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After a moment, she felt the brush of Jared’s fingers against hers. The light touch of skin on skin made electricity crackle through her blood so that it burned and stung in her veins. She had never been so aware of anyone in her life, or so uncomfortable.
Jared’s hand closed around hers, their fingers linking. From a careful touch of fingertips, they were suddenly both clinging as if the other had fallen off a cliff and they had to keep hold or risk them slipping away. Jared’s hand was a lot bigger than Kami’s, fingers callused. It was just a boy’s hand, blood and flesh and bone, she told herself fiercely. It wasn’t such a big deal.
“I’m sorry I was a jerk,” Jared ground out, sounding as if someone else had made him say it against his will. “I just—I hate this.”
Kami ventured, not quite meaning to, I thought you were going to say “I hate you.”
It was like being back in the lift again. She did not have to try to sense what he was feeling: he threw it at her and she could not hold back the storm that enveloped her.
“I don’t hate you,” said Jared, and I do. I hate this, I want this to stop, how are we supposed to live with this, and how am I supposed to walk away? You’re real and I hate you for it.
“Stop,” Kami whispered, her forehead pressed against the stone, her hand gripping his so hard her bones hurt. She was shaking. “Calm down. There has to be something we can do.”
“What?” Jared demanded, through gritted teeth. “What can we do? How can we fix this when reality is the problem?”
Feeling was rushing through her like a tidal wave, something dark and ferocious that might knock her off her feet and drown her without even meaning to.
There weren’t words anymore, just a rush of hate and love and rage and such fear, the black terror that had overwhelmed Jared in the lift, the fact that she had never been real and it had been unbearable and now she was real and it was just as unbearable. The thought that someone who existed in real life might betray you.
You were always on my side, said Jared, putting the dread into silent words. And now …
Kami felt it too, the horror of someone knowing all her secrets, every petty insecurity and small meanness she had ever felt. She felt the dread of Jared as an independent person, of what he might do, what he might think of her, and that she would have to live with those thoughts in her head. Kami wrenched her hand out of his, though he tried to hold on.
Then Kami slid her hand along his arm, her touch light, trying to be reassuring. His breathing had gone harsh and almost panicked. The soft rustle of grass and the sound of her own heart beating were loud in her ears. Her palm traveled over his elbow, followed the tense curve of his bicep, and hit the pulled-taut material of his T-shirt sleeve. She leaned forward and left the shelter of the wall.
Then there was nothing but them, unprotected and real together, both on their knees. She clenched her fist in his T-shirt, put her other arm around those too-broad, too-real shoulders. When he tried to pull away, she held on tight. Kami felt the surrender in his mind a moment before he laid his face in the curve of her neck. The whole world was so real it hurt.
Kami whispered into Jared’s hair: “I’m always on your side.”
Chapter Nine
Real Now
On Monday morning, Kami sat in the newspaper headquarters, scribbling a quick list of the articles she had planned for the week. Angela was reading out the interview she’d done with the school nurse.
“So in all circumstances, she just hands students a pain pill and says to tell her if they’re having hot flashes,” Kami observed.
“Pretty much,” said Angela.
“How about that time Ross Philips fell out of the window in the gym and cracked his skull and broke his arm?”
“Ross wasn’t having hot flashes.” Angela smiled. “I like Nurse Tey’s style.”
Kami hummed in agreement and wrote herself a note that said INFIRMARY EXPOSÉ! Then she resumed writing her list. She was chewing the end of her pencil over article number nineteen when Jared threw open the door, strode into the room, and announced, “We should date.”
Kami bit her pencil in two.
Angela rose from her chair like the wrath of God in a red silk blouse and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
“Hey, Angela,” Jared said without sparing her a glance. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and continued, glaring at Kami’s desk. “I was thinking.”
“I see no evidence of that, Jared,” Kami said. “Sorry, Angela! He’s crazy! Excuse us, we have to go talk in the hall.” She pushed her chair back from the desk so fast that it toppled over. As she came toward him, Jared gave her a little crooked, awkward smile.
“I’m not going to l
et you go talk to some lunatic alone in the hall,” Angela said furiously. “Who are you?”
“Jared Lynburn,” said Jared.
