Stealing for Keeps (Frost Lake High Book 1)
Stealing for Keeps: Chapter 13

The second Claire walks into our chaotic house, I’m second-guessing myself. Her house was quiet and tidy, two things ours never is.

Mom is making dinner in the kitchen. The smell of garlic bread hangs in the air, and she has music playing loudly to drown out the noise of the TV in the living room.

When she sees Claire, she smiles and hurries over to her phone to turn it down. “Hi. You must be Claire.”

“Hi, Mrs. Keller.” Claire lifts a hand to wave.

Mom looks like she’s five seconds away from embarrassing me. She’s got that happy smile on her face, obviously pleased with Claire’s politeness. Her gaze darts between us like she wants to ask me if this is my new girlfriend. Groan.

“We’re going to work upstairs,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says. “Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. Will you join us?” Mom asks her.

“Oh, I…” Claire glances at me for help.

I shrug. Mom was always trying to feed my friends back in Arizona.

“Thanks. That’d be nice.”

“Come on.” I take off toward the staircase.

“Leave the door open!” Mom calls after me.

“Moooom,” I yell back. I shake my head when I get to the top of the stairs.

Claire’s easy smiles makes it a little less awkward.

“I’m in here.” I motion toward the first room on the left and then walk in and flip on the light.

When her gaze scans the small room, I rub at the back of my neck and feel a creep of embarrassment. Since we got here, I’ve done very little to make this place my own, aside from the furniture—a bed, a nightstand, a bookcase my dad built, and a desk. The only other signs of life are the laundry basket of clothes Mom has been nagging me to put away and my sketch pads scattered across my desk.

I move toward them and stack them in a tidy pile. “You can work here if you want.”

“Is that where you usually draw?”

I nod. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal.”

She drops her bag onto the carpet and then sits, crossing her legs as she starts to pull out her art supplies. “It’s okay. I usually sit on the floor while I paint.”

I stare at her, looking all cozy in the small space between my bed and the wall. Claire has this way of always seeming like she fits in wherever she goes.

“Don’t worry. I have a small tarp I can put down so I don’t get anything on the carpet.”

The carpet was the least of my worries, but my mom will be thankful.

We’ve barely gotten started when Wyatt comes storming into my room. I left the door half-open per Mom’s request, but now I’m wondering how we’ll ever get anything done. This house isn’t exactly quiet, and someone is always invading my space unless I have the door closed and locked.

“What are you guys doing?” Wyatt asks, running in and jumping on my bed. He peers down at Claire like she’s the most fascinating thing. I can’t say that I really blame him there.

“Working on an art project,” she answers, not seeming at all bothered by him. He has that effect on people, for a few minutes anyway.

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing to her paper.

“Well, this is going to be a painting of the supply closet in the PE room at the high school.”

His little face scrunches up as he stares down at the mostly blank paper. “It doesn’t look like a closet.”

She laughs lightly. “No, it doesn’t. Not yet, but it will.”

He grins at her and then moves to sit next to her on the floor. “Can I try? I bet I could paint something better than that.”

“Wyatt.” I shake my head at him. “Don’t be rude.”

“Sorry.” He dips his head.

“It’s fine.” She grabs a blank page and hands it over to him.

“Really? Austin never lets me touch his art supplies.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s because you use my pencils to make slingshots.”

He looks the tiniest bit guilty.

“Well, you can’t hurt anything here.”

I notice she hands him the widest brush instead of one of the small, precision ones. I tip my head to her in thanks.

It takes my little brother less than five minutes to finish his masterpiece.

“It’s very good,” she tells him. “That looks just like the swings at the elementary school. Glad to know it hasn’t changed.”

“Thanks.” He beams.

“You should take it to show your class,” she suggests.

“I don’t think so.” His tiny head shakes rapidly.

“Why not?” I ask. Back in Arizona, he was always taking shit in for show-and-tell. One time, he took in a scorpion he captured in a jar without any of us knowing. Mom got called to the office. It was a whole thing.

“They’ll think it’s dumb.”

“Who will?” I press.

“The other kids. They think everything I do is stupid. Nobody wants to be my friend.”

White-hot rage floods my veins. “You’re not stupid.”

He shrugs.

“Hey.” I rest a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly until he turns his blue eyes up to me. “You’re the coolest third grader I know.”

He giggles, looking less sad than before, but the tightness in my chest is still there. I had no idea he was struggling to make friends.

“I didn’t know you were in third grade.” Claire smiles at him. “Who is your teacher?”

“Mr. Wave.”

“My sister had him two years ago.”

“You have a sister?”

“Mm-hmm. Ruby.”

“Is she pretty like you?” Wyatt’s eyes widen with the possibility.

I fight a laugh, which Claire notices, and then she blushes.

“We look a lot alike,” Claire says. “Except her hair is a reddish blond, and she’s a little bit shorter. I’ll tell her to look for the supercool third grader at recess.”

