“Funny. I don’t see it on here,” I say, handing it back.
“I’m doing it for her,” she explains, shooting a look to her friend. “She’s shy.”
“I’m picky,” Ryen retorts, and I quickly turn my eyes on her again, her flippant response goading me.
She cocks her head defiantly, staring me full on in the eyes.
So does that mean I’m not worthy? Well, well… I hide my smile.
“Lyla!” someone nearby yells. “Oh, my God, come here!”
Ryen’s friend turns her head to a group of people to her left and laughs at whatever they’re doing. She must be Lyla then.
She turns back to me. “I’ll be right back.” Like I care. “Just please kiss her. She needs it.” And then she notices Ryen shoot her a glare and turns back to me, clarifying, “For her scavenger hunt, I mean.”
She walks away, laughing. I almost expect Ryen to follow her, but she doesn’t.
It’s just us now.
A cool sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I look at Ryen, both of us locked in an awkward silence.
Why isn’t she saying anything? She has to know who I am. Of course, she doesn’t know I formed a band recently, because I wanted to surprise her with an actual old school demo tape for our graduation in a few months, but it’s damn near impossible to be invisible these days. Our names and pictures are on our Facebook page and the rack cards by the entrance. Is she fucking around with me?
She shifts her stance, and I see her chest rise with a heavy breath, like she’s waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she lets out a sigh and looks down at her card. “I also need a picture of eating something Lady & The Tramp-style with someone.”
I keep my arms crossed and narrow my eyes on her. She’s going to keep up with this charade?
“Or…” she goes on, sounding annoyed, probably because I haven’t responded. “I need a picture of a picture of a picture. Whatever that means.”
I remain silent, getting a little pissed she’s acting clueless. Seven years, and this is how you want to meet, Angel?
She shakes her head, acting like I’m the one being rude. “Okay, never mind.” And she turns to walk away.
“Wait!” someone calls.
Dane jogs up behind Ryen, stopping her, and then walks up to me, scolding under his breath, “Dude, why are you looking at her like she slapped your grandma? Damn.”
He turns back to Ryen and smiles. “Hey. How are you doing?”
I drop my eyes but only for a moment. Does she really not know who I am?
I guess there would be plenty of people here who haven’t heard of us. We’re not a big deal, and this is probably the only thing going on in a fifty-mile radius, so why wouldn’t she be here, if only because there’s nothing else to do?
Maybe she has no fucking clue she’s standing in front of Misha Lare right now. The boy she’s been writing letters to since she was eleven.
“What’s your name?” Dane asks her.
She turns back, her eyes flashing to me, clearly indicating her guard is up now. Thanks to me.
“Ryen,” she answers. “You?”
“Dane.” And then he turns to me. “And this is—” But I shoot out my hand, knocking him lightly in the stomach.
No. Not like this.
Ryen sees the exchange and pinches her eyebrows together, probably wondering what my problem is.
“So you live in Falcon’s Well?” Dane continues, taking my cue and changing the subject.