A huge, metallic pop rang from the front of the house. Gavin shot up, running through the kitchen and down the hall, skidding to a stop in his socked feet at the sight in front of him. The doorknob was back.
He took a step forward, looking back over his shoulder before he took another. Eyes closed, he reached out, his fingertips brushing the smooth metal. It didn’t feel any different; it was cool beneath his touch, glossy even. He wrapped his hand around the knob and turned.. . . It opened.
? ? ?
“I don’t want you to ever go back there,” Delilah said in front of her locker the next day. It was, in fact, the only thing Delilah had said to him so far that morning, after practically leaping into his arms and knocking him back into the wall with the force of her small body. His hands lingered on her hips a moment longer than was appropriate considering the crowded hall all around them, his fingers brushing the smooth sliver of skin where her shirt met her skirt, teasing. She straightened, taking a step back, and took a moment to smooth her clothes and her hair before she turned and spun through the combination to her locker.
But Gavin didn’t miss the pink remaining in her cheeks as she shoved an armful of clean clothes at him, the way she chewed on her lip as she turned and walked away. He loved that he could affect her that way. Anyone else might have thought she’d been embarrassed by their moment of PDA, but Gavin knew better. Delilah didn’t have a shy bone in her body.
“Is this about me missing school?” he asked, trailing after her.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said, stopping in front of the boys’ bathroom and nodding to the clothes in his arms. “I bought those at Goodwill. Let’s hope they fit.”
He didn’t want to wait until later. He glanced down at the dark jeans, the black T-shirt, socks, and scuffed sneakers.
Gavin changed quickly, shoving his old clothes in his locker before following a group of other students into the classroom and sliding into his seat behind Delilah. He felt a little like he was in a fishbowl, surrounded by eyes and ears that might hear his secret, that might do something or tell someone and he’d be kept away from her. He realized for a moment that perhaps this was how Delilah always felt now, like someone was watching their every move, looking for a way to keep them apart. Gavin had grown used to the feeling—growing up surrounded by so many things—but to Delilah, it had to be terrifying, especially after the other night.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and that got her attention.
She turned slightly in her seat, whispering, “Why on earth are you sorry?”
Gavin leaned in, kept his voice low. “Because this is our first fight, and it’s my fault. All the shitty stuff happening to you lately is my fault.”
Delilah frowned before her eyes darted to the window and back down to her desk. She tore a piece of lined paper from her binder and bent over it, scribbling something he couldn’t see. A minute later, she reached back and dropped a note into his waiting palm.
He blinked up to the teacher, confident he was distracted enough writing a block of text on the board, and opened it carefully.
Where’s your phone?
I don’t know. I swear I plugged it in, but when I woke up that next morning it was gone.
He passed it forward and watched her shoulders tighten.
Gavin watched as she wrapped her phone in the piece of paper and reached behind her again to hand it off. He read the note first.
House has it. I know it does. Look.
The screen hadn’t locked yet, and his eyes widened at the text in front of him: That’s not all you’re going to lose, girl. It was a text sent from his phone, after he’d fallen asleep. House did have it.
I didn’t write that, Lilah. I swear.
She shook her head.