Thin Space Read Online Free Page B

sandwich is a damn brick in my gut because I know what they think about me. God knows I probably deserve this too. I turn my head to make it easier for all parties concerned, but when I do, I end up facing the lacrosse guys.
    They’re splayed out, not taking the bell seriously, huddled up in some intense conversation. One guy, a guy I don’t recognize, squints at me, and the guy next to him, a guy I do know, unfortunately, Brad Silverman, smacks the stranger on the back.
    “Yeah, that’s him,” Brad says. He lets out a snort and looks away, but the stranger doesn’t.
    He’s a pretty big guy, I can see just in that second or two that we stare at each other. And he’s blond with a square jaw and a blank expression. So he’ll fit right in with Brad and his Neanderthal buddies. Only difference is he’s got pink cheeks. I don’t know why it takes me another second to figure it out: it’s New Girl’s brother.

    Afternoon, I forget about her until it’s our stop. I stand. Notice her across the aisle a few seats up, not moving. Her head’s pressed against the grimy glass. Lindsay and Heather shoot by like they’re on fire. One of them elbows me in the side, yells, “Sorry, Marsh.” And they’re both out the door.
    But I’m blinking down at New Girl. What, is she planning to ride the bus all day? I hover over her for a second and suddenly she scrambles to her feet. It hits me that she didn’t know it’s our stop.
    I hold my hand out. “After you,” I say. It comes out like a bark, but the girl smiles and thanks me. A blast of cold air hits our faces when we step off the bus. New Girl cranes her neck around.
    “Uh,” I say. “We’re that way.”
    Her cheeks blaze up.
    Probably because I’m grinning like a maniac. Is this it—this girl—my key into the thin space? Who knows. But I stroll along with her toward Mrs. Hansel’s house and keep grinning, even though the icy sidewalk’s practically burning the skin off my feet.



4
I’m In
    S ay something! “I’ve been in your house.”
    New Girl’s head snaps up.
    “I live three houses down from you. Knew the lady who lived there. Used to help her out before she . . . ” I stop, wondering if I should get into all this, but she nods.
    “I know. She died. Last night, this neighborhood watch lady came over and told us all about it.”
    “Mrs. Golden,” I mutter.
    “Right,” she draws out the word. “She was very, um, neighborly. She gave us a big basket with cleaning products and flowers and a pie.” She says pie so it sounds like “pa.”
    I cough out a nervous laugh, and she shivers, clutching her thin jacket around her chin. I notice her glancing at my feet, which truth be told feel like frozen blocks strapped to my legs.
    “I don’t like shoes,” I tell her. “They’re restrictive.”
    She just nods. We’re in front of Mrs. Hansel’s house— New Girl’s house now. “You want to come in?” she says, and I almost fall over on the sidewalk.
    Can it be this easy?
    “We’re not half done unpacking,” she says as she fiddles with her keys. “You’re going to laugh at how messy it is.”
    “I won’t laugh,” I promise, even though I can feel it already burbling out of me. This is it, I’m thinking. Don’t blow this. I flex my feet, rub the soles across Mrs. Hansel’s old welcome mat. They’re numb, buzzing. Every muscle in my body is twitching.
    When the door opens, the smell hits me: Mrs. Hansel’s powdery scent mixed with medicine crossed with some kind of piney cleaning solution. Then the cold. Or really the lack of expected warmth. “Whoa,” I say, making an exaggerated brrr sound.
    “I know,” New Girl says. “My mother thinks the furnace is broken. It’s even colder upstairs.”
    I sway in the entryway, shoving my hands in my pockets so she won’t see them shaking. I’m three strides into the front room, focusing on the fireplace, when my foot hits something. An open box. That’s when I notice the room is full