7 Minutes in Heaven Read online

  “What else do you know about Kyle?” I ask her curiously. I don’t actually care about the guy. I just want her to talk to distract me from the friggin’ cold.

  Makena is quick to help me out. “His middle name is Benjamin.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I sit behind him. His school ID is attached to his backpack.” She smiles up at me. “His picture is perfect. Like a model.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t steal it.”

  “I thought about it, believe me.”

  “Oh, I do. What else have you got?”

  “He’s into sports. Pretty much all of them but he really loves basketball. He was a big deal at his school in Florida. They won the State Championship last year.”

  “Then why’d he move out here? We’ve never won.”

  “No one knows.”

  “And you didn’t find out?” I ask, feigning shock. “What kind of detective are you?”

  “I’m better than you are,” she laughs.

  “That’s true.”

  “You should be more ashamed of that than you are. You’re obsessed with cop shows, Grace. This is your area. Not mine.”

  “I know, but I forget everything I hear like three minutes after I hear it. My dad talked to Kyle’s dad in the yard when they moved in. He told me their life story afterward and I forgot almost everything by dinner. All I remember is that his mom is the new music teacher at the middle school, and I only remembered that because it affects Ashley.”

  “You’re hopeless.”

  “You sound like my mom.” I frown, shivering against the cold that’s crawling under my skin. Luckily, I’m only a stone’s throw from the gym and the meager heat stored inside. “I’ll see you at lunch? I’ll drive.”

  “You can’t. You walked to school.”

  “Crap!” I groan at the gray sky. “That’s right. I forgot.”

  “You should see a doctor. You’re forgetting everything.”

  “You have to photograph that Model U.N. meeting after school, don’t you?”

  She grimaces. “Yeah. I can drive you home after if you wait for me.”

  “No, that’s alright. Walking in the afternoon will be warmer than this morning.” I wave to her, breaking away to head toward the gym. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Later!”

  I grunt quietly as I open the heavy door. It goes unwillingly, slamming shut hard behind me. I pause for a second to let my eyes adjust. The gym is always dark. The ceilings are too high for the buzzing fluorescents to be much good, and the big windows above me that used to pour sunlight into the building are still boarded up. They blew out in the storm three years ago and the school hasn’t had the money to replace them.

  “Look out!”

  Whoosh!

  A ball flies by my head. It misses my face by an inch. I go rigid with shock, then nearly jump out of my shoes when it bangs like a gunshot against the door behind me.

  “Why?!” I shout reflexively. I don’t know why that’s what I choose to say. It’s involuntary, like the mad rush of my heart in my chest as it comes to terms with what just happened.

  I was almost decapitated by some jerk in an orange shirt.

  He’s running toward me, his face tight with worry. He’s tall and broad. Bigger than most of the guys here at school. His hair is cut short on the sides and left long on top. It bounces as he runs—black as midnight, shining with a thousand pin-prick stars. His nose is sharp, his jaw square. His eyes round and too dark to discern. But what I can tell from this cursory inspection is that Makena was absolutely right about him – Kyle Rixton is gorgeous.

  I know it’s him. I know it as surely as I know my life will never be the same.

  Before Kyle. After Kyle. My life in two parts.

  One has ended. The other is only just beginning.

  chapter three

  “Are you okay?” he asks hurriedly.

  “Are you Kyle?”

  I can’t believe I just asked that. What am I thinking? What am I doing? Why am I standing here like a statue staring up into his eyes? When was the last time I blinked? I think it’s time to blink. I’ll look insane if I don’t.

  Blink.

  Kyle smiles. “I guess everyone already knows who I am, huh?”

  “It’s a small school.”

  “It’s a small town.”

  “It’s a small world.”

  Seriously, though. What is wrong with me?

  “That’s what the song says,” he agrees easily.

  Kyle’s being nice to me even though I’m being a freak. But, in fairness, he did just almost take my head off with a Spalding. A girl is allowed to be a little rattled after that. It’s not how stupid beautiful his eyes are that’s frying my brain. It’s the near-death experience.

  I nod behind him where his ball/murder weapon is rolling to a slow stop at the base of the bleachers. “Thanks for the wake-up. It worked better than coffee.”

  “Seriously, I’m sorry about that. I was running laps and the ball was there in the middle of the floor. I was worried someone would trip on it so I kicked it toward the door to get it out of the way. I guess I gave it a little bit too much.”

  I hold my fingers up so they’re barely separated. “Just a little bit.”

  He grimaces apologetically. I notice his eyebrows as he does it. They’re thick, like dark clouds hovering over his eyes. They’d look ridiculous on most guys but on Kyle they’re perfect. “Sorry,” he repeats.

  I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though my left ear is still ringing from the boom of the ball hitting the door. “Don’t worry. No harm, no foul.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” He steps in closer. I can smell him – sweat and laundry detergent. And oranges? His eyes search mine before he looks at the side of my face. “Your cheek looks kind of red. Did it graze you?”

  Oh my God, I’m probably blushing. I’m a serial blusher. All you have to do is make me smile and my cheeks flush pink as a sunburn.

