Cover Catcher In The Rye Novels & Stories

I just needed to grab my history textbook and hide in the back row. A heavy hand slammed into the metal locker right next to my head. The sound echoed loudly in the empty hallway. I jumped and spun around. Ryder stood there. He wore a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone, his dark blazer hanging loosely from his broad shoulders. His golden eyes were blazing with a cold, terrifying fury. "Where exactly did you go last night?" Ryder asked. His voice was dangerously quiet. "I went for a walk," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let me pass, Ryder."

Between the two sets and at either end were locked cabinets that were labeled chemicals. “Well, go on, I want to see!” Camille insisted. Rye sat the box back on the counter and opened the lid. Reaching inside, she pulled out a brand new, still in plastic, dark blue polo. More excited than the teens, Rye tore the plastic and pulled out the shirt. Smoothing it on the counter, she swiped away the tears. Touching the bright red lettering of her name, Miss Rye, she fought back against the tears. “I can’t remember the last time I had a new shirt.”

My eyes widened in shock as Henry drew closer from my left, he was looking down at the ice-cream as he walked to us. "I hope you like vanilla because they-" His voice trailed off as he finally noticed Ryder standing beside me. Those blue happy eyes slowly filled with anger and he glared at Ryder. "What are you doing here?" He asked and Ryder chuckled pointing at his jacket over my shoulders. "Just protecting her from the cold," Ryder responded absentmindedly, inhaling his cigarette and Henry turned to me and where Ryder's coat covered my shoulders before switching the ice-cream in one hand. Frowning deeply. Henry pulled the jacket off me and threw it back to his Ryder who caught it and laugh

Larsson didn’t elaborate. Just turned and walked out, leaving the heavy locker-room door swinging behind him with a dull metallic thud. Ryder’s heart gave one hard, uneasy kick against his ribs. He grabbed the nearest clean hoodie… Jax’s, he realized too late, the fabric still carrying that faint cologne-and-ice scent that always messed with his head. He tugged it over still-damp skin. The soft material settled against his overheated chest as he followed the coach into the hallway, bare feet silent on the cold tile.

Blood is gushing from his stomach; I make him press against the wound. A cockroach flutters above us. "Stay awake, Raymond. I'll get help." Before the attackers can reach, I take out some waste nylon from the dumpster and cover the entire ground in trash to cover up the blood. I plan to run in before they get here but it's too late. The footsteps turn a corner, getting to this part of the alley. I go back to where Raymond is, squatting next to him in the corner. Everything smells of piss, trash and blood.

"I am saving my lungs for a pair of new legs, or a new IPhone, thank you! Now go and be careful not to choke on some fag!" Ryder rolled his eyes, leaving the room whilst dressing his jacket. And instead of going to the bathroom like I said, I silently followed him, waiting until he exited the house before making my way to the window next to the door. I slid the curtain aside, watching the football player lean against one of the porch' pillars, lighting up a cigarette. Oh, how I will make you regret your existence, Ryder! I didn't change so many caregivers for nothing. I thought, rubbing my hands evilly.

"I intercepted the package and replaced the memory card with a blank chip to protect you." I slumped my shoulders and buried my face in my hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't know about the RF scanners." Let him feel victorious. Let him think he saved me, even though my real camera is already safe inside the chamomile tea box in the kitchen. "I am your protector, little bird." Rocco’s Adam's apple bobbed. "Let me do my job." Rocco reached into the deep inner pocket of his heavy leather jacket. He pulled out a thick brown envelope and set it on the silk pillow.

She would forget everything for him. Alevia opened her eyes to a black mass that lay over her face. She rubbed the soft fabric of the sheets and trailed to what she knew was Ryder's hand. Pulling the sheets down, she spotted a poster of Babe Ruth, resting against a navy blue wall and one of a Bugatti on the door.

I can’t remember turning it on. I bend down to pick up the book. It was his favorite, ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ by J. D. Salinger. He took it everywhere he went. The day I had to collect his things at the hospital, it was just this and an old jacket that once belonged to my dad. The book, old and worn, has scribbled handwriting inside, like it was written in a hurry before the thought was lost. I close my eyes and open it on a random page. I read the first quote I can find:

They need to know who the fuck they’re dealing with, and that I’m not fucking around anymore. “Who the fuck are you?” I ask the stranger with no preamble. He prickles. “All right, dickhead, you—” Henry holds his hand out between us. “This is Jace Covett. He’s…a friend.” “Covett.” I roll the name around in my mouth. The shape of it is familiar to me. “There was a Covett in the remains of Thano Coppola’s books.” “Don’t fucking say that name,” he hisses.