“It’s nothing,” I say to Leah. It sounds like I’m trying to convince myself. “He needs a distraction, and I’m the distraction. That’s all.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but then something behind me makes her eyes widen. “Code red, code red,” she mutters. “The eagle has landed. The package has been delivered. The chicken has crossed the road.”
I whip around and come face to face with Mitchell. He wears a politely confused expression.
“Chicken?” he asks.
“We were just talking about you!” Leah exclaims, beaming.
“Were you?” He glances between Leah and me. “Well, I hope I’m not the chicken.”
“You’re not,” I assure him.
Leah laughs. “He’s funny,” she stage-whispers to me.
I am going to kill Leah. Mitchell’s face twitches, like he can’t decide whether to laugh or be offended.
“We were actually talking about all the things Leah has to do this afternoon.” I glare at Leah.
She gives me a blank look.
“She’s incredibly busy, and she’s really crunched for time.” I pull out my phone and glance at it. “Oh man, Leah. Better get moving.”
Realization dawns across her face. “Oh, right,” she says knowingly. “Things. I have things to do. And stuff. I have stuff to do as well.” She starts to move off. “Bye, guys!” But before she makes it even two steps, she turns around again. “Oh, and Josie?”
“What?”
She holds her hand up to her ear like a phone and, with Mitchell still watching, mouths call me. Oh my god. She is officially the worst best friend in the world.
Mitchell and I watch her walk off in silence.
“She’s off to do . . . things?” Mitchell clarifies.
“Yep.”
“And stuff.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So am I supposed to assume Leah is a drug dealer now?”
I laugh while watching her flowing blond hair and lacy white dress bounce out of sight. “Yep. She’s international.”
He nods seriously. “I can see that. It’s her frightening looks and no-nonsense personality.”
“And her worldwide connections and vast knowledge of the underground drug world,” I add. “Plus, she loves cocaine.”
“Who doesn’t?” Mitchell grins at me, and I grin back. And for a second, I am lost. It’s quite a thing, being the focus of one of Mitchell’s million-watt smiles. It’s beautiful and blinding and disorienting, all at once.
He breaks the spell. “Ready to go?”
Where? I want to ask. But I don’t want to ruin it, whatever it is.
So I just smile back. “I’m always ready.”
I do everything I can to make the time pass by as quickly as possible. I do my homework out on the porch. I clean my room. I help my mom cook dinner—veggie burgers and kale salad. I eat at our small round table, chatting with my mom and Mae and even Libby, when she stops texting long enough to actually participate in the conversation. I clear the table and wash the dishes.
And then I meet Mitchell outside with a flashlight, because that’s what he told me to do.
I’m fiddling with the switch, turning it on and off and on again, when Mitchell shows up.
“Are you signaling for me or something?” He points his flashlight in my direction and flashes it on and off.
“I think it would have to be darker for me to do that.” I tilt my head up to the sky. It’s dimming, but it’s definitely not dark enough to need flashlights.
“It’s not dark enough yet,” Mitchell agrees. “But it will be soon.”
For some reason, this sends chills down my spine. But not in a scary way.
“Is this the part where you lure me away and murder me?”
Mitchell laughs. “If I wanted to murder you, I would have done it yesterday. Or the day before.” He pauses. “Or the day before that.”
“Or the day before that,” I add.
“Right.” In the almost-darkness, his features are blurred and soft, his messy hair, his dark eyes, the sharp broad line of his shoulders. He’s wearing a dark-gray flannel, and it looks soft and worn. I have this sudden urge to reach out and touch it, and I cross my arms and clamp my hands down to stop myself. Josie, pull yourself together.
Mitchell clears his throat. “So it takes a little while to get where we’re going. And then back again. Is that okay with your mom?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Right. I know.” He holds up his hands. “Just checking.”
We start walking toward his truck. “What about you?” I ask. “Is this okay with your parents?”
“It’s okay with my dad,” he says pointedly.
I leave it at that.
We arrive at our destination an hour and a half later. At least, I guess it’s our destination because Mitchell has stopped the car. We are the only truck in a tiny dirt parking lot. The truck’s dusty headlights illuminate a sign that simply reads hike at your own risk.
“This isn’t creepy at all,” I say.
Mitchell laughs, but he sounds a little bit nervous. “It’s worth it. I promise.”
“Okay.” I open the door. “But next time, I’m picking the place.”
Why did I say that? What if he doesn’t want there to be a next time? But before I have time to be embarrassed, Mitchell responds with an eager, “Okay.” He gazes over at me. “I’ll hold you to that.”
We clamber out of the truck, and I switch on my flashlight, sweeping the beam of light over the woods around us. Mitchell does the same.
“All clear,” he says. “Okay. It’s not that far from here.”
He leads me to a small, winding path across from the truck. For twenty minutes, I follow him in silence as he slowly makes his way down the twisting path. Our footsteps are soft on the thick layer of pine needles, and all around us the forest is alive with noise: rustling leaves and crickets chirping and branches scratching and owls calling. It doesn’t scare me. It’s the same soundtrack outside my cabin window, the same soundtrack I fall asleep to every night. It sounds like home.
