girl was following him. Not just following him. Touching him.
Touching him like she’d done it a lot.
Her slim arm was extended, her hand planted in the center of his stomach, just below his chest. She bit down on her lower lip as her hand drifted farther south. Golden bangles dangling from her wrist got awful close to the worn leather belt. My cheeks heated as the boy stepped out of her reach. There was something playful about his movements, as if this dance was a daily routine for them both.
He turned at the end of the desks, stepping behind the occupied chair, and my gaze tracked up narrow hips, over the stomach the girl had touched, up and up, and then I saw his face.
I stopped breathing.
My brain couldn’t perceive what I was seeing. It did not compute. I stared up at him, really saw him, saw a face that was familiar yet new to me, more mature than I remembered but still achingly beautiful. I knew him. Oh my God, I would know him anywhere, even if it had been four years and the last time I’d seen him, that last night that had been so horrible, had changed my life forever.
It was too surreal.
Now the reason why he’d popped in my head this morning made sense, because I’d seen him, but hadn’t realized it was him.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t get enough air into my lungs and couldn’t believe this was happening. My hands slipped off the desk, falling limply into my lap as he dipped into the seat next to me. His gaze was on the girl who took the seat next to him, and his profile, the strong jaw that had only been hinted at the last time I’d seen him, tilted as his eyes moved over the front of the room, across the wall-length chalkboard. He looked like he had back then, but bigger and with everything more...more defined. From the eyebrows darker than the mix of brown and black hair and thick lashes to the broad cheekbones and the slight scruff covering the curve of his jaw.
Goodness, he’d grown up in the way I’d thought he would when I was twelve and started to really look at him, to see him as a boy.
I couldn’t believe he was here. My heart was trying to claw itself out of my chest as lips—lips fuller than I remembered—tilted up, and a knot formed in my belly as the dimple formed in his right cheek. The only dimple he had. No matching set. Just one. My mind raced back through the years, and I could only think of a handful of times I’d seen him relaxed. Leaning back in the chair that seemed too small for him, he slowly turned his head toward me. Eyes that were brown with tiny flecks of gold met mine.
Eyes I’d never forgotten.
The easy, almost lazy smile I’d never seen on his face before froze. His lips parted and a paleness seeped under his tawny skin. Those eyes widened, the gold flecks seeming to expand. He recognized me; I had changed a lot since then, but still, recognition dawned in his features. He was moving again, leaning forward on his seat toward me. Four words roared out of the past and echoed in my head.
Don’t make a sound.
“Mouse?” he breathed.
Mouse.
No one but him called me that, and I hadn’t heard that nickname in so long, I never really thought I’d hear it again.
And I never in a million years dared to hope that I’d see him again. But here he was, and I couldn’t stop staring. None of the thirteen-year-old boy he’d been remained in the guy in front of me, but it was him. It was those warm brown eyes with golden flecks and the same sunbaked skin, a trait from his father who’d possibly been half white, half Hispanic. He didn’t know where his mother or any of her family had come from. One of our...our caseworkers had thought that his mother might have been a mix of white and South American, maybe Brazilian, but he would most likely never know.
Suddenly I saw him—the him from before, from when we were little and he’d been the only stable thing in a world of chaos. At age nine—bigger than me, but still so small—he’d stood between Mr. Henry and me in the kitchen, like he’d done too many times before, as I’d clutched the redheaded doll—Velvet—he’d just retrieved for me. I’d held her close, trembling, and he’d puffed out his chest, legs spreading wide. “Leave her alone,” he’d growled, hands curling into fists. “You’d better stay away from her.”
I pulled myself out of the memory, but there were so many of him coming to my rescue for some reason or another until he couldn’t, until the promise of forever had been shattered, and everything...everything had fallen apart.
His chest rose deeply, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “Is that really you, Mouse?”
Vaguely aware of the girl on his other side watching us, I saw her eyes go as wide as mine felt. My tongue was useless, which for once was strange, because he...he had been the one person I’d never had any problem talking to, but that had been a different world, a different lifetime.
That had been forever ago.
“Mallory?” he whispered. Turned completely toward me, I thought for a second he might climb out of his chair. And that would so be him, because he wasn’t scared of doing anything. Never had been. As close as we were, I saw the faint scar above his right eyebrow, a shade or two lighter than his skin. I remembered how he’d gotten it and my chest ached anew, because that scar symbolized a stale cookie and a shattered ashtray.
A guy in front of us had twisted around on his stool. “Yo.” He snapped his fingers when he didn’t get a response. “Hey, man? Hello?”
He ignored the guy, still staring at me like a ghost had appeared right in front of him.
“Whatever,” the kid muttered, twisting toward the girl, but she, too, ignored him. She was focused on us. The tardy bell rang, and I knew the teacher had entered, because the conversation in the room was quieting.
“Do you recognize me?” His voice was still barely above a whisper.
His eyes continued to hold mine, and I spoke what turned out to be the easiest word I’d ever said in my life. “Yes.”
He rocked back in his chair, straightening as his shoulders tensed. His eyes closed. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his palm against his sternum.
I jumped in my seat as the teacher smacked his hand on the stack of texts piled on the corner desk, forcing my gaze forward. My heart was still acting as if an out-of-control jackhammer had gone off in my chest.
“All right, all of you should know who I am since you’re in my class, but just in case some of you are lost, I’m Mr. Santos.” He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “And this is speech class. If you’re not supposed to be here, you probably should be somewhere else.”
Mr. Santos continued to speak, but the blood rushing through me drowned out his words, and my thoughts were too caught up in the fact that he was sitting next to me. He was here; after all these years, he was right beside me like he’d been since we were three years old, but he hadn’t seemed happy about seeing me. I didn’t even know what to think. A mixture of hope and desperation swirled inside me, mixing with bitter and sweet memories I’d both clung to and longed to forget.
He was... I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed against the lump lodged in my throat.
Textbooks
