My eyes widen. He said the F-word. And he’s cradling my head in his lap.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his fingers still stroking my hair.
“Hurts,” I mumble, still crying.
“I’m pretty sure you broke your ankle.”
I try to sit up to look, but he holds me in place. “Don’t move. I don’t want you hurting yourself worse.”
“I want my mom.”
He offers me a sad smile, and I could swear I hear him mumble, me too. “She’ll be here soon. You’ll be okay.”
“Name?” I wanted to say more than that, but my brain and mouth aren’t on the same page. It hurts too much to talk. I just want to sleep.
“Samson, and I need you to keep those pretty blue eyes open, okay?”
“Samson…”
“That’s right. I just moved down the road.”
Through my pain, I try to think of any houses that were for sale, but nothing comes to mind.
He must see my confusion because he says, “I’m living with the Scotts—they’re my foster family.”
I’ve never known anyone in foster care before, but I’ve heard of it. Maybe that’s why he wants his mom too.
For some reason, I want to comfort him the way he is me, and I try to snuggle deeper into his lap, but all I manage to do is set off a new wave of pain.
“Ouch!” I wail, fresh tears falling.
“Stay still, Stella.” He glances toward my bike. “Your parents will be here soon.”
That day was the beginning of the end for my crush on my older brother’s best friend. From there on out, the three of us—much to Orion’s dismay—were inseparable.
Well, mostly. They still did things without me, but Samson insisted on including me a lot of the time.
And whenever I couldn’t tag along—that word quit bothering me after Samson came into the picture—he would always bring me back something from where they went.
My favorite candy from the movies.
A smooth skipping stone from the river.
A quarter-machine bracelet from the mall.
By the time I was ten, I was head over heels in love with the boy—not that he had a clue or felt the same. He was sixteen and the picture of cool.
But even still, he was nice to me. He included me. He never made me feel like a pest.
By twelve, he and I had our own routine—Orion would sneak a girl up to his room, and Samson and I would swing out on the porch. Looking back, it was probably so I didn’t overhear anything I wasn’t supposed to, but during those late nights, we talked about anything and everything…
“What happened to your parents?” I ask, my legs tucked beneath me while Samson pushes the swing back and forth.
“Um.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Mom said I shouldn’t ask—that it’s rude.”
“You’re okay, Luna.” That’s something he’d taken to calling me lately, but he won’t say why. I’m pretty sure Samson Carter has more secrets than the FBI. “It’s just not something I talk about too much.”
“You really don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s fine.” He shakes his head and swallows hard. “They… they’re dead.”
I gasp as tears fill my eyes. I can’t imagine my parents not being here. “How?”
“A car wreck.”
“I’m so sorry!” I push up to my knees and turn to him. “Can… can I hug you?”
Another hard swallow. “Sure.”
I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry about your parents, Samson. So, so sorry.”
I swear, he’s crying too, but I doubt he’ll ever admit it. Instead, he just holds me tighter, like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.
Finally, after what feels like forever, we break apart. “Thanks, Stella. I… I needed that.”
“Needed what?”
“A hug.”
“Well, you’re in luck, Samson Carter.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
My smile brightens. “Because you can hug me anytime you want!”
And he did too. After that night, he hugged me every day.
Secretly, I pretended he hugged me because he loved me like I loved him, which was stupid since he started dating Caroline Arnold that very same summer.
She was pretty, with deep brown hair and green eyes. I begged Mom to let me color my hair brown after meeting her, but she wouldn’t let me.
Thank God… hindsight really is twenty-twenty.
I worried he’d forget all about me once he started dating her… that I’d go back to being tagalong instead of Luna. But that never happened.
Even when they went out together, he’d bring me something back. And at night, when Orion would sneak girls in, he never asked Caroline to come over.
Nope. He still sat outside with me.
Despite my immense dislike of Caroline, she was as sweet as could be. She was never catty or spiteful like some of the girls my brother brought home.
I still didn’t like her.
How could I when she had the one thing I wanted more than anything?
In short, it was the longest, most torturous summer of my life.
But then, one day, she just stopped coming around. I know I should have been sad for Samson, but I wasn’t. Not even a little.
In my young eyes, it was time to make my move—my heart never cared about our age difference. It just knew he was the reason for it to beat.
I dressed up in my prettiest Sunday dress, stole Mom’s red lipstick, and doused myself in her perfume. Looking back, I probably looked like a damn mess, but ever the gentleman, Samson let me down gently.
To this day, I’ve never forgotten the words he spoke to me, simultaneously breaking my heart and filling it with hope…
“Luna.” The way he rumbles my name sends butterflies swarming around my belly as I sidle up next to him on the porch swing for our Saturday night ritual. “You look…”
“Pretty?” I ask, batting my eyes up at him.
When he doesn’t answer me right away, I deflate.
Finally, he says, “You always look pretty. Every single day.”
“Really? You think so?”
He nods. “I do.”
Even at thirteen, I can tell there’s more he wants to say. And the way he’s hesitating reminds me of when I get into trouble in class and don’t want to tell Mom. Whatever he’s not saying… isn’t good.
“Just spit it out.”
He grins. “You’re so bossy.”
I glare. “It’s leadership skills.”
“Oh, is that it?” He sounds far too amused for my liking. Here I am, putting myself out there and he’s teasing me. God, boys are dumb
“Stop avoiding my question.”
“Fine.” He stands from the swing. “The lipstick… the perfume… they’re not you, Luna. You don’t need any of that shit. You’re perfect exactly the way you are.”
I’ve read in magazines that women should wear makeup for themselves and not for a man, so now I feel even sillier knowing I put this on special just for him, and he doesn’t even like it.