Fighting Silence (On the Ropes #1)(4)

I opened the bag to find a set of tinted charcoals. They weren’t top-of-the-line, but they were far better than anything I’d have been able to afford. It boggled my mind how Till had afforded them—or, better yet, why he would have spent his limited money on me. That was if he had paid for them at all. I didn’t dwell on those thoughts long as I ripped the box open and began drawing.

“Doodle, you any good at math?” Till asked as he climbed through the window an hour or so later.

“What?” I asked, confused by his sudden appearance and the second use of what I guessed was my new nickname.

“Math. Mr. Sparks is about to fail me. If I fail, I can’t play football.” He walked over and sat on the floor next to me. “Oh, awesome. You brought food. I’m starving.” He shoved a hand in the bag of chips I’d snagged from home as dinner.

“Uh . . . I brought myself food.” I snatched the bag away, but not before he stole a handful.

“Hey, you like those pencils?” he asked, crushing the chips into his mouth.

He had given me pencils. Right.

I passed him the rest of the chips. “They’re amazing. Thank you.”

“No prob.” He shrugged and tossed me a closed-mouth grin. “So. Math?”

“No, I’m serious, Till. They’re really nice. I’m sure they were expensive.”

“Nah. It’s no big deal.” He jumped to his feet and wandered over to the lamp in the corner. “How do you have electricity in here?” He flipped it off and on again.

“I guess the power company never turned it off. It’s nice because I bring a little heater in the winter, so I don’t freeze.”

“No shit? I should move in here,” he mumbled to himself. I only understood because it was the same thought I’d had at least a dozen times.

“Can I pay you back for the charcoals?”

“Nope. But you can help me not get kicked off the football team.” He shoved another handful of the chips into his mouth.

“Come on. I can pay you a couple bucks a week or something. It’d make me feel better.”

“Why? I said it’s not a big deal.”

“Because neither one of us has the money to be buying stuff like this. I really appreciate it though.” I smiled tightly.

“Are you saying I’m poor? ’Cause I’m not!” he yelled, and it quite honestly surprised me.

“No,” I said cautiously, not sure what to make of his reaction. “I’m saying we’re poor. Till, we live in the same apartments. I’m going to guess that your family isn’t living here for the luxurious view any more than mine is.”

“Just forget it.” He jerked the box from my hand and stormed toward the window.

“Hey! You can’t take those back. You gave them to me.” I darted forward to snatch them back.

Tug-of-war ensued . . . until I pulled the ultimate trump card.

“Ow!” I screamed, cradling my arm as I fell down to the dirty floor.

His eyes flashed wide. “Crap. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He kneeled down next to me.

I didn’t waste a single second plucking the box from his hand and rolling over to hide it under my body.

“Are you kidding me!” he yelled.

I couldn’t help but laugh at my victory.

It was short-lived though because not a second later, he leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Spider,” sending me into full-body convulsions and flying to my feet.

He collapsed on the floor in hysterics. I tried to use The Force to shoot lasers from my eyes. Unfortunately, my Jedi mind tricks seemed to be lacking.

“You are such a jerk!”

“Oh my God, Doodle!” He continued to roll around on the floor. “I thought you were having a seizure!”

“I swear I hope you are good at football because you definitely don’t have a career in comedy,” I deadpanned.

“Oh, but you do?” He began hopping around the room, exaggeratedly yelling, “Ow!”

I crossed my arms over my chest and bit my lips, trying to stifle a laugh. He was making fun of me, but he looked ridiculous while doing it. There was no way I could be mad at that. Some minutes later, he stopped and tossed me a heart-stopping smile. Or at least my heart thought it was.

“I’ll help you with math—as long as you promise not to shoplift any more art supplies.”

His smile faded as he glanced down at his shoes, embarrassed.

“Thanks for the gift, and don’t you dare think about taking it back. But no more, okay?”

“Yeah. Cool,” he told the ground.

“All right, Dummy. Where should we start? Please tell me I don’t have to go all the way back to two-plus-two,” I joked, bumping him with my shoulder as I walked past.

“Soooo funny,” he teased but followed me to sit on the blanket.

Two hours later, with three days’ worth of math homework completed, he crawled back out of that window. Just before he disappeared, he called out, “See you tomorrow, Doodle.”

I didn’t know it then, but he had never been more right. After that, there weren’t many tomorrows that I didn’t see Till Page.





Three years later . . .

“YOU WANNA MAYBE GO SEE a movie tonight?” he asked.