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“I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me if I do and we’ll stop.” Ryan slides his thumb over my lower lip. The warmth he creates melts the fear.
Unable to speak, I nod. In painfully slow movements, Ryan lowers his head closer and edges his body over me. His lips press gently against mine and as I gasp for air I whisper the words to him again. “I love you.”
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Ryan
I’VE NEVER BEEN THIS CLOSE to a person. Skin touching skin. Legs and arms wound tightly around one another. Lying on my bed, Beth’s tucked close to my chest and she slowly runs her fingernails up and down the inside of my arm.
I kiss her head again, revel in the scent of roses, and fight the urge to shut my eyes. Every single muscle has fallen asleep and my mind wanders lazily, but I want to hold on to this moment a little longer. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”
She’s answered before, but the anxiety still creeps deep inside. Beth glances at me from under long dark eyelashes. “I’m okay.”
The anxiety level increases. We went from fine to okay. “I hurt you. Tell me the truth.”
“It burned some, but I’m okay. It’s not like HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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you were…” and she drifts off.
Heat scorches my face and neck. It’s not like I was in for that long. “I’ll get better. It’ll take some practice and then we’ll both feel good.”
Beth giggles and her happiness eases the anxiety. “Practice? Do you ever turn off the jock?”
“We should create a schedule. Maybe stretch beforehand.”
She laughs loudly and the sweet sound
squeezes my heart. Beth rarely lets happiness overwhelm her and as if on cue she releases a weighty sigh. Her body grows heavier against mine and I pull her tighter to me. Beth is dead wrong if she thinks she can leave me.
“I was thinking…” Her fingers begin tracing my arm again, but this time her touch is stiff and apprehensive. “Maybe I could talk to Scott about my mom. Maybe he could help me help her.”
I kiss her head again, close my burning eyes, and clear my throat. I get to keep her. My Beth.
“That’s a great idea.”
“You need to go to sleep,” she groggily murmurs into my chest. “The writing
competition is tomorrow.”
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“I love you,” I whisper into her ear. She cuddles closer to me and I realize what a dick I am. I’m telling my parents about Beth as soon as they come home and I’m walking out on that homecoming field with her on my arm.
Screw what Mom and Dad think. Screw the rest of the town. Screw perfection. This girl is mine.
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Beth
I AWAKE TO THE SOUND of birds chatting
happily and beams of sunlight highlighting the dancing dust particles in the air. A cardinal rests on a bush outside the window of my room in Scott’s house. The bird flaps its wings and rises into the sky—into freedom. I wonder if the bird in the barn ever escaped.
The scent of bacon and onions drifts in the air. Scott promised to cook hash browns this morning. I hop out of bed and I’m surprised by the image in the mirror. I’m smiling. It’s more than that—I’m different. Last night made me different. My eyes shine like Scott’s do when he’s around Allison. In fact, my entire face glows and I’m hungry. Starving. For more than food. I want to ask Scott if he can help Mom.
Hope floods my body and makes me feel high.
I can get used to hope.
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I toss my hair into a bun and go out into the kitchen. Scott glances at me as he hovers over the stovetop. “Good morning, Elisabeth.”
“Good morning, Scott.” I almost giggle at how cheerful I sound. Me—giggling. That’s funny in itself.
He does a double take as I sit at the counter and the annoying I-know-everything grin stretches from ear to ear. “Whatever side of the bed you rolled out of this morning is the one you should roll out of every day.”
“Very funny.”
From the other side of the island, Allison studies me, but not with nearly as much contempt as normal. She looks like she’s on the verge of saying something, then focuses on the newspaper in front of her.
Scott’s cell rings. He reaches into his back pocket and holds the phone against his shoulder to answer as he flips the hash browns in the pan. “Hello.”
His face darkens and he pushes the pan onto an unlit burner before switching off the stove.
He turns and his troubled blue eyes find me.
My hope slithers away.
“We’ll be right there,” he says.
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Ryan
THERE’S A LOW BUZZ of conversation as the auditorium fills. Today’s been both exhilarating and torturous. I’ve met college professors who gave me incredible feedback on “George and Olivia.” I listened to lectures on writing, learned new techniques, and I’ve spent the whole day sweating this upcoming moment.