Color the Sidewalk for Me by Brandilyn Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

mere chat by a girl. He’d always been one of the school’s best athletes, hitting a baseball with grace, running races with the keen edge of competitiveness flashing under those dark eyebrows. Choosing teams on the playground, any one of us at school would pick him first. But that was his only point of popularity. His daddy’s alcoholism in a town where liquor wasn’t even sold set him apart.
    At school there were plenty of other farm kids with chores, but nobody else dragged in late as often as he did, rubbing a hand across his forehead as he stumbled past the door of my first-period class. Sometimes I’d hear whispers about the bruises on Danny’s face, and I’d go out of my way between classes to check them out for myself. If I happened to catch his eye, he’d always glance away. When he arrived at school on time, I’d often see his mama dropping him off in their ancient pickup truck, hair hanging around her face in wisps. As Melissa and I walked home in the afternoons, we’d see Danny headed in the opposite direction, cutting across town to go over the tracks. Most times he was alone. Occasionally he’d walk with Bart Rhorer, a boy who lived on the farm next to his. Younger boys would sometimes try to tag along with Danny, punching at him playfully to show they were as tough as he was, and he’d usually go along good-naturedly enough. But sometimes for no apparent reason he’d holler “Git!” and they’d skim away like water bugs in a stirred-up pond.
    â€œThe bigger problem is,” I heard myself saying, “he’s gonna have to come back across. He’ll get to walk home wet.” I shook my head and looked Danny daringly in the eye. “Why do boys do such stupid things?”
    A faint surprise flicked across his face. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, his gaze sliding away again. “I suppose we like to do things now and think later.”
    I laughed, feeling a twisted enjoyment at his discomfort. A strange sense of power, fresh and tingling, washed through me at the thought that I could cause a reaction in someone as rough as Danny Cander. I flashed back to a perfume ad I’d seen in a magazine at Tull’s, the beautiful model, red-lipped and narrow-eyed, pulling a man toward her by his tie, an electrified apprehension on his face. Thinking of that picture, suddenly I understood it. Here at the riverbank, with the rocks under my sneakers, the sun on my face, and my chilled little brother fishing, I felt as if I’d just tapped into an age-old secret bursting to be discovered. My mouth opened for another laugh, but at that moment Danny’s face hardened and he stared straight back at me. The sound died in my throat.
    We looked at each other in silence.
    Had I ever noticed how big he was for his age? He must have been a good head taller than me, and his chest was broad compared with the skinny boys in my class. His voice had deepened long ago, when the rest of the boys were still squeaking. Maybe that’s why he didn’t fight anymore, I thought. Nobody was willing to take him on.
    Danny turned away. “I better be goin’,” he said, suddenly shy again.
    â€œNo, wait.” Impulsively I stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm. He shot a glance at my fingers and I took it away.
    â€œWhat is it?” He wouldn’t look at me.
    My courage was crumbling. “You came here to fish, didn’t you?”
    â€œI can go down the bank a ways.”
    No, I thought. “Stay here, Danny. I didn’t mean to run you off.”
    He swiveled toward me, a challenge glimmering in his eye. “You weren’t runnin’ me off.”
    I smiled up at him through my lashes. “Then stay.”
    Our eyes locked. His eyebrows relaxed, his jaw softened. I could have sworn I saw a flicker of delight play around his mouth; then it was gone.
    â€œSure,” he shrugged.

chapter 8
    D anny and