Walk the Edge (Thunder Road, #2)(59)

I gently pull and she hops to her feet. Breanna didn’t need my help, and as I attempt to release her, she squeezes my hand and offers a shy smile. Something within me shifts.

No, I don’t get nervous, but Breanna transports me to all sorts of new places. It’s not her physical proximity getting to me, it’s the fact that she makes me feel.

We let go of one another, but we walk close through the tall grass. The sound of the rushing water grows as we approach the bridge. Her hand bumps into mine, and I consider reclaiming her fingers, but I have no clue if she sees me in the ways I’m beginning to see her.

Breanna inhales, then pushes out a question. “I heard you failed fifth grade. Is that true?”

“I was held back.” We reach the foot of the bridge and I shove my hands into my pockets.

She toes the wood of the track and assesses the rusting iron. “You’re smart. A hell of a lot smarter than most. Definitely smarter than what—”

She cuts herself off and I finish for her. “Than what everyone at school thinks.”

Her frown is an admission and an apology.

“I know the rumors. Stupid Razor. Only kid who repeated fifth grade.”

“As I said, you’re smart,” she responds. “So why did you repeat?”

Because of the steep incline, the river is a class-three rapid. We’ve had a steady amount of rain and the water roars and splashes against the sharp rocks about thirty feet below.

I remember the first time I stood near the edge. The sun was setting and the sky was bleeding pinks and reds. I gauged the distance, the spiked rocks and the racing current. Back then, I had considered jumping.

“I missed too many days of school.” Admitting this feels strange. There are too many rumors, too many lies surrounding me and my mother, so it’s been pointless to speak the truth. Somehow, Breanna’s the person to say these words to.

A breeze cuts through the trees and Breanna’s hair soars. She raises her face to the sky and it’s like the wind dies off at her command. Breanna seems powerful enough to control nature. She gets me to talk. That in itself is amazing.

Multiple wheels spin in that brilliant brain and her hazel eyes flash with understanding.

“Go ahead and ask,” I say. She’s the one person on this earth besides my father I’d allow this question, and I can guarantee that, at least with her, there won’t be shouting.

“Was that the year your mother died?”

I flinch and Breanna notices. “Yeah. I was too messed up to go to school at first and then Dad had a hard time getting me there. By the time the club stepped in to help, the damage had been done. Too much time missed. Too far behind in class.”

“I’m sorry. About your mom and about how people talk about you.”

Me, too. “I’m sorry they talk about you, too.”

A cloud sweeps over Breanna’s face, but she forces her lips up like that will remove the sting from my words. “The gossip from the first week has blown over.”

“I wasn’t referring to earlier this year.”

Breanna sighs so heavily that she seems to shrink. “It’s going to get better, right?”

There’s a dip inside me because it’s the same prayer I say at night.

“Like when we graduate, all this stupidity will go away, because I am so tired of pretending to be something I’m not. If I act like who I really am, I’m crucified. If I hide, I feel like I’ve chained myself inside of a one-foot box and I’m dying to break free.”

Breanna strokes her hands over her arms as if she could wrench her metaphorical chains off her body. “Everyone says it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, but you know what? It does. Yeah, I walk into school with the attitude of screw them. I’m going to answer every question. I’m going to show the world who I am, and I’m not going to apologize for it, and then...”

She fades off. “And then people stare at you as they cover their mouth with their hand, lean over and whisper. Then people whisper back, all while staring, and they laugh. Then that rare burst of confidence—shatters.”

A strong gust rips through the trees and I don’t like how near to the edge she is. She’s a small thing and another surge of wind could cause her to tumble to the swirling water below.

“I can handle the whispering,” she says. “But it’s the people who like a show that make it unbearable. The people who get a kick out of making me into a spectacle. The jerks that stand in front of everyone, call me names, and then when I do say something back, I’m the one that doesn’t know how to take a joke. When my face turns red and my neck gets hot and tears form in my eyes, I’m the one that’s too sensitive. I’m the freak.”

Her cheeks do turn red and then she pulls her hair off her neck as if heat does curl along her skin. A pulse of anger runs through me when I see tears forming in her eyes. I’m going to kill the next person who gives Breanna any type of crap.

She drops her hair and wipes her eyes. “Maybe I am too sensitive. Maybe I’ll never belong anywhere. Maybe this is how life is supposed to be forever.”

I’m desperate to find a way to soothe her pain. “At least you have a big family. Your brother came at me hard the night of orientation.”

“I’m even the oddball in that group. My older siblings never talk to me. My younger siblings act like I’m their mother. Because I’m not their actual mom, I just get the hate part. Joshua’s married to the football team. Liam worships Clara, so that means he and I will never be close, and Clara...there is not a word strong enough to describe the hate Clara has for me.”