None of those rules seem to apply to Jesse. With a few words, he can pare me down to the core, to the truest version of myself, and the truth is I don’tget him.He found out I was cursed, and instead of running in the opposite direction, he started taking notes. He hangs out in haunted train yards and lives above a mortuary. I’m not sure how he has any energy to get through the day, considering the only grocery in his fridge is a month-old lasagna.
He treats his life like it’s a plant he never remembers to water but can’t quite bring himself to throw out. Yet he has the audacity to tell me to prioritize the curse over prom or my graduation speech. To take care of myself.
I might be cursed, but Jesse Talbot is a walking tragedy.
I repeat the question, and his eyes narrow. “Why do you care?”
An excellent question. Why should it bother me how little regard Jessehas for his own well-being? We’re business associates. As soon as I get my curse broken and he gets his soul, our paths will diverge again. I’ll forget all about this. All about him.
But as Jesse studies me, his unkempt black hair mussed around his ears and a tear at the bottom of his profanity-ridden shirt, I can’t convince myself of a future where I forget him.
“Because I need you,” I say. “For the curse, of course.”
Velvet dark eyes brush over my face like a caress. Jesse’s lips quirk. “Of course.”
He stands abruptly, sending me back a step. “No need to hunt me down, by the way. A text would have sufficed.”
I roll my eyes. My bladder howls, reminding me of our original mission. I barely clip out, “Come stand guard in front of the bathroom,” before dashing off.
“You say the sweetest things to me,” Jesse calls, following at a leisurely pace.
To my immense relief, I haven’t been misled about the plumbing. The toilet flushes without trouble, and I wash my hands in front of the brand-new rectangular bathroom mirror. I have been up here for so long, Mr. Frank and the others are going to think I ditched. Worse—they might think I have diarrhea. Freaking Jesse and his death sticks.
A knock on the door startles me into dropping the paper towel. Jesse murmurs a single word that drops the temperature in the bathroom to the negative degrees.
“Incoming.”
Incoming? Who—
“Talbot! Again?”
Oh no, oh no, ohno.Mr. Hale.
“How’s it going, Ron? Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
I shake my head, once again marveling at the pure steel in Jesse’s spine.
Steel, spite, and sarcasm: the ingredients responsible for Jesse Talbot’s chemical composition.
Meanwhile, I’m about to puke my lunch into the sink, and Mr. Hale hasn’t even seen me yet.
“Why are you standing outside the girls’ bathroom?”
“Seemed strange to stand inside.”
“Is there someone inside the bathroom?” A pause. “Move aside, Talbot.”
“ ‘Fraid I can’t, sir. Wouldn’t look great for you sneaking into the student bathrooms, would it? On account of us being teenagers and all. I’m saving you from yourself.”
God. Jesse has really done it now. Mr. Hale’s fragile temper is as fundamental to Canyon High as its poorly weeded lawns, and Jesse just verbally slapped him into overdrive. I have to intervene. Jesse can’t take the heat for me. It’s not fair.
“This is your last warning. You can’t hide your delinquent friends.”
When Jesse answers, his tone changes, losing the mocking edge. “Mr. Hale, I’m serious. I can’t let you in. Someone’s been puking in there, and it sounds real rough. Can you go get the nurse?”
Right. The second Mr. Hale leaves to get Ms. Sorben, Jesse will stow me in the empty stairwell or hide me under a pile of wooden boards. Mr. Hale must come to the same conclusion, because he scoffs. “You must take me for a real fool. That’s it. I’m going in.”
I rush forward. If Jesse assaults a teacher, he’ll get expelled. Possibly arrested.
