My eyes open and I feel my breathing slow.

“I think,” I say slowly, “that we’re out of stones.”

“There are always more. You want to keep skipping?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will.”

CHAPTER FOUR Breaking the Rules

My sunglasses do little to block out the sun’s strength, so I shut my eyes. Part of me is scared to do this because I’m totally convinced that he’ll be gone when I open them. I test my theory and roll my head to the side for a quick peek. Chris is still there, lying next to me on the sand, both of us on our backs while we talk—or rather, while he talks. I make him do most of the talking since I’m so out of practice. Good thing that Sabin gave me a warm-up this morning.

It takes everything I have to look away from him again, but I don’t want to be caught staring. I love his imperfect nose, his full lips, and the way he runs his hands through his black hair every so often, tousling the soft waves. Every time he does this, the muscles in his arm flex slightly, and I am disarmed.

More than my undeniable physical attraction to Chris is the fact that I feel something else for him that I can’t explain. It’s more than a little confusing. I’ve read countless literary works that detail the longing and ache that characters have for someone they love, and over time, I have developed a strong belief that it’s just dramatic bullshit meant to entice readers. Today, however, I understand that it’s not bullshit. It’s very strange the way my stomach and chest are tight and fluttery and how his presence is so entirely magnetic. While it’s a decidedly wonderful feeling, it’s also terrible because I know that I am alone in this; there is no way that Chris can possibly feel what I am feeling. I push aside that thought because I’m not exactly in a position to barrel into any serious romantic entanglement anyway, even if he were interested. Which he’s not. I can tell by the way he’s just lying next to me on the beach chattering. So I will just enjoy this time with him.

Part of my old self has awoken, and I am going to let this day happen.

He does not ask about my parents or anything about my childhood, and I am grateful for that. I do the same.

Chris has already told me that he’s lived “too many places to mention” and that he’s majoring in economics and minoring in English lit. We also spent twenty minutes discussing our favorite coffee drinks, a conversation that only cemented how fucking cool he is. How many college students have a French press and a milk frother in their rooms? One. That’s how many.

“My sister has tried to steal the press on more than one occasion. I bought her one, but she claims the coffee mine makes tastes better.”

“You have a sister?”

“A sister and two brothers.”

“How old?” I ask.

“They’re all here at Matthews with me. Estelle and Eric, they’re twins, are sophomores, and my brother Sabin is a junior.”

“Wait. Sabin?” There couldn’t be that many Sabins on a campus this small. “Tall, dark hair, a little … wild?”

Chris laughs. “You know him?”

“Just met him this morning. He stole my coffee. Apparently coffee-related thievery runs in your family.”

“He’s a handful. Best brother you could ask for. Well, he and Eric.”

“Sort of funny that you are all at the same school,” I say. The air is much warmer now, and I’m about to take off my sweatshirt when I remember that I just have on a T-shirt underneath. One that would show my left arm. I settle for unzipping the sweatshirt and dealing with the heat.

Chris shrugs. “We’re pretty close, I guess. The thought of us all being spread across the country at different schools sucked, so here we are.”

“How did you end up at Matthews?”

“I saw it on a shirt once. Seemed like a good idea.”

I impulsively swat him on the arm, aware of how comfortable I feel doing this. I’m amazed that I don’t feel any weirder about my freakish behavior earlier than I do, but I don’t. It seems Chris can tolerate my eccentricities. “I’m serious!”

He tips his head to me. “So am I.”

“That’s a weird way to choose a college.”

He grins. “We’re a weird bunch.”

“Your parents must have whopping empty-nest syndrome with all four of you away now, huh?”

“It’s just my father at home. My mother died when we were all pretty young. A brain aneurysm. Totally random. No way to see it coming.” Chris sits up, and his shadow travels across my stomach. “So we have something in common.”

“Dead mothers.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “Dead mothers.”

So he understood what was happening to me while we were standing in the water together. That was the connection that I felt.

“I’m glad that we don’t have dead fathers in common,” I say. “At least you still have one parent.”

He says nothing. I roll onto my side and tuck up my knees, and Chris does the same so that we are facing each other. I don’t shy away from studying him, letting my eyes travel over his body. I am relaxed, thoroughly relaxed. And exhausted. I drowsily ask him anything that I can think to ask because I want to keep him talking. His voice is soothing and beautiful, and his face is all I see as I drift off.

I sleep without dreaming, and when I wake up, Chris is still beside me, leaning back onto his elbows and looking out at the water. Slowly I sit up, and he smiles at me.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” I busy myself with brushing sand off my jeans and redoing the knot holding my hair back so that he can’t see how embarrassed I am. It’s disorienting to have zonked out so completely. “How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours.”

“A few what?” Oh my God. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to sit here while I slept. I’m sure you have things to do.”

Chris shakes his head. “Why would I want to leave? Beautiful day, happily snoozing girl? Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” It’s an almost nonexistent occurrence, and I am positive that I slept so peacefully because of Chris. Asking him to sit next to me every night so that I can sleep without nightmares is probably unreasonable… .

“Know what?”

“What?”

Chris bounces up so that he is looming above me. “I’m fucking starving.”

“Oh. Okay.” I squint up at him. He likes to curse, too. “I should probably get going, too.”

His hand stretches down to me. “Let’s go to lunch. I know a great place. Actually, that’s not true. It’s not a great place, but it’s an interesting place.” He picks up my backpack as he grabs my hand and pulls me to standing. “You’ve got to be hungry, too. It’s way past lunchtime, and I bet you didn’t eat breakfast.”

He’s right, and I am starving, but I’m hesitant to push this day anymore. The safety that I feel with him by the lake can’t possibly hold up if we leave. “I don’t know. I have studying to do, and—”

“Nonsense. C’mon.” He pulls me forward and then drops my hand as he again walks backward.

Our walk back toward campus is quiet, but not awkward. It’s a rare thing to be with another person and not feel an obligation to fill every second with talk. Chris shoves his hands in his pockets and lifts his head into the sunlight as we stroll. Eventually the local businesses come into view, and he points to a blue flag waving in the slight breeze. “Have you eaten here? You must have, of course. Everyone has.”

I look up. Artemis Piccola. I shake my head. “Odd name for a restaurant. No. I haven’t been here.”

The truth is that I rarely leave campus. My life follows a direct path from one place to another with virtually no wandering, except for nights that I get drunk enough to want a second party that might have more booze. Dorm to class, class to the cafeteria, back to the dorm, a quick trip to the library when vitally necessary, a stop at the union for coffee. If there’s no keg involved, I’m not one to linger or stray. Well, until today. Today I am breaking all the rules.