Read Believing for Free Online

force-feeding her mush and bacon. She’s about to flee when she hears someone call her name.
    Looking up, she sees Blue Slayton beckoning from a table filled with guys.
    Hmm. Maybe she’ll stick around. She walks over, tossing her head a little to get her hair out of her face without being obvious.
    “How’s it going?” Blue asks when she arrives at his side.
    “Great,” she says, noticing that he’s wearing a long-sleeved jersey in a deep indigo shade that matches his eyes—and his name.
    He wears that color a lot, she’s noticed, and she’s sure it’s no accident. He has to be aware of the striking impact. And his clothes are expensive. She can tell by the cotton fabric that looks as thick and soft as his light brown hair, which he might wear in a wavy and slightly unkempt style, but she knows that’s no ten-dollar barbershop haircut.
    No, everything about Blue Slayton is expertly and deliberately pulled together. The result is effortless good looks that take her breath away a little every time she sees him up close.
    “So you haven’t gotten lost yet?” he asks Calla, fork poised above a tray that holds two of everything: two sloppy joe plate lunches, two bottles of juice, two ice cream bars.
    “Not yet.” She wonders if he’s going to eat all that himself, or if he’s planning to share with someone else. Willow, maybe?
    “The only way to get lost around here is trying to find your way home if a blizzard blows in during the day,” comments the red-haired, freckled guy sitting next to Blue.
    “Yeah, but that only happens, like, once a week in the winter, and so far, we’ve lost less than a dozen kids that way,” Blue says dryly, and everyone laughs.
    He introduces Calla to the redhead—Jeremy—and to the other four guys, two of whom are named Ryan. They’re all on the school soccer team together.
    “Calla’s living over in the Dale with her grandmother,” Blue tells them, and a couple of them ask her politely about where she’s from and how she likes it here.
    As she answers their questions, she wishes Blue would invite her to sit down, but he doesn’t.
    Well, that’s probably because he’s with all these guys.
    Or maybe it’s because he’s no longer interested in you .
    “Hey, Calla,” he says abruptly, “want to go out Friday night?”
    Or maybe he is interested.
    “Sure,” she hears herself say as her heart trips over itself. “That would be great.”
    “Good. I’ll call you.” Blue drains what’s left of his open juice and crushes the plastic bottle in his fist before reaching for the second one.
    She takes that as her cue to leave.
    But Blue Slayton asking her out again is enough to ease the humiliation, five minutes later, of roaming the room with a full tray, looking for a seat that has empty chairs around it. She doesn’t want to just go and plop herself down next to anyone. That would feel kind of . . . bold.
    But none of the open chairs has a buffer zone around it, and she can feel people looking up at her as she passes their tables.
    She just has to sit down somewhere. Anywhere.
    She looks around and her gaze falls on a striking girl with long black hair, porcelain skin, and a familiar face. Willow York again, and she glances up from a conversation she’s having with the girl next to her. “Oh, hi.”
    “Hi.” Calla hesitates, still holding her tray.
    “Want to sit with us?” asks the other girl, who is African American, with a short, chic haircut, gorgeous dark eyes, and a mouthful of braces. She points to the empty chair across from her and Willow.
    “Definitely.” Calla gratefully puts her tray on the table and slips into the chair without stopping to see if Willow seems to want her there.
    “This is Sarita,” Willow says, in a friendly enough tone, “and you and I have already met. A few times, right? But I’m Willow . . . in case you forgot.”
    She didn’t forget.
    “Do you live in Lily Dale?” Sarita asks.
    “Yeah, I’m staying with my