Page 52 of Don't Tell

I don't answer.

I don't know if it's the right call.

Marguerite is in this. I know it before I let myself name it. The whole reason I've been doing the math every Sunday for three years is so the school is mine, bought with my hand and earned with my back. Marguerite wouldn't have wanted me walking into an art school I got into because a rich man knew a gallery owner.

But Marguerite would also have told me to take the help. She would have laughed at me for refusing it. She would have argued that pride comes after a meal, not before it.

I look at the soft place over his heart where my hand is.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"One person. One email. After that, I'm on my own."

"After that, you're on your own."

"And you're not going to do anything after that."

"I’ll disappear completely if you want me to."

I tilt my head up.

He's already looking at me.

He slowly kisses me. It's more like a signature. He pulls me against him, and I let myself be pulled. The next thing I know, my eyes are closing, his hand is at the back of my neck, and the slow drum of his heart under my cheek is the last thing I hear in the world.

I fall asleep.

I wake to the light through the curtains.

For one second, I don't know where I am, but I know the smell first, the pillow, the sheets, the skin under my cheek,hisskin. The next thing I realize is that I stayed the night when I shouldn’t have.

I sit up so fast the duvet goes with me.

"What time is it?"

He stirs. He's on his stomach, one arm under the pillow, dark hair across his face. He props himself on his elbow. His voice is rough with sleep.

“I’m not sure. Come back to bed.” He tries to reach for me, but I pull away to search for my phone. I tap the screen and gasp at the time.

“Oh my god! It’s 6:00 a.m. Cade, I have to go.”

I'm out of bed, and so is he.

My uniform is folded on the chair by the window.

I don't remember folding it. I don't remember taking it off in any order that would have folded it. He folded it? I’ll think about that later when I’m not sprinting.

I pull the pants on, the shirt, which is wrong-side-out. I yank it off. I put it the right way.

"My ID is on the counter."

"Got it."

"My shoes."

"By the door."