eat? Something to drink?”
“A taxi?” Rayna pitches in.
“Go to the kitchen, Rayna,” he says. “Unless you’re ready to go fi nd an island?”
I’m not sure how far away the kitchen is, but it seems like she stomps for a good fi ve minutes. Finding an island doesn’t really seem like a fi tting punishment for being rude, but since I do have a head injury, I give them the benefi t of the doubt.
Plus, there’s always the possibility that I imagined the whole thing.
“Do you mind if I sit?” Toraf says.
I shake my head. He eases onto the edge of the couch and pulls the blanket back over me. I hope he takes my nod for
“Thanks.”
He crouches down and whispers, “Listen, Emma. Before Galen gets back. There’s something I want to ask you. Oh, don’t worry, it’s a yes or no question. No talking involved.” I hope he takes my nod for “Sure, why not? You’re nice.”
—-1
—0
—+1
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He glances around, as if he’s about to rob me instead of ask a question. “Do you feel . . . uh . . . tingly . . . when you’re around Galen?”
This time, I hope he takes my wide-
eyed nod for
“Ohymysweetgoodness, how did you know that?”
“I knew it!” he hisses. “Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Galen. You’ll both be better off if he fi gures it out on his own. Promise?”
I hope he takes my nod for “This is the strangest dream I’ve ever had.”
Everything goes black.
I don’t have to open my eyes to know the storm is here. Rain slaps the glass in waves and a constant rumble of thunder groans all around. Or is that my stomach? As I gravitate toward consciousness, fl ashes of lightning penetrate my eyelids like strobe lights. Peeking through tiny pores in the cashmere, I open my eyes. The lights in the living room are off , which makes my view of the storm like watching fi reworks. I’d appreciate it more if the tantalizing smell of food weren’t poking fun at my empty stomach.
When I sit up, the cashmere slithers to the fl oor. I hold still and clutch the couch, waiting for the room to pirouette around me or for my vision to evaporate. I turn my head side to side, up and down, all around. Nothing. No spinning, no blackouts, no throbbing. A fl ash of lightning ghosts into the room, and when
-1—
it leaves again, my eyes follow it back out to sea. In the window’s 0—
refl ection, I glimpse a fi gure standing behind me. I don’t need to
+1—
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turn around to see who creates such a big outline— or who makes my whole body turn into a goose- bump farm.
“How do you feel?” he says.
“Better,” I say to his refl ection.
He hops over the back of the couch and grabs my chin, turning my head side to side, up and down, all around, watching for my reaction. “I just did that,” I tell him. “Nothing.” He nods and unhands me. “Rach— Uh, my mom called your mom and told her what happened. I guess your mom called your doctor, and he said it’s pretty common, but that you should rest a few more days. My mom insisted you stay the night since no one needs to be driving in this weather.”
“And my mother agreed to that?”
Even in the dark, I don’t miss his little grin. “My mom can be pretty persuasive,” he says. “By the end of the conversation, your mom even suggested we both stay home from school tomorrow and hang out here so you can relax— since my mom will be home supervising, of course. Your mom said you wouldn’t stay home if I went to school.”
A fl ash from the storm illuminates my blush. “Because we both told her we’re dating.”
He nods. “She said you should have stayed home today, but you threw a fi t to go anyway. Honestly, I didn’t realize you were so obsessed— ouch!”
I try to pinch him again, but he catches my wrist and pulls me over his lap like a child getting a spanking. “I was going to
“A taxi?” Rayna pitches in.
“Go to the kitchen, Rayna,” he says. “Unless you’re ready to go fi nd an island?”
I’m not sure how far away the kitchen is, but it seems like she stomps for a good fi ve minutes. Finding an island doesn’t really seem like a fi tting punishment for being rude, but since I do have a head injury, I give them the benefi t of the doubt.
Plus, there’s always the possibility that I imagined the whole thing.
“Do you mind if I sit?” Toraf says.
I shake my head. He eases onto the edge of the couch and pulls the blanket back over me. I hope he takes my nod for
“Thanks.”
He crouches down and whispers, “Listen, Emma. Before Galen gets back. There’s something I want to ask you. Oh, don’t worry, it’s a yes or no question. No talking involved.” I hope he takes my nod for “Sure, why not? You’re nice.”
—-1
—0
—+1
• 91
91 •
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8/23/11 3:44 PM
He glances around, as if he’s about to rob me instead of ask a question. “Do you feel . . . uh . . . tingly . . . when you’re around Galen?”
This time, I hope he takes my wide-
eyed nod for
“Ohymysweetgoodness, how did you know that?”
“I knew it!” he hisses. “Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Galen. You’ll both be better off if he fi gures it out on his own. Promise?”
I hope he takes my nod for “This is the strangest dream I’ve ever had.”
Everything goes black.
I don’t have to open my eyes to know the storm is here. Rain slaps the glass in waves and a constant rumble of thunder groans all around. Or is that my stomach? As I gravitate toward consciousness, fl ashes of lightning penetrate my eyelids like strobe lights. Peeking through tiny pores in the cashmere, I open my eyes. The lights in the living room are off , which makes my view of the storm like watching fi reworks. I’d appreciate it more if the tantalizing smell of food weren’t poking fun at my empty stomach.
When I sit up, the cashmere slithers to the fl oor. I hold still and clutch the couch, waiting for the room to pirouette around me or for my vision to evaporate. I turn my head side to side, up and down, all around. Nothing. No spinning, no blackouts, no throbbing. A fl ash of lightning ghosts into the room, and when
-1—
it leaves again, my eyes follow it back out to sea. In the window’s 0—
refl ection, I glimpse a fi gure standing behind me. I don’t need to
+1—
• 92
92 •
105-48341_ch01_1P.indd 92
8/23/11 3:44 PM
turn around to see who creates such a big outline— or who makes my whole body turn into a goose- bump farm.
“How do you feel?” he says.
“Better,” I say to his refl ection.
He hops over the back of the couch and grabs my chin, turning my head side to side, up and down, all around, watching for my reaction. “I just did that,” I tell him. “Nothing.” He nods and unhands me. “Rach— Uh, my mom called your mom and told her what happened. I guess your mom called your doctor, and he said it’s pretty common, but that you should rest a few more days. My mom insisted you stay the night since no one needs to be driving in this weather.”
“And my mother agreed to that?”
Even in the dark, I don’t miss his little grin. “My mom can be pretty persuasive,” he says. “By the end of the conversation, your mom even suggested we both stay home from school tomorrow and hang out here so you can relax— since my mom will be home supervising, of course. Your mom said you wouldn’t stay home if I went to school.”
A fl ash from the storm illuminates my blush. “Because we both told her we’re dating.”
He nods. “She said you should have stayed home today, but you threw a fi t to go anyway. Honestly, I didn’t realize you were so obsessed— ouch!”
I try to pinch him again, but he catches my wrist and pulls me over his lap like a child getting a spanking. “I was going to
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