The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(59)

Ren guided me down massive corridors and spoke proudly of me as we met the principal. And when it came time for Ren to leave me in my new classroom and return to work, I didn’t mind in the slightest that he was going back to a girl called Cassie who I wouldn’t be able to monitor or stalk whenever she spent time with Ren.

All I cared about was learning.

And I threw myself into it with a feverish addiction that comes from never knowing how long something good will last.

Every day, I woke up, tore around to get ready, and leapt on the school bus that stopped to pick me up. Every evening, I would do my homework and hang with Ren, and it was the happiest times of my life.

It wasn’t until I finished an entire semester there and ice melted and snow turned to sun that the enjoyment faded a little thanks to the incessant urge to return to our camping way of life.

Ren had promised when the world thawed, we would be just us again.

But when the birds chirped at night and woodland creatures woke from hibernation and I asked when we would be leaving, Ren told me the second part of his bargain.

He’d agreed to stay working for John Wilson in return to sending me to school.

I’m embarrassed to say, I screamed at him for that. Here he was sacrificing everything for me, and all I could do was complain that the almost fairy-tale way of life before Cherry River was now forbidden to me for a regular one.

Even though I loved our regular one where he had a job and I had school and together we made friends with Cassie and Liam.

I’m making myself sound like an ungrateful cow, but I have to make you see the topsy-turvy world I lived in to understand how fragile my heart was.

How one moment I was queen of everything good and happy, and the next I was princess of everything bad and painful.

So much happened at that farm.

For me and for Ren.

And along the way, I lost count how many broken hearts I endured.





CHAPTER THIRTY





REN



2006




SUMMER ALWAYS MADE everything better.

Longer days, warmer nights, happier animals, and a crap-load of work that needed doing.

When Della jumped on the school bus each morning, I’d throw on the cargo shorts and t-shirt that I’d stolen—that frankly needed to be replaced soon—and head to the back door of the main house.

There, John Wilson would meet me, try to convince me to share a cup of coffee with him and his wife—which I always refused—before listing what he’d like done for the day.

To start with, he came with me, not quite sure of my skills or abilities on using heavy machinery or trusting my methods on doing things.

Within a few days, I’d surprised him that I knew how to drive a tractor, how to attach different equipment like mowers and balers, and had the strength required to lift things even he couldn’t lift.

Mclary had been good in that respect—he’d given me a crash course on how to build muscle that no ten-year-old kid should have, which only increased in strength now I was fifteen. He’d shoved me in his cantankerous tractor when my feet barely reached the pedals and expected me to figure out how to use it because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be getting any scraps for dinner.

Thanks to that harsh education, I could make John’s temperamental tractor purr like a sports car.

Occasionally, I’d catch him watching me with a mixture of awe and sadness.

I didn’t like that look.

I didn’t like him pitying my past while being astounded at my present.

It made me feel like a freak.

However, slowly, as more time passed, and he trusted me with more and more responsibility, the more I grew into my belief that I was worth something, even if I only had nine fingers and a rusty knowledge of reading and arithmetic.

I liked being busy because it gave me something to occupy my time with until the school bus would trundle down the road, screech to a halt at the top of the Wilson’s driveway, and Della would bound down its steps and charge to wherever I was on the property.

It didn’t matter if I was in the furthest field or on the highest roof, she found me, demanded a hug no matter how sweaty and gross I was, then promptly sat down, pulled out two juice boxes from her rucksack, and gave me one.

The first time she produced a bag-warm blackcurrant juice, I’d raised an eyebrow and asked where she’d gotten it from. Thanks to John Wilson keeping my salary, he had the cash to buy food for Della as well as his own children, and when Cassie left for high school and Liam left for an all-boy’s primary, Della was always third in line to receive a lunch bag full of fresh sandwiches, yoghurt, water, and a cookie or two.

I stood beside her every morning to make sure she said thank you and didn’t miss the bus, so I knew what she had to eat and drink and what she didn’t.

Turned out, she’d watched me closer than I thought whenever I’d steal something. She’d become a perfect little thief, and when the school provided extra juices to ward of dehydration during recess, she’d grab three. One for then, and two for later.

I warned her she’d get caught and wouldn’t be allowed to go to school anymore.

But every day, she returned home and smugly gave me her pilfered juice box, proud and happy. She said she thought about me even when I wasn’t there and wanted to make sure I had enough liquid while working out in the heat.