I don’t realize that I’ve spoken this last thought out loud until Mitchell chuckles.
“What?” I whisper.
“I know what you mean, that’s all,” he says.
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because we sound like weird forest people. ‘The forest is our home.’ Like we wear leaves for clothes and worship pine needles and rub sticks together for fire and shit.”
I snort, the sound echoing in the dark stillness. “Like we’re part of a freaky nature cult.”
“Honestly, that’s not far from the truth.”
Our laughs mingle in the darkness. When they fade, the forest seems quieter. It’s almost enough to scare me, just a little. I inch closer to Mitchell until my nose is practically touching his shoulder blades. He smells like soap and sweat and a little bit like cologne. Cologne. Did he put that on for me? I inhale again, until my head is swimming with the smell of Mitchell.
The smell of Mitchell. Did I really just think that? What’s wrong with me? We’re just friends. I repeat it to myself like a mantra in the dark. We’re just friends. I’m just a distraction. We’re just friends.
Suddenly, Mitchell comes to a total stop with no warning. And since I’m walking so creepily close behind him, I smash into his back with an alarming amount of force. I launch him right off his feet, and we both go tumbling down.
Oh god. If I were dainty and tiny and graceful, he would barely have felt me bump into him. It would have been cute. Oh, look how clumsy and adorable Josie is. Instead, I plowed into him with the force of a thousand elephants. I feel like a huge battering ram. I’m lying on top of him in the dark, and I am probably totally crushing him. The more I scramble to right myself, the more I make it worse.
“I’m sorry!” My voice sounds too loud, too high-pitched. I try to stand up and knee him, hard.
“Oof.”
�
��I’m sorry!” I tumble back down. I have no idea where I just kneed him. I have no idea where his body parts are compared to my body parts.
And oh god, just thinking of the words body parts has my cheeks in flames. I’ve somehow ended up with my face pressed to his chest, and I’m sure he can feel the heat from my face and from my total and complete embarrassment radiating right through his shirt. His flannel shirt, which, it turns out, is as soft as it looks. Maybe even softer.
“Hey, hey.” His voice is amused, and I’m so glad he doesn’t sound like he’s in any serious pain. “Stop moving for a second.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, a desperate edge to my voice. I try to make my limbs go still, try to calm the thumping of my heart.
I feel a pull in my hair and realize my braid must be caught on a button on his shirt. I yank my head up, and immediately pain shoots across my scalp. “Ow.”
“Hey,” Mitchell says again, softer this time. “Hold still.”
He props himself up next to me and gently unravels my hair.
“Hey.” His voice is low and a little raspy. He clears his throat. “Um. I might have to undo your braid.”
“Yeah. That’s fine. I’m sorry,” I say again, automatically. I’m ruining this adventure.
“My fault,” he murmurs. He pulls out my hair tie, and I close my eyes. “Don’t be sorry.”
I don’t say anything. He weaves his fingers through my hair, and my braid falls apart. At the base of my neck, he fiddles with the knot. “There.”
I don’t want to move. I want to lie here in the dark with Mitchell Morrison playing with my hair forever. I think I could do this for eternity and be happy.
But lying on top of Mitchell on the forest floor is not really socially acceptable behavior. I lift my head, testing, and then sit all the way up. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Sorry about that.” He pushes himself to his feet. In the darkness, I can barely see his outstretched hand. “Here.”
I clasp my fingers around his, and he pulls me to my feet. Our hands stay connected for a second longer than necessary. I’m a little bit stunned by my reaction to the events of the last thirty seconds. By the way my heart batters against my rib cage. By the way my whole body is hot and feverish and flushed.
It feels terrible. It feels perfect and beautiful and terrible all at the same time.
This can’t be good.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mitchell
I’ve kissed girls. Four girls, to be exact. My sophomore year, I got to second base at a party with Brandi Hillman, captain of the tennis team and collectively known as the hottest girl in school. Brandi was kind of mean and condescending and definitely only wanted to make out with me because her friends dared her to. After twenty minutes, she pulled away from me, told me that was pretty good, and then sauntered out of the room. Not my proudest moment. But it was my best sexual experience. Until now.
I don’t know how touching Josie’s hair could be considered a sexual experience. But it definitely, definitely was. Her whole body felt so warm and solid and soft. Like a hug. Even just lying on me, even as she desperately tried to get up and away from me, her body felt like a hug.
I need to focus. Now we’re covered in dirt and bruises and scratches and pine needles, none of which makes for a good time. I hope she’s still having fun. I hope this is worth it.
I realize with a start that I’m still holding Josie’s hand. Why am I still holding her hand? I drop it quickly.
“Are you okay?” My voice comes out kind of shaky.
“Yeah.” She brushes the dirt off her pants and shirt. “I’m fine. Totally.”
But she doesn’t look up at me, doesn’t meet my eyes. Is it because it’s dark? Or is it because she’s mad?
“We’re here, I promise.” I’m worried she’s getting annoyed with my little plan. I sweep my flashlight behind me until the light illuminates what I’m looking for. “There.”
