Page 23 of The Woods

“Hey,” he says, and she jumps. “Who are you talking to?”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” she snaps back, glaring at him, holding a freshly lit joint aloft in one hand. “I was talking to—” She turns toward the woods that line this side of the house and then stops.

Quinn follows her gaze but sees nothing but trees. “Talking to?”

She shakes her head, still staring into the woods. “Forget it. Nobody.”

“Would I be able to get a joint from you? I took your advice for making friends and offered to get this guy Jason high tonight. I think that’s the only reason he sat with me on the bus and invited me over.”

“Aww, buddy,” Polly says, looking authentically touched that Quinn took her advice. “I’m so happy that I could help.” She hands over the joint she was smoking, which has gone out. “Take this one. And let him smoke most of it and you take it easy. You don’t want to green out or get all paranoid. Then he might not want to hang out with you again.”

“Thanks, Polls,” he says, thinking how different she and Lucy are—were. Lucy would be telling him not to smoke any of it.

“No problem. Have fun.” She turns away from him to peer into the trees like she’s looking for something.

Polly

She has no idea where Gray went. He disappeared as soon as Quinn arrived. She would have introduced them. She’s just about to go back into her room, annoyed at her brother for scaring Gray off, when she hears him call out.

“Hey.”

Polly spins around, working to tame her elation. “Where did you go?”

“I thought you were going to get in trouble if anyone saw me, so I went back into the woods and waited for him to leave.”

“That was just my brother, Quinn,” she explains. “He wouldn’t have cared.”

“Okay, well, I thought maybe I was a secret.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to be a secret.”

He smiles and shrugs one shoulder. “But I like secrets.”

“Clearly,” she responds with a laugh. “You sneak around in the woods at night. But I have enough secrets as it is. I don’t need any more.”

It’s only the second time she’s seen this guy, but she already knows she likes him. His slow, sly smile, his mossy-green eyes, the way he talks, as though he’s letting her in on some secret or inside joke. She likes the way he moves, graceful and with intention; there’s no nervousness or fidgeting like most boys she knows. He’s confident and mature and worldly even. They’ve been out there talking for almost an hour, and he hasn’t said one stupid or annoying thing.

He’s super smart, went to an elite private high school abroad for two years, and got a scholarship to college to study environmental science. He told Polly that he loves the idea of living off the grid and having almost no environmental footprint.

“I just want to make the world a better place in some small way,” he says with a kind of seriousness that Polly finds incredibly hot. “Like, take care of nature instead of destroying it.”

She nods and works at looking as serious as he sounds, but really she’s incredibly turned on by him, which surprises her. Up to now, she’s preferred the athletic type. The environmental-warrior type was a total turnoff, but not anymore.

“You want to come hang out in my room?” she asks, hoping she doesn’t seem too bold, but also hoping he likes bold because he makes her that way.

“As tempting as that sounds,” he answers, with a slight bow, “I think I should take a rain check. Seems like the gentlemanly thing to do, since it’s only our second rendezvous and all.”

“Rendezvous.” She tries the word out herself, liking the way it sounds. “Okay. Well, then, can I have your Snap, or Instagram or whatever you’re on? I didn’t get it last night.”

“I’m not on social media,” he says, matter-of-fact. “It’s just another tool for the corporate machine to control people, turn them into mass consumers, distract them from the fact that they’re destroying the planet as they mindlessly scroll. It rots your brain and your soul.”

“Ummmmm. Okaaaayyy.” Her words are long and drawn out as her brain frantically tries to process.

His declaration has given her momentary vertigo and created a storm of mixed emotions. She’s disappointed that this guy, who she thought was hot and cool, is potentially a total weirdo, yet she also feels a hint of shame at her own dependency on social media. On top of that is annoyance that she won’t be able to do a deep dive on him for the rest of the night and learn everything she can. She’s never met someone her age who doesn’t have social media. She feels a tiny spark of admiration that he’s found a way to rise above the scrolling addiction, and the validation that a steady stream of likes and followers brings.

“Then how about your cell number?” she says, flipping her hair back. She feels an unexpected determination to look past the lack of social media because he’s just so damn good-looking.

“I don’t have a cell phone.” He shrugs and gives her an apologetic smile.