cray annoying.”
Brandon laughed, highly amused. I would never understand why so many boys related to each other through mockery.
The two of them boarded, and Dez—unshockingly—swung into the seat next to me. He wore an outfit not dissimilar from my own, though his shirt was black instead of white and unbuttoned to a degree that should have been tacky but managed to look reckless and hot. He had a few knives strapped onto his legs and arms for appearances.
I tried to come up with a flippant response to his having searched me out, but a good comeback eluded me. There was an unwelcome fluttering instead. Particularly when Raleigh climbed on last, carrying his top hat in his hand, an opera cape over his suit for effect. He looked over at me and took in Dez, then swung into the row in front of and across the aisle from us. We were dressed like barbarians next to his elegant Phantom of the Opera.
Dez tilted his head closer to me, his face so near mine I worried I’d feel his breath if he spoke. Or vice versa.
“I don’t think he likes me,” he said.
And I was right. He’d pitched it for my ears only, which meant I felt the words against my neck. It was practically like he’d touched me.
I resisted the urge to shift nervously. The problem was, the breathy not-quite-touch had felt nice. “I can’t imagine why,” I said, at normal volume.
Dez threw his head back against the headrest of his seat and put a hand over his heart. “Once you get to know me, really know me, you’ll feel different, Moira. I know I seem cocky, but I’m a puppy at heart.” He turned those brown-penny puppy eyes toward me.
I sighed. “Let’s not talk about you. Let’s talk about—”
“You?” Dez grinned again, wolfish instead of rakish.
“No,” I said, and I saw the corner of Raleigh’s lips quirk. He was eavesdropping. “Let’s talk about your act. Where’d you learn how to juggle knives?”
“Where’d you learn magic?”
“I asked first.”
The bus driver got on and levered the lumbering vehicle into gear. I wondered why Raleigh’s lovely assistants weren’t riding next to him. A headlining magician couldn’t get by without at least one.
Dez leaned forward to block my view of Raleigh. “I taught myself.”
To juggle knives ? Holy crap.
I’d taught myself too, obviously. Setting timers, reading tutorials, sneaking obscure books from Dad’s library. I was careful to always do the dangerous exercises, like submerging myself bound or in a mask, when someone was around and would hear if my safety alarm went off. But knife-throwing? How could that be safe to learn solo?
“So you started with regular objects?” I asked. “Apples? Balls?”
“Balls!” Across the aisle, Brandon brayed a laugh, and my cheeks went up in flames. We were surrounded by eavesdroppers. “He started on a bet. With butcher knives!”
“Shut up, moron,” Dez said, smooth as glass and with as sharp an edge.
Chastised, the other boy shrugged, but then gazed out the window. He must have only been Dez’s helper, because he had on casual jeans and a tank. A duffel rested at his feet.
“Yes,” Dez said. “I was dared to. It wasn’t a situation where I could say no.” He shrugged. “But I’d never have known I was capable of doing it if I hadn’t.”
I felt that way sometimes about having to be my own teacher. Dad would never have pushed me as hard as I pushed myself—he’d never have let me take so many risks.
“I wasn’t all that good,” he said. “I did cut myself.”
He pushed back the sleeve of his shirt, and I saw the raised line of a scar slashed across his forearm, still red, like it was angry. I touched it before I could stop myself.
He was smiling at me again when I looked up, and I yanked my hand away. “Ouch,” I said. “Sounds kind of stupid, if you ask me.”
“Oh, it was,” he said. “I’m full of bad decisions. And worse luck.”
“That’s the truth,” Brandon said.
“I’m having a
Brandon laughed, highly amused. I would never understand why so many boys related to each other through mockery.
The two of them boarded, and Dez—unshockingly—swung into the seat next to me. He wore an outfit not dissimilar from my own, though his shirt was black instead of white and unbuttoned to a degree that should have been tacky but managed to look reckless and hot. He had a few knives strapped onto his legs and arms for appearances.
I tried to come up with a flippant response to his having searched me out, but a good comeback eluded me. There was an unwelcome fluttering instead. Particularly when Raleigh climbed on last, carrying his top hat in his hand, an opera cape over his suit for effect. He looked over at me and took in Dez, then swung into the row in front of and across the aisle from us. We were dressed like barbarians next to his elegant Phantom of the Opera.
Dez tilted his head closer to me, his face so near mine I worried I’d feel his breath if he spoke. Or vice versa.
“I don’t think he likes me,” he said.
And I was right. He’d pitched it for my ears only, which meant I felt the words against my neck. It was practically like he’d touched me.
I resisted the urge to shift nervously. The problem was, the breathy not-quite-touch had felt nice. “I can’t imagine why,” I said, at normal volume.
Dez threw his head back against the headrest of his seat and put a hand over his heart. “Once you get to know me, really know me, you’ll feel different, Moira. I know I seem cocky, but I’m a puppy at heart.” He turned those brown-penny puppy eyes toward me.
I sighed. “Let’s not talk about you. Let’s talk about—”
“You?” Dez grinned again, wolfish instead of rakish.
“No,” I said, and I saw the corner of Raleigh’s lips quirk. He was eavesdropping. “Let’s talk about your act. Where’d you learn how to juggle knives?”
“Where’d you learn magic?”
“I asked first.”
The bus driver got on and levered the lumbering vehicle into gear. I wondered why Raleigh’s lovely assistants weren’t riding next to him. A headlining magician couldn’t get by without at least one.
Dez leaned forward to block my view of Raleigh. “I taught myself.”
To juggle knives ? Holy crap.
I’d taught myself too, obviously. Setting timers, reading tutorials, sneaking obscure books from Dad’s library. I was careful to always do the dangerous exercises, like submerging myself bound or in a mask, when someone was around and would hear if my safety alarm went off. But knife-throwing? How could that be safe to learn solo?
“So you started with regular objects?” I asked. “Apples? Balls?”
“Balls!” Across the aisle, Brandon brayed a laugh, and my cheeks went up in flames. We were surrounded by eavesdroppers. “He started on a bet. With butcher knives!”
“Shut up, moron,” Dez said, smooth as glass and with as sharp an edge.
Chastised, the other boy shrugged, but then gazed out the window. He must have only been Dez’s helper, because he had on casual jeans and a tank. A duffel rested at his feet.
“Yes,” Dez said. “I was dared to. It wasn’t a situation where I could say no.” He shrugged. “But I’d never have known I was capable of doing it if I hadn’t.”
I felt that way sometimes about having to be my own teacher. Dad would never have pushed me as hard as I pushed myself—he’d never have let me take so many risks.
“I wasn’t all that good,” he said. “I did cut myself.”
He pushed back the sleeve of his shirt, and I saw the raised line of a scar slashed across his forearm, still red, like it was angry. I touched it before I could stop myself.
He was smiling at me again when I looked up, and I yanked my hand away. “Ouch,” I said. “Sounds kind of stupid, if you ask me.”
“Oh, it was,” he said. “I’m full of bad decisions. And worse luck.”
“That’s the truth,” Brandon said.
“I’m having a
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