  I grin up at him, worsening the problem. “No. I’m good. It didn’t touch me. I think I’m just . . . I don’t know.”

  “Freaked out?”

  “Probably.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying that,” I chuckle. It sounds loose and reedy in my lungs. The way I feel in my bones standing so close to him. “It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

  He grins. He has dimples.

  I am crimson.

  “Not that you know of,” he replies playfully.

  “I wouldn’t doubt how much knowledge I have on you,” I warn him.

  “Really?”

  “You’re the biggest news in town since the circus. Everyone knows your everything.”

  He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “I want to hear this. What have you got?”

  “You’re Kyle Rixton. You’re from Florida. You play basketball, though I hope you’re better with your hands than you are with your feet.”

  He laughs. “I am.”

  “You’d have to be. You couldn’t get worse.”

  “What else do you know?”

  “Nothing,” I admit. “That’s it.”

  “That’s it? That’s what you call ‘pretty extensive’?”

  “It’s more than you’ve got on me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  I cross my arms, mimicking his stance. It’s cocky. I feel it as I hold the pose, a rush of adrenaline running sharply through me that I think has something to do with his smile. Maybe the curve of muscle in his arms. “Alright, fine. What do you know?”

  “Your name is Sarah Underguard. You have three brothers, one cat, and two dogs. Both huskies.”

  “This is amazing,” I deadpan. “Keep going.”

  He smiles. “You’re a Libra, you can’t swim, and you had French toast for breakfast, when what you really wanted was waffles. How’d I do?”

  “Fail.”

  He lets his arms fall to his sides in defeat. �
��Ah man. Seriously?”

  “That was just sad.”

  “I didn’t get one thing right? That dog thing felt real. You look like a husky girl.”

  I laugh at how insulting that sounds. “I’m going to ignore that and give you credit for the one correct guess you made.”

  His eyebrows rise excitedly. “What was it? Sarah? Underguard? French toast?”

  I smile, shaking my head. “I’ll never tell.”

  “Oh, come on! You have to.”

  “You tried to kill me, remember? I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Okay, yeah,” he laughs. “But will you tell me one thing? As a favor? I’ll owe you.”

  “What will you owe me?”

  “Whatever you want,” he promises.

  “That’s a big debt. What if I have expensive tastes?”

  “You don’t look like the type.”

  I cock my head at him slightly. “Again. I’m moving past how insulting that sounds. What do you want to know?”

  He grins down at me. It’s big and white and so beautiful my heart stutters clumsily. “What’s your name?”

  “Sarah Underguard.”

  “Nah, for real,” he chuckles. “What’s your name?”

  “Grace Murray.”

  Kyle offers me his hand. “I’m sorry I almost killed you, Grace Murray.”

  I smile softly, putting my palm against his. “I’m not, Kyle Rixton.”

  His grin widens. His hand holds mine a second too long, but not nearly long enough. I could stand here staring into his eyes for the rest of the year if he’d let me.

  “Murray!” Coach Biggs shouts across the echoing room. “Quit flirting with the new kid and get in the locker room! Three laps warm up before volleyball! Go!”

  Is there a color redder than red? Because that’s what I am from head to toe in that moment. I am a tomato. A rouge-red strawberry nearly past ripe; soft and delicate in your hand.

  I lower my head as I skirt quickly past Kyle. I don’t say a word and neither does he, but I can feel him watching me. Or maybe I’m just hoping. Dreaming that I’m worth the double take. I’ll never know for sure because I’m too embarrassed by being called out by Coach Biggs to look back.

  Girls like Makena are too shy to be seen.

  Girls like Marcy are offended when they’re not.

  Girls like me are somewhere in between. We want to be seen by the right people at the right time under the right circumstances. We’re flowers blooming at midnight in a garden no one knows of.

  I spend the entire period keeping track of Kyle out of the corner of my eye. I don’t want to, but some part of me has to. I can’t help it. He plays basketball at one end of the gym while I’m stuck playing volleyball at the other, and I am acutely aware of him the whole time.

  I don’t have any love for volleyball. I’ve never been able to master the art of hitting the ball off my arms without leaving painful red welts behind or smacking the bone on my wrist until it’s singing like a struck gong. Skiing is my sport, just like my dad.

  Every now and then the hair on the back of my neck stands up straight. Each time, when I turn to look in Kyle’s direction, he’s watching me. He smiles at me. I smile back, blushing before quickly turning away. My stomach ties itself in knots and I feel like throwing up, but I also feel like I’m flying. Makena loves this feeling. She lives for it. I’ve never been much of a fan.

  Until now.

  Kyle is good at basketball. I can see that from here. I am bad at volleyball. I’m sure he can see that from there. Why does he have to see me sucking at this? Why couldn’t he see me doing something I’m great at, like skiing or singing or donut eating? I am a world class, five-star donut consumer. If it was a competition, I would have all the gold medals. But no. Kyle isn’t watching me kill a baker’s dozen or crush a black diamond slope. He’s watching me fail, and I’m pretty sure that’s not impressing him at all.

  But what do I care? I’m not trying to impress him. Trying to impress him would mean I’m into him, and I’m not.

  Seriously, I’m not.

