going to say.”
“Oh, do you?”
“I think I do.”
He sighs. “Man. You do know me well.”
“So who was he?” Miles asks.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Wait until you hear mine.”
“Okay. His name was Stuart. He was my camp counselor.”
“Oh wow,” Mia says. “Finally, something dirty.”
“Nothing happened! We ate marshmallows and played ‘The John B. Sails’ on the ukulele. All I could do was admire him from afar.”
“Aw.” Miles kisses him on the cheek. “That’s creepy.”
“Please don’t sully my campfire romance.”
“You’re right. It’s sweet.”
“So.”
“So what?”
Derrick gives him a look. “I told you mine.”
“Ah—”
Mia leans in closer. “Now I’m curious. Who was it that captured the heart of Miles Sedgwick?”
“It’s a bit tragic.”
“More tragic than Derrick stalking his camp counselor?”
He glares at Mia. “I was eleven. I wasn’t stalking anyone.”
“Hush,” I say. “Continue, Miles.”
Miles looks momentarily uncomfortable beneath the weight of our eyes. Then he shrugs and fiddles with his hearing aid. “His name was Phil. He was blond. We defiled his tree house.”
“Whoa.” Derrick high-fives him. “Way to go.”
“When his family moved, he left me all of his comics. Sweet boy.”
I look at Mia. “You’ve been awfully vocal about getting people to tell their stories. What about you?”
“What about me, Tess?”
“You know I hate it when you use my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I—” She looks down. “It’s stupid.”
“I wanted to get into Stuart’s kayak,” Derrick says. “There’s no judgment at this table. Love is love.”
She looks at Patrick for a second. He seems on the verge of saying something, but keeps his mouth shut.
“It was just some guy in the fourth grade,” she says. “I don’t even remember his name. He talked to me a few times—whatever. I haven’t lived long enough to have the kind of stories that you all have.”
I feel like she’s lying, but I don’t know why. Embarrassment? Remorse? Maybe she hasn’t fallen in love with anyone yet. It was stupid of me to press her. The last thing a teenage girl wants is to discuss romance in front of her family.
“You’re still figuring things out,” I say. “You’ve got all the time in the world. And, Patrick? What about you? I know you’ve been busy magnating it for the past few years, but before that—”
I almost say
when you were human
. Man, I’m really batting a thousand in the insensitivity department tonight. I bite off the words and simply smile. I hope itresembles the smile of an attentive parent rather than that of a bitchy misanthrope who may be the smallest bit necrophobic.
“Patty Smalls,” he says. “We met in kindergarten. She had freckles, and she gave me a scratch-and-sniff valentine. It’s one of the few things I remember from before I was turned.”
Mia grins. “Hot.”
“Shut up.”
“All right, Diotima,” Derrick says. “You’re the only one left. Spill. Who was your first love? And don’t say me, even though we both know that you once had a wicked crush.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy.”
Everyone’s looking at me. Everyone’s smiling. The cold, ineluctable truth is that I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love. I’ve had feelings. I’ve lusted, coveted, longed for what I couldn’t have. I’ve been with people in the dark. Probably too many. But if love is the astonishing nude trust in Lucian’s eyes, then—
Then?
I love you all,
I want to say.
I love you so much it kills me. I’d set fire to myself to keep any one of you from harm. That’s what I’m certain of.
“My math teacher,” I say weakly. “He looked cute in flannel.”
Mia gives me an odd look.
Now we’ve both told a lie.
I wake up to an empty house. It’s the wine’s fault . I give myself a few more minutes of lucid-dream time, then drag myself out of
“Oh, do you?”
“I think I do.”
He sighs. “Man. You do know me well.”
“So who was he?” Miles asks.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Wait until you hear mine.”
“Okay. His name was Stuart. He was my camp counselor.”
“Oh wow,” Mia says. “Finally, something dirty.”
“Nothing happened! We ate marshmallows and played ‘The John B. Sails’ on the ukulele. All I could do was admire him from afar.”
“Aw.” Miles kisses him on the cheek. “That’s creepy.”
“Please don’t sully my campfire romance.”
“You’re right. It’s sweet.”
“So.”
“So what?”
Derrick gives him a look. “I told you mine.”
“Ah—”
Mia leans in closer. “Now I’m curious. Who was it that captured the heart of Miles Sedgwick?”
“It’s a bit tragic.”
“More tragic than Derrick stalking his camp counselor?”
He glares at Mia. “I was eleven. I wasn’t stalking anyone.”
“Hush,” I say. “Continue, Miles.”
Miles looks momentarily uncomfortable beneath the weight of our eyes. Then he shrugs and fiddles with his hearing aid. “His name was Phil. He was blond. We defiled his tree house.”
“Whoa.” Derrick high-fives him. “Way to go.”
“When his family moved, he left me all of his comics. Sweet boy.”
I look at Mia. “You’ve been awfully vocal about getting people to tell their stories. What about you?”
“What about me, Tess?”
“You know I hate it when you use my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I—” She looks down. “It’s stupid.”
“I wanted to get into Stuart’s kayak,” Derrick says. “There’s no judgment at this table. Love is love.”
She looks at Patrick for a second. He seems on the verge of saying something, but keeps his mouth shut.
“It was just some guy in the fourth grade,” she says. “I don’t even remember his name. He talked to me a few times—whatever. I haven’t lived long enough to have the kind of stories that you all have.”
I feel like she’s lying, but I don’t know why. Embarrassment? Remorse? Maybe she hasn’t fallen in love with anyone yet. It was stupid of me to press her. The last thing a teenage girl wants is to discuss romance in front of her family.
“You’re still figuring things out,” I say. “You’ve got all the time in the world. And, Patrick? What about you? I know you’ve been busy magnating it for the past few years, but before that—”
I almost say
when you were human
. Man, I’m really batting a thousand in the insensitivity department tonight. I bite off the words and simply smile. I hope itresembles the smile of an attentive parent rather than that of a bitchy misanthrope who may be the smallest bit necrophobic.
“Patty Smalls,” he says. “We met in kindergarten. She had freckles, and she gave me a scratch-and-sniff valentine. It’s one of the few things I remember from before I was turned.”
Mia grins. “Hot.”
“Shut up.”
“All right, Diotima,” Derrick says. “You’re the only one left. Spill. Who was your first love? And don’t say me, even though we both know that you once had a wicked crush.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy.”
Everyone’s looking at me. Everyone’s smiling. The cold, ineluctable truth is that I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love. I’ve had feelings. I’ve lusted, coveted, longed for what I couldn’t have. I’ve been with people in the dark. Probably too many. But if love is the astonishing nude trust in Lucian’s eyes, then—
Then?
I love you all,
I want to say.
I love you so much it kills me. I’d set fire to myself to keep any one of you from harm. That’s what I’m certain of.
“My math teacher,” I say weakly. “He looked cute in flannel.”
Mia gives me an odd look.
Now we’ve both told a lie.
I wake up to an empty house. It’s the wine’s fault . I give myself a few more minutes of lucid-dream time, then drag myself out of
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