Boy Scout?
“What? No, I—” I swallow and stand up straighter. How does this girl keep knocking me off-balance? “Did you have car trouble? I could take a look under the hood.”
She laughs, and it’s a deep, raspy sound as she finally looks up at me, hand over her eyes against the bright sunshine, kitten held against her shoulder with her other hand. “This isn’t my car.”
“What? Oh.” I blink, taken aback.Then why are you sitting on it?It’s rare that anyone catches me flat-footed. I usually pride myself on being level-headed in every situation. Kevin jokingly calls me MacGyver. Give me a length of duct tape and a protractor, and I can fix a surprising number of practical problems. I like to be useful.
She puts the meowing kitten in her backpack and pulls out a notepad, where she starts scratching away with a ballpoint pen.
The sun’s directly behind her, turning her into this backlit silhouette with a halo of gold. She leans back on the hood of the car, all loose-limbed confidence, swinging one booted foot in a lazy pendulum. Her combat boots are scuffed and well broken in. But then, this girl is all chaos and raw edges, when everyone else around me is so… perfectly manicured and contained.
“Hot day, huh? What are you drawing?” I ask, nodding at the notebook. I’m babbling now, and I neverbabble. I’m usually the coolest one in every conversation. Aloof even. It’s one of the reasons I’ve enjoyed a steady popularity all through high school. I mostly keep my mouthshut, my head down, and I’m everyone’s friend. I should walk away, but words just keep leaping out of my mouth. “Can I see?”
“No.”
The flat refusal startles a laugh out of me. “Just... no? That’s it?”
She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp green eyes. “Aw, do people not tell you no very often?”
“It’s not that, I just?—”
“They don’t, do they?” She’s grinning now, like she’s discovered something delightful. God, she’s even more beautiful when she smiles.
My mouth opens. Closes. Because… I guess she’s right. People generally don’t tell me no. Teachers approve my proposals. Student council votes go my way. So do recruitment letters. Even Mom, who’d do anything for me, tends to just smile and say,Whatever you think is best, sweetheart. No matter whether I deserve things or not.
But I’m not about to admit that to this girl who’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle she’s halfway to solving.
I mean, I can be enigmatic.
“What’s your name?” I ask instead, deflecting.
She arches one perfect eyebrow. “What if I don’t tell you that, either?”
“Why not?”
She reaches into her pocket and produces a Tootsie Pop—grape, from the purple wrapper. She unwraps itwith deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact, then pops it in her mouth. The wrapper gets tucked back in her pocket instead of tossed on the ground. Interesting.
“’Cause you’re kinda cute when you get that frustrated look on your face,” she says around the candy, rolling it to one side of her mouth. “And that’s fun for me.”
Kinda cute.
She just called me cute.
My brain short-circuits for a solid three seconds. Does she mean puppy-dog cute orhandsomecute? There’s a significant difference.
Why are girls so impossibly complicated? And why is my heart suddenly trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest? Can eighteen-year-olds have heart attacks?
“Fun, huh?” I manage, and I sound almost normal. I think I sound normal. Jesus fuck, do I sound normal?
She grins wider, the Tootsie Pop stick poking out the side of her mouth making her look impish. Mischievous. Like she’s got secrets she’ll never tell and wouldn’t share them even if you begged.
It only makes hermorebeautiful.
My chest does this weird clench-quiver thing that radiates down to my stomach, and I have to drop my eyes before I get caught staring at her lips. Again. What the hell am I doing, chatting up this beautiful girl in an empty parking lot?
Coward.
There’s a reason I don’t waste time flirting with girls. I can’t afford distractions. Not this year. Not with Harvard applications due in soon and Mom’s latest scanresults coming back next week and Silas’s new stepdaughter at the house to make a good impression with at dinner tonight?—