by Rosie Somers
Oh! Suddenly his troubled air makes so much more sense. He’s upset because he thinks I ditched him. I feel bad for a moment but quickly push away the guilt. I never said I would walk with him every day. He just shows up and assumes we’re walking together. As much as I like the guy, and as flattered as I am that he wants to spend time with me, I’m not the kind of girl who will let a guy make her feel guilty for having a life. I choose my words carefully and keep my tone flat. I want to make my point without killing any chance of him wanting to walk with me again. “Yeah, I stayed after for a club.” I pat the camera hanging from my shoulder by its strap.
“Yeah, I waited for a while.” His tone isn’t accusatory, and I can tell he’s trying to cover up the fact that my no-show bothered him. “So, you’re into photography?”
“Yeah, it’s probably going to be a regular thing from now on. You don’t have to wait on club days, if you don’t want.” But secretly, I’m hoping he will.
“Cool,” he says, and we finally fall into that comfortable place where neither of us feels the need to fill the silence.
“Admit it, you missed me.” I have no idea where it came from, but teasing him almost feels natural.
He blushes an adorable shade of pink and ducks his head. “Maybe I did.”
The moment stretches into awkwardness, and I scramble for something to say to move us back into comfortable conversation. “I don’t think I’m going to be very good at photography.” I duck my head as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I didn’t mean to be self-deprecating. I’m not usually that girl.
“Why do you say that?” Even without looking at him, I can tell Will is studying me intently.
I steel my features against his perusal. “I don’t know. We’re all supposed to get a shot using shadow as the theme, but I’m having trouble coming up with anything good.”
Will is silent for a moment. Then, “Nah, flower, I don’t think that’s lack of talent. I think it’s just because you don’t know the area well enough to find your perfect picture.”
That makes sense. I spent the weekend taking pictures, but they were all from within the confines of my apartment. What if I wasn’t devoid of all original inspiration but just missing the muse because she wasn’t hanging out at home with me? “Maybe.”
“You know what that means?”
I didn’t. “Um…”
“We’re just going to have to spend some time scoping out the neighborhood so you can get those primo photo ops like a true local. Right?” Will is all charm, and a smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
Truth be told, spending a few hours touring the Upper West Side with Will sounds great. “Right.”
“Then it’s settled.” He wraps an arm loosely around my shoulders, resting on my backpack. “Today after school, I’m showing you all the best places, and you’re going to get your shadow picture.”
I can’t wait.
…
I’m on my way into the cafeteria when Trin jogs up next to me. “Hey, girl! We have the same lunch period. How cool is that?”
And for the first time since I started school here last week, I’m actually looking forward to lunch. It’s funny what a difference having a friend around can make. “Pretty cool. Does Lacey have second lunch?”
Trin’s halfway through fixing her hair and has an oversize spider clip hanging out of her mouth, so her only response to my question is a shake of her head and a muffled, “Uhn-uh.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. We’ve been friends since eighth grade, and this is the first time we’ve ever not had the same lunch.” She loops an arm through mine and tugs me along toward the food line. “But now I have you, so it’s all good.”
I grab a tray and set it on the metal counter. Trin takes a tray, leans around me to peer at today’s food offerings, and wrinkles her nose in disgust. Then she returns her tray to the stack.
“You’re not gonna eat?” I ask, but as I look down the line, I see why. The main entree is an unidentifiable meat smothered in lumpy gravy, and the sides are carrots that look like they might be left over from last week and mashed potatoes that by all appearances probably have the consistency of soup.
I head for the cold food and grab a premade ham and cheese sandwich and an apple. A milk at the end rounds out my selections.
Trin follows me out of the line with nothing but a fruit salad and a bottle of water, and I wait until she passes me so she can pick a table for us. We settle in at a spot near where the food line spit us out, opposite a few girls I don’t know. They ignore us, and we ignore them.
“So, are you going to teen night tonight?” Trin asks as she peels the lid off her fruit salad. When she goes to place the lid on the table, she knocks her water over, and the bottle rolls off the edge of the table. Without thinking, I reach out and catch it before it can hit the ground. It’s a reflex, not an action I’ve consciously decided on, and I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d tried.
Trin stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. I shrug and set the water bottle back on the table.
Then I do my best to pick up the conversation exactly where we left off in hopes that she’ll forget about my freakishly honed reflexes. What was her question again? Oh, teen night. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Is it here?” I imagine it’s some sort of pep rally or something.
Trin laughs. “No, silly, it’s at Grade.” She watches me expectantly, like I should know what Grade is. Then, she follows up with, “You know, the nightclub? They do teen night the second Monday of every month.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m not really much of the nightclub type.” I don’t really know if that’s true or not. I’ve never actually been to a nightclub to tell if I’m the type or not. I’m just assuming not.
“No! I do not accept that.” Trin tosses a grape at me. It hits my shoulder and bounces onto the table, then rolls over the edge onto the floor.
“Ouch?”
“Mari, for real, girl. You have to come. You have no idea what you’re missing.” She puts down her fruit salad and clasps her hands together in front of her. “Pleeeeease?” she begs. “For me?”
