From the kitchen, a boy emerges, pulling a red apron over his neck and tying it as he walks. Wild, dark curls fall into his eyes, and he flips them away with an unconscious shake of his head.

In that moment, her silent heart twists beneath the empty walls of her chest. And she realizes, in the absence of hunger or thirst, discomfort or cold, this is the first physical sensation she’s had since waking under a sky full of falling leaves.

Her eyes move over every part of him, her lungs greedy for breath she doesn’t remember needing before now. He’s tall and lanky, managing somehow to look broad. His teeth are white but the slightest bit crooked. A small silver ring curves around the center of his full bottom lip, and her fingers burn with the need to reach out and touch it. His nose has been broken at least once. But he’s perfect. And something about the light in his eyes when he looks up makes her ache to share herself with him. But share what? Her mind? Her body? How can she share things she doesn’t know?

When he approaches the other table, the schoolgirls stop talking and watch him, eyes full of anticipation, perky smiles in place.

“Hey.” He greets them with a wave. “Grabbing a late breakfast?” A blond girl with a strip of garish pink in her hair leans forward and slowly tugs his apron string loose. “Just came by to have something sweet.”

The boy grins, but it’s a patient grin—flexed jaw, smile climbing only partway up his face—and he steps out of her grip, motioning to the buffet against the far wall. “Go grab whatever you want. I need to start clearing it out soon.”

“Jay said you guys did some pretty crazy stunts in the quarry yesterday,” she says.

“Yeah.” He nods in a slow, easy movement and pushes a handful of wavy hair off his forehead. “We set up some jumps. It was pretty sick.” A short pause and then: “You guys might want to grab some food real quick. Kitchen closed five minutes ago.”

Out of instinct, the girl glances to the kitchen and sees the old woman standing in the doorway and watching the boy. The woman blinks over to her then, studying with eyes both wary and unblinking; the girl is the first to look away.

“Can’t you sit and hang out for a few?” Pink-Haired Girl asks, her voice and lips heavy with a pout.

“Sorry, Amanda, I have calc over in Henley. Just helping Dot finish up in the kitchen.”

He’s fascinating to watch: his unhurried smile, the solid curve of his shoulders and the comfortable way he slips his hands in his pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet. It’s easy to tell why the schoolgirls want him to stay.

But then he turns, blinking away from the table of his peers to the girl sitting alone, watching him. She can actually see the pulse in his neck begin to pound, and it seems to echo inside her own throat.

And he sees her, bare legs and arms, wearing a spring dress in October.

“You here for breakfast?” he asks. His voice vibrates through her. “Last call . . .”

Her mouth opens again, and what spills forward isn’t what she expects; nor does she dissolve into a flock of ravens. “I think I’m here for you.”

CHAPTER 2 HIM

A WEEK LATER

COLIN HOVERS NEAR THE DOOR, STARING down at the fingers sticking out of the end of his newly set cast. They’re big and awkward—some are crooked from the older breaks he’d never had set. His knuckles are wide, his skin scarred from cuts and scrapes left to heal on their own. Today his fingers look swollen. Abused.

He’s finally managed to get the door open when his boss confronts him.

“Colin,” Dot says, her face set in a grim line. “Joe called and told me you’ve been at the infirmary all morning.” She doesn’t need to add, Don’t bother making an excuse, or, I knew this would happen again.

He exhales a shaky breath, and it condenses in the cold air in front of him. “I’m sorry, Dot,” he says, letting the door close behind him.

“Why are you apologizing to me? It’s your arm in a cast.” She clears her throat, her expression softening as she touches the plaster. “Broken this time?” He nods. “So why are you showing up for work?”

Her apron is drenched. She’s been doing dishes again, and Colin makes a mental note to kick Dane’s ass for not finishing before he left for class.

“I was coming to tell you I can’t work for the next two weeks.” The words burn as they come out. Working in the dining hall makes him feel less like a charity case.

“Only two?” She cocks her head and looks straight at him, catching the lie.

“Okay, four.” He fidgets, starting to reach to scratch his neck with the hand of his broken arm and then winces, working to not grunt some cusswords in front of Dot. She was his mom’s best friend and the closest thing he’s had to a grandmother for the past twelve years. The last thing he wants to do is upset her.

“And you haven’t been to basketball in three weeks,” she says. His eyes widen, and she nods. “Yep, I know about that. Talked to Coach Tucker a week ago; he says they cut you from the team.”

“Come on, Dot. You know that kind of stuff isn’t my thing.”

Dot narrows her eyes, considering him. “What is your thing, exactly? Defying death? Driving the rest of us to drink, worrying about you? I’ve always loved your fire, kiddo. But I’m not going to tolerate any more of this insanity.”

“It’s not insanity,” Colin says against his better judgment. “It’s biking.”

“Now, that’s a bald-faced lie. It’s tricks and props and jumping from train cars to the tracks. It’s riding on the train tracks and across bridges made out of rope over the quarry.” His head snaps up, and Dot nods forcefully. “Oh yeah. I know about that. You could have died out there. When will you realize you can only be so reckless before it’s too far?”