by Lexa Hillyer
She swatted his leg. “No!”
“Hey, enough with the violence!” he protested, grabbing her hand.
She froze, letting him hold her hand in his for a moment.
Instead of letting go, he held her palm up to his, flat. “Such small hands,” he stated, “yet so much force.”
She could feel the heat from his palm, moving into hers. He was looking not at their hands, still touching, but into her eyes. He had such a boyish demeanor up close and relaxed like this, in his own room—nothing like the tough vibe he gave off at school and around strangers. It was as though a wall had come down.
He cleared his throat, and she dropped her hand.
“I guess I’ll stay and do some of my homework here. If I’m not going to annoy you or anything,” she said.
“No, no, forget I said that. It’s fine. It’s all good. Stay.”
They sank down next to each other on his floor, with their backs against the bed, and pulled their books out of their bags. She opened her used, dog-eared copy of A Tale of Two Cities, but she had a hard time concentrating.
She looked over at what Patrick was doing. He was scrawling geometry problems onto his notebook. “I haven’t seen those,” she said, not recognizing the assignment.
He shrugged again, sheepish all of a sudden. “I’m doing next week’s. I like to get ahead when I can.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Show-off.”
He nudged her back.
She tried to go back to Dickens, but the words swam on the page and she was bored within seconds and distracted by the soft sound of Patrick’s pencil against the paper. How interesting could two cities possibly be? She caught herself watching his hand. What was she doing here? Why was she staring at his hands? What did she even want from him? Did she want him to kiss her again?
Yes, she did. Of course she did.
And he’d literally just promised her that he’d never try to kiss her again.
But was that because he didn’t want to, or he didn’t think she wanted to?
Ugh. This had been a terrible idea, coming here.
She closed her book. “You know what? I should probably go. Sorry. I forgot I have some stuff to do at home.”
She started to stand.
“Sure. Okay.”
Disappointment flooded through her, but she tried not to let it show.
“Here, let me walk you out.” He got up and stood there awkwardly as she put on her coat, then led her downstairs the way they’d come, and out the back door.
The cold air was a shock to her face and neck, and she wished she’d worn a scarf. It seemed to have gotten much darker in the short time she’d spent here.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you at school,” she said, barely turning to give him a wave as she traipsed quickly across the lawn.
Just as she was about to turn into the side yard between the garage and the house, he ran up to her.
“Lilly, wait.”
She turned.
His breath formed faint clouds in the air.
He closed the distance between them with one more step. Out here, with the sun just about gone behind the thick trees of the arboretum, leaving only an inky blue stain across the sky, it was harder to read his expression. He’d gone back from the boyish Patrick of moments before to the bad boy who’d given her a ride on his motorcycle and refused to answer a single question straight—if at all. Mysterious Patrick.
He placed one hand on her shoulder, and she realized he’d come out here in only his T-shirt. When she didn’t pull away, he placed his other hand on her other shoulder. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Lilly.”
There was a crazy dance of nerves going on inside her chest. She let out a breath. “Patrick.”
He smiled. “What am I going to do with you?”
She didn’t answer. She was afraid whatever she said would cause him to stop touching her, to realize he was freezing without a coat on out here, then turn and head back into the house.
Finally she whispered, “I don’t know.”
He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. She could smell that same woodsy scent, and strange feelings rushed through her: sadness and excitement at the same time.
Why did whatever was happening between them already feel doomed?
And why, why did that seem so damn wonderful?
They stayed that way for a moment, and then, in tiny increments—so microscopic you’d never be able to say who was leading and who following—they tilted their heads until their lips touched. His were warm, despite the cold wind swirling leaves around the yard.
This was different from the sudden kiss at Lupine. This one was gradual, careful, as though he didn’t want to scare her off. Ever so slowly, his tongue touched her lips, parting them gently, and she leaned in to him, putting her hands at his waist and pulling him closer. Waves of tingly warmth spread down her body. His torso felt strong and solid beneath his T-shirt. She grabbed the material, letting her tongue meet his, letting their lips graze, then come apart, then graze again, then press firmly. And then she really gave in, and it was not just a kiss but something more. With her eyes closed it was like she was falling forward into another world that was all touch and taste, all darkness, wet and hot and blind and . . .
“Lilly!”
She and Patrick pulled apart quickly, cold air instantly filling the space between them, but Lilly barely had time to catch her breath and register what she was seeing.
Kit, with her arms crossed, in the side yard, her green eyes blazing in the darkness.
“What are you doing here?” Lilly said, blushing with embarrassment and anger.
“Me? The Donovans are on my route, you know that!”
Of course. Kit’s volunteer route.
“I’m gonna go check on my uncle. See you at school, Lilly,” Patrick said, before darting into the house and letting the screen door slam.
“Why did you do that?” Lilly demanded
Kit was already walking toward Boyd’s truck, which was parked by the curb. Boyd was not in it; Kit must have borrowed it. “You shouldn’t be getting involved with that kid.”
Heat rose to Lilly’s head. “Excuse me, what? Since when are you my keeper?”
