“Oh, I remember. You caught me staring.”
“Glaring, actually. We hadn’t even met.”
I shift my books. “You had quite a reputation. Everyone said you were untouchable.”
“You still don’t touch me,” he says, trying to make me laugh.
Instead, I adjust my armful again. He holds out hands to take my books and tucks them under his arm. But then his Tic Tacs make another appearance, and he sucks in a breath. Uh-oh.
“I told you I saw you last year. I was drawn to you in a big way. But the reality is, I would have just joked around a little and left it at that. Except … when I finally talked to you, you were so different from other girls. So unimpressed and self-assured. Zero interest in me or what I could do for you. You blew me off so many times”—he sends a teasing sidelong glance—“and, oddly, it helped me trust you. You didn’t care about the impression I give off, the things I’m sick of being known for. You finagled your way into knowing the real me.”
I blink at him, dreading how this speech will end.
“I’ve gotten to spend so much time with you,” he continues, “and every minute makes me like you more. You take care of your people whatever the cost to you. You have this certain smile when you talk about your family. You’re wicked smart and so motivated. You … you love Jesus in a way I’ve never seen before.”
My head spins, and I can’t hear anymore. I stop right there on the path. I’m not a normal girl doing normal girlfriend things. I’ve given him such a hard time. I don’t deserve any of this.
“Thank you,” I mumble. “So many compliments.”
He presses his lips together before turning serious again. “I’m not the kind of guy who does situationships.”
He lets that hang in the air while I scramble for a not-stupid reply. I’ve got nothing.
“I’m in this, Kit. I’ve been trying to be patient and give you space, to give you time to trust me too. But I need to know if you don’t want a relationship with me. A real one.”
“O-of course.”
“Okay …” he says. “Yes, you want a relationship with me? Please?”
I gape. The paragon of manhood included a please.
What do I say?
“Look, I know you’re not ready to tell me everything,” he says. “That’s okay. We can figure it out. Together.”
“I … I just … can’t.”
I hold my breath for his response. This is it—We’re done.
Instead, he gestures limply, as if I sucked the energy from his Olympian body like a vampire. “Will you at least tell me why not?”
The king of the school humbled himself, put his heart on a platter. He deserves the truth. But ... how? Nothing could be worse than Levi finding out how crazy I am, how broken, how stupid and vain and careless I was last year, how it’s all my fault. If he knew the whole story, I’d fully lose him. I’d lose the way he looks at me, the way he bends to listen like I’m the only person in the room. I’d lose every bit of the high regard he holds for me.
He thinks the truth will help, but it won’t. He’d say I deserved what happened and far worse. Hearing that from him? To see the light go out of his eyes, the affection replaced with disgust? ... It would be unbearable. The cruelest torment.
“Is it something about me?” he prods.
“No!” He thinks I’m being all weird and crazy because of him? “No, you’re … No.”
“Something about you?”
I study my feet and force them to walk again. He follows. Maybe I’m brave enough to tell him some tiny part of the truth.
“I’m … broken.” I said something. I saidsomething.
“Did something bad happen to you? Something scary?” His voice is low and ragged, like the thought pains him.
I should have known he’d figure out that much. He’s a smart guy. He knows most of my symptoms now. But he doesn’t know the whole story and he won’t. My throat grows thick. I wish he could give me a hug and tell me it’s going to be okay. But he can’t. And it isn’t.
