Page 4

I came fully awake with my hand pressed to the window in the shadow of the bars covering it. Cold glass rested under my palm.

The Bishop house stood beyond it, washed pale gold by the rising sun.

For a moment I thought someone stood in one of the upstairs windows. A broad shape. A man, maybe.

Declan.

My pulse gave one hard, traitorous kick.

Then I blinked, and the shape was only a curtain gathered at the side.

Of course it was.

I let out a breath and glanced at my clock.

6:59.

I watched the number as though held by it. I only blinked and looked away when it finally changed to 7:00, and my alarm went off. I slapped it silent and climbed out of bed.

I went into my small walk-in closet and pulled on a pair of poured-on cut-off jean shorts and shrugged into a skintight white tank, then stomped into a pair of pastel pink running shoes.

I pushed my bedroom door mostly closed so I could use the full-length mirror behind it. I brushed on mascara, holding each pale green eye wide as I coated my lashes and waited for it to dry.

I swiped on a little lip gloss and called it a day. I could tame my hair on the drive.

Outside, something moved between our two houses.

I turned too late to see what it was.

Probably one of the Bishop boys cutting through our yard. They did that all the time. Our families had long ago stopped pretending the property line meant anything.

I stood there for a few seconds, listening.

Nothing.

Then, from outside—somewhere close to the window—came one small, dry sound.

Snap.

I stared through the bars.

A twig, I decided.

Not two fingers snapping together.

It was only a twig.

I left for school.

It always hit me the same, the sight of him.

A tingle, a rush. A bit like adrenaline hitting my bloodstream.

Which was ridiculous.

It was only Declan.

Just Declan Bishop, whom I’d known nearly my entire life, whose family lived next door, whose mother was my mother’s best friend, whose father had been my father’s partner for longer than I’d been alive.