Kit sighed, looking pretty and wise and much older than her seventeen years. “Let’s just go home.”
Lilly got into the cab and slammed the door. “I can’t believe you’re being like this. What do you have against Patrick?”
Kit shook her head. “The Donovans are nice people, but I’m sorry, the boy is disturbed and everyone knows about it. I’m all about giving people a second chance . . . but not when it’s my little sister they’re messing with.”
“That’s absurd. He’s not messing with me. He’s really smart. And nice. And normal. You don’t even know him.”
“I know he got in a physical fight with his stepdad and that’s part of why his mom kicked him out.”
Lilly stared silently at the road ahead, trying hard to swallow. “I’m sure there was a reason,” she said, even though she felt anything but sure.
“He started it, Lilly. He hit him in the head with a glass jar. Normal, stable people don’t do that.”
“How do you even know this? It’s probably just a rumor!”
“Diane told me! And I don’t think she’d make up something like that about her own great-nephew.” Kit sighed. “I mean, listen, I feel bad for him. I do. He’s obviously troubled. But I don’t want you sneaking around with him anymore, okay? Come on, Lils. I just want whatever’s best for you.”
“Kit! You’re not Mom! You can’t just tell me what to do!”
“I’m not telling you what to do, I just want—”
“You just want to butt in and ruin my life.”
“You’re only fifteen.”
“So? You’re only two years older than me! Does that make you perfect? Why do you even care? Are you, like, jealous or something? Maybe you don’t have enough secrets of your ow
n and you need to start prying into my life now.”
Kit shook her head, turning the corner onto their street. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do! I see things. I know things, okay? I know you and Boyd disappeared during homecoming. I know he likes you, and now you’re borrowing his truck tonight, so what’s that about? And how come you went to Jay Kolbry’s Halloween party? I don’t know what’s happening with you, but don’t think I’m stupid, and don’t think I’m going to go taking advice from someone who is obviously sneaking around and lying to all of us about it.”
Kit shook her head again, and Lilly could see that her hands were trembling on the wheel as she parked. She leaned back in her seat. “Guys are . . . you can’t just . . . You can’t trust them, okay?” She looked weary—strained, somehow.
Maybe even a little scared.
“Not all guys are untrustworthy, though,” Lilly argued.
Kit’s eyes flashed. “Between you and your friends, none of you get it, okay? I don’t want you surrounded by all these bad influences.”
Lilly couldn’t hide the shock or fury at this point. “All the bad influences? What are you even referring to?”
“Melissa, for one thing—”
“Mel is one of my best friends, Kit. What are you even saying? Mel’s not a bad influence!”
Kit just shook her head. “You don’t—”
“Don’t even,” Lilly spat, cutting her off. “Don’t even bother, if you’re just going to say that I don’t know what I’m talking about again. If I don’t, it’s only because you’re keeping secrets. At least I have nothing to hide. But you? Everyone thinks you’re so innocent. You’re just fake.”
With that, she stormed out of the car. She was done—done trying to figure out what was going on with her sisters. Done worshiping Kit and going along with everyone else’s ideas about how perfect she was. If Kit wanted to shut her out, that was just fine.
Two could play that game.
Chapter Eighteen
Now
FEBRUARY 11
TESSA RUMMAGED THROUGH KIT’S CLOSET. She was looking for a top—a specific one Kit used to love. White, low-cut, but flowy and elegant. Sexy but demure, perfect casual party attire, with tiny strawberries lining the hem.
It was Saturday night. A full week from The Night.
And tonight was Jay Kolbry’s Valentine’s Day party.
Even though it seemed crazy—and it was—Tessa was still determined to go. Maybe it was the chimerism, maybe not, but she felt this pull inside her to keep going, to keep pursuing answers.
And if she was going to go to this thing, she needed something to wear. Her entire wardrobe was T-shirts and baggy jeans.
But the shirt was nowhere to be found, and Tessa wondered if maybe Kit had gotten rid of it, or had loaned it to Lilly.
Or maybe—a dark thought struck her. Maybe Kit had been wearing it the night she died.
Was that really why Tessa was in here, searching? Did she remember seeing it on Kit sometime last Saturday?
Kit, she thought. Give me a hint.
She remembered how Kit used to curl up on the dryer sometimes to take a nap. She liked how warm and rumbling it got when there was a load spinning inside. Sometimes Tessa would go down to the basement and find Kit like that, her flowing, flaxen hair wrapped around a face as serene as that of a lioness that had just devoured its prey. Once Tessa had found her using her push-up bra as a pillow. “Hey, that’s mine,” Tessa had said, startling Kit awake.
Kit sat up. “This?” she asked, dangling the bra in front of her. Kit had probably been around fourteen then—it must’ve been about three years ago—but she gave Tessa this wise, profound look with her pretty eyes that held just the faintest whiff of pity—if you accused her of it, she’d deny it. “I hope you know boys can tell the difference,” she said simply. Then she hopped off the dryer and exited the room, leaving Tessa alone with her abandoned bra, the loud rumbling of the boxy old machine, and the familiar sense that no matter what she said or did, she was always wrong, or at least just off-center from the real issue, and missing the point.
