Page 41 of Light Up My Life

I smiled, and then I thought about his role at school. I was pretty sure he was the student body vice president, though I didn’t pay much attention to that kind of stuff. “Do you like being in leadership? The things you do there?”

His shoulders rose and fell, and his eyes finally took in the view. “It’s good experience.”

“We have that food drive assembly you’re in charge of tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.” His expression went a little cloudy.

“You’re not excited about it?”

“I should be. My dad is so good at getting up in front of people and saying what he needs to. Sometimes I think he revels in it, the conflict. But I don’t know. I’m not my dad.”

“Are you trying to be?”

He shrugged. “It’s what I thought I wanted to do—become a lawyer. But the main thing being in leadership has taught me is that I’m not a huge fan of speaking in front of the whole school. I get … nervous, I guess.”

“You get nervous? You always seem so confident.”

“How would you know? You never go to assemblies.”

I blinked. Fiona and I usually ditched assemblies and sat in the art room even though technically everyone was supposed to go to them unless they had a written excuse. Mr. Cole was cool like that, though. But how did Ryan know that I never went? He’d noticed? The whole student body was in the gym. Most of the thousand or so people who went to our high school. He couldn’t have picked me out. He was probably just guessing.

“I’ve been to a couple,” I said, which was true.

“Well, I put on a good front,” he said. “I like being in leadership. I like being able to help make decisions about activities and classes and things. But yes, I do get nervous.”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t want to speak in front of the whole school either. I get it.”

“Where do you go when you don’t go to the assembly?” he asked.

“The art room.”

“You’re an artist?” he asked.

“I’m not as good as some of my friends, but I like it.”

“Is that, like, a self-deprecating thing or are you really not as good as your friends?”

“My art is different. Not as traditionally good. More crafty.” I waved my hand in the air, ready to move on from this subject. It wasn’t that I thought I was bad at art. I liked it. But I’d already heard what he thought about homemade projects, and I definitely wasn’t going to win any fine art awards like Fiona had the potential to do one day.

“So you really were judging my mouse in the window.”

I let out a single laugh. “Yes. But it was funny.”

He was thoughtful for a moment. “Your house decorations. That’s mostly you?”

“I mean, it’s all of us. But yes, I design a lot of it.” Our house was like my heart on display, what Christmas meant to me. I wished I could turn it in for the art project because my canvas hadn’t magically painted itself. “The snow globe is kind of my baby.”

“Impressive.”

I tilted my head in disbelief. “A couple weeks ago you called our house ugly.”

He gave a sweet smile. “That’s because I’m a stupid boy, and I was frustrated that you were calling me out, calling me a snob.”

“You are a stupid boy,” I said with my own smile.

Because I was now turned sideways in the seat, my knee was pressed against the center console. His knee was as well, and his hand, which had been resting on that knee, gave mine a little tap.

My heart fluttered in my chest. And just as I was about to let it carry me away, my brain thought it was a good time to remind me that he’d probably taken a lot of girls to this very spot. He was good at this. Charming. He’d literally taken me to park. Did he expect me to make out with him now?