You’re kidding, right? The whole town will know where we are just by the idle on that thing.”
He feigned a look of shock. “That thing is a 1966 GTO. It has a name, okay? It’s Mack—as in ‘to mack on women.’ I rebuilt it last year, and I was told the engine makes girls hot.”
“Someone actually used those words? Is it true?”
“TBD,” he said.
“You’re goofy. Let’s ride in my Jeep. Its name is Jeep.”
Quinn chuckled. “Kavanagh has a smart mouth.
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But Quinn held the fuzzy handcuffs in his hands, looking them over closely, and he smiled. “Oh, hey, did you want to keep these for when your invisible boyfriend returns from his fake vacation?
Laura Anderson KurkTags: dating high-school ya young-adult-fiction teen-fiction long-distance-relationships glass-girl henry-whitmire meg-kavanagh laura-anderson-kurk perfect-glass quinn-o-neill
Hold still, Meg, you’re dripping blood on my car seats.”
I reached behind the passenger seat of Tennyson’s car looking for the white sheet she’d thrown in for mopping up bodily fluids. Quinn, sitting in the back seat, read my mind and handed it to me.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He leaned forward, pulling a corner of the sheet up to wipe off a small stream of blood on my neck. “You okay?
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Wait,” Quinn said. “There’s one more thing.”
I turned around and raised an eyebrow. His eyes were wary and he lacked his usual confidence.
“Go to the Winter Dance with me.
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I won’t forget it,” I said. “I hope you meet someone perfect one day.”
“Ha…yeah, that’s just it. I think I already did.” As we opened our doors to step out, he touched my arm. “Just to be clear, if I, like, leaned over and whispered your name in your ear, still nothing?
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I’m not sure about all the particulars that led to this moment. Do I believe life is a series of dots to be connected…or that no one can outrun destiny…or that all roads lead to truth and coincidence is a lie to distract us? The reason I was in this place no longer mattered. The harsh reality stared me in the face and demanded an immediate decision. Walk away and blame it on my age. Or stay and try to help a woman who had slowly become my friend over the last few weeks.
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For a second, I stared at the map of her veins just under the surface of her thin skin. It was like her body was trying to become diaphanous. Instead of getting harder and stronger and full of life as we age, we disappear slowly. Our skin thins and evaporates. Our nails barely coat our fingertips. Our hair falls out. We are never more see-through.
Laura Anderson KurkTags: art love romance responsibility dating artist illness aging volunteerism ya young-adult-fiction teen-fiction long-distance-relationships glass-girl henry-whitmire meg-kavanagh laura-anderson-kurk perfect-glass quinn-o-neill college-application caretaker elderly-women
You look incredible, Kavanagh,” Quinn whispered close to my ear. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Ssshhh,” I hissed. “They’re going to hear you.”
“I can’t tell my date she’s beautiful?”
I turned my head. “No. No, you can’t.
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Thanet is having a moment,” I said, leaning forward so Quinn could see him.
“What’s wrong, man?” Quinn said. “Were you not aware high school dances suck? That they always have sucked and they will continue sucking as long as the world turns?
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He smiled and squinted at me again, tilting his head up and to the right as he stared. “Maybe what I’m attracted to in you is more than your looks and your brain and your humor.” He leaned closer like he had a secret. “It could be your soul,” he whispered.
I pushed his cheek until he was squinting at the door to the kitchen instead. “Is this when you tell me I’m your soul mate, O’Neill?
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