Tessa gave up and let the dresses in Kit’s closet swing back into their place, a gentle jostling of hangers, a series of pastels swaying and then settling, as if moved by a light breeze.
She turned and dumped out Kit’s hamper, expecting a massive pile of dirty shirts and sweaters and underwear.
But all that was inside was one tiny piece of fabric, stowed in here as if to keep it hidden.
She reached down and picked it up. A light purple pair of underwear unfolded in her palm. Lacy boy shorts. Weirdly, it still had tags on it, like it hadn’t been worn, like it was just stashed in here for safekeeping.
These were most definitely not hers.
Where had she seen this underwear before?
Holding it up, she noticed it had a tiny silver charm on it, in the shape of a heart.
Her pulse picked up. Kit, are you here? What is it? What is it?
Nausea threatened to overwhelm her. Where. Had. She. Seen. This.
The nausea turned to dread as the memory dawned over her.
It looked a lot like the lilac-colored bra Kit had been wearing when she died. The one from the pictures Tessa had looked at, at the precinct.
As if the two were part of a matching set.
She looked again at the tag. It was from Lupine, where Lilly used to work. Before.
She couldn’t say why this unsettled her, but it did.
She stuffed the underwear into her bag to worry about later.
She had a party to go to.
Chapter Nineteen
Before
11/21
Dear Diary,
The last three weeks. Have been . . .
There is a thing that is happening. With me and Patrick.
I don’t know what to call it, but whatever is happening is . . . happening.
And oh, it is happening. Happening in secret glances in the hallways between bio and English.
It is happening when he taps my back during math with the soft part of his pencil’s eraser . . . not to get my attention, just maybe to remind me he’s there and thinking about me instead of quadrilaterals?
It’s happening in these stolen moments after school when no one’s around to wonder where we’ve gone. . . .
And yes, there has been more kissing. When we can.
Like the time in the aisle of the library where I accidentally backed into an ancient microfiche screen.
It’s so weird. When Mel first insisted that we take some sort of VOW to get boyfriends this year, it was with this idea that pairing up would actually help us boost our popularity and rise in the ranks of the cafeteria-table hierarchy. But having this thing, this secret . . . whatever . . . is actually WAY more exciting than having a boyfriend? I think?
I mean, it’s not scoring me invites to more parties, but who cares? Instead I get to meet up with Patrick. In secret. Finally, it’s my turn to have one.
And besides, what else would I be doing if it weren’t for this? Mel is busy with Dusty all the time now. She even told me she is planning to lose her virginity to him, probably before Christmas. She bought that stupid bra set—the one I really wanted, that I put in the window display at Lupine.
And Dar has been busy and mysterious as ever. Or maybe not mysterious, just . . . distant. Like she’s slowly shrinking away. Maybe it’s just an optical illusion, like, an effect of winter or something, but it feels like everyone is disappearing a little, into a fog. It feels like yesterday was a thousand years ago and tomorrow is a million miles away and I can only be right here, right now, wherever that happens to be.
Tessa and Kit are almost never around either—ditto, Boyd. Everyone is “studying” or “working” or “just heading out” whenever I approach them to ask what they’re up to.
I hate this. I really do.
It’s weird to say it.
I have my first . .
. not boyfriend, but my first whatever.
And yet I have never felt this lonely.
Except when I’m around Patrick.
I should be happy right now.
I am happy.
But last night I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Patrick, of course. I think about him most nights. I was thinking about how last time we kissed, his hands went up the sides of my shirt, and how I liked it, and how I really like the smell of his hair. And then for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about what Kit told me after she caught us together outside his house. Him breaking a glass jar over his stepdad’s head. I haven’t asked him about that.
I’m not sure what I would do with the answer.
Chapter Twenty
Now
FEBRUARY 11
TESSA LEFT THE HOUSE THAT evening on her old bicycle—she knew Mom wouldn’t be up for driving her to a party, and Lilly would freak. She was wearing a pair of red ankle boots with a three-inch heel, a thin, off-the-shoulder gray sweater, and a pair of black “vegan leather” pants—all from Lilly’s room.
On her fourth finger, she wore the sapphire ring.
Now she pedaled hard through the neighborhood, passing the sassafras and tulip trees, bare branched and skinny. As her legs cycled and the rusty bike chain whirred, facts flashed, kaleidoscope-like, through her mind: the tattoo, the bra with its silver charm, the sapphire ring, the keys to the truck—and, of course, Lilly’s accusations.
Where there was a lost ring, there was a halted romance.
Where there was lace, there was desire.
Where there were scratches and bruises, there’d been struggle.
On Main Street, all the stores were closed, windows dark, except for the Bread Basket, which shone like a beacon in the encroaching darkness, open until nine thirty, where frazzled-looking mothers were zipping into it for last-minute supplies. The lights along the road had flickered on hours ago, though there weren’t many—Devil’s Lake’s roads were always in disrepair.
