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

old priorities had crashed like a game of Jenga, and now she sat at the top. Which left him vulnerable. He’d been trying to hold himself and his emotions in check. He was losing the battle, though, and that knowledge planted a seed of dread in him.

If he was smart, he’d live in the moment, enjoy the time he had with her, and accept whatever came.

Instead, he’d begun to long for promises from her she wasn’t ready—might never be ready—to give.

He wanted her to promise that she’d love him forever.

That she wouldn’t leave him.

That she wouldn’t die.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The following afternoon, Leah waited anxiously at the curb outside her house for Sebastian. She could count on him to be either early or punctual, and he was scheduled to arrive three minutes from now, at 1:45 p.m., to take her to a production of Fiddler on the Roof at the historic theater downtown.

Above, charcoal-tipped clouds spat drizzle. She pulled up the hood of her quilted jacket.

Sebastian’s Mercedes rounded the corner, and she exhaled with relief. He came to a stop before her, and she slid onto the passenger seat.

“Is something wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Yes, but let’s drive while I tell you about it.”

The car slid forward, windshield wipers clearing the field of vision. Pinpricks of rain. Cleared again by the wipers. Pinpricks of rain.

“I have a student named Claire,” Leah said. “I’ve told you about her, right?”

“Yes.”

“She’s this very kind, awkward, uncertain sixteen-year-old who has a dad with an anger management problem. He yells and screams and breaks things, but so far he’s stopped short of harming his children. Or so Claire says.”

He shot her a grave look.

“I gave her my number in case she ever needed to reach me, and she just texted me. She says things are bad right now and asked if I could give her a ride to a friend’s house.” Leah consulted the directions her phone had generated. “Stay straight until we get to Lemon Lane, then take a left.”

“Doesn’t this fall under the purview of child protective services?”

“CPS will get involved if they have reason to believe that a child is suffering emotional neglect. However, that’s a difficult accusation to prove in a way that’s legally binding.”

“Okay. What about referring her to a school counselor?”

“I did, but she hasn’t gotten to know our counselor well yet. I had Claire in class last year and again this year. I think she’s more comfortable with me.”

“Are teachers allowed to pick up students at their homes?”

“In this district, the answer is yes.” She twisted to face him. “I realize this is unorthodox and inconvenient. But I’m glad that Claire has asked someone—in this case, me—for help.”

“I don’t care that this is unorthodox or inconvenient. I do care, a lot, about your safety. I don’t like the sound of the dad with the anger management problem.”

She didn’t like the sound of him, either. She could understand why Sebastian might think it unwise for her to involve herself in Claire’s family life. Yet he hadn’t looked into Claire’s face and experienced a powerful tug of empathy and concern. He didn’t have a seventeen-year-old brother, so he couldn’t have the same soft spot for teenagers that she had.

Leah texted Claire.

We’ll be there in five minutes.

No response.

They pulled into a development of 1980s tract homes aspirationally named Tranquility River. Slivers of space separated structures with tiny fenced backyards. On Serene Court, dehydrated shrubs clung to the planting beds outside Claire’s two-story home.

“There’s a gun cabinet in the front room,” Sebastian said.

She could see it, too. The lights illuminating the downstairs front room provided a clear view of the interior.

Claire did not emerge.

Leah sent Claire another text, alerting her to their arrival.

Still nothing.

“Why isn’t she answering my texts?” she wondered out loud. “I’m worried.”

“I’m worried, too.”

“Should I go knock on the door?”

“No. If someone needs to, I’ll go. But I don’t think it’ll help. I can’t imagine a parent sending their daughter off with a man they’ve never met.”

“I think I’ll try to call—”

“Is this her?”

Leah’s vision swung up. Claire hurried down the front walkway.

Sebastian walked around the car to open the back door for her.

Leah punched the button to lower her window. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Claire said in a small voice.

Leah introduced Sebastian as Claire got settled in the back seat.

“You okay?” Leah asked while Sebastian returned to the driver’s side.

“Mmm-hmm.” Converse and jeggings poked out from today’s huge black sweater. Her skin looked pale; her reddish ringlets weary.

“Are your sisters and brother all right? We can give them a ride somewhere, too, if needed.”

“They’re all right. It’s me he got mad at.”

“Where to?” Sebastian asked.

“My friend’s house. Um, do you know Abby Michaelson, Ms. Montgomery?”

“I know who she is, yes.”

“She lives on the west side of town. So if you just drive toward Azalea Avenue, that’ll be good.”

The car swung into motion.

“Sorry to interrupt your day,” Claire said. “I don’t have my license, and neither does Abby. Abby’s mom usually comes by for me, but she’s shopping with friends right now, and I couldn’t think of who else to call.”

“It’s not a problem,” Leah assured her.

Leah and Claire made small talk until they arrived at Abby’s house.

“Should we come back by for you later?” Leah asked.

“No, Abby’s mom can drive me home.”

“Then I’ll see you at school Monday.”

“Yep. Thanks again.”

Wordlessly, Leah and Sebastian watched Claire approach the front door. Abby answered, and Claire disappeared inside.

They headed toward town through a natural tunnel of autumn trees.

Leah contemplated Sebastian’s chiseled profile and strong throat. Dr. Grant. Purveyor of disco ball slow dances to ’80s songs. Surgeon. Orphan. Friend of Ben. The most phenomenal kisser in the universe. Today, he wore a North Face jacket over a collared white shirt and black pants.

“Do we still have time to make the show?” she asked.

“I think so. We might be a few minutes late, but I’m guessing they won’t turn us away.”

Last night—at the football game and afterward at his house—had been something for the memory