Charlotte stole the leading role inThe Sleeping Beautyfrom me, and I hate her for it. I really hate her. But I know that tomorrow I’ll pretend I don’t care. That makes me hate myself even more.
I really don’t know why I trust him. Maybe I just want to find out if he’s making fun of me. Maybe it doesn’t matter anyway.
He reads what I wrote, folds up the note, and puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket. But before I can ask him what he’s doing again, he points to the notebook. “It’s your turn.”
I hesitate for a moment and then put aside my doubts. The paper rustles softly as I tear my own sheet out of the notebook, write down my question, and hand it to him. He scans the question, then scribbles a quick answer on the paper and gives it back to me.
Why are you here?
I was bored.
I stare at his answer incredulously. He’s here because he wasbored? I’m about to ask him more, but I bite back the question and follow his example. I fold the note and stick it under the pillow I’m sitting on. Then I give him one of my blankets.
“Here. So you don’t catch your death.”
“You know you’re just giving me the chance to keep calling you Pixie for years, don’t you?”
I roll my eyes, but I have to smile. “If you don’t want it...” I start to pull the blanket back, but Jase is faster.
He grabs the thick wool, slips out of his wet jacket, and wraps the blanket around his shoulders. Then he holds out his hand for the notebook. I don’t hesitate to give it to him.
Questions are followed by answers. We don’t speak another word to each other that night, making a silent pact that an answer must not lead to deeper questions on the same subject.
Two days later, I find a crumpled piece of paper in the treehouse. The handwriting is messy and already familiar.
Tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine.
—J
That’s how our game begins.
We play by rules that neither of us ever talks about, and we each play our own way.
I leave notes in the treehouse whenever something is on my mind. It doesn’t matter what it’s about. If I need to get it off my chest, I write it down. Jase, on the other hand, needs to be asked questions. I don’t know why, and I never press him about it. But I learn quicklythat if I don’t ask him questions, nothing comes back. No note, no secrets, nothing at all.
It’s like he wants to confide in me, but at the same time something is holding him back. Like maybe without my questions, he would lock everything up inside.
Jase keeps my secrets, and I keep his. Until I change the rules three months later.
Kiss me tonight.
—P
Part 1Entrée
Phase One of the Pas deDeux
Chapter 1
Zoe
Why do you get along with your parents so well?
Because they let me be who I am. It’s not that they let me get away with everything, but they let me make my own mistakes. And I know that they’re always there for me, no matter what.
—P
“Zoe! Where the heck are you?” Caleb shouts through the house. In my mind’s eye, I can almost see him standing on the first step of the stairs with an annoyed expression on his face, glancing every two seconds at his phone to check the time.
