He smiled, wide and bright, but I didn’t care.
I punched him on the arm. “It’s not something to smile about.” I cocked my arm back and went to punch his arm again, when he caught my hand.
“Mouse!” Rider laughed deeply. “Did you just hit me?”
I ignored the question. “I don’t need you...standing up for me. I need...” I trailed off, because he’d drawn my closed hand to his chest. I could feel his heart beating strongly under my hand.
His eyes took on a hooded quality. “You need what, Mallory?”
Talking was hard for a whole different reason. “I need...I need to handle things by myself.”
Rider’s brows knitted as he stared at me like I spoke an unfamiliar language. “Why?”
“Why?” I sputtered. “Because I need to do that for myself. You can’t...step in every time you think something happens. You can’t always...protect me.”
“But I want to,” he said, his voice low again. Smooth.
My heart was jumping around in my chest. “You can’t.”
One side of his lips curled up. He kept my hand against his chest. “It’s kind of an old habit to break.”
Those lashes lifted again and his stare pierced me. “You...you need to try.”
“Okay.” He lowered our hands to his knee. With his other hand, he brushed back a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “I can try.”
I didn’t know what to say as we stared at each other and I had no idea what anyone must think if they were looking at us. I was still irked at him. Not that I didn’t appreciate his concern, but I wasn’t a damsel he needed to rush in and save.
Or I was trying not to be.
Because the Mallory I wanted to be wasn’t weak or pathetic. She wasn’t the kind of girl Paige’s boyfriend needed to stand up for.
I drew in a shallow breath. “If I need your help, I...I’ll ask for it. Okay?”
He tilted his head to the side, and good Lord, it lined up our...mouths almost perfectly. “Okay.”
“Good,” I whispered.
Rider slowly lowered his hand, but he still held mine in his other for a few seconds longer. His eyes didn’t leave mine even as he let go. “You’re different now, Mallory.”
I straightened. “I am.”
“Good,” he whispered.
Chapter 15
Paige prowled the hallway like it was her own personal runway. Confidence bled from every step. Envy surfaced. I’d never had that kind of self-assurance, didn’t even know what it felt like on my skin. Her hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail, and she was with a dark-skinned girl I hadn’t seen before.
Gripping the strap of my bag, I walked forward, keeping my eye on her. Part of me wanted to dart to the left and edge close to the lockers, but so many of the doors were slamming shut. It would be too crowded.
And it would make me a coward.
I couldn’t do that, especially after I’d told Rider on Friday that I didn’t need him sticking up for me. Now it was Monday, and time to prove I meant what I said.
My heart went from tap-dancing to doing leaps straight out of Riverdance as I walked past her. Paige didn’t say anything, but she lifted a pale, slender arm and extended a middle finger.
Right in my direction.
The girl with her laughed.
And then from somewhere on my other side, I heard it—a word I loathed with every fiber of my being.
“What a retard.”
A burn splashed across my cheeks. I knew the girl wasn’t talking about Paige, but I didn’t blink an eye. I didn’t look in her direction, and I didn’t give anyone the satisfaction of my attention. I kept walking, my chin tipped up, and went to my locker.
Blindly, I grabbed my books and hoped they were the right ones. The last thing I wanted to do was come between Paige and Rider, but if the middle finger was any indication, I already had. And whatever he’d said to her had not made her happy.
But that wasn’t even what got to me.
That word, that horrible word, had burned a fist-sized hole through me by the time I joined Keira at her lunch table. In the group home and in middle school, I’d heard that word a lot. So much that it felt like a label had been stapled on my forehead, and maybe a part of me started to believe in it. Maybe that was why I didn’t talk. Even then I knew that wasn’t the right or kind word to use. It had been the first thing I’d ever said to Dr. Taft. I’d asked him if it were true, while Carl sat in on the session with me.
Later that night Carl and Rosa had sat me down and told me that it wasn’t true, but even if I had developmental challenges, it wouldn’t matter. I was still me. And they still loved me.
It had been years since someone had called me that.
Obviously, someone had been saying things. Why else would this random girl I barely recognized in the hall say that? I didn’t want to think that it was Paige, because she was tied so intricately with Rider, but who else could it be?