Page 7 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Ivy

Eleven Years Old

T he wind blows through my hair as I race across the yard, glancing over my shoulder every now and again to make sure no one is watching.

If my grandmother were to see me running like this, I’d be in for it.

After all, running is not fit for a young lady.

We are to sit on the couch, sipping tea and practicing our postures.

My nose curls up, and I gag at the mere thought of doing something so boring. I’m supposed to be studying with my etiquette tutor, and after that, it will be my art tutor, but when she left to go to the restroom, I darted out the back door.

A giggle slips past my lips as I kick up my speed, and the wind tickles my skin. I’ve always dreamed of flying, but sadly, a chained bird can only make it so far. For now, running to Campbell is as close as I will get.

Someday, though, I will fly, and no one will be able to stop me.

I’m breathing hard by the time I make it to Campbell’s house. My hair is a wild and frizzy mess, but I don’t care. I never care when I’m with Campbell.

Tiptoeing around to the back of his house, I find the window he always leaves unlocked just for me—even when he’s not here —and push it open, pausing every so often to make sure no one is around.

I’ve never told Campbell how suffocating my house can be, but sometimes, I catch him looking at me like he’s trying to figure me out.

He doesn’t know it, but his friendship has saved me.

Otherwise, I might have already smothered under the pressure.

Things never seem to be as bad when I’m with him. He’s my best friend.

He had football practice after school today, though, so I plan on sitting in his room and waiting as long as it takes for him to get back.

With the window up, I kick off my shoes, hike up my pants, and start to climb through. I’m only halfway in when I hear a throat clear. I slowly lift my head until I come face-to-face with Della Rae Richards, Campbell’s mom.

Fear settles in my stomach as we stare at each other. A clock is ticking somewhere in the house, and I try to focus on that, letting it calm me the way it always does at home—but all I can hear is the sound of my blood pumping in my ears.

“That looks very uncomfortable, dear. Why don’t you come on in?”

With wooden movements, I do as she asks, knowing the jig is up. My safe place is now compromised. Della Rae is friends with my grandmother, and I’m sure the moment my feet hit the ground, she’ll march me straight over there to tell her what I’ve been doing.

Once I’m through, I spin around to shut the window behind me, avoiding the inevitable for a little longer, and when I turn back around, I stare at my feet so I don’t have to see the disappointment in Della Rae’s face.

I like Campbell’s mom. She’s always been kind to me, but that will probably change after this. My grandfather says I’m wild and that no one will ever put up with me. Maybe he’s right.

“Would you like a snack?”

I’m so lost in my misery that what she said doesn’t sink in at first. My head snaps up, and I stare at her with an open mouth.

“I’m—I’m sorry?”

“Would you like a snack, dear? Personally, I’m famished.”

I look around, waiting for someone to pop out and start yelling at me, but when I look back at Della Rae, she’s smiling.

“Um—sure.”

Her eyes light up, and she waves me along. “Great. If you’ll follow me, then.”

She doesn’t look back as she walks out of Campbell’s room, disappearing out the door. I only wait a second before I scamper after her, afraid that if I don’t, whatever this is will end, and I’ll be sent back.

She’s already waiting for me when I get to the kitchen. A plate of cookies and two cups of milk sit on the countertop. Della Rae smiles when I hesitate, waving me over.

My footsteps are slow, but I force myself forward. I stop beside the seat she gestured to, and hang my head, ready for the ax to drop. “I’m sorry, Ms. Richards.”

She’s busy fussing over two plates, dividing out cookies, which makes it a little easier because I don’t have to meet her gaze, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, she stops what she is doing and looks up.

“For what, dear?”

Her response catches me off guard, and my mouth opens and closes several times before I work up the courage to continue.

“For sneaking into Campbell’s bedroom?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, so I clear my throat and try again.

“For sneaking into Campbell’s bedroom,” I say more resolutely.

“Oh, honey, I’ve known about that for months.” She returns to sorting cookies, and suddenly, my knees go out. I fall into the seat beside her, trying to understand what’s happening.

“And you’re not mad?” I ask, my voice wobbling.

Della Rae turns to face me again, scooting the plate over to where I sit. Her eyes are suddenly serious. “I know what it’s like to need a safe place, sugar. You come over anytime.”

