Without thinking, without knowing what I’m doing, I reach out and capture a lock of her hair. It slides through my fingers, copper against cream, softer than silk. This time she doesn't snatch it away.
“I think you might be obsessed with my hair.” She twists her lips as she says it.
“This shade of red is my new favorite color,” I confess, holding the hair out between us. “What would you do if I smelled your hair right now?” I ask, emboldened by nothing more than the beautiful girl in front of me.
Ember laughs again. “I’d run, screaming in fear.”
“Would you?”
She shakes her head, her hair falling from my grasp. “No. Though I didn’t take you for a hair-smeller.”
“What does that mean?”
“You look like someone who’s more likely to drape his letterman jacket across my shoulders than smell my hair.”
“Maybe I have some freak in me after all.”
Ember’s lips purse together as she watches me with eyes that wait for me to realize what I’ve said.
Oh, shit.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, the words tumbling from my lips.
Ember tips her head and studies me. “How did you mean it?”
What is it about that gaze that rips me in two? She studies me like I’m a brand-new subject. AP Noah.
“Um, just that, you know, maybe I’m not so normal after all.”
“Normal is a relative term.”
I nod, not sure what to say. Ember seems wise. Too wise for her age, which makes me realize I don’t know exactly how old she is, or which grade she’s in. And I still don’t know her last name. I haven't asked around school about her, because the last thing I need is a churning rumor mill.
She laughs when I ask her age. I figure this is the safest question, because her age could help me guess her grade.
“I feel stupid asking.” I’m trying to come across as goofy, but really I’m embarrassed.
“That’s okay with me.” Ember places her palms behind her and leans back on them.
The rock she’s sitting on is large enough for two, so I sit beside her. Glancing up at her, I reach down for a small rock and run it through my fingers. “You’re okay with me feeling stupid?” The sun’s glare makes my eyes water, and I blink away the moisture.
“Yes,” she answers quickly. “I’ve been in school with you for three-and-a-half years.” She points to her head. “My hair could be a beacon in the dark, and you have no clue who I am.”
“But you still came,” I say, a burst of breath puffing out as I hurl the rock at the water. It bounces one, two, three times before disappearing beneath the surface.
“I couldn't pass up the chance to see if Noah Sutton was as dreamy as he’s seemed all these years.” She places prayer hands across her cheek and rolls her eyes upward, pretending to swoon.
My eyes go upward too, but it’s because I’m rolling them.
Ember drops the act and turns to face me, pulling her legs up into her chest. “I already know the Noah Sutton I've seen at school. I’m here because I want to know who you are when you’re not kicking a soccer ball, or parading around campus.” She untucks her legs and crisscrosses them on the small section of rock between us. Leaning forward, she lightly touches my temple. “I want to know who you are in here.” Her hand falls to my chest. “And in here.”
My pulse quickens. She can’t possibly know, and yet she’s zeroed in on my secret. I’ve never told anybody, and the words, teetering on the brink in that space between my lips, still won’t come out. Instead, I say something just as true, and it takes me by surprise.
“I don’t think I know who I am yet.” Did I know that about myself before I said it?
“I don’t think any of us do, Noah.”
“You seem to know more than most people our age.”