I bite my lip against the urge to laugh at her antics and pretend to consider my response. “Well, you are very convincing…”
Her bottom lip slips into a pout, and she brings her clasped hands up higher under her chin.
“All right, fine. I’ll go. If it’s okay with my mom.”
Trin immediately drops the begging and sits back in her seat, and I half expect her to give herself a pat on the back. “I’ll just have to come over and convince her. No one is immune to my charms,” she tells me with a grin.
“Maybe so, but I can’t promise I’m going to stay long.”
She picks her bowl of fruit back up and eats a strawberry. After she swallows, she says, “That’s fine. You’ll come, and you’ll love it. You’ll see.”
I’m not so sure, but I’ll let her have her moment.
Chapter Eight
Will slips his hand into mine, and a little thrill tightens in the pit of my stomach. I turn slightly away from him to hide my own blush, pretending to be busy studying the world around us. We’ve been walking together for almost two hours. He’s shown me the field where he and his friends used to hold impromptu kickball games, bought me gelato from his favorite vendor, and even taken me by his cousin’s sister-in-law’s bridal shop—referring to all that wedding stuff as “dark subject matter.”
But as much as I want to get a good shot, I haven’t really been paying a whole lot of attention to my surroundings, I realize as I scan the area around us for potential shadow-photo inspiration. I’ve been too distracted by Will, his proximity, his scent. My gaze lands on a display full of glittery jewelry in a shop window next to us as we pass. A jewelry store. I’m simultaneously a little too interested and a lot more uncomfortable.
I’m loathe to admit it, but the jewels in the shop window call to me. It’s hard to erase years of train
ing, to ignore a lifetime of looking for the shiny in every obscure corner. And here they are right out in front of me. Even from my spot on the sidewalk, I can pinpoint two security cameras and have, without even trying, already mentally picked the lock in the glass front door. The window case lock is even easier to imagine my way through, and in less than a minute, I already have a solid game plan for how I would burgle this adorable little mom-and-pop shop.
My cheeks heat as I realize Will is watching me intently. And something in the way he’s staring makes me realize that this is where my shadow picture is. Thieving—particularly jewels—is the shadow hanging over my life, my secret shame looming like this day’s grim weather.
“Whatcha looking at?”
“I’m planning a heist.” It’s meant to be a joke, but my tone is more serious than I intended.
Will’s wintry eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. What would he do if I were actually serious? I’m not sure I want to find out, and I force a laugh before telling him, “I’m just messing with you. I want to get a couple of shots of the shadows here.”
Will relaxes his posture, lets go of my hand, and moves to lean against a nearby light post with the faintest hint of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
I ready the camera and begin snapping photos of the window display, and in every photo, I make sure to stand so that my shadow falls over the shot. When I’m satisfied that I got enough images to choose from, I tuck the camera back into place and join Will.
“Get what you needed?” he asks, and his eyes search mine like he’s trying to read my secrets.
I break eye contact quickly and head away from the store. “Yep. My shadow looked neat over the jewelry back there.” Never mind the deeper hidden meaning behind my choice of subject matter. If I play it smart, no one will ever make the connection. Except my mother—she’ll get a kick out of it when I show her the picture later while I’m getting ready for teen night.
“You look great. Quit fidgeting!” Trin smacks my hand when I try to tug at the hem of my too-short skirt for the gazillionth time.
I’m not sure why I let her talk me into wearing the snow-white mini, or the shimmery silver halter, or the matching strappy heels. I even let her do my hair instead of wearing my customary ponytail, and I’ve covered it all up with a peacoat. The look on Trin’s face as we left my apartment for the club made it clear she allowed me the coat only because it’s February and underneath it, I’m sorely underdressed for the weather. And as we approach the club, I’m certain these are my last few moments with my coat.
There’s no line outside the club like TV has led me to believe there would be, but the pounding bass reverberates up into my legs through the sidewalk. Trin goes first, smiling at the bouncer like they’re best friends. He doesn’t even check her ID, just produces a permanent marker from one of his pockets and marks her right hand with a black X. I have my ID in hand when I get to the door, but I’m slow passing it over to the bouncer. He checks it, then marks my hand with an X as well.
Berry-scented air and the smell of sweaty bodies hits me the second we walk in. But inside, the club is darker than outside, and I stop for a minute just through the doors, needing time for my eyes to adjust.
Eventually, I can make out tables a few feet away, bordering the dance floor, and Trin already weaving her way through the crowd. I don’t know what I expected for my first time in a nightclub, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be so crowded. It seems like my entire school and then some are clumped out there in front of the DJ, wriggling and undulating to the beat under the multicolored lights. It’s a sensory overload, the loud music, the smells, the crush of too many bodies packed into tight quarters. I’m already itching for the quiet sanctuary of my bedroom, and it’s only seven thirty p.m.
Dancing at home, alone in my room, is okay—even a bit of a stress reliever at the end of a long day—but I’m struggling to understand the appeal of dancing in such crowded confines, brushing up against sweaty bodies, limited to the small amount of space I would take up just standing still. Maybe coming here was a mistake.