We’re standing in front of a pile of boulders—big granite formations that dot this part of the mountains. I scramble up a few, pulling myself up with my arms, and then reach behind to help Josie. Not like she needs it. She waves my hand away and launches herself up even quicker than me. Of course.
I stand, lean down, and shove a small boulder out of the way. I point my flashlight down. The beam of light illuminates a small crack in the rocks, just big enough for a person to slip inside.
“We’re going in there?” Josie asks from behind me.
“Um. Yeah.” I cringe, waiting for her to protest.
But her voice is confident and steady, and her response is quick. “Okay.”
I kneel and slide into the pitch black, my feet touching the floor as Josie’s feet disappear from view. I inhale the familiar scent—fresh, cool, slightly damp. Then I shine my light up. Above me, Josie squints in the light.
But she doesn’t hesitate. In one quick, graceful movement, she slips into the cave next to me. We’re standing next to each other in darkness.
I fumble in the backpack and grab a few candles. A couple flicks of my lighter and the cave is illuminated.
It’s about the size of a walk-in closet, with just enough room for me to stand. The top of my hair just barely brushes the top of the rocks. With the candlelight dancing across the walls, it’s cozy and beautiful. It feels like another world.
“Wow.” Josie’s face is flushed from our hike, her mouth open as she takes everything in. She reaches out and brushes the wall with the tips of her fingers. The candlelight casts a shadow behind her that mimics her movements. In the soft, warm light, her eyes glitter. She looks . . . bright. Larger than life in my tiny secret cave. I can’t look away.
“What is this?” she asks, her voice curious.
I blink and snap out of my reverie. “I happened across it one day, and I kind of fell in love. So I did a little research. There’s an old sign out front. I think a long time ago this trail was used a lot for people to come see these cool rock formations. But at some point, the government or the park system or whoever must have stopped taking care of it. I’ve never seen another person here.” I shrug. “I think it’s forgotten.”
“Your own secret cave.” She looks right at me and smiles—a real, genuine smile—and my heart feels like it’s going to burst.
“You like it?” It’s a pathetic question, but I can’t keep the words from escaping my lips.
She hugs her arms across her chest. “I love it.” She sinks down to the floor and crosses her legs. “It feels like we’re living in Huck Finn or something.”
“Minus the racism.” I slide down across from her. The cave floor is smooth and cool. Our knees almost touch. But not quite.
I lean back against the stone wall behind me, and Josie does the same.
“You do a lot of adventuring.” Josie’s voice is loud in the absolute quiet of the cave. She must feel it too, because her next words come out in almost a whisper. “Here. Jimbo’s. That little place where we slept in your truck.”
I shrug. “I need to be away sometimes.”
“You know, you’re weirder than everyone at school thinks you are.”
A loud laugh escapes my lips. “What do you mean?”
“You have your own little cave out here in the woods. You are a literal cave man.”
She grins at me, and it’s infectious; I grin back. “And here you thought I was cool.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I never thought that.”
We laugh, and it echoes off the walls and bounces back at us. When the sound fades, it feels extra quiet in the cave.
“Wanna see something cool?” I ask.
Josie nods. “I always do.”
I blow out one of the candles, and she raises her eyebrows. I lean forward to blow out the other one but stop myself.
“Sorry.” I lean back.
“What?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Blowing out the candles . . .” I gesture awkwardly with my hand. “I don’t want it
to be weird.”
“Why? Because it feels like this might be the part where you murder me?” She smiles.
“No, because we’re alone. In the dark.” I bite my lip.
“Oh.” Josie’s cheeks turn pink, but she quickly shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I know you’re not trying to seduce me or anything.”
“I never said that.”
There’s a pause. Josie opens her mouth and then closes it again, and I swear my whole life flashes before my eyes. It’s probably just one second, but it’s the longest second of my life. Did I get the wrong signals?
Well. It’s too late now. Here goes nothing.
“Because I think maybe I am. Trying to seduce you.” My heart pounds as the words leave my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe I just said that to Josie Sedgwick.
“Oh.” Josie’s face is on fire now. She twists her braid nervously.
“Is it working?” I try to keep my voice light and easy and jokey, and not as if my entire life and happiness and well-being depend on her answer.
Finally, she meets my eyes. The pause is long, excruciatingly long.
And then she finally answers. “Yeah. It is.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Josie
The look on Mitchell’s face—equal parts relieved and happy and even a little anxious—might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. It makes my heart melt and ooze right down my ribcage. It makes an embarrassingly wide smile stretch across my face. It makes my cheeks turn red. It makes me want to kiss him.
Of course, I don’t. I’ve only kissed two boys, ever. One was Jordan Quinn, when we dated for two brief weeks last year. Leah insisted we would be great together, based on the fact we both like Harry Potter. Even after I tried to explain to her everybody likes Harry Potter—that she was the weird one for not liking Harry Potter—even then, she kept insisting. We went on three dates—two of which were at the mall—and we made out twice, both times in his car. They were very forgettable dates and very forgettable kisses. Turns out there’s only so much to be said about Harry Potter, and only so much kissing can fill empty space in the conversation. When he broke up with me to “focus on his studies” (a.k.a. date first chair violin Kristy O’Malley), I was wildly relieved.
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