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I don’t believe him. That’s the difference between him and Thane. Thane tells me everything he’s thinking, even if it hurts me. Shy keeps his cards close to his heart. I can’t decide which I prefer.
Shy stares at me for a long moment. His gaze isn’t searching, just piercing.
“Where did you learn to defend yourself?” he asks.
“I didn’t.”
That is the truth. I hadn’t learned how to defend myself. I hadn’t taken any classes.
“You just naturally know how to kick ass?” he asks, quirking one eyebrow. I hate denying I know how to kick ass, but this girl—the new and improved Anora—isn’t supposed to have those skills, much less need them.
“What happened with Natalie was a lucky hit.” It’s my turn to ask questions. “Where did you learn to defend yourself?”
“I’ve been training since I was twelve,” he says, and I’m surprised by his honesty.
“That seems a little extreme, don’t you think? We’re not going into battle.”
“You might not be.”
Those words make me shiver. I narrow my eyes and look him up and down. “Are you wearing a scythe?”
He smiles. “I’m always wearing a scythe.”
“I can’t imagine where you keep it.”
He lifts his head a little, and his eyes flame. “I’d let you search me, but I don’t want to be on the receiving end of my own blade.”
Just like that, it's harder to breathe. I'm glad for the weather. The mist lands on my face, cooling my heated skin.
“You weren’t this eager to admit anything when you came to my house,” I point out.
“That was before my best friend died.”
Shy reaches into his pocket, and I go rigid, but he pulls out his cell phone and looks at the screen before pocketing it.
“I have to go.”
He starts past me, but at the last minute, I feel him turn so that he faces my back. I know this move—he’ll snake his arm around my neck, pull me to him, and press something sharp into my skin—probably that scythe. Before he can get his arm hooked around me, I grab it and twist to face him, gripping his wrist. Shy smiles—I’ve done exactly what he wanted.
“If you want me to believe you aren’t trained, you’re going to have to stop doing that.”
I let him go with a little push, but he doesn’t budge.
“If you don’t want your nose shoved into your brain, you’re going to have to stop doing that.”
Shy laughs. How can I find his smile so endearing when he threatens to expose me?
“I’d rather our fights not end in pain,” he takes a step away. “Bye, Lyra.”
The use of my first name steals my breath. I watch him retreat until I can no longer see him, swallowed by a thick crowd spilling out of the auditorium. The more distance he puts between us, the colder I get. I end up huddled under the awning near the doors of Emerson Hall, shivering.
Shy gave me a little of himself, but it didn’t come without a price. I feel as if I'm in a race, first one to discover the other’s secret wins a prize—preferably a normal life and absolutely no involvement in whatever battle Shy hinted at.
***
Mom takes me home. At three, I take off on foot to Main Street. It’s not far from my house—just a walk down the broken sidewalk in my neighborhood and a right turn. The ground beneath my feet is slick with rain, and a light mist coats everything in a haze. Several cars are parked at an angle before old, brick shop fronts. Despite the weather, clusters of people stand outside June’s, including Thane, who leans against the building, one foot drawn up to steady himself. His phone is in one hand, and he is distracted by it; a cigarette is in the other. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I watch as he brings the cancer stick to his mouth.
“That’s going to kill you.” Thane looks up at me and flashes a smile. It’s probably the sincerest one he’s ever given me and it makes his face look beautiful, until he blasts smoke out of nose and mouth.
