“No more cinders?”
“Cinders averted.”
I scoop up another bite of crumble. “You know that’s mine,” Kev says as I lick a drop of ice cream off my lips.
“I know,” I say, and scoop up a large forkful and guide it to his mouth. His lips close around the fork as I slide it away, and we can’t take our eyes off each other.
He puts down the screwdriver, plucks a curved metal piece off the table, and sets it in place. “Hand me that screw?” he says, pointing.
I hand it to him.
“I heard what happened with Krell today,” he says.
“Ugh. Let’s not. Can I declare this house a no-Krell zone?”
“Okay. Sure.” Kevin’s movements are certain as he begins to reassemble the toaster. “Thanks again for trying to rescue me today.”
“Anytime,” I murmur.
“Sorry my dad was such a jerk.”
“No worries. How’d it go with him after I left?”
“You’ll be pleased to know he asked several detailed questions about the engineering problems I ran into with Unresolved, and we actually had a decent conversation. Not that it changed his mind.” Kev slides the metal shell back over the toaster and replaces the final screws.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
We both look up as we hear the creaking of Mrs. Mednikov’s feet on the stairs. Kev puts down the toaster and reaches for my hand, then gently draws me into his lap. He’s in that quiet place you hit after you spend all your energy being upset.
I wrap my arms around his neck and gaze into the green-and-gold-brushed depths of his eyes. “Now I get why you were so nervous about seeing your dad. He’s not exactly crazy about you going to Caltech or CALINVA.”
Kev tucks his arms around me, cradling me so I melt into his chest. “He’s an engineer. He’d feel a lot better about Caltech if it didn’t cost twice what Kansas does.”
Kevin’s lips are on mine, sure, ginger, and sweet. I want to lose myself in his kisses, but before I can I need to know, “Is he making you transfer?”
“He didn’t say.”
It’s not the no I’d hoped for, but it’s better than yes. “You’ve got to be relieved he’s not sick.”
“Yeah, when you get down to it, that’s the only thing that matters.”
He’s not fooling me. Kevin can say that all he wants, but like me, he has a dream coiled up inside him like a spring and he wants to stay where he is.
I slide off his lap. “Come,” I whisper, taking his hand. I lead him to my room and guide him onto my bed. Light from the house next door filters through the window, casting the shadow of Mom’s dream catcher onto the wall.
Kev kicks off his shoes, and I toss mine in the corner before I slide onto the quilt next to him. He hands me his folded glasses and I set them on the tiny bedside table. We lie facing each other, legs entwined, our heads sharing my pillow.
He slips his hand under my shirt, and I shiver as his warm fingers travel slowly up my spine, following the crest and valley of each vertebra.
My fingers brush his cheek. This is nothing like the desperate, racing hunger I felt with Adam.
Kevin draws me closer, pressing his lips to mine. I never knew before now that kisses possess their own vocabulary, but tonight his say “tender,” “wounded,” “hopeful.”
And I answer them back, and everything I say through mine is real and true. Let me love you, let me be there for you, let me take away your hurt.
We begin to shed our clothes as if they’re walls we can’t allow to stand. I read his body with my hands as he reads mine. When we are naked and lying in each other’s arms, we are both trembling.
“Are you sure?” Kevin asks. “We don’t have to—”
I set my finger on his lips and slide my leg over his. This is the only thing in my life I’m sure about.
The next morning, Kevin pedals off to Caltech before I peel myself out of bed. I slide over into the still-warm spot where he lay. The mattress holds the shape of his body and I nestle into it, imagining I’m still in his arms.
I bask in wanting him and being wanted by him, marveling at how foreign and delicious it is, like a food I’ve never tasted until now.
Outside, the neighbor’s marmalade tabby trots along the fence, her orange fur brightening and dulling as she moves from sunlight to shadow. Her ears prick up, following the raucous, discordant calls of wild parrots who’ve claimed a nearby tree.
I press my pillow to my mouth. “I’m in love.” I dare myself to say it again without the pillow. “I’m in love with you, Kevin Walker.”
The words float in my ears, fragile and evanescent. I imagine whispering them in his ears, his face turning to mine….
Boom. Something hits the fence, and I jerk upright as the sound of barking and snarling tears through the quiet. Heart racing, I lean into the window, looking for the tabby, but she’s gone.
I sit back down on my bed. The electric charge of adrenaline has shot me back to the real world.
I need to get up and deal with what’s in front of me. It’s nice to pretend everything’s perfect between Kevin and me, but if he finds out what I did, I could lose him.
Hoping this will all go away is just magical thinking, as Mom would say.
The only chance I’ve got of putting things right is to find Julie. I’m pretty sure she saw Adam and me enter CALINVA together, so at the very least she could back me up that he’s real. Sure, it’s a long shot, her knowing something about Adam that could help me track him down, but how else can I clear my name?
I get dressed and head out early. Julie’s not out on Raymond Street, and it looks like breakfast at the shelter’s over, because Homer and his buddies are milling around the courtyard outside.
Most of them turn to look at me as I come through the gate. “Hi, everybody!” I stride past the group, and I’m just about to hit the door buzzer when I hear, “Hey you, artist girl.”
“Yes?” I smile, looking for signs that the man in the tattered green camo jacket who’s coming toward me is sober, sane, and harmless.
“You paint that picture of Julie?”
His hair is silver against his ebony skin and nothing I read off him tells me he’s a danger. I smack the buzzer. “Yeah, I did. What do you think?”
“I like it fine. Julie looks good.”
His praise is so genuine, so real, I almost don’t know what to say. “Thank you for telling me. I’m really glad you like it.”
The door release buzzes, and I slip into the hall, where Florence is waiting. “Perfect timing,” she says. “Come back to my office. I’ve got something for you.”
We pass a big room full of long tables where the smell of sausage lingers in the air. Red and green streamers cross the ceiling, and an artificial Christmas tree is plunked in a corner. The decorations on it cluster in spots, leaving whole branches bare.
Florence’s office is small and buried in files and boxes. She digs through a pile on her desk, pulls out an envelope, and hands it to me. “You showing up here saves me having to mail this.”
I peek inside. “Two tickets to the gala?”
“For you and your plus-one. Courtesy of Casey Stiner.”