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"I told her I kissed you," he said, still looking
out the window and not at me.
"What? You told who you kissed me? Your
mother?"
He nodded, and I grimaced as if I had just swallowed sour milk.
"Why w
ould you tell her that?"
"I've always told her what I do. Ever since . . ."
He turned back to me, his face different, harder, more
like the granite in the studio. "Sin doesn't just happen,
you know. It has to fester inside you, grow, take hold.
You've got to stop it when it's just starting, when it's a
seedling inside your heart. The way to do that is to
reveal it, confess it, expose it," he recited. "Once you
do that, it loses its power, its hold over you." He sounded like some hell and brimstone
preacher.
"What are you saying? You think it was a sin to
kiss me?"
"It could lead to a sin," he said.
"That's ridiculous. Looking at someone, hen
could lead to a sin."
"It can," he said, nodding.
"Duncan, get real. All we did is kiss, and if two
people feel something for each other, it's not a sin or
even the start of one."
He stared at me. I tightened the towel around
Me. "I wanted to do more than just kiss you," he said.
"I still do. That's why I ran off."
"So? Big deal. If you didn't, I'd think you
weren't interested in me, and if I didn't want you to,
