Angel Fever by Weatherly L. A

Author:Weatherly, L. A. [Weatherly, L. A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Love & Romance, Fantasy & Magic, Action & Adventure, General
ISBN: 9780763656805
Publisher: Candlewick
Published: 2013-11-26T08:00:00+00:00

ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, SEB AND I fell into a routine that felt comforting in its sameness: meals of canned food snatched between hours on the road. And for the first time in over a year, we talked a lot. Or at least, we joked and bantered.

“Did I tell you about when I went to visit my ranchero grandfather?” Seb would ask solemnly as we travelled down a remote road.

He’d never known any of his family, apart from his mother. “No, I don’t think you did,” I’d answer, just as deadpan. “The one who used to be a gondolier, right?”

“Yes, and he missed Venice, so he dug canals all around his ranch. He’d go out in a home-made gondola and sing opera. It used to frighten the cattle. My grandmother would beg him to stop in case they stampeded.”

He was being very guarded with his emotions – I couldn’t tell what he was really thinking. But I was as happy as he was to avoid discussing anything serious, because whatever waited ahead in Pawntucket was feeling darker with every mile.

I knew Seb must have sensed it too, but we didn’t mention it. He made me laugh, despite my worry…and despite a wistfulness that grew in me as the days passed. Seb’s presence was so completely male. Having him there made me remember all the times I’d driven with Alex – being able to just lean against his shoulder, feel him put his arm around me.

Will I ever fall in love again? I wondered suddenly. We’d veered slightly north up into South Dakota by that point, to avoid the wheat farmers who were just as much in Raziel’s sway as the cattlemen. Frosty fields and clusters of bare-branched trees surrounded us.

My next thought made me sad. Will I even get the chance? I missed Alex and always would, but I missed just being with someone too. Careless touches. Being held.

Seb had gone quiet. When I glanced over, he was watching me, one sneaker propped on the dash. “Your turn,” he said, his voice casual. “Is there a rule about taking too long? I think this means I should win.”

“You wish,” I said automatically. Had Seb caught any of that? “Okay, got it,” I said after a pause. “The minister’s cat is an ambidextrous, bald, cunning, delightful, easy-going, fat, garrulous cat.”

Seb frowned. “Garrulous?”

“Talks a lot.”

“Madre mía, you could be making half of these up and I wouldn’t know. I still don’t think ambidextrous is a word.”

“It is. Look it up.” Then I realized there probably wasn’t a dictionary within a hundred miles and laughed as Seb shook his head in mock despair.

At night we could, in theory, have shared the driving and kept going, but we ended up pulling over and sleeping for a few hours instead. “You don’t trust my driving,” Seb observed the first night, sounding wounded.

“Frankly, no. Do you trust your driving?”

The first night in the truck was cold, but not too bad. On the second, though, the stars overhead were sharp and piercing.

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