I glance across the street at our apartment window.
“Does she know?”
“What?” My eyes flick to his. “Know what?”
He lightly kicks the iron hitching post with the heel of his boot. “Never mind.”
Wait, wait, wait—wealmostmade it to The Topic. Then he backed down.
“Of course she doesn’t know,” I say, adjusting my lens. “I haven’t even told her I went to Sunday dinner at your house. You think I’m going to tell her about … ?”
“The darkroom,” he finishes, voice deep and husky.
“The darkroom,” I repeat, feeling a little lightheaded. “She’donly say I’ve activated the curse. Nope. She can never know. Ever. I’ll bury her first. It’s the Saint-Martin way. She keeps her love life secret, so that’s exactly what I’ll be …” I trail off. I realize as soon as it’s out of my mouth that I said “love life.”
It’s only supposed to be Lucky. My friend.Friendlife, not love life! Can I get a do-over?
I snap five photos in row. All unnecessary. All poorly framed.
Lucky. Kiss. Uncertainty. Good jeans not helping. Bats! Bat escaping!
I can’t hold it in any longer, so here comes the honesty. I’m lifting the invisible wall.
Hope he’s happy.
“Look,” I say in a low voice, as if my mother can somehow hear us all the way through a closed window and across a street filled with traffic. “I don’t know if you regret what we did, or maybe it was no big deal to you, but it meant something to me, and I’ve been really confused that you’ve just sort of ghosted me over the last few days. I don’t know what we’re doing, but I really hate not talking to you.”
“Wow, okay.”
“Or we can make small talk.”
“No, stop,” he says, holding up a hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t put the wall back up—please. Just … give me a second. I’m trying to sort it all out. Why would you think it didn’t mean something to me?”
I lower my camera and look at him. “Did it?”
“You first.”
“I already went first.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glances across the street at the half-timbered historical houses that face the harbor. “Okay. Maybe it did. Yes. It did … unless we’re talking about different kinds of ‘something’ that it meant, in which case I’d like to change my answer.”
A swell of emotion catches me off guard, and I’m surprised to feel my eyes welling up. Oh no—Temper Tears. Those stupid, out-of-control, I-want-to-punch-something tears.
“Josie! Hey, I was just joking.”
“These are tears of frustration,” I say, swiping at my eyes and getting myself under control. Ugh. I turn my head away and pray my mother doesn’t see this.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks in a softer voice.
“I’m not—” My voice breaks. I clear my throat and blow out a hard breath. There. Better. “I’m not mad. I’m confused,” I explain. “You kissed me, and then you left me hanging in the breeze, and I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if you’d changed your mind, or if you’d hated it, or felt guilty or if it was terrible—how am I supposed to know? I’ve never kissed anyone before … not really. Not like that.”
“What? Come on.” His face is contorting into strange expressions. He makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, but not quite. Then he blinks at me. “You’re serious.”
I hesitate and glance across the street at our apartment windows. Mom’s silhouette is gone, but then reappears. She’s still checking on us. Lucky sees it too and swears colorfully under his breath.
“This is ridiculous. Listen to me,” he says in a calm voice. “You’re taking photos—that’s all. Now we’re going around back to finish the job. Okay? Come on.”
I follow him through the alley, his heavy boots crunching the occasional piece of loose gravel, until the harbor comes into sight, and we turn the corner into the back of the boatyard.
