There is a pretty wide range of emotions that any girl —much less a Gallagher Girl —is bound to encounter on any given day —from joy to sadness, frustration to excitement.
At that moment it’s pretty safe to say that I was feeling all of them.
And I was trying to show none of them.
Bex’s seven suitors kneeled beside her on the ice, while my skates pulled me closer to the one boy who lingered by the rail.
“You look cold,” I somehow managed to say.
“I used to have a warmer jacket, but then I gave it to some girl.”
“That wasn’t very smart.”
“No.” He smirked and shook his head. “It probably wasn’t.”
Despite having known him for almost a year, there were a lot of things I still didn’t know about Zachary Goode. Like how soap and shampoo could smell so much better on him than anyone else. Like where he went when he wasn’t mysteriously showing up at random (and frequently dangerous) points in my life. And, most of all, I didn’t know how, when he mentioned the jacket, he made me think about the sweet, romantic part of the night last November when he’d given it to me, and not the terrible, bloody, international-terrorists-are-trying-to-kidnap-me part that came right after.
From the corner of my eye, I could see that the boys had “helped” Bex to a bench not far away, but Zach didn’t seem to notice. He just inched closer to me and smiled.
