A flash of movement in the corner of the yard closest to Lake House A catches my eye, and I hear the faintest squeak as Asher pushes himself forward on the little swing set there. It’s old and covered in weathered green paint with peeling white stripes. The sand that used to surround it has been almost completely overtaken by weeds.
When Asher waves me over, there’s an almost magnetic pullurging me to approach the old green monstrosity. Those swings hold a lot of memories for us. The first summer Asher was here, we spent time on them—late nights talking, swaying gently as we shared the kinds of things teenagers divulge with someone new—our favorite songs, the coolest things we’d done that year, everything that annoyed us about our best friends. But we never swung on them. Thirteen-year-old Sidney was way too cool for that. She didn’t know Asher well enough, hadn’t wanted to look like a dork in front of this cute boy she was still figuring out. If only I’d known then what a game-playing little nerd he would become. The thought makes me almost laugh out loud.
By the time I reach the swings, Asher is already in the air. I follow, pushing myself up, higher and higher. I can’t remember the last time I was on swings like this, and I wonder why, because it’s sort of awesome. And a little disorienting in the dark, when I’m drunk from no sleep. We’ve both ditched our green boxes, and are soaring higher and higher, the squeaking of the chains crescendoing through the night air.
Asher jumps, and in the silence it’s beautiful, the way he arcs soundlessly through the air, landing in a graceful crouch on the grass ten feet in front of me. Just as he stands, a door slams. It’s the familiar, clanging metal of Nadine’s side door. There’s a little yip and the faint scratch of paws on stones.
Asher’s head snaps to me, and he motions with his hand for me to jump. I let go, my hand holding on a second too long, and land much less gracefully than he did. As I topple to the side, sharp pain lances through my ankle. My gasp is muffled by the last squeaks of the swings we’ve abandoned.
“Are you okay?” Asher whispers so quietly, I’m almost not sure he actually said it. He reaches a hand down for me and I take it. My first two steps have me wincing, and we need to run, not walk. Maybe I can hop. God, what a nightmare. All of our careful planning, and we’re going to get caught because I can’tdo something most eight-year-olds have mastered. Kill me now, I’ll never hear the end of this.
Asher steps in front of me, and it takes me a second to realize what he’s doing. Even when he crouches down a little, I’m still looking at him, confused. “Get on,” he whispers over his shoulder, and the scuffing of gravel draws my eyes to Nadine’s house again. She usually takes the dog in the trees along the driveway, but she could hear us and be around that corner in seconds.
Then, I don’t think. I jump. The second I’m on his back, we’re tearing through the yard, my legs pinned under his arms. We cut along the far left edge of the yard, near the trees, where it’s dark. I’m smacked by a low branch as we push through the narrow area between the trees and Lake House A, where everything is overgrown. A mumbled apology floats over Asher’s shoulder as I squeak at the hit and dip my face into his neck to shield myself from anything else I don’t see. We make it to the front of the house, and turn sharply to the right. We’re outside the doors to the boathouse that sits under it, its entrance hidden by the deck looming overhead.
Asher pushes on the old wooden door, and it opens just as he leans back, letting me know to get off. We can’t make it in together—not if I want to keep my forehead intact. He pushes the door open and I hobble in behind him, holding his arm for support. When we’re inside, he closes the door behind us.
He flicks his finger across his phone, places it on a little shelf, and the rafters above us are lit up, the whole space bathed in dim light. The boathouse is a weird place; it’s filled with randomness. On the left wall are long wooden pegs that hold old orange life jackets, speckled with mildew. Along the back wall are random beach toys, paddles, lawn chairs, and a few of Nadine’s rejected yard sculptures. There’s a cartoonish frog with a cracked head, and a gnome that’s missing a foot.I feel your pain, pal.I see an old five-gallon bucket and flip it over before sitting on it.
“Shit,” I mutter just as Asher squats down next to me. His elbows rest on his thighs, and he’s now eye-level with me. He takes his cell phone from the shelf and places it on the ground in front of him. It washes his face in harsh shadow. “I think I just rolled it,” I say softly. “It’ll be fine in a few hours.” I wince. “Probably.”
He moves silently to where my leg is extended, and puts a hand on either side of my ankle. “We’re not staying here a few hours.” His eyes meet mine, and his brows rise. I nod, letting him know it’s okay if he touches my injured foot. His fingers push gently above my ankle, and in the cool dampness of the boathouse, his skin feels like it’s on fire.Myskin feels ablaze under his touch. He cradles the ball of my foot in his palm, and tips my foot one way and then the other. I should be worried about all of the spiders that are undoubtedly setting up their underground fortress in this room, but all I can think about is the way Asher has one hand on my lower calf, and the other on my ankle. And how no one has ever been this gentle with me.Also, how long has it been since I got a pedicure? Am I sandpapering his hand right now?This night is falling apart in so many ways.
