Boyd’s face flashed in her mind.
Mel rolled her eyes, almost as though she was reading Lilly’s thoughts. “It’s obvious that Lilly is as hung up on BND as ever, so I call Patrick.”
As though that hadn’t been her plan all along.
“But,” Mel added. “Lilly’s going to ask him out for me.”
“I am?” Lilly crumpled the can as the bell rang.
Dar cocked her head. “What is this, eighth grade all over again?”
Mel pushed Dar’s shoulder. Dar suddenly seemed so thin and fragile that even a playful nudge could topple her. “Lilly will do it because that’s what friends do,” Mel said pointedly.
Dar adjusted her huge sweater and stood up. “Whatever you say, Mel.”
Lilly stood too. “Fine, I’ll ask him for you. On the condition that he turns out to be as hot as you say, and depending on the nature of his past crimes. Oh, and also on the condition that you stop referring to you-know-who as BND. He’s going to figure it out!” How many things could it stand for other than Boy Next Door?
“That’s fair,” said Dar, at the same time Mel said, “Picky picky.”
Then Mel smiled—her signature huge grin. She threw her arms around Dar and Lilly. “Thanks, babes. I’m so happy to be with my girls again.”
Dar laughed. “We love you too, but stop suffocating me.”
Lilly fist bumped them both and headed to class, bouncing in her Converse. It was a new year, full of new opportunity. And while at home she might be the baby in a lineup of three sisters vying for Boyd’s attention, at high school, she was just her—a girl with a plan.
Chapter Four
Now
FEBRUARY 7
ICY GRASS CRACKLED UNDERNEATH HER boots as Tessa veered off Woodrow Avenue, then cut through the big parking lot behind the diner, and out onto County Route 28, which wound its way out of town limits. After the gas station ran a stretch of shoulder and, beyond it, the woods. She hopped the rail and made her way to the trailhead.
These woods are lovely, dark and deep—something Kit used to say.
She ran harder, into the mottled shade of the winter trees, trying to burn away all thoughts of Kit. But the mind works a lot like osmosis, it turned out, always seeking equilibrium—the more tears she held in, the more memories flooded out instead:
She and Boyd, lying side by side on their stomachs in Tessa’s bedroom, propped up on their elbows, the AP Bio textbook splayed open between them on the floor. Just last week—Wednesday—when Kit was still alive.
Mrs. Jenkins gave quizzes on Thursday mornings, and Tessa always prepped with Boyd. Bio was their mutually favorite subject. Ever since Tessa had learned about her chimerism, she’d gotten interested in genetics, which had been like a gateway into all sorts of weird scientific fascinations. The latest was marine biology. Most people don’t realize how many weird-ass creatures live beneath the ocean—there are estimated to be about a million species and we only know of a fraction of them. It’s like a wealth of colorful, floating secrets down there.
Anyway. An empty Fritos bag lay strewn on the carpet along with the flashcards she’d made—their studying had already devolved into a random debate about photosynthesis. She couldn’t even remember what side of the argument she’d been on or what point she’d been trying to make.
The point had only been this: let’s keep doing this. Let’s not ever end this.
Let’s stay here, in this moment, forever, talking about the magic of plants and phytoplankton sopping up the sun and turning it into the essence of green; of fresh starts, always there, waiting in our cells for a little light.
Kit had just come home from babysitting for the Nestors, and she popped her head into Tessa’s room to say she was using the shower. She hadn’t made eye contact with Boyd, but Tessa didn’t wonder too much about it in the moment. She’d been far too distracted by the static electricity in the air, as though Boyd was a big balloon she’d rubbed her head against—it felt like every tiny hair on her arms was standing on end, for some reason. Things had been like that lately around Boyd, which made no sense since nothing had outwardly changed—they still had all the same inside jokes and banter and bizarre obsessions with biological anomalies and board games.
“I have a non-bio-related question,” Boyd said after Kit left the room.
They could hear the sound of the shower turning on in the bathroom across the hall, its quiet scream through the old pipes. The Malloys’ house was built in the 1940s, one of the few that survived the fire of ’82, making it one of the oldest homes on their road. And thus, by the transitive property, also one of the most run-down. But Tessa was used to its creaks and moans—sometimes they provided just the right soundtrack to whatever mood she was in—and the sound of hot water rattling and hissing seemed inseparable, in that particular moment, from the rattling of her pulse and the steam building at the back of her neck.
“Shoot,” she said, turning toward Boyd.
He was so big—Tessa was hardly two-thirds his size, her head barely coming up to his chin when they were standing, but right now, he was propped on his side, reclining, and still, his eyes came several inches higher than hers. He looked down and cleared his throat like a lecturer about to make a speech. It made her feel suddenly formal, like she should sit up and take notes.
She wondered if he was going to bring up the homecoming dance. It had been a few months ago, but they hadn’t really talked about it since.
What he said surprised her. “Remember when I went out with Olivia Khan?”
She squinted at him. “Yeah?”
He’d dated Olivia for all of two weeks, in eighth grade. Olivia Khan was one of the prettiest girls in the middle school and high school combined. That hadn’t changed over the last two years, either, though now she was dating Jay Kolbry, who none of them knew that well. Jay had a reputation for dealing. He was one of the popular jocks, always smiling, a natural fit for Olivia, probably.
She thought Boyd might elaborate, but he just lay there, his face hovering less than ten inches away from hers, his lips slightly apart. She could feel herself blushing, but she honestly couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed for herself or for Boyd.
He licked his lips and swallowed. She’d known him since they were kids, and yet watching him do that sent a shiver down her spine. She felt like she needed to move her legs but forced herself to stay still, waiting for him to finish his thought.
And then, he was leaning toward her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. His face looked bigger up close, his own hair flopping to the side. He hesitated, leaving his hand behind her neck, and Tessa drew in a sharp breath before doing a crazy thing:
She leaned up toward him.
And then, they were kissing.
Tessa rolled onto her back on the carpet—her arms suddenly too shaky to hold her up. He hovered over her, then leaned down and kissed her again. His lips were wet and soft.
Heat raced through her body. Her brain felt numb. She and Boyd . . . they were kissing. Full-on, lying-on-the-floor kissing. It made no sense.
For whole moments, she was just Tessa—no trace of Kit or chimerism or the nothingness she feared hovered just outside of who you were, waiting to prove you were just like it: that you were nothing, too.