Still kneeling beside his backpack on the floor, Dante gazes into my eyes. He has the sappiest grin on his face.
I smile, “That sounds like a wonderful—”
“Aren’t you in bed?” Dad blurts at me, suddenly standing in the doorframe.
I’m so startled, I practically jump off the bed using only the clenching of my butt muscles. “Geez, Dad! Can’t you give some advanced warning? You should wear a bell around your neck like a cat. I almost had a heart attack.”
Dad grimaces, ignoring my comment. “I’m sure Dante is tired and wants to get some sleep.”
I’m sure Dad is checking up on me to make sure Dante isn’t doing anything illegal. Good thing I left the door open. Too bad it allowed him to ruin my moment with the greatest of ease.
“Do you have everything you need, Dante?” Catarina asks, leaning around Dad.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Dante smiles.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says.
Dad looks irked when she says it. He has more of a stick up his butt than usual.
“Me too,” Dante says.
“Time for bed,” Dad orders, leveling a look at me.
“It’s only ten, Dad,” I groan.
“You need to get back on a school night sleep schedule,” he says. “You’ll thank me when school starts and you have to crawl out of bed with the rest of us.”
I throw a glance at Dante.
He shrugs, staying out of it.
The look on Dad’s face says, “I’m in charge around here and I give the orders. Now, march!”
“Fine,” I sigh as I stand up. “Good night, Dante.”
“Sleep tight,” he grins.
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
I totally can’t sleep.
The house is completely silent.
Everyone is in bed, presumably sleeping. But all I can think about is Dante. He’s in the next room. What’s he doing in there? Reading his book? Writing in his journal? Thinking about me? Dreaming about me? I don’t know and it’s killing me. I’d love to knock on his door and hang out with him all night, chatting about Venezuela and everyplace else he’s been. Dante is easily the most fascinating person I’ve ever met. My dad, who is easily the most annoying and boring person I’ve ever met, would surely not approve of my having a slumber party in the guest room with Dante.
Oh well.
At least Dante is sleeping in my, or should I say our, house for the time being. I have that much.
I sigh heavily and shift on my bed. A pink glow warms the walls, my desk, my vision board with pictures of SDU hanging over it, my posters and everything else. Yes, I sleep with a pink nightlight. Not because I’m scared of the dark like Ashley Masters thinks, but because I once tripped on the leg of my desk chair when I got up to pee in the middle of the night and nearly broke my toes. I realized night lights weren’t such a bad idea after that, and nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, I can’t ever let Ashley find out I have one. There would be no end to the “Nightlight” name calling.
I close my eyes, trying to force sleep.
It doesn’t work because the second I do, the second I see darkness, I’m right back in that meeting room at the library with Dante between my legs. I shiver just thinking about it. He made me come hard. I never knew an orgasm could feel so good. I’m getting wet just thinking about it.
I slide my palms down my stomach and wedge them between my thighs…
Okay, this isn’t helping.
I slap my hands on top of my sheet and huff heavily.
It’s warm in my room because I have the window open. Normally I leave it closed when it’s hot because we have A/C. But after hearing Dante’s story about sleeping on top of Mount Roraima, all I can think about is how stuffy my house is. The whole climate control thing is bugging me. Even with the window open, I can’t feel the breeze on my face and I can’t see any stars. I’m surrounded by the uniformity of sameness I’ve known most of my life.
For the first time ever, it’s bugging the fuck out of me.
All I’ve thought about all summer long is the SATs, college applications, AP classes, GPAs, blah, blah, blah. Before today, it all seemed normal. And that’s just it.
Normal.
Sure, I’ve dreamt about going to SDU for years. After spending the day with Dante, I’m like, “Why again?” Was college my idea, or just something I thought of because I saw kids wearing UCLA and USC sweatshirts when I was in middle school and I wanted my own college sweatshirt? That peer pressure bullshit can be really subtle. Or was college just something I took for granted because Dad has been preparing me for it for years? I’m suddenly wondering if any of it was my idea. I mean, sure, some of it was. But was I just going along with everyone else like a lemming wearing a college sweatshirt?
Dante made me wonder if maybe I was.
I notice the SAT prep books on the shelf of my little bookcase on my desk. I have three of them and I’ve been through all of them cover to cover. I shake my head. I’ve put way too much effort into this whole college thing. I’m not going to up and throw it all away just because of—
Faint voices drift up through the air vent on my floor.
Dad and Catarina.
They don’t know it, but I can sometimes hear them talking when they’re in the master bathroom. I think they go in there to talk because they think it’s harder to hear them from the hallway, which it is, but I guess they don’t know about the vent.
“I don’t trust him,” Dad says in a low echoey voice.
“You don’t even know him, Gordon,” Catarina hisses. “You just met him tonight.”
“Which is why I don’t trust him. You don’t know him either, Cat. You haven’t spoken to him in seven years. He’s not a cute kid anymore.”
“What?” she laughs in disbelief. “He’s my son, Gordon. My flesh and blood. I know him.”
“I’m sure Jeffrey Dahmer’s parents thought they knew him.”
