And she hated that she'd have to make meals because her mother would be too weak. Those dinners were always terrible, and not just because Kat wasn't the world's best cook. They were terrible because she would have to take a tray to her mother, who would eat propped up in bed, and then Kat and her father would sit there at the kitchen table, alone, long minutes of silence pierced with his usual warning: /Stop worrying about your mother or I'll really give you something to worry about./ She hated that he'd come home with flowers for her mom, like that was supposed to make everything all right, and her mom would tell Kat to fetch a vase and put them in water so she could /ooh/ and /aah/ over them from her sickbed, like the flowers weren't edged with brown and her eyes weren't rimmed in black-and-blue.

Kat hated that her dad would act all cheerful and announce that they were going to the Rialto for father-daughter movie night, where they'd catch the latest Arnold Schwarzenegger flick.

She hated that her mother refused to go to the doctor every time she got beat.

But more than anything, Kat hated that the single most important rule in her family was that none of this ever happened.

On that particular morning, Kat thought maybe she'd had enough of secrets. She got up out of bed, pulled on a pair of light blue seersucker shorts, a pale green T-shirt, and sneakers. She ran a comb through her hair and pulled it back in a ponytail. She decided to put off going to the bathroom, because she didn't want to risk opening her door. Kat pulled her nightstand to the windowsill, pushed the window open as wide as it would go, took out the screen, and climbed through, feet first. There was no way out but through the lilacs, so she jumped into the bush, breaking more than a few branches in the process. She rolled out into the grass, scraped, bleeding on the inside of her thigh, and covered in a sheen of tiny four-petaled purple buds. But she was out of there.

She ran down Forest Drive to Main Street, the soles of her shoes slapping at the concrete, purple specks flying off her like confetti.

Based on the fact that the Gerhards hadn't picked up their morning paper, she guessed it was about six-thirty. Riley would still be home, because baseball practice didn't start until nine.

She raced by the Missonis', the Ballingers', and the McClintocks', then took the usual shortcut through the Wilmers' backyard, jumped the chain-link fence, and landed in the row of cedars that fringed the south end of lawn of the Bohland House. Like always, she ran across the lawn to the side of the house, then hopped up onto the large central air-conditioning unit so she could reach the porch railing. She walked along the railing until she could get a foothold on the wide ledge of the dining room bay window, then pulled herself up onto the tile roof.

Once she got a handhold on the window frame of the turret, she inched along until she got to the carport, remembering to avoid the three loose tiles on her way to Riley's window.

She didn't bother knocking on the glass because she didn't want to wake up Big Daddy or Matt. She pushed up the heavy old sash and threw her legs over the ledge, landing with a thud on Riley's floor. His room was a disaster, like always, and it smelled like sweaty socks. She took off her shoes and crawled under the covers with Riley, spooning against his back, his solid heat spreading through her like a blanket for her insides. She sighed. He woke up.

What the? Riley flipped over so fast he nearly tossed her out of the bed. Kat? Holy shit! Big Daddy's gonna skin me alive!

Sssshhhh. Kat put her arms around Riley's waist and pulled him close.

She felt her body begin to tremble.

Oh no, Scout. Is he doing it again?

She nodded, keeping her face buried in his neck. Riley was the only person who ever used that nickname, and it sounded so comforting and safe that she wanted to cry. She took a deep breath of himhe smelled earthy and sweet, and she could detect the lingering traces of bath soap and deodorant. He had probably taken a shower just before bed.

I'm calling the police this time.

He'll take it out on me.

I'm telling Big Daddy, then. Maybe he can talk some sense into him. One day he's going to kill her.

Please just hold me.

Riley did. He brought his arms around her back and hugged her as tight as she could stand. After a few moments, he raised his hand to the back of her head, and slipped her hair from the ponytail holder. Kat snuggled closer, feeling her ribs against his. She felt her small breasts being squashed between them. She threw her top leg over his and held on, like they were falling through the sky and he was the only one with a working parachute.

When she couldn't hold it in anymore, she cried.

Riley let her, stroking her hair and whispering to her that everything would be all right.

Who do you love? he asked.

Riley James Bohland, forever and ever, she said between sobs.

Who do I love?

Katharine Ann Cavanaugh, forever and ever.

That's right. And when we get married, we're going to live so far away that Virgil will be nothing but a bad memory. What kind of car do you want?

A Jeep with the top down.

And what's the first house we're going to buy together?

The ski cabin in Colorado.

Then?

The beach house in California.

Next?

Our penthouse in New York.

Are you doing OK?

Kat nodded, her tears slowing. I'm always OK when I'm with you.

Good. How many kids will we have?

Two.

One girl and one boy?

Yes.

Which will be first?

The girl.

No, the boy.

Kat giggled a little.

And what will we do for the rest of our lives?

Be happy.

That's right. Riley kissed the top of her head. Hey, you got little purple things all over you.

Kat pulled her face from its hiding place in the crook of his neck and looked up into his blue eyes, so deep they almost looked black. I fell into a lilac bush.

How'd that happen?

She felt kind of silly, but she told him the truth. I jumped out of my bedroom window.

You're all wet.

Kat sniffled and wiped her eyes. Sorry. All my crying must have gotten your shirt wet.

No. I mean down here on your legs. You're wet.

I think I got scraped up and I'm bleeding.

Riley tossed back the covers and pulled away so he could look at her. Oh my God! he whispered.

Kat stared down at the front of Riley's body and gasped. Something shifted inside her core. The awareness was so deep and intense it was almost uncomfortable. She'd heard about how this could happen to boys, that sometimes guys woke up with hard-ons because they'd had sex dreams.

But she didn't know they got /that/ hard!

She continued to gawk. A rush of heat moved through her, the likes of which she'd never experienced. Her mouth went dry. Her nipples tingled.

All she wanted was to press up against that hardness. Her body insisted she do it.

Shit, Kat. There's blood all over you.

I told you I got scraped up.

No. I'm mean it's smeared all over the inside of your legs. /What?/ Kat looked down at herself and froze in embarrassment. This could not be happening. Blood had soaked through the crotch of her seersucker shorts and spread out into the fabric. A thin, sticky smear of red covered the inside of both of her thighs.

I think you started your period.

Kat recoiled, pushing herself away from Riley as she groaned out in horror. What girl would want the boy she loved to see that? What had she ever done to deserve such a terrible fate? She leaped up from the bed, and Riley followed her.

Kat was heading toward the window when he jumped in front of her, blocking her exit. Kat couldn't stop herselfshe looked to see if he was still hard. He was. Harder, even. She tried to swallow, but it was like she couldn't remember how.