“Could you let me go?” she said. “I need to get my papers.”
“Crap. Yeah. Sorry.” He’d been staring at her. He let her go and started grabbing for wayward papers, straightening them into a pile. “Do you want my phone? You could call your parents—”
“I’m not sure I really want to explain this to my parents.”
“Look . . .” Hunter couldn’t meet her eyes. He focused on getting the last of the papers together. “I didn’t think it was you.”
“I sure hope not.” She rubbed at the back of her head again and winced. “Holy crow, just who were you expecting?”
“It’s not important.” Despite the fact that he could kick Jeremy’s ass blindfolded—not to mention most of his friends—being a target always left Hunter feeling less than dignified. He shrugged a little and looked at her sideways. “Seriously. You all right?”
“I think so.”
He picked up her bag and slid the papers inside, then yanked the zipper closed. “How far do you have to walk?”
“I don’t know. How far do you live?” She held out a hand for her bag.
“You want to come home with me?” God, he should tackle girls more often. He hoisted his backpack onto one shoulder and slung her bag over the other. “I can carry it.”
“I live just on the other side of the dairy farm. But I wanted to ask you about the presentation you made in class yesterday.”
“Oh. Sure.” Talk about slamming the brake pedal. He should have figured she wouldn’t be interested in him. But he couldn’t really figure why she’d be interested in his presentation, either. Their government final had consisted of preparing a speech on Constitutional amendments. Two kids in class had actually fallen asleep while he was talking.
He sighed inwardly and pointed west. “I live on the other side of these woods. What did you want to know?”
She kept pace beside him, carefully picking her way through the underbrush. “Do you really believe what you said?”
He glanced over. There was a leaf stuck in her hair, but he didn’t have the courage to pick it free. “Which part?”
“The part about guns being harmless?”
“I’m not sure I said that.”
“You said people shouldn’t be afraid of guns.”
“They shouldn’t. They should be afraid of people who don’t know how to use guns.”
“Do you?”
He grabbed her arm and hauled her to a stop. “Careful. You’re about to step in poison oak. Do I what?”
She stepped around the leaves. “Do you know how to use a gun?”
“Yeah.”
She gasped a little and stopped short. “Really?”
He shrugged. “My dad was in the military. He still works defense jobs. I’ve known how to handle a gun practically since I could walk.” He paused. This might be the longest conversation he’d ever had with a girl, and he couldn’t tell what that gasp meant. “It used to freak my mom out, but Dad always told her that I’d be a lot safer if I knew what I was doing with a firearm.”
She was staring at him, wide-eyed. “You don’t, like, have a gun on you now, do you?”
God, he wished he could carry weapons to and from school. Flashing a handgun would certainly save time with those idiots. “No. Are you crazy? That’s a good way to get expelled.” Not to mention his dad would go ballistic if Hunter took one out of the house without permission.
“But still.” Clare started walking again. “Wow.”
He had no idea how to take that, either. And she didn’t say anything else. Their feet crunched through the leaves.
Hunter wondered if there was any possible way he could have made this interaction more awkward.
Here. Let me give you a concussion and then scare you.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s never been a big deal in my house.”
“My parents are total pacifists,” she said, and there was something bitter in her voice. “They’re completely against guns, and war, and . . . well, you know.”
He didn’t know. But he said, “Yeah. I get it.”
“My older brother graduated last week, and he’d secretly enlisted in the army. He left on Saturday.” She hesitated. “Mom and Dad are having a really hard time with it.”
Clare was, too. He could tell from her voice, could feel the uncertainty in the air around her.
“My mom would have a really hard time with it, too,” he said. He had no idea whether that was true, but it felt like the right thing to offer.
“Your dad would probably be proud, huh?”
“He’d probably throw a party.” Then again, maybe not. His dad wasn’t exactly the celebratory type. But he never lost a moment to impart a lesson that would fit right in with the military. Even when he was younger, Hunter had known that each gun lesson, every moment spent in self-defense was twofold: part knowledge, part training.