Geez, Dad. That sounds ridiculous. I shake my head and grimace.
“My son is not a serial killer, Gordon.”
“He may not be a killer, but something about him bothers me.”
“I think he bothers your delicate sensibilities.”
That’s the truth. Dad makes muscle cramps look relaxed.
There’s a long silence.
“I’m sorry,” Catarina says. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you’re right. When it comes to my daughter, I have very delicate sensibilities. I only want what’s best for her.” There’s something snide about his tone.
“Are you saying that my son is somehow bad for Skye?” Catarina asks with obvious disbelief. “Gordon? What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything. But you just said plenty.”
“Gordon! I would never put Skye in any kind of danger! I love her like my own daughter. And I resent the fact that you’re insinuating that my son is a bad influence. Or somehow dangerous.”
“You saw how he was looking at her.”
“What?!”
“At dinner. He kept smiling at my daughter. I know that look.”
“Have you gone insane, Gordon?” She chuckles. “Were we at the same dinner table?”
“I know that look, Cat. Your son is attracted to my daughter.”
Oh. Shit.
“Gordon! That, that’s… that’s just insane.”
“Is it?”
She doesn’t respond.
My guts lurch and I suddenly feel like I’m about to shit triplets.
Catarina finally speaks, “So what if he is? Skye is a beautiful young woman. I’m sure there are plenty of nice young men attracted to your daughter.” She says it like this is all no big deal. This is getting dangerously close to disaster. “It’s normal for a young man like Dante to be attracted to her.”
“Is it normal for a stepbrother to be attracted to his stepsister? One who is still in high school?”
I want to shout through the vent, “I’m 18! Wha
t does it matter!” But I don’t.
“She’s 18, Gordon. She’s old enough to make her own choices.”
Go, Catarina! I cheer and fist pump and make a “Yes!” face.
“That’s not the point. I don’t want him distracting Skye from her studies. I don’t want her throwing away college for…”
“For what, Gordon? For my son?”
“That’s not what this is about, Catarina. It’s not about your son. It’s about my daughter and her future.”
“Are you saying my son doesn’t have a future?”
“I don’t know what he has. I just don’t want him doing anything… inappropriate with my daughter.”
“Inappropriate?” Catarina huffs, flustered. “Gordon, I’m sure that Dante would never do anything inappropriate with Skye.”
Yes he would. And did. Some of it in this very house. The rest of it in the local library. Have I ruined things already?
“I hope you’re right, Catarina. Because if I find out that your son has put any moves on my daughter, we are going to have a problem.”
We already do. Oh my god, what did I do? This is horrible.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Gordon?”
“Let’s just say that Skye is the most important thing in my life, Catarina.”
Silence.
Bad silence.
They never use each other’s names like this. They’re much more lovey-dovey. Not so formal. There’s a divisive quality to it, like they’re trying to separate themselves from each other. Separate… We all know what separation leads to.
Shit.
This is bad.
This is way bad.
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
The red numbers on my alarm clock read 1:13.
I haven’t been able to sleep since hearing Dad and Catarina arguing.
My guts are in knots. My eyes are hot and dry. I think I wept out all my tears two hours ago.
All of this is my fault. I should’ve stopped things the second I found out Dante was my stepbrother back at Blazing Waters. I’m an idiot. I got carried away. I let my hormones make my decisions. People like to joke about how guys think with their dicks. Well, it’s pretty obvious that girls think with their… put me out of my misery.
Now.
I had the start of a good thing going and I already went and ruined it. In one freakin’ day.
And now there’s tension between Dad and Catarina. Because of me. If I had drawn a line in the sand with Dante, I don’t think he would’ve stepped over it. He seems like the respectful type, despite what Dad thinks. But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Worse, I could just hear the threat of divorce dangling from Dad’s lips. Would he divorce Catarina because of Dante? I don’t even want to think about it. I love having Catarina around. She keeps Dad from being too over-protective. Without her, my life would be stifling. I would be an idiot to let my attraction to Dante destroy their marriage.
I’m a selfish child.
I’ve made a huge mistake.
But I don’t know how to fix it.
When I think about Dante, my heart races. So what if we just met? He’s gorgeous, smart, and sexy as hell. I am most definitely in lust with him. And in swoon. If I never saw him again after today, he would definitely be the ultimate “one who got away”. Wait, this is crazy. I’ve only known him for one day! It’s makes zero sense to be spun out for a guy after one day.
Zero sense.
A ticking sound at my door catches my attention.
The door knob turns with creepy slowness.
What the hell?
My Dad, for all his annoying faults, always knocks. It’s our agreement because he wouldn’t let me put a lock on my door. Safety issues. In case there’s a fire. Or I’m hiding drugs or boys in my room. You know, the usual stuff. It can’t be Catarina. If she needs something, she waits until my door is open. She’s great about respecting my privacy.
It can’t be Dante, can it?
No. He wouldn’t. Would he?
I push myself up into bed until my back squishes my pillow against my headboard. My knees are pulled up to my chest. Why does it feel like a prowler or something, I don’t know, illegal? I guess when someone sneaks into your room in the middle of the night, your mind goes all over the place. It isn’t a vampire, is it? No, you have to give them permission to enter. I saw it on an episode of Buffy once.