  “Newbie’s staring at you.”

  I turn, surprised. Marcy is crouched behind me as we wait for the serve coming from the other side of the net. Her long, brown hair is pulled into a perfect messy bun on the top of her head. Her expertly applied makeup is flawless on her face, despite the fact that I’ve seen her running and sweating. She’s using the good stuff. Waterproof as hell, like a thick layer of wax on my skis.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She smirks. “Yeah. Okay. He’s a flirt, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “You didn’t say that. Not until just now.”

  “He was talking to me all through English and I heard that he was hitting on Brandon, the gay guy, while he was giving him a tour of the school this weekend.”

  I scowl at her. “Brandon’s last name is Horowitz. Not The-Gay-Guy.”

  “Whatever, Hillary Clinton,” she laughs. “Sorry I’m not being PC enough for you. I’m just telling you what I know. The guy is a player. He’ll hit on anything that moves.”

  “So don’t get my hopes up?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Thanks for watching out.”

  She shrugs like it’s nothing. “We women have to watch out for each other.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, watching her carefully out of the corner of my eye. “We definitely do.”

  chapter four

  I was wrong. Walking home is just as cold as it was this morning, if not colder. The clouds have dropped heavy and low in that ominous way that says snow is coming. The air has a snap to it, promising downy flakes within the hour. I just hope I’m home before they start to fall. Otherwise, I’ll be contending with slick sidewalks all the way there and I’ll be lucky if I don’t fall and break my neck.

  Dad will be happy. Snow on the mountain means people in the lifts and skis on the slopes. It means he’ll have good business all weekend in the shop. Of course, that also means he’ll be gone at work. Whenever it’s busy, he never leaves the place alone with his staff. They can’t handle it, not like he can. Not like we can, because if he’s working, so am I. It’s the only way I’ll get to spend any time with him this winter. Waxing skis and snowboards, selling gloves to replace the ones people lost in a yard-sale style crash somewhere halfway down the mountain.

  A big white truck rumbles down the street. Its tires make that rhythmic sticky sound that winter ones make; like the suction of an octopus’ cup or a snorted laugh. That’s what I think of as I listen to it roll to a slow stop at the curb ahead of me. A laughing eight-legged sea creature.

  I’m surprised when Kyle gets out of the driver’s seat cautiously. He waits to make sure his footing is good before he looks up to smile at me. It’s a million megawatts. It’s like staring into the sun. “Hey!”

  “Hey,” I laugh in surprise. “What’s up?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing. Are you walking home?”

  “Yeah. My car had a flat this morning and I didn’t have time to fix it.”

  He steps gingerly over the dirty snowbank built up between the road and the sidewalk. It’s a short wall made over days of snowplows clearing the roads. It will grow with this new wave of snow rolling in and we won’t see it melt until well after Christmas break. Kyle looks like he’s not quite used to the cold yet. He has the hesitant step of someone who’s fallen flat on their butt recently and doesn’t feel like doing it again.

  Whatever his past trauma, his eyes are shining with confidence as he smiles at me. “You live on my street, right?”

  “I like to think of it as my street, since I was there first.”

  “Right. Sorry,” he laughs. “I live on your street. Right across from you?”

  “I think so,” I answer vaguely even though I very much know so. “I’m pretty sure my dad met yours when you were moving in.”

  “He owns the ski shop at the lodge?”

  “Yeah.”


  “Do you ski?”

  “I’m on the team at school. My dad is pretty passionate about it. He’s had us on the slopes since we could walk.”

  The truth is, he’s more than passionate. He used to be a pro. He almost went to the Olympics but he didn’t quite make the qualifying. When he met my mom, he stopped competing. Sometimes he teaches lessons on the mountain but mostly he stays off the slopes unless he’s blowing off steam or taking Ashley and I for a run.

  I sniff against the cold that’s attacking my nose. “What about you? Do you ski?”

  “No,” he chuckles, as though the idea is insane. “I grew up surfing. I’ve never seen snow before.”

  “How do you like it now that you’re surrounded by it?”

  He shrugs without answering. “Do you like it?”

  “I hate it. I hate being cold.”

  He gestures to his truck that’s purring patiently ahead of us. “That’s actually why I stopped. It’s freezing out here. Can I give you a ride home?”

  That’s how horror movies start.

  My own warning rings in my ears, along with a quiet alarm that I can’t quite understand. Something about Kyle scares me a little. I like him, he seems really nice, but there’s just something about him . . . He’s trouble, though I’m not sure exactly how.

  But so is frostbite and a broken tailbone busted on the ice, so whatever, right?

  “Please,” I sigh dramatically, hugging my coat tightly around my body. “My fingers froze two blocks ago.”

  He laughs again. He dimples. “Come on. I’ve got the heater cranked on high.”

  I follow willingly to his truck. He opens the door for me the way my dad does for Mom when they go to dinner once a month. He wasn’t lying – the heat is blasting on full. It feels amazing.

  “Your truck is nice,” I tell him as he climbs inside.

  “Thanks. My dad got it for me when we moved.” He casts me a wry grin as he buckles himself in. “I think it was a bribe.”