For Keeps. For Always. by HALEY JENNER (top rated books of all time txt) 📗

“I didn’t mean to ruin your serenity.”

I pull my lips together to hide my smirk.

Serenity. 

Who talks like that?

“You’re more than welcome to sit with me. We can think privately in silence together.”

She turns her head out toward the river.

Her hair is tied in a messy knot tied atop of her head today. It makes her freckles stand out more, the dusting of the dark spots starting at her nose and working their way outward over her cheeks. Her dark hair is a direct contrast to the creamy tone of her skin. She’s fair but not pale.

She’s pretty. To look at anyway. Her personality, from what I’ve seen of it, could use a facelift.

“That would be weird.” She finally speaks absent-mindedly, eyes still set on the flow of the water. “Imagine if I’m thinking about something exceptionally private . . . I’d be worried you might be trying to read my mind, which would make me uncomfortable and therefore ruin my private reflection time.”

I stare at her like she’s an alien. Truth be told, she might very well be. “Uhhh . . .”

My stutter pulls her attention from the river, and she glances at me in confusion. “What?”

“You think way too hard about things.”

She seems shocked by my statement. The lids of her eyes drop down, and her eyebrows pinch together. “What other way is there to think?”

I sit, shifting to make room for her. Maybe I'm being presumptuous, but if she was going to leave, she would have already. It’s not hard to tell that she wants to stay. It’s obvious in the way her eyes flick back and forth to the rock in longing.

“I don’t know, maybe just go with the flow,” I say.

“I do,” she declares confidently. “I just think about where the flow is taking me.”

She finally gives in, sitting down while making certain she keeps her distance.

“Do you have something against shoes?”

She glances at her own feet, clumps of dirt scattered across them. I have no doubt her soles would be black, sullied from her trek through the dirt. Her attention moves from her feet to my muddy Chucks. “What’s the point of being out in nature if you can’t feel it between your toes?”

I remain silent.

“It’d be like being given flowers but refusing to smell them or having your favorite song on the radio while you’re wearing earplugs.”

“Then why not just be naked and feel it all against your skin?”

She turns her head, looking at me with a curious smile. “Being naked is illegal, but being barefoot isn’t.”

I shrug. “Fair enough.”

I make no attempt to speak as she goes back to gazing at the trees.

“Where did you move from?”

“Colorado.”

I watch as she runs one of her toes across the slimy patch of moss on the edge of the rock. “Why?”

“My gran is sick.”

Her foot pauses as she turns her head back to look at me. She blinks once in sympathy before turning away again. “I’m sorry.”

“She’s not dead yet.”

I ignore the bite of desperation in my tone as I say the words, my need for it to be true for as long as possible.

“Brooks, what?”

“You ask an awful lot of questions for someone who was looking for quiet.”

She ignores the comment, and we sit in comfortable silence for a good few minutes before I find my voice again.

“Riley. Brooks Riley.”

“Moira Riley is my neighbor?” She phrases it like a question, an invitation for me to confirm she’s a relation.

“That’s my gran, which means you and I are also neighbors. Seems we share a property line and a secret spot.”

She ignores my jab. “I didn’t know she was sick.”

“Cancer,” I say before I can stop myself.

“That sucks.”

“Mm,” I agree. “You’re different than any fifteen-year-old girl I’ve met before.”

Her lips purse as she forces herself to look at me. “How so?”

“The way you talk. I don’t know. . . your mannerisms? Most teenage girls I know are giggling over boys and wearing too much makeup.”

The fair touch of her cheeks shade to pink. “My mom made me go to charm school,” she admits in embarrassment. “While other kids my age have sleepovers and sneak into movie theaters and smoke cigarettes, I’ve been reading classic literature. Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, The Great Gatsby.”

I grimace. “Sounds enlightening . . . and painful?”

She laughs, the sound easy and free, a stark contradiction to the Henley I’ve caught glimpses of so far. “I guess it is. Half the time, I need a tutor with me so I can understand it.”

She laughs again, and I let myself enjoy the sound. She tips her head back to let it out into the sky, letting it mingle with the wind and birds.

I like this version of her. The one brave enough to let go a little, to laugh into the wind, and talk to the stranger who stole her rock. It doesn’t take a genius to know this is unusual for her.

“Will you be going to Ivy Prep?”

I nod.

Sliding down the rock, she dusts the back of her pressed shorts, now stained with green moss. “I guess I’ll see you around school then.”

“No more arguments about the rock then?” I tease.

She turns, walking backward, ignoring the way the twigs snap sharply under her toes. “You’re easy to read, Brooks Riley,” she ponders out loud. “It doesn’t matter how much I argue because you’ve already made your mind up. I don’t care to find a new spot, so I’ll have to learn a new normal, one with you on the outskirts.”

“You’ll learn to love me.” I wink, attempting to lighten the heaviness in her tone.

She smiles a sad smile. “I don’t love anything that can cause me pain. Especially people. But I’ll learn to tolerate you.”

I watch her leave, shock holding me in place, unsure what else to say.

3

HENLEY

“Hey.”

I arch away from the breath touching my ear. “Personal space.” I stare at Brooks in irritation.

“Sorry.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

He looks like the typical misfit of Ivy Prep. His white dress shirt is half untucked and his gray