Solitary: A Novel Read Online Free Page A

of standing here in front of Jocelyn, I feel more myself. But even I don't understand where that line came from.
    It's like meeting someone famous. You get all tense and worked up and want to say the right thing even though there really is no such thing as the right thing....
    Something in her face changes.
    Her expression softens.
    Just for a split moment.
    But I see it. And it's something she can't erase or take back.
    She turns her back, looking at more books.
    And suddenly I feel stupid.
    My embarrassment ends quickly with a ragged "Joss" yelled across the bookstore.
    I turn and see a scraggly guy with watery eyes and dark bags underneath them. He's got a terrible drawl, like he's faking it. That's how bad it sounds.
    I see skin on a tattooed arm that almost looks like it's falling off the bone. A hand is waving at her like a dog.
    The guy curses and calls out for her again. I look at her and see yet another face.
    First there was confident, beautiful Jocelyn, the one who strides around the school hallways ignoring everybody else. Then, for that brief second, there was soft Jocelyn. Friendly. Nice.
    And now there's scared Jocelyn.
    I see the color drain from her beautiful face.
    "Excuse me," she says as she hands me the romance novel and rushes past to the front of the store.
    The skinny guy, at least in his thirties or maybe early forties, wearing jeans and dirty boots and an equally dirty T-shirt, starts walking toward me, ignoring Jocelyn. She speaks to him, but he keeps coming my way.
    The messy remnants of a half-grown beard and red eyes are suddenly in my face.
    And I smell him.
    He smells like too much liquor.
    I know what that smells like.
    "What are you doing?" he barks at me.
    Jocelyn grabs the man's arm, and he backhands her across the cheek.
    I stop breathing.
    I've seen people hit before-guys hitting other guys. Just saw it happen this past week, in fact. But never have I seen someone strike with such malice, and never, ever have I seen anyone hit a girl.
    He struck her on her face. That sweet, perfect face.
    "What's your name?" he demands.
    Everything in me wants to run. I should stand up and fight him, fight for her, but I can't. I'm taller than this guy and probably weigh the same, but the way he just slapped Jocelyn and the fire in those eyes and the smell under his breath....
    He reminds me of the craziness I've seen on some cop shows, the kind of cranked idiot who drives his car into someone else's living room, then continues to bolt through the neighborhood without a single injury or clue.
    "I said, `What's your name?"'
    "Leave him alone," Jocelyn says.
    "Are you okay?" I ask her, finally breathing, finally doing something.
    "She's more than okay," the guy says with a low whisper. "But you'll never know."
    He smiles at me, and I see a chipped tooth.
    I'm not kidding.
    This has gotta be a bad dream.
    He turns and takes Jocelyn by the arm and yanks her ahead, toward the door.
    She doesn't turn around.
    I want to follow, but I can't.
    I feel like sludge.
    I want to follow, but I'm too scared.
    And I don't know what I'd do if I reached her.

I can't stop thinking about her.
    Sometimes drowning out the world with music helps, but not in this case. Every song I scroll to on my iPod seems to fit Jocelyn.
    I wonder what happened to her after that guy pulled her out of the bookstore.
    I wonder what she'll say when I see her tomorrow at school.
    I wonder who he was, if he's the reason she's supposedly "spoken for."
    I wonder if she'd ever go out with a guy like me.
    I wonder what I'd do if I hadn't been able to bring my iPod, one of the few remnants of the past we packed up and brought with us in my mother's car.
    I wonder a lot of things.
    It's close to evening, and I'm exploring the woods surrounding our cabin. We're off a winding road that cuts through an endless forest. So far I haven't seen any trace of neighbors despite a couple of small cabins I've spotted along the way to ours. The driveway toward our