A slight twist has me hissing, and Asher stops, his hands stilling against my skin. He whispers a very sincere apology as he rests my foot back on the floor. The smell is back again. Even against the mustiness, the smell of Asher is winning out over everything. I stand up, and Asher’s hand is on my arm. “Sit back down,” he says quietly, but I don’t listen.
“We have to get out of here. I’ll be fine with some help. We’ll go out the same way we did last time, along the water. Then you can come back and get the wagon.” I look up at him, wondering if he’ll take that as me throwing him under the bus. “If that’s okay with you. I would, but you know…” I glance down at my offending foot.
Asher slips an arm around my waist, gripping me above my hip. I put my arm over his shoulder and he softly pushes thedoor open. Outside, it’s quiet. We creep to the edge of Lake House A, poking our heads out in tandem to see if anyone is in the yard. I half expect to see Nadine come tearing through the yard, but the coast is clear, and we make our way past Lake House B and into the line of trees that separates the yard from the neighbor’s. After twenty minutes of walking through the trees very ungracefully, we’re slipping back into the car, letting out twin sighs of relief as we reach safety within the SUV.
By the time we get home, my ankle is already feeling less tight, but Asher still insists on helping me walk until he dumps me on my bed. With a crash and a huff, I sink into the softness of my yellow comforter. Asher moves for the door, and I expect him to leave, but instead he quietly shuts it.
“That didn’t exactly go as expected.” My voice is little more than a whisper. The last thing we need is our parents wondering why we’re awake—and in the same room—at four in the morning.
Asher squats down next to the bed. He catches my good foot in his hands and slips my shoe off, setting it on the floor by my nightstand. Then he gently holds the other, and slips that one off, too. I turn on the bed, swinging my feet onto the mattress, trying not to think about how easily Asher has helped me tonight, or how weird it is to have him in my room for the first time since it became mine.
All of those strange thoughts from movie night are back again, milling around in my brain, forcing me to think about weird things like why anyone would ever break up with someone so sweet. The only light is the little lamp next to my bed, and it washes us in a soft yellow light. “Sorry,” I say, shifting my hips until I’m no longer on the edge of the bed. I reach behind me to stack my pillows so I can lean back against the headboard.
“For what?” Asher is standing now, and reaches over me forone of the extra pillows on my bed. He puts it under my foot. Holy hell, the sweetness just keeps coming. I’m going to have to undo all of this work when I change into my pajamas, but I can’t make myself stop him when he’s being like this. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t intentionally twist your ankle.”
“Still.”
Asher squats down next to me again, his head cocking to the side. “You know youcanmake it up to me, if you feel bad. I mean, youdidjeopardize the mission.”
I turn my head to face him, ready to tell him I knowexactlywhat he wants. And I’m not getting up to make breakfast for anyone tomorrow. It will probably be lunch before I wake up. But when my eyes meet his, I don’t say anything. Because he’s not looking at me like he wants pancakes.
I should move—every reasonable cell in my body says that I should—but I don’t want to. And before another breath can pass between us, his lips are on mine. Maybe I’m in shock, or just nearing exhaustion, but all I can think is that Asher Marin is kissing me. Again. Totallynotdrunk. And I’m just… frozen. My lips are still.
What are we doing? Do I want this?For the last few weeks I haven’t been sure what I want. I missed the pranks at first. The teasing and the attention. But so quickly, that was replaced by a different kind of attention. New, exciting, scary. Now I’m not sure what I want.
When Asher pulls back, there’s a worried look etched across his face. The loss of his lips definitely doesn’t make me happy. I don’t knowwhatI want, but that isn’t it. And before I can even process it, or tell myself what an idiot I am, my hand is sliding behind his neck. My lips are on his again, and we’re kissing.
Like everything we do, this kiss feels like a battle. His was soft; mine is harder. He brushes my lip with his tongue, and I bite his. He’s still beside the bed with me twisted toward him, and as he pushes himself up, closer to me, one arm snakes behind my back. The other plants alongside me on the mattress. I shift a little, making room for him. My shirt has shifted up, and his hand is on the bare skin of my back, his fingertips pressing into my skin there.
As one knee pushes into the mattress beside me, a loud squeak cuts through the silence so thoroughly, I’m sure my parents have heard it two rooms down. It’s a bucket of ice water spilling over me, and I still. Over me, Asher is frozen as well, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of me; they’re roaming over me like he’s never seen me before. Or like he’s about to dive in for a second round.
What the hell are we doing? We are in my bedroom, at four o’clock in the morning, making out just a few doors down from our parents.On my bed.This is the most un-Sidney-like thing I have ever done, and my face flushes thinking of how ridiculous I am.Right place, right time.That’s all I am, convenient summer fun in an adjoining room. I try to push the thought away, but it keeps popping back up.
Asher pushes himself off of the bed with another soft squeak, and squats beside me again. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but instead he stands up, looming over me at his full height. “Good night, Sid.” He turns to the bathroom door—his escape back to his own room—and he’s halfway there when my voice finally breaks free.