He gives her a toothy grin that falls before he says, “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Not at all. If you have any trouble with kids being mean, you ask around until you replace Ruby.”

“Or you just text me,” I say.

Claire arches a brow. Maybe threatening eight-year-olds isn’t the answer, but right now, I’d do anything to make the look of hurt disappear from my brother’s face.

“I’m gonna go show Mom my painting.” He bounds off like the conversation never happened.

“His mood swings give me whiplash sometimes,” I tell Claire with a small half smile. That uneasy feeling of him being picked on at school isn’t gone, but I’ll have to figure out how to deal with it later.

“He’s a cool kid. I’ll tell Ruby to keep an eye on him.”

“That’s really nice of you, but I’ll talk to my mom. Maybe she can ask the teacher what’s going on or something.”

“Spoken like someone who was never picked on.” Her light laughter gives me pause.

“You were picked on?” I shake my head with disbelief. Why would anyone mess with a girl like Claire? She’s beautiful and nice, and from what little I’ve come to know about the Frost Lake High social hierarchy, she’s pretty high up there.

“I was shy, and my mom made me wear these frilly dresses every day. Kids thought I was weird or stuck up. And then Jimmy Hannah told the entire second grade that I liked to eat hair.”

I laugh, unable to hold it in, but thankful when she joins in.

“I’m sorry. Eat hair?” I say the last two words slowly to make sure I heard her right.

Her face takes on an adorable shade of pink. “I would sometimes put the end of my braid in my mouth.”

She looks up at me like she’s back in second grade, waiting for me to mock her. I would never, but…

“Why?” I hold a fist over my mouth as I continue to stifle my laughter.

“I don’t know. I guess I did it when I was nervous or bored or something. I didn’t eat it!” She throws her arms up, paintbrush still in one hand.

“Just licked it.”

The pink on her cheeks is redder now.

“I never should have told you,” she says, but her smile says the opposite.

“I’ll never say a word.” I get up and go sit on the floor in front of her with my sketch pad and pencil. “You still do it, you know.”

“I do not eat my hair.”

“No.” My gaze moves from her eyes to the end of her ponytail draped over one shoulder. “When you get nervous or you’re concentrating really hard, sometimes you’ll play with your hair.” I reach over and tug the end gently.

“Oh.” She reaches up to touch it self-consciously, and our hands brush and hold.

My gut twists, and my pulse kicks up a notch.

Somewhere in the very back of my brain, I hear Vaughn’s voice asking if I’m interested in her. I’m not. I can’t be. I realized yesterday that I’d been given an opportunity to finally have the guys accept me. I got to school, thinking it didn’t matter and that I didn’t owe Vaughn anything, but then suddenly my teammates were all happy to see me and wanted to talk soccer and invite me to hang.

And practices have been incredible. I’m no longer fighting for every possession, every shot. I forgot what that feeling is like. Being a part of a team, especially a good one, is magic.

Which is why I can’t risk things going back to the way they were. Not even for her.

“Austin, dinner’s ready!” Torrance yells as she walks by my open door.

I drop my hand and jump back.

I clear my throat as I stand. Claire does as well, neither of us saying anything.

Wyatt and Torrance are already seated when we get downstairs.

Mom is at the stove. She glances over her shoulder. “Everything is on the table. Austin, get Claire something to drink.”

I walk over to the fridge and hold up a can of Diet Dr Pepper in one hand and Brisk iced tea in the other.

“Dr Pepper,” she says.

“Good choice.”

I get two, and we sit at the table. Wyatt fires out question after question until Mom has to tell him to stop so Claire can take a bite of her food. Dad calls in the middle of dinner, and Mom takes her phone into the office to talk. Torrance leaves without saying a word to anyone, and Wyatt stuffs the rest of his food in his mouth and hurries off to play video games before Mom tells him to start getting ready for bed.

Claire and I eat in silence and then take our plates to the sink. I load up the dishwasher while she watches me.

“Your family is nice.”

“Nice?” I ask, popping in a tab of soap and closing the dishwasher to start it.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t think your sister likes me very much, but you all have a nice dynamic together.”

“I’m sorry about Torrance. It’s not you. She still hates me for uprooting the family and ruining her life. Wyatt likes you, though. In fact, I think he has a crush on you. He must have asked you fifty questions tonight.”

“I don’t mind,” she says, and I believe her.

“Do you want to work on our projects a little more?”

“I should probably get home.”

I really don’t want her to go, but that seems like something someone who was interested in her would think or say, so I just nod.

We go back up to my room where she packs up all her painting supplies, and I tidy up my desk. Once her backpack is zipped and she lifts it to one shoulder, she looks at me.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” My heartbeat accelerates.

“What did Vaughn say to you about me?”

I open my mouth to answer but stop myself.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.” She looks a little sad, which has guilt washing over me.

“He’s my teammate, and he cares about you.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. We’re just friends, right?”

“Right.”

She hesitates, and then her lips curve up into a smile that seems fake as hell. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I say as I watch her go. “See you tomorrow.”