I look down at my hands and then back up, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Thank you,” I say, the words barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything more. She just pats my hand and picks up a cookie, prompting me to do so too.

We eat in silence until Campbell walks through the back door with his football gear slung over his shoulder and his hair a mess.

His eyes dart from me to his mom, going wide with panic just like mine had.

But then I smile at him, and his shoulders relax—and I wonder if maybe I’m his safe place, too.

______________________

When his mom leaves the kitchen, Campbell grabs my hand and drags me back to his room, shutting the door behind us.

“What happened? Are you okay? Did she catch you coming in through the window?”

He throws his stuff in the corner, and I flop on his bed, sitting criss-cross apple-sauce as I watch him move about the room.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “But she wasn’t mad.”

Campbell is taking off his shirt and replacing it with a new one, but he stops midway, turning to face me.

My cheeks flame hot, and I turn my face away.

I’ve seen Campbell without a shirt plenty of times, but lately, something feels different about it.

Like I’m seeing him not just as my best friend, but as something more.

My eyes dart back, falling on his lips, and I wonder what it would feel like to press mine to his.

All the other girls at school have already had their first kiss.

I overheard them talking about it, but I haven’t—mainly because the only guy I would ever want to kiss happens to be my best friend, who sometimes forgets I’m a girl.

“She wasn’t mad at all?” Campbell asks, dragging me out of my daydreams. The heat from my cheeks works its way down my neck as I realize what I’d been doing.

“Nope,” I say, flopping back onto my back and staring at the ceiling so it doesn’t happen again.

Campbell snorts, and I hear him roughly pull the new shirt over his head. “Of course she wasn’t.”

There’s so much disgust in his voice that I’m forced to sit back up to look at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, cocking my head to the side to study him.

He sighs and shoves his hand through his hair, and I have a fleeting thought about what it would feel like for my hands to do the same, then I shake my head, clearing it from my mind.

“Nothing,” Campbell says, turning his back to me, and I automatically know it’s something. Campbell only avoids looking at me when he’s trying to hide his feelings.

Jumping off the bed, I take him by surprise and tackle him to the ground, sitting on his back and holding him down until he yells ‘mercy.’

“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you up,” I say, knowing that if he wanted to, he could get up.

“Fine. I’ll tell you. Now get off of me.”

With a grin, I stand up, and he rolls to his back, glaring up at me.

“You can’t just tackle everyone you want information out of,” he says grumpily, but humor dances in his eyes.

Shrugging, I go back to my perch on the bed. “Sure, I can. Now spill.”

Campbell sits up, bending his knees and hanging his arms over them as he avoids my gaze.

“It’s just—sometimes I wish I could get in trouble.”

My brows dip. “Are you insane? Who wants to get in trouble?”

With a humorless chuckle, Campbell says, “You’re right. It’s stupid.”

He’s looking up, glaring out his window, and I watch him for a minute. Sadness clings to him, and it makes my chest ache. Sliding from the bed, I crawl over to where he sits, placing my hand softly on his forearm.

“Hey,” I say, calling his attention to me. His blue eyes find mine, and my breath stutters. “I wasn’t listening, but I am now. Explain it to me.”

“It’s stupid,” he says again.

I shake my head, curls tumbling into my face. Campbell lifts his hand and tucks it behind my ear, and I shiver with the contact.

“It’s not. Tell me,” I whisper.

He holds my face for one second, then two, and then he gives in, letting his hand drop and looking away when he says, “Isaiah is always getting in trouble—big trouble—and Mom and Dad focus on him. Which is fine, I get it, but then there’s Ali, who excels at everything she does.

Mom and Dad are so proud of her, and I am, too—but I wish they would see me sometimes.

My siblings are so different—the shining star and the screw-up—and I’m stuck in the middle, hoping they’ll notice me. ”

When he looks back at me, the light in his eyes is missing, and it scares me so much that I scramble forward, forcing myself onto his lap and slinging my arms around his neck. He holds me, wrapping his arms around me.

Campbell is the very definition of light, and I never want to see that dullness in his eyes again.

“I notice you, Campbell. Always.”