Page 4 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

JADE

“Ahhh, all that snow sounds so pretty.” Amelia’s English accent brought a smile to my face. Having been back home since Christmas, it sounded so different already. “I’d really like to see you on a sledge.”

“Sled,” I corrected, “And I’m a bit past that now,” I said.

I was sitting in my car at Oak Brook Hill, watching my brother and his friends sledding.

But Amelia and Katie, friends from St. Martin’s College, the school I’d attended for a semester as an exchange student in England, had video called me, and I’d taken my eye off Oliver.

“Oh, you mean too mature?” Katie chimed in, accentuating her tone to sound more posh than normal.

“Yeah, sledding’s for little kids,” I said, wincing at my own voice.

It had taken a while to get used to the English accent when I first arrived in London.

Kids at my school sounded like they were part of the royal family, but even though we were all speaking English, at times it seemed like a foreign language.

When I was told to put my suitcase in the boot , I’d stared down at my shoes, totally mystified.

Until I learned that’s what they called the trunk of the car.

“I wanna see the snow,” Amelia sighed.

“Well, it’s not actually snowing at the...”

My phone buzzed with a notification that Oliver was calling.

That was weird. I mean he was just over there on the hill somewhere.

I took my eyes off of the screen and did a quick scan of the hill for his orange beanie.

A crowd of kids were congregated away from the main sledding area, and I quickly turned back to the phone.

“Hey guys, I gotta go. My brother’s calling. We’ll talk soon.” I didn’t even acknowledge their goodbyes, shutting off the call and answering. “Ollie?”

He was in a panic, garbling that I should bring some tissues and a first aid kit.

I leaned across to the glove compartment.

With Mom being a nurse, she’d included it as an optional extra when buying my truck, but I’d only ever used a band-aid.

As I ran over to where I could now see Oliver’s bright hat, I had visions of him with a broken leg or slashed arm.

I was mentally preparing my big brother speech about how I’d told him to avoid the steep slope like Mom had warned.

Last week a kid had needed stitches in his head after slamming into a rock.

From Oliver’s position, it was obvious he hadn’t listened.

Tyson Wheeler, Ollie’s friend who had come with us, came racing toward me. “Ollie smashed into her. There’s blood everywhere.”

A sick feeling sat in the pit of my stomach, not at the thought of seeing blood, but because it appeared I was the adult in the situation and I’d been on my phone instead of watching my brother. But hey, where were this kid’s parents?

As we neared, I could see the patient was a girl, her dark hair flowing down her back beneath a purple beanie. On a positive note, she was sitting up, which meant she was conscious.

“Jade.” My brother stood up, looking ecstatic to see me. “It was an accident. She might have a broken nose.” He turned to the girl and said with relief, “Jade’s here.”

I crouched down and did a second take. Valencia Reid was holding her head back, her hand resting on her forehead.

“I think she might have a broken nose,” Oliver said again.

“Hi,” I said, unzipping the first aid pouch while assessing Valencia’s face.

The Reids were neighbors and her brother Paris had been one of my best friends before he quit Covington Prep to do online schooling.

Our mothers were besties, too, but I’d never been quite this close to Valencia before.

Certainly had never needed to assess her face.

I was suddenly nervous. Though blood pooled beneath her nose, it was Valencia’s eyes that drew me in.

The darkest shade of brown, she looked at me with a flicker of hope, like in this moment of distress I was her salvation, her knight in shining armor.

Here to rescue her. Captivated, I momentarily forgot the urgency of the situation, prompted into action only when Oliver piped up, “Is it broken? Do you think it’s broken? ”

Valencia’s nose didn’t look misshapen, in fact it looked absolutely perfect, cute and straight and red on its tip. From the cold, not the blood. With reluctance, I pulled my gaze from her, about to rummage in the kit for a cloth. But Oliver had already opened a towelette and held it out for me.

I recalled the time Chance Ciccone got an elbow to his face in a soccer game and blood squirted from his nose. Coach had told him to lean forward.

“Hey, lean forward Valencia, and pinch your nose,” I said in this low, husky voice which sounded like I was recovering from laryngitis.

