Goodbye, Rebel Blue

Author:Shelley Coriell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Amulet Books
Published: 2013-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

When Gabby and I get back to the house, Nate is sitting on the bench in the entryway, fresh from the shower, tying his tennis shoes. Drops of water pool on the tips of his hair and dampen the collar of his polo, while other water droplets slide along his collarbone, making his bronze skin glisten. Nate has his own brand of panache.

“Sorry I’m late.” He stands and gives his head a wag. Droplets fly through the air, and I breathe in the clean smell of Nate. “We had the baseball practice from hell.”

“A hell of your choosing,” I say as we walk to the driveway.

“Thanks for the brutal honesty.” Nate grins as he slides a long, muscled leg over Nova.

I freeze in the middle of the driveway. We’re supposed to go to the mudflats to put in shelters for the baby chicks, a process that involves half-buried ceramic roof tiles, which should not require the need for any skin contact. “You want to take my scooter to the mudflats?”

“My dad took the truck.”

I rock back on my heels.

“Is there something wrong?” Nate asks.

Not much. Just that we’re about to get on a scooter, and you may very well wrap your arms around me and press your chest against my back.

What are you afraid of?

I rub the center of my forehead. There are no such things as spirits. There are no such things as spirits.

Nate reaches for my hand and pulls me toward him. Up close I can see the dampness spiking his lashes.

“Rebel, is there a problem?”

No lies.

The words brush the back of my neck in a whisper. I spin, searching for a blond perky ponytail. Of course I see nothing but Nate’s empty driveway. Enough crazy. I grab Tia Mina’s helmet and thrust it into Nate’s stomach. “The problem is, you need a helmet.”

At the mudflats, four other members of the 100 Club are waiting, and I’m thankful for them and the endangered sea swallows—anything to take my mind off the feel of Nate’s legs around mine on the drive to the preserve. Nate directs club members to put up the chicken wire on the fence posts he’d set up last week. He explains that the fencing will keep out predators and human foot traffic. Then he takes me to a small mound of ceramic roof tiles.

“You and I will wedge these tiles into firmer sections of the mudflats.” He thrusts a tile into a mound of banked earth. “Instant chick condos.” Nate grins, his smile so wide and white, it takes my breath away. The lack of oxygen has apparently killed a few brain cells, because I can think of nothing to say. I grin and nod.

Lucky for me, I don’t have to say much over the next four hours as construction on the nesting site continues. All afternoon Nate and I dig and construct and clear weeds. From one of the other club members I learn that Nate’s spent more than a hundred hours on the site.

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