Let It Be Me by Becky Wade (top young adult novels .TXT) 📕

same black-and-gold Congratulations! banner above a dining room table covered with his favorite dishes.

“How often do you come back to Misty River to see the Colemans?”

“As often as possible. I have an apartment in Atlanta, and I spend the nights there during the week, but my house is here. In fact, I was driving from the airport to my house the day of the car crash.”

“Airport?”

“The regional one, outside Clayton.”

“You have your pilot’s license?”

“I do. I like to fly back and forth when I can.”

“It seems I’m going to need to study aviation next, in order to keep up with you.”

“You don’t have to keep up with me.”

“I think that I do.” She beamed.

CeCe rang a metal triangle, as if calling ranch hands to the chuck wagon.

Sebastian hid his disappointment at the interruption. He wanted, but wasn’t going to get, more time with Leah.

The noise outside immediately lessened. “Supper is served,” CeCe announced. “I don’t want any of you to dawdle because dawdling when the food is hot is one of my biggest pet peeves. If I see you doing it, I’ll take this to your backside.” She held up the metal rod she’d clanged against the triangle. “Make your way indoors, where we have two long tables set up with food. You can go down both sides of both tables. Understood?”

“Understood,” the guests answered.

CeCe pulled Herschel forward, and he blessed the food.

Ben returned for Leah, and the two of them were separated from Sebastian by the crowd.

Once he’d filled his plate, Sebastian purposely avoided Ben and Leah’s table and sat with Natasha and Genevieve. The sisters who’d been trapped belowground with him and Ben after the earthquake had become good friends. The two of them—plus Natasha’s husband, Wyatt, and Genevieve’s boyfriend, Sam—kept the conversation going so that Sebastian didn’t have to contribute much.

He was facing away from where Leah was seated, but he kept catching snatches of her voice and, if he was very lucky, her laugh.

After dinner the guests mingled and ate cake. Whenever he looked toward Leah, he kept his line of sight moving past her so that no one could catch him staring. Even so, she distracted him so much that he kept losing track of what people were saying to him.

It was brutal to be with her in a crowd of Colemans because her presence reminded him that, while he might be successful and busy . . .

Essentially, he was also alone.

CHAPTER SIX

Conversing with Dylan was somewhat akin to lugging a big, heavy tree branch to a dumpster.

Two nights after the Colemans’ anniversary party, Leah sat at her dining room table with her brother and Tess and Rudy Coventry, the couple who’d become their unofficial grandparents.

“How’s your math class going?” Tess asked Dylan. He was taking precalculus this summer because he hadn’t passed it last semester, despite having a built-in math tutor at home.

“Okay.” Dylan’s hair fell around his head more rakishly than usual. She suspected he’d donned his gray T-shirt after picking it up off the floor. Its neckline revealed his thin, pale clavicles.

Leah knew from his summer session teacher that he was doing a little less than okay. “When’s your next quiz or test?”

“Thursday.”

“You might want to start studying tonight.”

He shrugged. The window behind Dylan framed him with color. On this warm, bright evening in June, wisps of cloud had snagged their hems on the peaks of her valley.

“Do you want to sit down and work on it with me after dinner, before you go to Jace’s house?” she asked. His usual technique of procrastinating until the night before a test gave her hives.

“Maybe.” Which meant no. He chewed a mouthful of pizza, well on his way to consuming his customary enormous quantity.

“Do elaborate, dear brother,” Leah said grandly, “and tell us how we can become patrons of your math success.” She’d learned that a teasing response to Dylan’s sullenness drew him out more effectively than a serious one.

“Yes, Dylan,” Tess said. “Please do tell how we can help.” The older woman cut her bangs ruler-straight and allowed the rest of her pale gray hair to hang flat to her shoulders. The hazel eyes that tipped downward at the outer corners bracketed an imposing nose. She always wore a shade of lipstick called Frisky Peony and a pair of earrings that looked like miniature modern art sculptures—gold circles mounted inside larger silver circles. Her face radiated pragmatism.

In contrast, Rudy’s face radiated sweetness. His ears were long, his glasses slightly askew. A rosy, healthy glow underlit his lined, age-spotted skin. Tess ensured that his white hair remained neatly trimmed. Nonetheless, it managed to look disordered, as did his clothing.

“This subject is boring,” Dylan said.

“No, indeed,” Leah countered. “We’re all waiting with bated breath for you to tell us about your summer school math class, utilizing more than five words at a time.”

“There’s not a lot to talk about. I mean . . . I’m bad at math.”

He’d said that to annoy her because he knew it rubbed her the wrong way. No one was bad at math. Many people didn’t respond well to the way math was taught in school. But that did not mean they were bad at it. She hadn’t responded well to the way basketball was taught in PE when she was growing up. But she didn’t go around declaring herself bad at basketball.

“I understood math fine until it started using the alphabet,” Dylan added.

Rudy chuckled. “Yes! What are A and B and X and Y doing in math problems?”

“Rudy,” Tess said sternly. “Letters have earned their rightful place in math problems.”

Leah sent her an appreciative glance.

Rudy straightened in his seat repentantly.

Dylan started to explain his current math unit and why he disliked it. The rest of them listened, their meal of store-bought pizza and salad (that Leah had provided) and homemade bread rolls (that Tess had provided) garnishing the table.

Leah had met Tess almost ten years before. At the time, Leah had been navigating her first year of teaching, and Tess had