Now Porter’s grinning too, and I’m sure we both look like raving lunatics. ?ank goodness we’re sitting in the rain in the middle of nowhere. “Hey,” he says, all raspy and deep. “Am I crazy, or was that the best kiss you’ve ever had?” His smile is acres wide and miles deep.
He knows it is.
“Surprising thing is, it’s the best you’ve ever had too,” I shoot back.
Both brows raise, and then he laughs, eyes closed. “You win. Want to do it again? Maybe it was just a uke. We should test it out.”
We do. It was no uke. I’m going to melt right through the car seat. It’s ridiculous. ?is is how teen pregnancies happen, I’m fairly certain. I nally push him away, and we’re both breathing heavy. “See, told you,” I say. “Best you’ve ever had.”
“Wanna know a secret? I knew if we ever would shut up and stop arguing, it would be. Come here. Don’t get all shy now. I just want to hold you.”
“You’re injured.”
“And you’re soft. No more kissing, I promise. Please, Bailey. Let me hold you, no manhandling. Just for a little while. Until it stops raining. I like the rain.”
He beckons me into the shelter of his arm, and since I’m on the side that didn’t get too beat up, I gently curl against him. He’s warm and solid, and I try to be as weightless and small as possible, try not to cause more pain, but he pulls me against him more rmly, and I give in. He sighs deeply, and we sit like that together, watching the rain fall over the ocean. Not talking. Just us. Just quiet.
But in that quiet, images of his bloody ght with Davy race back. ?is body that’s holding me right now so protectively … it was violently tearing another human being apart. How can he be both things—tender and brutal? Is this what boys are? Or is this what Porter is? He’s so complicated. I swear, the more I learn about him, the less I understand who he really is.
His ferocity unnerved me today, so why did I kiss him?
And why do I trust someone who can shake me up like that?
I think of our heated arguments. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not exactly an innocent bystander. He provokes me, but do I allow myself to be provoked? Do I want it? And what about my ruthless takedown of that kid who stole the Maltese falcon? Grace keeps teasing me that I’ve got secret strength, and it’s starting to make me think more and more about my stupid therapist back in New Jersey and all his talk about me paying the price for my avoidance techniques. Shake up a bottle of soda long enough, when you take off the top, it’s going to explode.
Am I more afraid of Porter … or the person he’s unleashing inside me?
LUMIÈRE FILM FANATICS COMMUNITY
PRIVATE MESSAGES>ALEX>NEW!
@mink: Hey, sorry we haven’t talked much recently. @alex: MINK. I’m so glad you messaged me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. You haven’t made a firm decision about flying out here yet, have you? @mink: No, why would you ask that? @alex: God, it took you so long to reply, for a second I thought I’d lost you there. Anyway, that’s actually a good thing. Things are crazy at work for me right now. So before you get your dad to buy a plane ticket, just check with me beforehand, okay? Since it’s so busy here.
@mink: Yeah, okay. I’ve been busy too, actually. @alex: Then you understand. So just let me know? In case my situation changes?
@mink: Okay. Sure. You know I never rush into anything.
“Fight back, you coward! Fight back!”
—Daniel Radcliffe, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (2009)
17
A couple of hours before my shift the next morning, sunlight is already breaking through the gray sky as I pull Baby into a narrow alley behind Penny Boards Surf Shop. Porter’s supposed to meet me here. He says his dad can x the wonky lock on my seat, since it appears that Davy took a crowbar to it and screwed up the lock. I’m nervous about meeting his dad. Really nervous.
?is is a mistake. ?at’s all I can think. I’m not sure how he talked me into coming here right now, but I didn’t really know what else to do about my bike.
My own dad was none too happy when he got home last night from San Jose and I told him the story of the stolen scooter. If he only knew the entire story, he’d have a heart attack —so really, he’s lucky to have a daughter who cares enough about the state of his ticker to make sure that he only got the bare details he actually needed. And those details were as follows: ?e bike was stolen from the Cave’s parking lot, but one heroic security guard, a Mr. Porter Roth, chased the unruly teens off the museum property, sustaining injuries in the process, and got my bike back. A shame that Porter couldn’t identify the boys who took it, otherwise he would have led a police report.
“It all happened so fast,” I told him. “I’m glad he was there.”
“He didn’t see the thieves’ faces?”
Err … “It was raining. ?ey hit him and took off running.”
“I still think we should tell Wanda.”
“?e museum security is taking care of it, Dad. Let them do their jobs, okay?”
