I scramble back, nearly slipping into the creek, coughing as the dust settles around me. I squint, recognizing the sun-faded green Ford—it belongs to Talon McDonald, who graduated last year, butlike everyone else in this town, he never left Cutwater. He’ll rot here.
Wary, I take another step away, the sketchbook gripped under my arm, but I’m afraid to turn my back on the truck—Talon can be a real asshole. But it’s also tulip season, so he’ll either say some shithead thing, then peel away, or he’ll confess his love for me.
In the passenger seat sits another boy—long dusty-blond hair sticking out beneath a baseball hat and the beginnings of a pale, wispy mustache on his upper lip. I think his name is Raif, a kid who graduated two years ago but has nothing better to do and nowhere to go. In the bed of the truck are two younger boys slumped against the side, staring out at me. One is shirtless, his dark hair windblown and greasy. The other wears a black T-shirt and sips on a can of soda. I think they’re Talon’s younger brothers. One of them will probably be a freshman at Cutwater High next year.
“You hitchhiking?” Raif calls out through the open passenger-side window, his upper lip curled.
I glance up at the house, gauging how quickly I could run the distance—but they could drive it much faster, and maybe even beat me on foot.
“We’ll give ya a ride,” he offers, tapping his fingers against the truck door. His face is sunburned, the sleeves of his sailor-blue flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows.
I blink, keeping my mouth shut.
“She’s that witch-girl, you dipshit,” one of the boys in the back of the truck says. “Didn’t you hear what happened at the high school yesterday? Tobias Huaman has a busted rib. They’re sayin’ it’s because of those flowers she grows behind her house.” The boy shoots me a look, his pale eyes like a bird gaping at an insect.
The morning air suddenly feels unbearably hot against my skin. The sun blinding through the trees, and I just want to sprint up the driveway and duck into the shade and safety of the house.
“She looks harmless enough,” Raif comments, his eyes lidded away from the sun.
“Careful…,” Talon remarks from the driver’s seat, nodding at Raif. “Don’t look her straight in the eye, or you won’t be able to think of anyone else but her.”
I wonder why they’ve stopped at my driveway. Just to be assholes? Just because they’re bored and they saw a girl to harass? Or because they want a tulip.
Both of the boys in the back of the truck quickly shift their gazes away. But Raif keeps his focus on me, elbow resting in the open window, forehead already glistening from the morning heat. A second later I watch his expression change: mouth parting just a little, doughy and soft, as he leans farther out the window.
I force my eyes down to my feet, feeling the shift in his stare, knowing it’s already happening. Some are more susceptible than others—easily caught by the Goode snare.
I hear the metal truck door creak open, and Raif steps out onto the gravel driveway. His footsteps are heavy and lumbering, and I lift my eyes when he’s only a couple of paces away. His eyes begin to water at the corners, like he’s seized by something—his heart caught in a vise. “I’ll buy a tulip from you. Ten of them.” He nods to the house, his tone suddenly serious and unnerving. The blooms, the enchantment, are already beneath his skin.
“You don’t have any money, you moron,” Talon shouts through the open window.
But Raif reaches for the wallet in his back pocket, thumbs through the bills, then holds out everything inside. Four one-dollar bills.
“They’re not for sale,” I tell him, a sturdiness in my voice that makes my jaw contract, clenching on the words. Biting them until they break.
But Raif isn’t looking at me, he’s staring up the long driveway at the house, and I know what he’s thinking.
“Get back in the truck!” Talon shouts, revving the engine. “You shouldn’t be that close to her.” But Raif isn’t listening, he doesn’t hear a thing. He takes a step past me, starting up the driveway. He’s going to rip the tulips from the soil, beckoned closer by their hypnotizing scent wafting through the spring air. He’s feeling bold, overcome, and maybe it’s because of me. The scent is on my skin, too, and being this close to me, near the garden of tulips, it’s more than his small mind can manage.
“Be right back,” he mumbles, though it’s too quiet for Talon to hear. He takes another step, but I swivel around and reach out for him.
“I said no!” I snap, grabbing his arm. He jerks back, his cheeks red, sweat beading down his temple. “They’re not for sale.” And for a second he looks like he’s going to lunge at me, but instead his shoulders drop and his eyes sink low, settling on mine.
“Raif, what the hell!” Talon barks, impatient now.
But Raif lifts his hand, the movement slow, like he’s half-asleep, and I can tell he’s going to run his fingertips down my cheekbone, caress my skin, while his dark, close-set eyes pinwheel deeper into mine.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl, shoving his hand away. His expression tightens with anger, with confusion—his emotions a riot inside hishead. He both loves meandloathes me right now, and he can’t decide which feeling makes sense. But without warning, his features change, turn hard and mean all at once, and he clamps a hand around my forearm, like he’s going to drag me with him.
Love has a different effect on everyone. Some want to cherish the ones they love, caress them and care for them and plant delicate kisses across their lips. While others want to control the ones they love, lock them up and keep them “safe” so no one else can have them.
Raif is the latter sort.
“Stop!” I shout, dropping my bag and notebook in the dirt, then shoving my hands against his chest, trying to push him back. But he’s too strong, yanking me toward the truck.
I hear the groan of another truck door opening, and Talon steps out. “What the hell are you doing, man?” he says to Raif. But Raif has lost all sense of himself, and I can see the single-minded determination on his face, cut into his sunburned forehead. He’s not about to let me slip from his grasp. Not for anything.
“Let me go!” I yell, digging my fingernails into his jaw, his throat, making claw marks down his flesh. He doesn’t even flinch.