Complying without question, she lowered her head, drips of blood staining the icy ground. I waited till the bleeding stopped and, with a trembling hand, I delicately wiped the antiseptic cloth around her nose. She flinched, her body jerking.

“Ooh, sorry, are you okay?” I whispered.

There was the slightest nod as she inhaled shakily, almost wheezing. I put my hand around the top of her back, an instinct of fundamental responsibility, taking charge.

“Ollie, get some water,” I barked, not really having any idea how he’d manifest a bottle of water out here, but he dug further into the kit and produced a small plastic bottle.

“It says saline solution, is that the same thing?”

“Good enough,” I said.

He handed me a wad of paper tissues and I dampened them with the saline.

I had no idea if it was the right thing, just acting intuitively, but it seemed like something Mom would do.

Always nurturing with a damp cloth, a hug, a kiss.

Steadying Valencia’s chin with my hand, I dabbed at her skin with exquisite care, mindful of not making her jump again.

I was aware Oliver was hovering, another tissue at the ready.

“Are you okay?” I murmured, fully immersed in the task of cleaning her upper lip.

I cast my glance up to her eyes, the connection with her intense brown eyes causing a flutter in my stomach.

For a bizarre moment, time stood still, like being put under a spell, of seeing this girl for the very first time.

Which was ridiculous. Valencia Reid had been a regular visitor to our house with her family for cookouts or game nights.

But that was a few years ago when Paris was around.

In the middle of sophomore year, Paris kicked off into another realm, quitting school so he could concentrate on tennis.

It meant training for hours daily, attending tennis camps and playing in tournaments every weekend.

So yeah, it had been a while since Valencia had been to our house.

“You need another one?” Oliver offered me a clean tissue, jolting me out of my reverie. It was clear to see that Valencia had grown up since those days when I remembered she used to sit cross-legged on the couch or floor, drawing in a notebook or doing puzzles with Oliver.

“Sure, thanks,” I said, taking it and wiping the last remaining drops of blood.

I wanted to linger, to trace my finger across her cheekbone, to feel that small dent below her right eyebrow, for my thumb to outline the curve of her upper lip.

“Uh, I think we’re good,” I said, swallowing thickly.

“I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. ”

“Do you feel okay?” Oliver asked, crouching right close to her.

“I think so,” Valencia said, smiling at him.

A sharp pang of jealousy surfaced, yet how crazy was that?

My 11 year old brother was a kid who held a Harry Potter movie marathon with his friends every year, who ate spinach without complaining and thought sledding was cool.

He’d coaxed a smile out of Valencia when I hadn’t.

Yet I’d been the one who nursed her back to health.

“I’m sorry I bumped into you,” Oliver said. “I couldn’t stop.”

“It’s okay. It was an accident,” Valencia said. Her eyes tracked to me. “Thanks.”

That was it. A single word of gratitude. But I wanted more. I wanted accolades, eternal praise, more time with her...

Valencia curled her legs under, about to stand. I held my hand out to assist at the same time that Oliver did. She grabbed both of us, and up on her feet, Oliver let go and went to retrieve her upturned sled. I wasn’t so quick to release her, feeling her weight lean against me.

“Can I give you a ride home?” I asked, immediately rephrasing that. “I’m taking you home. You can’t sled anymore.”

Valencia looked around, up to the top of the hill and across to where a bunch of kids were in a huddle.

In jackets and hoods and beanies, I couldn’t recognize anyone but I assumed they were her friends.

And yet she made no attempt to call or go over to them.

She took off her right glove and pushed a loose strand of hair back under her beanie, then gently touched her nose, like she was checking it.

“Is it okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “I think I should go home,” she said. “I can text...”

I butted in, “No, I can give you a ride. Or did you drive?”

“Uh, I came with my friend,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket but dropping her glove in the process. I bent down to pick it up. She was tapping on her phone, and I butted in again.

“Text her that I’m taking you home,” I said, exerting authority in a take-charge manner.

Her voice was a shaky whisper. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” I said, wondering whether the nosebleed had been more painful than she was letting on.

I nodded to Oliver, who had grabbed his own sled as well. “Hey, let’s go,” I said. “Tell Tyson.”

“One more?” Oliver asked, looking to Tyson for support. “We’ll be real quick.”