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My sister always had a nice smile, I had the creepy version of it. It’s because my eyes hold secrets, or at least that’s what my mom says.
“No. It’s just something I started with my brother when we were kids. It became our thing and then others joined in.”
“That’s really cool.”
“You should do it. If you ever hear me howl, howl back. Then I’ll always know where you are.”
I smile my creepy smile. “Okay. Do it.”
With eyes lit from the excitement, he cups his hands to his mouth again and starts to howl a long high note.
I watch his lips make a perfect O and recall the time he kissed that girl against the tree.
I don’t want to kiss him.
Okay, that was a lie.
I do want to kiss him, but I can’t.
Maybe just once.
But not today.
After daydreaming for a couple of seconds I finally join him, cupping my hands around my own mouth and howling into the air as loud as I can be.
Our voices echo for what seems like miles and eventually, somewhere out there, somebody howls back. It’s faint, so quiet the forest almost swallows it.
Though I just know it doesn’t belong to the man I swear I saw staring at us. It’s too far away and I just have a feeling.
Either that or I’m losing my mind.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he takes my arm again and leads me to the sound of rushing water. I don’t know if he has noticed his poker-straight near-black hair falling over the curve of his amazing biceps.
He doesn’t have to answer because we arrive at a branch of the Columbia River, a gushing stream of water in the middle. It’s crystal clear and gorgeous but so fast the water bounces over rocks and sprays a fine mist into the air. It’s not even particularly steep here so I don’t know why it’s so fast.
I squeak when a fish jumps from the water and bounces on the bank before rolling back in.
There’s a shack of sorts across the flowing stream that for how shallow it seems, looks extremely dangerous.
“I have vertigo, I’m not getting across that,” I admit when he motions to a path of small, slippery-looking rocks in the water. They form a gapped, zigzagged bridge. “I’m almost ashamed to say it.”
“Your head hurts?”
I look at him incredulously. “Have you seen it?”
“I don’t want to look at it.”
“Well, you should.” I yank off my shades and tilt that side of my head towards him. “What I did to your tires can be fixed, what you did to my face with your truck can’t. Your actions towards others, your attitude, it has an effect on them.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m not stupid.”
“Then stop acting like a bad guy all the time. Your reputation at school is abysmal.”
He laughs harshly. “You think I care about what people think of me?”
“No, I don’t, and I don’t care what people think about you. But I care what they say.”
“About me or you?”
“Does it matter?”
He raises his hands. “What talk are you talking about?”
“NOTHING!” I yell, stomping to the water. “I don’t know. Fuck. Barbie.”
“Fuck Barbie?” He smirks.
“I’ve forgotten her name. The blonde one. She said you fucked her and took her V card then dumped her at a gas station.”
He shuts down again like before, all emotion leaves his eyes and his smile vanishes entirely. “If you really think I’d do something like that then why would you follow me into the woods.”
“You overestimate my intelligence.”
“Clearly.”
“Or maybe I’m just not scared of you.” I step into his body, the toes of my boots against his. He towers over me like a bear of the sexy variety.
“I think you’re scared of how I make you feel.” His hand snakes around my back as the other cups my groin over my jeans, eliciting a whimper from me. “Because you know me, somehow, and you know what I’m capable of.”
I do, or at least I think I do. Deep down. I know exactly what he’s like and exactly what he’s capable of.
“What happened on Friday night? Why’d you freak?”
Sighing, he turns after releasing me and crouches in front of me, hooking his arms behind him.
“Hop on.”
I want to tell him that there’s no way he can get us across safely, but I know he can. I trust that much about him.
I perch myself on his back, wrapping my thighs around his waist and then my arms around his neck. I rest my cheek against his ear and grip him tight, but not so tight that he can’t breathe.
“Why do you always smell so good?”
“Why are you always smelling me?” He takes the first step and then the second, his body is graceful and poised. I wonder how many times he’s done this.
When we reach the other side, he doesn’t let me go, not until we reach the shack that looks to have been handmade out of materials found across the forest floor and some parts from a hardware store.