I’ll just ease into it. I move toward the tables and walk between them, looking for Trin, whom I’ve lost sight of, or Lacey because she’s supposed to already be here waiting for us. I circle almost halfway around the dance floor before I spot them at a table in the back.
“Hey, you made it!” Lacey yells.
“Isn’t this place great?” Trin dances up next to me and bumps her hip into mine. “Come dance with me.”
I bite my lip like I’m considering it, and then I shake my head. I sit, content to watch as Lacey and Trin shimmy their way onto the dance floor. Some of the faces out there look familiar, maybe from the halls at school, but I don’t see anyone else I know by name. At least most of the people in the club appear to be in their own worlds or focused solely on whoever they’re with, which means I must not be as conspicuous as I feel.
Someone taps my shoulder from behind, and I turn on my stool to look.
“Marisol! I didn’t expect to see you here!” Jamie shouts over the music, then motions to the chair next to me. “May I?”
I nod and wave him toward the chair. “A friend made me come.”
He says something I can’t make out, then leans in close to repeat himself. “Not really your scene, huh?”
I shake my head.
“Do you dance?”
“Only alone in my bedroom,” I half joke.
Jamie looks skeptical. “Come on, I bet you’re a great dancer. Come dance with me?” He holds out his hand and flashes me a smile that could outshine the sun.
The longer I sit here, the more I feel the pull of the music. Dancing with Jamie might be kind of fun. Psyching myself up to get out there and join my friends only takes a few seconds. I inch off my stool and step tentatively away from the table, place my hand in Jamie’s, and let him lead me out onto the dance floor.
The wall of writhing bodies opens just enough for us to slip into its midst, then closes around us, enveloping us with the movement, the unified rhythm. Lacey dances toward me, moves in unison with Jamie and me for a moment. Then she winks at me and turns to dance with a boy. I close my eyes and let everything else slip away, and in that moment, nothing else exists except the beat and me. I breathe in time to the music, move in sync with the heavy, percussive bass notes and synth melody.
My back brushes hard against another body, and I stumble. Strong hands grab my arms, holding me upright until I catch my balance. At first I think it’s Jamie, but when my eyes snap open, he’s standing a few feet in front of me, arms outstretched like he was planning to catch me but missed. As soon as I’m steady on my feet, I turn to face whoever has kept me from falling, ready to lay into him for getting so handsy. “Hey, watch the hands!”
I’m met with smooth, tan skin and deep brown hair framing a hard jawline. Will’s ice-blue eyes burn me with their intensity, and I pray he can’t see me blushing in the dim lighting. “Sorry, you looked like you were going to fall.” The sincerity in his voice matches the innocence in his expression, and I breathe a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been some pervo trying to cop a cheap feel.
I shoot a self-conscious glance over my shoulder at Jamie, but he’s already heading off to another part of the dance floor with a guy I recognize from bio. Will’s hands are still on my arms, and I’m loathe to break the contact.
“Hi,” he mouths. He might have said the word out loud, but the sound is lost to the music.
“Hi,” I return. I’m innately aware of his fingertips on my skin. His thumbs brush a lazy back-and-forth pattern along the edges of my collarbone. We’re probably the only two people on the dance floor not dancing, but I can’t summon an ounce of concern or embarrassment. I’m locked in Will’s gaze, a prisoner to the storm of nervous energy flooding my veins. The song changes, transitioning from fast and danceable to something slower, more sensual. Will’s eyelids lower, and his half-mast gaze dips to my mouth.
&nb
sp; When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, I unconsciously mirror the action, and he sucks in a deep breath in response. A little thrill shoots through me at the realization that he’s reacting to me that way because he wants to kiss me. And if I’m honest with myself, I want to kiss him. I can almost feel his lips pressing against mine. Every fiber of my being is caught in his gravitational pull, aching to be near him.
Eventually, he sways to the music, and I follow his lead, mirroring his movements as if I’m an extension of him. He moves his hands down my arms, then presses them to my waist and pulls me so close that every inch of me is almost pressed against every inch of him.
Heat surges through me. I lean into Will, memorizing the feel of his body leveled against mine. The life of a thief is a solitary one; I’ve never been this close to a guy before, and the situation is made all the more complicated by the strength of my attraction to him.
There’s no denying it anymore.
And I won’t let this moment slip away from me without fully experiencing it. Calling on the three years of dance classes I took as a kid, I fall into the rhythm. I don’t think about my moves, letting them flow naturally, and with every shake, every bounce, every step, Will’s hands never leave my hips. His grip tightens, and the fraction of space that was between us disappears. He’s so tall, I barely come up to his chin, and I’m struck by the urge to nuzzle against him. I spin around, turning my back to him to avoid giving in to the desire to bury my face in the crook of his neck.
Will wraps his arms around me, encircling my waist and pulling me back against him, and I lift my hands above my head to allow him the liberty. I close my eyes and sway, undulating, twisting, shifting to the beat. Will’s own dancing is more subdued, like he’s more interested in my movements than his own.
I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I wrap my hands around his neck and pull his head down so his face is next to mine.
“Having fun?” I practically shout to be heard over the music. I can’t be sure, but I think he growls in response. “Who knew you were such a good dancer?” I tease.