I laugh and ignore him.But! Guess what.
Come on, sea salt girl. You’re killing me over here.
I blink, because I heard that phrase only the other day.You’re killing me over here.From Adam, when I was teasing him in the beach parking lot. I shake my head at the way my belly resounds as though this is something worth looking into, like it’s a clue to some mystery I haven’t even noticed yet. Weird.
It’s a common phrase. Kind of a strange coincidence, given the timing. But still, a coincidence all the same.
I type quickly. He’s waited long enough.Someone took out the rest of the chapter.
…took out?
Yeah. They had a razor, or some similar sharp object, and cut the pages so close to the book spine that I have to damn near break it to see the edges of what’s left of them.
Jesus. Wow. That’s…I don’t even know what to say. What the hell is going on with that church?
I know!!! Right!! Anyway, my—I almost typesisterbut decide oncousin—cousin told me there may be a secret passageway inone of the education offices. I’m going to check it out sometime in the coming week.
Are you going to tell them the truth of what you’re up to?
Hell no! So they can kill me for knowing their secrets?
I thought religious people were supposed to not agree with things like murder.
Have you ever studied any religion? Murder is, like, their favorite thing. Especially if their secrets—power—are threatened.
Touche.
We joke a little more at what the heck St. Theresa’s could be hiding—What if it’s a den of bears?I ask, and he responds withWouldn’t a den of lions be more biblical?, which has me cackling—and then it’s close enough to the time for me to clock out that I say goodbye so I can tidy up. As I gather books and reorganize my pens, I think to myself that although I really don’t know @tryingsomethingnew, he seems like a good person. I seriously wish him well with the lucky girl he has feelings for.
The next day, I spendwhat feels like hours getting ready for Adam. He said he would bring food for dinner, and that just means I start trying to figure out what to wear just after lunch—which is just a slice of toast with butter and jam, because my stomach is too nervous for something more.
I decide on a pink slip dress. It’s a little bit coppery, so a lot like rose gold, reminding me of how the whole atmosphere turnsa strange sort of pink if a thunderstorm comes just before sunset. For my makeup, I go along with a tutorial I found on YouTube on “glow girl skin.” It involves a lot of shimmer eye shadow and overlapping layers of highlighter, but after putting on a bright pink lip gloss, I look like I’m an ethereal elf visiting from some distant fairy planet.
I go downstairs to make sure the kitchen table is clear before he arrives and stop short when I find Nadia sitting down with a cup of espresso. “Hey,” I say, walking in. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Oh, just decided to stay in for the early evening. In about two hours, I have to be at church for a baptism. I’ll bring you some cake.”
“Thanks,” I say, holding back a wince. Good gods. Nadia is literally never home, but she decides to spend the evening here the first time I have plans with a man? What in the hell are the chances?
Nadia looks up from her little blue cup and it’s like she’s seeing me for the first time. She gestures to my dress. “What’s this? You got a hot date?”
My cheeks heat immediately. Between that and herknowing, there is no use lying to her about my feelings for Adam. But it’s so annoying that she can ignore me about ninety-five percent of the time and decide she is entitled to the details of my life in the totally random and never-planned remaining five percent of interaction.
“No,” I say, because that is the truth. “Adam said he would bring food as a thank-you for all the times I brought Friday meals to William.”
“Ah, I see. You have a young, single, attractive man coming over to bring you, a young, single, and attractive woman, food onbehalf of his grandfather?” She gives me a look that clearly saysGive me a break, Sky.
I hold back a huff because this is already exhausting and difficult to navigate, and it really shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have to sit here and explain my personal life to someone who hasn’t earned the right to know. So I add, completely without thinking, “Also, he’s taking photos of me and the house for his article, remember the article? That’s why I dressed up.”
I really don’t like lying, especially to Nadia, but I feel like she’s given me no choice. Is her gift telling her I’m totally making shit up right now?
It doesn’t seem so, because she jumps up immediately and says, “Why didn’t you say something? Sky Temple, I haven’t done a deep clean in two weeks!” Next thing I know, she’s got on her yellow rubber gloves with a super-sized bottle of Fabuloso in her hands, and she’s hissing at me to put away the dishes on the drying rack.
This situation is irritating, but not as irritating as her prying into the deep, dark secrets in my head and in my life. I’m congratulating myself on thoroughly distracting her when Adam, I presume, knocks on the door.
“Stall him!” Nadia shouts from the downstairs bathroom. “I need four more minutes!”
“Nadia, it’s not—”
