Return to Us by Julie Cross Read Free Book Online

sink back down into the grass and scrub my hands over my face. “Let’s go back up to the tent before we get a million bug bites.”
    I shake the grass out of my T-shirt and put it on before walking away alone. So that’s what she was up to. Now I know. But I’m not sure what I’m feeling exactly. Hurt. Yes. I thought she was into the making out, but it was all a plan she concocted, most likely with the assistance of one of her teammates. Either Blair via text message or Stevie. My money is on Stevie. She once offered to hook up with me for the experience of it. Not because she really had any feelings for me. I didn’t go along with it. Which was fine since I was into Karen. I’m still into Karen.
    And I don’t care if she wants to wait a hundred years to get to third base (okay, maybe not that long), but I care that it’s something she can just offer up as a bribe, when she’d rather wait. That’s not cool with me.
    But at the same time, she’s worried about me and I’m forcing her to keep this secret. I’ll tell my dad. That’s what I’ll have to do. He can’t make me have surgery. He can’t . But at least Karen won’t feel like the job of changing my mind is resting completely on her shoulders. Plus, I haven’t even gotten a second opinion.

ChApTeR SeVeN
~Tj~
    You’d think with almost all the campers gone and new ones not coming in until tomorrow afternoon, I’d be able to get five fucking minutes alone in the gym.
    You’d think.
    But here I am face-planting onto the mat in the pit over and over again and some middle-aged white dude is standing in the doorway watching me. I give him the do you want something? ‘Cause if not, I’m kinda busy falling on my face and I’d like to do it alone look, but the dude stares right back and then walks in and parks his ass in the bleachers. What the eff?
    I walk back to the end of the tumbling strip, getting ready to try the double twisting double backflip again. How the hell does Stevie Davis pull this off? And now Campbell’s gettin’ close to making it, too.
    The dude’s eyes are burning a hole into the side of my head. I really wish he’d leave. I take a deep breath and look down the long line of blue mats. If I had a shirt on, I’d be tugging at the collar right about now. Guilty conscience, Thomas. My mom is always so quick to tell me that, every time my fingers so much as reach in the direction of my collar. I think I get that skill from her. Body language is the one subject I’d have passed with flying colors if it were taught in school. So I know she’s right. But what am I guilty of right now?
    Being a poser. Pretending to belong in this world when my name is probably already engraved in the cell beside my dad’s.
    Yep, that sounds about right.
    I ignore the watching eyes and take off for another attempt. I land hard on my side in the pit. The gym is so quiet the thud echoes through the entire building. I climb out, ignoring the sting covering the right side of my body and keep my eyes straight ahead.
    But I see him anyway. Sitting there, now with his elbows resting on his knees, watching me closely. Who is this dude? I don’t recognize him so he must not be a coach or any other staff. Plus he’s wearing jeans and a dress shirt. Not exactly camp attire.
    My stomach does its own double twisting double backflip. He can’t be one of the sponsors, can he? Maybe a guest speaker for tomorrow’s opening day of the new camp week? And he’s watching me ?
    I block out all this guessing shit and focus on tumbling. He’s not here. He’s nobody . I don’t know if it works because after five more passes, I’ve got deep red skin covering my entire right side from landing the exact same way I’ve been landing since I started teaching myself this skill weeks ago. I’m about to take off running again, but halt when I see him stand and walk toward me.
    He stops right beside the tumbling strip, his eyes focused on the pit way down at the other end.