Slowly the door opens.
A dark shadow stands in the frame.
The soft glow of my pink night light washes over Dante.
He’s dressed in his T-shirt and jeans and leather jacket. His backpack is slung over one shoulder. His boots dangle from one hand.
No!
He’s leaving!
“Can I come in?” he whispers.
I’m too shaken to answer. My stomach is now see-sawing liquidly.
He arches an eyebrow.
I can’t respond.
His socks hush across the carpet. He sits on the foot of my twin bed, resting his boots on one knee. His warm hand slides around my ankle, which is naked after I slid up to the headboard. A shiver runs up my leg. It’s a mixture of arousal and fear at the same time. I don’t like how it feels at all.
“I have to go,” he whispers.
“Why?” I plead in a squeaky voice.
“I heard your dad arguing with my mom. I have to.”
I thought I was all out of tears, but I guess I have a few more. “You can’t go, you just got here,” I whisper.
He lowers his eyes and stares at the floor. “I knew it was a bad idea for me to come here. I should’ve written my mom a letter or something. It would’ve been better for everybody.”
“No it wouldn’t. The only problem here is my dad.”
“That’s a huge problem.”
He’s right. I don’t know what to say. I can’t think of a good argument. All those stupid SAT essays I wrote, and I can’t think of a single logical idea when it counts. Stupid tests. I knew they were useless. What’s the point of all this stupid college bullshit again? I feel my nerves amping up. I want to jump out of bed and start screaming. But that would wake Dad, and I’m sure Dante would bolt that much quicker. This may be the last moment I have with him. I can’t blow it. I remember Dante’s advice about breathing during the SATs if I got nervous.
I inhale slowly. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Then Exhale. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
A moment later, inspiration floats into my mind like a summer breeze over the plateau of Mount Roraima. “Dante, take me with you.”
He lifts his head and gazes into my eyes. In the faint pink glow of my room, his eyes sparkle tiny pink diamonds. The light is so faint, his eyes so dark, they don’t seem green. But they have a luminous quality that sucks me in. I feel our hearts connecting. Without words, our feelings pass between us.
He’s considering it.
I’m certain of it. Not wanting to let the opportunity of a lifetime slip away, I plead, “I’m 18, Dante. I can do whatever I want. There’s no law that says I have to graduate high school or go to college or anything.” Wow, I wasn’t sure if I had it in me, but that was easier than I would’ve thought.
He inhales slowly, about to speak. Then stops.
Our connection is broken.
“I can’t,” he sighs despondently. “I’m not going to break your family apart. If you ran away with me, your dad would blame my mom. I can’t do it. You have a good thing going here, Skye. Your dad loves you. So does my mom. They’re your family.”
“They’re your family too!” I cry.
He drops his head to his chest. “I don’t have a family.” He stands up and kisses my forehead.
My throat seizes and I swear my heart stops. A cold gust of icicles blows across my scalp and tinkles down my chest like an ice storm in the dead of winter.
He turns away but I grab his hand. I won’t let go. I won’t.
He twists his wrist in a lazy kung fu move and I can’t hold on. He never looks back. He pads across my bedroom and out the
door.
I jump out of bed and follow him downstairs. I don’t want to say anything until we’re outside. If Dad wakes up now, he’s bound to not only ruin my moment, he’ll likely push Dante right out the front door while he holds me back by the neck.
Dante twists the deadbolt on the front door.
“Wait!” I hiss.
“Skye,” he sighs, “I have to go.”
“If you open that door, the alarm will go off. It’ll wake up Dad and Catarina.”
He stares up the stairs thoughtfully. Then he looks at me. “Can you disarm it?”
“No,” I say defiantly. “Wait until morning. Sleep on it. Think about what you’re doing.”
He sets his boots on the floor then slides his free arm into the dangling strap of his backpack.
“What are you doing?”
He bends down and pulls on one boot.
“Dante!” I whisper.
He pulls on the other boot then stands up tall.
I glare into his eyes. They’re flat. Depthless.
Our connection is gone.
“Will you turn off the alarm?” he asks.
I fold my arms across my chest.
“Fine,” he says and turns to the door. In one swift motion, he twists the deadbolt and the doorknob with both hands.
SCREE-REE-REE-REE-REE-REE-REE!!!!!
I clamp my hands over my ears. The alarm is piercing and deafening.
Dante strides out the front door.
Banging sounds upstairs.
“WHAT IN HELL?!” Dad shouts.
I run outside, chasing Dante.
When I reach the driveway, he’s already throwing a leg over his motorcycle, which is parked at the sidewalk. “Get back, Skye,” he growls.
I run across the front lawn and throw my arms around his shoulders, but he pushes me away forcefully with one strong arm. I grunt and stumble backward, landing hard on the grass, both arms behind me. Pain shoots up my wrists. “Dante!” I scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain.
The motorcycle engine revs.
“Skye!” Dad shouts, running down the front walkway and across the lawn, wearing only pajama boxers. “Skye! Are you okay?!”
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