when she let herself truly see his expression
instead of hiding from it, she realized he was waiting for
her to finish. Not because he was enjoying watching her
make a fool out of herself, but because he cared about her
thoughts and was interested in hearing them.
His auburn eyes weren’t auburn in the dark ditch. They
were dark and liquid. A well to fall into. The ocean.
“I guess I think the world is more connected than people realize,” she said, choosing her words carefully. You’re
allowed to have thoughts, she reminded herself. Just
because others might scoff, that doesn’t mean Charlie will.
She tried to steady her breath. “I think . . . sometimes
. . . that scientists . . . some scientists . . . want to package things up into neat little boxes. Explain, explain, explain,
until there aren’t any mysteries left.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Charlie said.
“Well . . . I like the mysteries,” she said. Her skin tin-
gled. Those little hairs stood up again, all over her. It wasn’t as if she were undressing in front of him, and yet that’s how
it felt. And she wanted to keep on going, even so. What had
this boy done to her?
“I want to understand them, or try to,” she said, “but I
don’t want to put them away in boxes. And if there doesn’t
seem to be an explanation for something, I don’t want that
to scare me away. I don’t want to force an explanation to
fit or throw my hands in the air and give up. You know?”
He nodded. A faint shadow of stubble ran from his hair-
line down and along his strong jaw.
She swallowed. “Does that make any sense?”
He pulled his eyebrows together endearingly, like a little
boy trying to act grown up. “You’re saying the mysteries are
worth examining, even if they’re too big to be understood.
That maybe they’re bound to be too big to understand, but
that doesn’t take anything away from them, and in fact just
adds to their beauty. Is that close?”
“That’s it exactly,” she said. He put it into words so
beautifully: Marvel and wonder all you want. There will
always be more. She laughed, and the surprised smile she
got from Charlie was a pure gift.
Then he grew serious. He pulled his eyebrows together
again, but this time he didn’t look like a little boy at all.
“Hey,” he said. He propped himself up on one elbow.
With his other hand, he reached out and lightly, lightly
stroked her cheek.
Wren’s chest rose and fell. She almost felt as if she were
out of her body, except she was very much in her body, and
her body knew what it wanted.
Charlie leaned in, and she leaned to meet him. His
mouth found hers, and her thoughts flew through her, as
loud and raucous as magpies. My first kiss. I am eighteen,
and this is my first kiss, unless I count Jake What’s-His-
Name in eighth grade, which I don’t. Because this is . . .
different. So different.
And then her thoughts dissolved into lips. Breath. A soft
sigh, a shifting thigh. She gave herself over to Charlie and
the night and the world, full of mysteries. She allowed her-
self to just be.
More than.
c h a p t e r e i g h t
Charlie wanted to see Wren again. She was all he
could think about—kissing her, touching her, being with
her—and he wanted to do it again. Right away.
He called her the morning after P.G.’s party.
“Charlie?” she said when she answered, and his heart
jumped.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m good,” he said. His conversation skills sucked. He
couldn’t talk worth a damn, but last night he kissed her,
and she kissed him back. So, yeah. He was very, very good.
“I was wondering if you’d like to do something,” he said
abruptly. “I’d like to see you.”
“Today?”
“I could grab some sandwiches if you want. I could
come pick you up. I was thinking we could go on a picnic,
if that sounded like something you might like. Is
instead of hiding from it, she realized he was waiting for
her to finish. Not because he was enjoying watching her
make a fool out of herself, but because he cared about her
thoughts and was interested in hearing them.
His auburn eyes weren’t auburn in the dark ditch. They
were dark and liquid. A well to fall into. The ocean.
“I guess I think the world is more connected than people realize,” she said, choosing her words carefully. You’re
allowed to have thoughts, she reminded herself. Just
because others might scoff, that doesn’t mean Charlie will.
She tried to steady her breath. “I think . . . sometimes
. . . that scientists . . . some scientists . . . want to package things up into neat little boxes. Explain, explain, explain,
until there aren’t any mysteries left.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Charlie said.
“Well . . . I like the mysteries,” she said. Her skin tin-
gled. Those little hairs stood up again, all over her. It wasn’t as if she were undressing in front of him, and yet that’s how
it felt. And she wanted to keep on going, even so. What had
this boy done to her?
“I want to understand them, or try to,” she said, “but I
don’t want to put them away in boxes. And if there doesn’t
seem to be an explanation for something, I don’t want that
to scare me away. I don’t want to force an explanation to
fit or throw my hands in the air and give up. You know?”
He nodded. A faint shadow of stubble ran from his hair-
line down and along his strong jaw.
She swallowed. “Does that make any sense?”
He pulled his eyebrows together endearingly, like a little
boy trying to act grown up. “You’re saying the mysteries are
worth examining, even if they’re too big to be understood.
That maybe they’re bound to be too big to understand, but
that doesn’t take anything away from them, and in fact just
adds to their beauty. Is that close?”
“That’s it exactly,” she said. He put it into words so
beautifully: Marvel and wonder all you want. There will
always be more. She laughed, and the surprised smile she
got from Charlie was a pure gift.
Then he grew serious. He pulled his eyebrows together
again, but this time he didn’t look like a little boy at all.
“Hey,” he said. He propped himself up on one elbow.
With his other hand, he reached out and lightly, lightly
stroked her cheek.
Wren’s chest rose and fell. She almost felt as if she were
out of her body, except she was very much in her body, and
her body knew what it wanted.
Charlie leaned in, and she leaned to meet him. His
mouth found hers, and her thoughts flew through her, as
loud and raucous as magpies. My first kiss. I am eighteen,
and this is my first kiss, unless I count Jake What’s-His-
Name in eighth grade, which I don’t. Because this is . . .
different. So different.
And then her thoughts dissolved into lips. Breath. A soft
sigh, a shifting thigh. She gave herself over to Charlie and
the night and the world, full of mysteries. She allowed her-
self to just be.
More than.
c h a p t e r e i g h t
Charlie wanted to see Wren again. She was all he
could think about—kissing her, touching her, being with
her—and he wanted to do it again. Right away.
He called her the morning after P.G.’s party.
“Charlie?” she said when she answered, and his heart
jumped.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m good,” he said. His conversation skills sucked. He
couldn’t talk worth a damn, but last night he kissed her,
and she kissed him back. So, yeah. He was very, very good.
“I was wondering if you’d like to do something,” he said
abruptly. “I’d like to see you.”
“Today?”
“I could grab some sandwiches if you want. I could
come pick you up. I was thinking we could go on a picnic,
if that sounded like something you might like. Is
Similar Books
