Prologue
Tomorrow I’m goingto tell that jackass, Vincent D’Onofrio, that Natalie Maxwell asked me to come to her house to study. I mean,yeah, Mrs. Orson made us partners for this project on Ancient Greece. And,okay, there’s no way she’d have asked me otherwise. Natalie is on the dance team and sits with the cool kids at lunch. She has a lot of dark hair that she tosses around while she laughs with her friends. And then there’s me. I exist somewhere in the murky middle. I’m smart, but not enough to be in advanced classes. I’m athletic, but not enough to be on a team. I’m good-looking enough to get dates, but not confident enough to go for a girl like Natalie Maxwell. I’m Aidan Costa, the guy who blends into whatever structure he happens to be walking past.
Until today. In fourth period history, Mrs. Orson announced who our partners are, and my stomach flipped. How could I have gotten so lucky?
After class, Natalie marched up to my desk as I gathered my things and asked me to come over to her house so we can get started on the project. That’s right about when I stopped being aware of my own body. Did I even have a stomach anymore? And where did my bones disappear to? I felt like goo held together by skin. Gross, but true.
Now I’m walking through neighborhoods, going in the opposite direction of my house, with Natalie Maxwell by my side. Her forearm has bumped mine twice.Twice.I know it’s not on purpose, but a guy can dream.
“So,” I start, unsure of what to say. Natalie told me it would take ten minutes to walk to her place, and I used up the first four silently begging my underarms to stop sweating. “What’s it like to be a preacher’s kid?”
Natalie glances at me, then back to the sidewalk. She grips the straps of her backpack in each fist so that her elbows stick out behind her. She tips her head, and the sun hits her at just the right angle to make her hair shimmer. It's almost the exact same shade as mine, but a million times shinier.
“PK,” she says, looking back up at me for just a second.
“What?” I ask. I must’ve heard her wrong.
A smile slips from the side of her mouth at my obvious lack of knowledge. I like this smile. It’s different from all her other ones. It’s not like I stalk her (I’m not a creep), but it’s hard not to notice these things from the bleachers when she and eleven other girls are jumping up and down, pom-poms shaking.
“PK,” she repeats. “Preacher’s kid.”
“Oh. Right.” I fall silent, not sure what to say next.
Her smile vanishes and her face looks sad. But not an open kind of sad. More like a hidden sadness, the kind that goes deep down like a well.
“It’s not great. People expect more from a preacher’s kid. Do the right thing. Get good grades. Always be nice. Never be anything less than pleasant.” She laughs, but the sound is hollow. “Basically, PKs aren’t allowed to be human. Sometimes I just want to scream.”
“I understand.”
“You do?” She stops and looks at me, surprise widening her eyes. I pause too and shove my hands in my pockets.
Natalie must not have heard the rumors. I don’t think they can be called rumors, because they’re true. I spent a few weeks hiding in the library at lunchtime until things died down.
“My mom writes books. Her first book was a big deal romance novel about her and my dad. It’s based on their relationship. Last year some girls found out it was my mom who wrote it and blabbed.” I’ll never forget the looks on their faces. Like they couldn’t believemyparents could have a love story like that.
“But aren’t you proud of your mom? Unless,” Natalie draws out the word as a flush creeps across her cheeks. “Unless it was one ofthosetypes of books. Like the kind my grandma keeps in her nightstand and thinks nobody knows about.” Natalie’s lips purse as she waits for my response.
I shake my head. “No no no. Not like that.”
Natalie’s doing the sort of smile thing again, and the tips of my ears feel hot. To make it more difficult for her to spot my redness, I resume walking. Natalie follows. “It’s not the story,” I start, wondering how exactly to explain it all. “It’s what’s happened because of the story. It’s a lot of pressure to have parents with a famous romance.”
“Like how?”
I wish I could rewind five minutes and go back, then I wouldn’t have told Natalie I understood her plight as a PK. I have no desire to explain all this to her, but it’s too late for that now. “Girls expect me to be just like them. Or like my dad, I guess. They think I should make the best boyfriend in the world if I come from people like my parents. Flowers, chocolates, twittering birds forming a heart, yada yada.”
Natalie’s hands wrap around her backpack straps again. “Are you saying you’re a bad boyfriend?”
“No.” The word rushes from my lips. “I don’t really know what I’m saying. Just that I understand, is all.”
The hand closest to Natalie, the one dangling between us, suddenly feels warmer than it did a few seconds ago. I look down, watching her fingers snake through mine.
“Thank you,” she whispers. I never knew what a grateful smile looked like until this moment. On Natalie, it’s closed lip, both sides slightly upturned, and softness in her eyes.
She drops my hand and turns left at the end of the street. I follow her, letting my thoughts fill the quiet that has overtaken us. It’s not that I’m a bad boyfriend or a particularly good one. I’m not boyfriend materialat all. I might have a crush on Natalie, but I would never act on it. She doesn’t deserve someone with a secret like the one I’m keeping. It’s not the secret that’s the problem. It’s the fact that I’m keeping it. That Ihaveto keep it. How could I be in a relationship and keep a secret this big? By not getting into a relationship in the first place.
“My parents aren’t home.” Natalie’s relieved voice breaks into my thoughts. She stops, scans the street, and walks up to a two-story white house. Is she telling me this for a reason? Does she want to mess around? I may not be boyfriend material, but I’m not opposed to messing around with the girl I’ve been crushing on for what feels like forever. Not that Natalie would be into me, but I certainly wouldn’t turn her down if she lost her mind and decided I’m the lucky guy.
Pulling a key from her backpack, Natalie unlocks the door and opens it. “Come in,” she says, beckoning me with a wave of her hand.
