s just an act they put on for each other. Reading is uncool. You have to learn the rules of the game.”
    He shook his head. “I didn’t realize I was playing a game.”
    “Everyone is. They’re all showing off for each other all the time.” I ran my fingertip lightly over the rough wooden railing, sensation blunted by the woolen mitten. “Has Jeff Lafferty been giving you any more trouble?” I asked casually.
    “No. He stays away from me during practices. I think he’s afraid I’ll make him look bad again.”
    Heath was right. If he had backed down to Jeff, or lost their fight, Jeff would have made his life miserable at school. But Jeff didn’t want to take any chances on another confrontation, so he was leaving Heath alone.
    Heath pulled my collar up around my chin. “You cold?”
    “A little,” I admitted.
    “Let’s head back,” he said, taking my hand. “Do you remember that poem now?” he added as we walked along.
    I racked my brain, desperately trying to bring back the half forgotten lines. I squinted my eyes and muttered the opening verse to myself, picturing the auditorium at Garfield Elementary School, the dusty floorboards of the stage beneath my feet, the huge decorated tree at my left. I stopped and closed my eyes entirely, feeling Heath stop beside me, imagining the footlights and the faceless audience beyond them, and it came to me. I recited the stanzas as I had when I was twelve, concluding with the famous words, “But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.”
    I opened my eyes to see Heath watching me. I could hardly see his expression on the dimly lit street. He took my face in his hands and bent to kiss me.
    His lips were cold at first, but warm when he opened them. He dropped one arm to my waist and pulled me tight against him, and I could feel the muscular tension in his body even through our winter clothes. He was very strong.
    When he drew back he said softly, his breath smoking in the air between us, “That’s some memory, Sherlock.”
    I answered, still reeling from the kiss, “Not really. I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast this morning.”
    He smiled. “That’s not worth remembering.”
    “Tell that to my father,” I responded. “He can’t understand why I can remember all of Ingrid Bergman’s lines in Notorious , but can’t remember to take out the garbage.”
    Heath started to walk again, and I followed. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you get older. Taking out the garbage becomes very important.”
    When we reached his car, Heath pointed in the direction of the highway. “I saw a diner up on Route 23 on the way in,” he said. “We