my phone. It was ten, and my parents were stuck at the coffee shop until at least one. That meant I had three more hours to find him without worrying about my mother careening around a corning in the red van.
I groaned to myself, pushed up my sleeves and started up the incline toward the main road. My grandma used to say something to me about Mohamed bringing a mountain when the mountain wouldn’t come to him or some such nonsense. I always used to get annoyed when she said things like that and when she made me sit through Jeopardy when I wanted to watch MTV. But today Saxon was the mountain, and I was Mohamed.
My biceps burned as I crested the sloped driveway and turned onto the road. When I stopped to catch my breath, my heart pounded in my ears like the bass on one of the low-rider trucks my father drooled over that they always had at the Sandpoint Auto Show. Peeling my black hoodie off, I shivered when the still-cool air hit my damp skin. Too bad I’d gone for the dark purple PJ tank top underneath my jacket instead of a practical shirt.
Huffing loudly, my lungs squeezed as I passed each of my neighbors’ driveways. The house at the end of the road was up ahead, and the chain around the gate shone in the sunlight as I approached. It was a long shot, but I was running out of options. The next place I would look for Saxon was the end of our dock with a pair of goggles, and I was saving that idea for last.
I released my wheels and let gravity take me clear up to the iron bars while I caught my breath. The trees and overgrown brush lining the driveway on the other side of the gate remained unmoving while I fingered the cold metal and pressed my face to it. The only thing I could see was the roof of the house and a few boarded-up windows. No sign of Saxon or anyone else, for that matter.
I rattled the gate. “Dammit.”
This whole super-sleuth thing would be a whole lot easier if I had working legs and a car to take me places beyond my own cul-de-sac. The dull throb returned, and I pressed my hand to my chest. I wanted to see him so badly, I was ready to scream. What did I have to do? Offer myself up as bait for Isolde on the beach?
I heard the heavy footsteps of Saxon’s boots coming from the brush before he spoke. “Luna?”
There he was, hiking up the cracked driveway in his T-shirt and jeans. His hair was dripping wet, and like me, he’d ditched the coat to soak up some sun. When our eyes met, his face lit up. His mouth stretched the width of his face into a grin that made the throb in my chest dissolve, and I couldn’t avoid smiling back at him.
I raised my hand to wave, but felt stupid, and settled for half a shrug instead. “Hi.”
He climbed to the top of the gate, threw a leg over, and jumped to the ground next to me. He reached out a hand, letting it hover above my arm before shoving it into his pocket instead. “Why aren’t you in school?”
I caught a lock of my black hair that danced on the wind and tucked it behind my ear. “I’m playing hooky.”
A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Hooky?”
“I’m skipping school.”
Saxon fidgeted in place for a moment, and his mouth opened and closed a time or two. “I was desperate to see you, but wanted to respect your wishes.”
I chewed my lip. “I guess I needed some time to process things.”
“There was a lot to process.” He scuffed a boot across the dirt. “Are you OK?”
“I am.” I looked out toward the water, seeing its waves sparkle through the trees. “But I woke up this morning feeling sort of…off.”
His head snapped in my direction. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“You’re under my skin.” I tugged at a string hanging from a tear in my jeans.
He was quiet for a beat. “I don’t know what that means.”
Snorting, I covered my face with my hands and rubbed my eyes. It was so easy to forget that I was talking to a guy who considered English a second language. Or, who considered speaking a second language.
I groaned to myself, pushed up my sleeves and started up the incline toward the main road. My grandma used to say something to me about Mohamed bringing a mountain when the mountain wouldn’t come to him or some such nonsense. I always used to get annoyed when she said things like that and when she made me sit through Jeopardy when I wanted to watch MTV. But today Saxon was the mountain, and I was Mohamed.
My biceps burned as I crested the sloped driveway and turned onto the road. When I stopped to catch my breath, my heart pounded in my ears like the bass on one of the low-rider trucks my father drooled over that they always had at the Sandpoint Auto Show. Peeling my black hoodie off, I shivered when the still-cool air hit my damp skin. Too bad I’d gone for the dark purple PJ tank top underneath my jacket instead of a practical shirt.
Huffing loudly, my lungs squeezed as I passed each of my neighbors’ driveways. The house at the end of the road was up ahead, and the chain around the gate shone in the sunlight as I approached. It was a long shot, but I was running out of options. The next place I would look for Saxon was the end of our dock with a pair of goggles, and I was saving that idea for last.
I released my wheels and let gravity take me clear up to the iron bars while I caught my breath. The trees and overgrown brush lining the driveway on the other side of the gate remained unmoving while I fingered the cold metal and pressed my face to it. The only thing I could see was the roof of the house and a few boarded-up windows. No sign of Saxon or anyone else, for that matter.
I rattled the gate. “Dammit.”
This whole super-sleuth thing would be a whole lot easier if I had working legs and a car to take me places beyond my own cul-de-sac. The dull throb returned, and I pressed my hand to my chest. I wanted to see him so badly, I was ready to scream. What did I have to do? Offer myself up as bait for Isolde on the beach?
I heard the heavy footsteps of Saxon’s boots coming from the brush before he spoke. “Luna?”
There he was, hiking up the cracked driveway in his T-shirt and jeans. His hair was dripping wet, and like me, he’d ditched the coat to soak up some sun. When our eyes met, his face lit up. His mouth stretched the width of his face into a grin that made the throb in my chest dissolve, and I couldn’t avoid smiling back at him.
I raised my hand to wave, but felt stupid, and settled for half a shrug instead. “Hi.”
He climbed to the top of the gate, threw a leg over, and jumped to the ground next to me. He reached out a hand, letting it hover above my arm before shoving it into his pocket instead. “Why aren’t you in school?”
I caught a lock of my black hair that danced on the wind and tucked it behind my ear. “I’m playing hooky.”
A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Hooky?”
“I’m skipping school.”
Saxon fidgeted in place for a moment, and his mouth opened and closed a time or two. “I was desperate to see you, but wanted to respect your wishes.”
I chewed my lip. “I guess I needed some time to process things.”
“There was a lot to process.” He scuffed a boot across the dirt. “Are you OK?”
“I am.” I looked out toward the water, seeing its waves sparkle through the trees. “But I woke up this morning feeling sort of…off.”
His head snapped in my direction. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“You’re under my skin.” I tugged at a string hanging from a tear in my jeans.
He was quiet for a beat. “I don’t know what that means.”
Snorting, I covered my face with my hands and rubbed my eyes. It was so easy to forget that I was talking to a guy who considered English a second language. Or, who considered speaking a second language.
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