Earth & Sky (The Earth & Sky Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page A

along on my way to Ben’s house. “You pick the place, I’ll buy you something to eat, and we’ll talk?”
    I waver. Mom and Dad will be expecting me for dinner soon, and Angela’s supposed to come over later on to work out the last details of our English presentation. Still, I have a little time.
    There’s nothing he can to do to me in a public place, surrounded by other people, that he couldn’t have already done if he wanted to. He could be playing some bizarre game with me, but I’ll survive that. I might not survive passing up the chance to find out if he really does understand what’s wrong with me, and how to fix it. I was an inch away from losing it completely yesterday. I’d give anything to never face that fear again.
    “All right,” I say. “Let’s talk.”

4.
     
    B eing willing to talk doesn’t mean I’m throwing caution to the wind. I keep my phone in my hand as we head toward Michlin Street. Win eases my nerves by leaving a comfortable distance between us. There’s a spring in his step, but he seems content to walk in silence. When we turn the corner, off the residential street and into the flow of evening shoppers and restaurant-goers, I return the phone to my bag. This neighborhood, an artsy strip just a little too far north to be considered downtown, is my home turf. Across the street, two couples are sitting on the brightly painted benches outside Pie Of Your Dreams, where the five of us—Angela, Bree, Lisa, Evan, and me—devoured an entire lemon meringue last weekend. Farther down the block stands the antique shop where I found my book of Roman history and Angela her Halloween candelabras. Win and I pass a chain coffee shop packed with college kids—pop tunes jangling through the doorway—and the hippy-chic vegetarian place Bree adores. A “Help Wanted” sign is hanging in the window. I’ll have to mention it to her.
    Just beyond the thrift store where Angela buys most of her clothes, we reach an indie cafe with low armchairs and dark wood tables positioned by the front window. I’m not much of a coffee drinker—even a little caffeine gives me the jitters—but I’ve been in here a few times to grab a snack. Classic jazz is playing low in the background when we step inside. The rich scent of roasted coffee beans mingles with varnished wood and aged leather.
    “Nice place,” Win says, pausing to take it in. He tilts his head. “What musician is that?”
    “Um, I’m not sure,” I say. “The staff might know.”
    He nods and ambles over to the short line by the order counter. As I follow him, a broad man in a pinstriped suit turns abruptly from the pickup area. His elbow bumps my arm, and the dark liquid from his cup sloshes on the front of his shirt.
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he mutters. The younger man who’s with him snatches the cup from him so he can dab at the expanding brown splotch with a napkin. The paper sops up some but not all of the stain. “I don’t have time to go back for another shirt.”
    “Sorry,” I offer, even though he’s the one who wasn’t looking where he was going. He glances at me, and rolls his eyes heavenward before turning to his assistant.
    “It’ll make you seem more accessible to the audience,” the younger man suggests. “Happens to everyone.”
    “Let’s just get this over with. The tie mostly covers it . . .”
    Their voices fade as they hurry toward the door.
    “Problem?” Win asks when I join him in line.
    “Just some grouch who thinks he’s the center of the universe.”
    “I know a few of those.” Win chuckles, and pulls a wallet out of his back pocket. “What’ll you have?”
    Not coffee, if I’m going to keep a clear head. “A small hot chocolate. And a peanut butter cookie. But you don’t have to pay for me.”
    “I think I owe you, after the way I startled you.”
    “You don’t have to pay for me,” I say firmly. I don’t like the idea that he might think I owe him after. I still don’t even