Chapter 10

chapter

ten

ADDIE

I flee into the hall in a daze of turmoil.

It's not because I'm worried anyone saw me shoving Owen into the closet, nor is it because I fear I overshared once again. I didn't say much, but if I would've stayed in that closet for one more second, I would've spilled my guts about my mother.

I float past the rows of yellow lockers like I'm rising outside my body, because one very important question nags at me—did he mean it? I'm not referring to his claim of being a patient guy, either. For some reason, I know he meant it.

It's the other thing Owen said that sparked a thrill down my spine. The thing about helping me loosen up. Wouldn't that be a welcomed change of pace?

But there's no chance in Hell I could allow myself to cross such a sacred line with Owen Conrad.

Right?

"There you are!" My mother slides in front of me, a burst of bright colors decorating her top, which flows over her bell-bottom jeans. The soaked hem of her pants flares over clogs similar to ones I've seen the Dutch wear. They look new. A gift, perhaps, from one of the men begging to lock her down.

But according to Rain, birds aren't meant to be caged; they're meant to fly.

She slips her arms around my waist, wrapping me into a hug just like her lavender scent, thanks to the organic concoction she's raved about for years.

It smells of love and nostalgia and comfort.

Whatever out-of-body experience I just had comes to a halt like a pin to a bubble. Pop ! There goes whatever insanity had consumed me regarding Owen.

"Look at how long your hair has gotten." She swoops a chunk of my dark auburn strands into her grip and places it over her own hair, the clunky bracelets rattling together on her wrist. "Now that it's so long, we look more alike than ever."

I school my cringe, but it's a painful effort.

She drops my hair and shakes my shoulders until I see four of her. "You look like you've spent the last week in my van, smoking Nigel's good stuff."

"Nope. Not me. I don't do partake in such things." I glance around for witnesses. It will be a miracle if I leave here without my name on people's gossiping lips. "I'm just surprised, is all. I didn't think you were coming. You weren't at the game earlier."

She flashes me a devastatingly gorgeous smile. "If you'd ever answer my calls or texts, you'd know I lost track of time. I know you don't understand that. But you should've assumed I'd be here. You know I would never miss homecoming with my favorite girl."

The makings of my own smile form, but I freeze when I sense him next to me.

His cologne washes over me like a tidal wave, and my nostrils flare at the very fresh memory of my beaded nipples brushing against his hard chest.

"Lockhart, I…" Owen's mouth closes when he realizes he and I are not alone. "Hi" is all he says to Rain, but it comes out as more of a question.

She lifts a brow, and my blood cools near freezing temperatures. For some reason, it's like I'm on display, as if my mother caught me with my panties around my ankles next to a boy.

Not that such a thing has ever happened, but had it, knowing her, she probably would've applauded me and tossed condoms at me like confetti.

Dad was always the sensible and responsible one.

"Who might you be?" she sings.

Her slow perusal of Owen makes my stomach recoil. I'm dizzier by my two worlds colliding than by the bold patterns of her outfit.

"I'm Owen, the PE teacher." He glances between us. "You two could be twins. Are you sisters?"

Rain's laugh erupting from her matches the thunder outside, which is still going strong, and I wince. "Aren't you a treat, Mr. PE." She nudges me with her elbow, and she doesn't remove her sparkling gaze from him as she says, "I'm Lockhart's mother, Rain."

"Her real name's Cynthia," I correct and clamp my mouth shut, but my mother doesn't flinch.

Instead, she tilts her head toward me and tells Owen, "This one's always so caught up in the semantics of society. I've tried and tried to paint her life with more color, but she insists on coloring inside the lines."

"So glad you two could get acquainted," I chirp through gritted teeth and step between them, angling my body toward my mother. "Ready for chili?"

"Only if it's the next item on your checklist." She snorts, and my temples throb.

Over my shoulder, my gaze lingers on Owen's, which darkens with each step I take after her.

His eyes—his bold, searing green eyes—follow my every movement as I hook my thumb into the pocket of my jeans and spin on my wobbly heel.

As I lead Rain toward the cafeteria, my shoulders lock into position just underneath my ears. Something like embarrassment nibbles at my nerve endings. It's the same feeling I had when I was ten years old and had been at lunch in the cafeteria with some kids from my class.

It was around the time my father had moved out, and my mother quit her salary-paying job. Soon afterward, she asked everyone to call her Rain. I went to school the next day and declared my name would be Cloud from then on. She was Rain, so I wanted to be like her.

Rain and Cloud—we'd take on the world and pave the way for rainbows. That's what we'd decided together.

Except when I announced my new name at school, the kids pointed and laughed at me. It went on for what felt like an eternity, until the only safe place I could escape to was in the library underneath one of the computer desks.

Their mocking laughter followed me all the way there. It was the haunting kind of sound that stays with a person.

I hid in the library every day for a while after that incident. I stowed myself away among the fictional, magical places I could get my hands on, my pointy nose buried in the pages of the books on the shelves around me.

I wanted reality to be as magical, but I quickly realized it wasn't possible. I needed to be practical, like my father. He was settled and happy, and his way of life was safe.

I learned early on that I needed to live the opposite from my mother. My life may not have turned out whimsical and adventurous like hers, but I have something priceless—stability. Everything on my lists and calendars makes sense.

Schedules are easy to follow, and logic is on my side.

I still take trips to see my friends and get a taste of the world, and when I can't, I escape into books. It's all the magic I need.

With a hot bowl of chili warming my palms, I follow my mother to a corner of the cafeteria toward an empty table by the windows. Maren has disappeared. In fact, many people have cleared out, presumably opting to get home sooner rather than later. I haven't heard an official announcement from the principal or football coach, but it's safe to say the game won't resume tonight.

The rain has let up now, but the lightning still blinks across the sky with warning of more storms ahead of us.

Rain curls her ankle under one knee on the chair next to me. "You didn't tell me you were seeing anyone."

I nearly choke on my bite of chili. "I'm not."

Her lips curl around her spoon.

"I'm not," I repeat more firmly.

"So, the sexual energy between you and Mr. PE was just my imagination?"

My throat closes as if I'm having an allergic reaction. "You do have a wild imagination," I manage.

She hums, clearly not buying what I'm selling, even though it's the truth.

There's no energy of any kind between Owen and me. There can't be. He's wrong for me on every level.

"He and I exist in different realms," I say in a language she might understand.

"Doesn't mean you can't hop from one to the other."

"See? Here's the wild imagination we were just talking about," I tease, itching to shy away from the topic.

"You didn't mind it when I'd tell you outlandish stories before bedtime."

A warm sensation settles in my chest, replacing the usual fight-or-flight reaction that normally overwhelms me when she's around. "They were fun," I say.

And I mean it. Her stories of fairies with powers and beautiful fields of infinite flowers sparked my love of reading and all things literature. It's what led me to the library after a bad day and why I eventually went on to become an English teacher.

She's what also made me realize I need something to ground me, or I'd drift away into make-believe worlds of fairies and unicorns.

She indirectly taught me the beauty of magic and the need for reality.

Rain scoops a large portion of chili onto her spoon and waves it around as she says, "Remember Jazzy?"

"The four-armed princess of Solstice City?"

"Where it was summer year-round."

"I wanted to live there so badly. I thought if I wore my swimsuit every day, I'd be transported there."

She beams, and we settle into a comfortable rhythm of mother and daughter, just as we have in years past.

And even though our relationship is complicated, it doesn't matter right now. In this moment, I'm merely happy to see her. As with any boat that sets sail, it returns to shore eventually.

She's my boat, and I'm her home, nestled safely on the shore.