“The door is locked, right?”
Tyler was lying on the bed, right next to Kinley. One of his hands was playing with her hair, and the other was draped across her.
“It’s locked,” she promised. “Besides, my parents are at a fund-raiser. They have no idea you’re here, okay?”
She’d made sure of that. She’d actually pretended to be a little sick earlier. Not that it was even necessary. It’s not like Kinley ever had anywhere to go. Any friends. Though her father had looked at her a little oddly the few days since the Tyler incident.
“I think your dad might actually try to kill me if he sees me again. I used up one of my nine lives just trying to get away from him.”
Kinley giggled and snuggled closer to him. “So you’re a cat?”
Tyler meowed, and she laughed harder. She needed him. As long as he was here, she could be okay. She could go without thinking, without being. Everything would be fine.
And when she started thinking about that, thinking about Tyler was the only thing that could turn her mind off.
She knew this was all too fast. But she didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to give it up.
“You’re fun,” he said into her ear. “I like you.”
She turned on her side, so she was close to him. And her lips were close to his. “I like you too,” she said. “And I don’t say that to many people.”
“Please. You love everyone. I bet you tell them, too. Your barista. Your mailman. The neighbors.”
Kinley pretended to gag. “Please. I basically don’t like anyone. You’re a rare case.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Would you say I’m special?”
“Maybe?” Kinley said. “Would you say I am?”
“Maybe.” Tyler studied her. “You’re definitely pretty and smart, which is a lethal combination. And you’re a very good kisser.”
Kinley wanted to bury her face in her pillow, but she forced herself to look into his eyes. “I don’t know. I think I could use more practice.” Her eyes strayed to his lips.
“Oh?” he asked. “Need practice, do you?”
“It’s very serious,” Kinley said. She touched his mouth with her fingertips. “We have hard work to do.”
“Are you trying to get me to kiss you?” Tyler asked. His eyes studied her face, and her mouth hinted at a smile.
Kinley squinted at him. “Is it working?”
He touched his lips to hers, slowly, softly. “How was that?”
She shrugged. “Try again.”
He laughed this time, really laughed, so loud that if someone had been in the house they would have heard him. “Practice makes perfect, right?”
“I like practice.”
He slid a hand behind her head, and he kissed her.
He kissed her right.
Even though she was lying on her bedspread, she felt the funny-knees feeling she’d read about in books, and her heart leaped in her chest.
She wanted to do everything with him. She wanted all of him. She wanted to get into a car with him and disappear. She wanted new names and new lives. She liked this Tyler Green.
But he drew away, and her body ached. She missed the way he felt against her, and suddenly all the bad flooded back in.
“We need to be slow,” he whispered between kisses.
“Why?” she asked, her voice small and whiney. “Don’t go.”
“I won’t.” He pulled back and looked at her. “I’m here, okay?”
Kinley wondered if he needed her for all the same reasons that she needed him.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked. His hand moved down and cupped her hip.
She smiled, anticipating his next sweet gesture. She didn’t understand why people tended to dislike or mistrust Tyler. He was so kind. “Sure.”
“What’s with the stuff on your desk? The flash drive and the wires? And the earpiece? Are you some sort of secret agent?”
He smiled, but she felt her insides curl in on themselves. “Um, why?”
He moved his shoulders up. “I don’t know. I just thought it was sort of cool. It looks super high-tech.”
“It’s not cool.” She jerked away from him. She’d spoken too quickly. Damn it. Why had she reacted like that?
“Hey.” Tyler’s voice was soft, but he didn’t reach out for her. “What’s wrong?”
Kinley didn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him if she was going to tell him . . . this. She stared at the ceiling. At the little stars.
At the little lies that had built up, year after year, into an entire solar system of falsehoods.
Was she really going to tell him this?
She’d repeated the story in her head for years. But she’d never actually said it. Not out loud.
“Something happened to me,” she said. “A few years ago.” She paused.
“You don’t have to tell me this, you know.”
Kinley still didn’t look at him. When she spoke, her voice shook. “Um, do you remember the May Day parade? Five years ago? Well . . . there was an incident.”
“What?” he asked gently.
“I got to be on the float that year. You know the float at the front of the parade? Where the kids get to dance around the maypole? I was so excited. My dad told me I was old enough, and so I got to dance. My mother made me a crown of flowers—pink and white and yellow—and it itched like crazy when she pinned it into my hair, but it was so pretty I didn’t care.”
Tyler shifted onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow. “I remember the float,” he said. “My dad used to take me to the parade.”
“That year,” Kinley whispered, “it was raining. Not much. Just on and off. They’d thought about canceling the parade, but I actually prayed that they wouldn’t. I wanted my moment, you know?” A grim smile found its way to her lips.
“We all had harnesses on. But mine wasn’t buckled right. There was a teacher there—Miss Heathers—but it wasn’t her fault. I was wiggling and jumping around. She kept trying to check my buckles, but I didn’t want her to. I hated the way the harness looked on my pink dress. I wiggled out of it when she wasn’t looking.
“Then, about a third of the way through the parade, the float stopped short because a horse in front of us had reared up. And everyone was jolted. I fell off the float. I fell off and hit my head on the concrete. I don’t remember much—I think it knocked me out. But when I woke up in the hospital, I couldn’t hear right. Something happened. And”—she swallowed heavily—“I never could again. That stuff, that little earpiece, it’s a kind of hearing system, okay?”
“And no one knows?” Tyler asked quietly.
Kinley shook her head. “No. I don’t need it all the time. My hearing isn’t completely horrible. But I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be accommodated or treated differently.”
“And that’s why you work so hard.”
Kinley chanced looking at him. He was still on his side, head resting on the heel of his hand, studying her. His face was unreadable.
“I guess so. And, you know, my family . . .”
“They put you under a lot of pressure. Yeah, I get that. Mine too.”
Kinley frowned at him. “They do?”
Tyler lifted a shoulder. “There are different kinds of pressure, Kin.”
Kinley felt her heart swell a little bit. He got it. He got her. He touched her chin with his thumb.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
He studied her. “It’s okay. I understand.”
Her heart swelled. And she felt something a lot like relief that slowed her heart and made her feel, at least for a small second, happy.
She kissed him for believing her.