“So, were you always the Kid Whose Parents Died?” she asks.

He laughs at her instinctive recollection of how everyone in this small town has an unofficial title. “I think I used to be. Now I’m the Kid Who Jumped Fifteen Feet to Flat in the Quarry and Didn’t Die. Even Dot heard about that one.”

Shaking her head, she says, “You were crazy to do that,” but her eyes have gone metallic brown, swirling.

“Not you too!”

“Colin. Objectively, that was an insane move.”

“It’s not insane,” he says. “It’s about fear. Everyone has the same abilities physically, at least they can. The difference is I’m not afraid to try.” Colin can remember that stunt better than almost anything: He pulled his bike to the ledge, took a deep breath, and balanced—eyes focused and muscles taut— before jerking the frame up in a hop over the lip. The bike cut a razor path straight down to the boulder, slicing cleanly through the air. Both wheels glanced off the stone in unison before rolling a rocky path down to the base of the quarry. I landed at the bottom next to it. Body: bruised. Arm: broken. “I met you the next day,” he adds. He’d still felt nearly high from the jump, and then she was there: the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. This second memory, just as clear.

She hums, brushes her fingers against his, and the tickling current travels up his arm before evaporating. He wants more. He practically aches for her touch. It’s more than hormones. It’s like he’s physically drawn into her space, has to force himself to keep any sort of acceptable distance. He pulls away slowly, forming a fist.

“Wonder what your title was,” he says, distracting himself from the sudden urge he has to drag her down on the trail and cover her body with his. “The Girl with the Snorting Laugh?”

She snorts, and then smacks his arm as if it were his fault. “Maybe.”

“The Girl with the Wicked Eyes?”

“Only to you.” Her dimple makes a cameo appearance.

“Right,” he says, laughing. “The Girl Who Kicked All the Boys’ Asses in Chemistry?”

She starts to answer, grinning, her jaw already pushed out in pride, but she looks at his hands, formed into tight fists at his hips, and her expression straightens. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes out his hands, laughs nervously. “Nothing.”

“Are you upset?”

Colin begins walking again, tilting his head for her to join him. He doesn’t know how to do this, how he’ll ever do this. He likes her. He wants Lucy to be his girlfriend in every way that matters, including the ways that mean he can touch her. The urge to kiss her is becoming suffocating.

“Colin?”

Stopping, he turns back to face her. “What?”

She laughs at his stalling, walking toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“I like you,” he blurts. “A lot.” His heart clenches and then begins pounding manically, and he half wants to turn and run down the trail. Instead, he stands and watches her expression shift from surprise to elation.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And it’s hard to be so close all the time and not touching,” he admits quietly.

“For me too.” Stretching onto her tiptoes, she whispers, “But I want to try.”

His tongue slips out, sliding over his piercing.

“I think about it,” she says, her breath smelling like rain and petals. “I want to kiss you until you’re dizzy with wanting, too.”

It takes Colin four tries to get a sound past his lips. “You mean you’re dizzy with wanting me?”

She lifts herself up again, and he feels a sensation like lips against his cheek. He turns to her and is met not with her mouth but with her quickly ducked head. Just before he can step back, a little embarrassed and a lot confused, her hand presses against the front of his shirt.

“Wait,” she says. “Just go slow.”

First with his cheek, then with his nose barely touching her lips, he moves closer, hoping that the way she shakes is from anticipation and not something far less pleasant. She tilts her head just enough for him brush his mouth over hers, and his fists curl in restraint at his sides. It’s different; her skin there feels different. Still buzzing energy and the sense that if he pressed too hard she would evaporate, but lips nonetheless: full and smiling and now wet from his. When he comes back again and tastes her, she makes a tiny sound of relief. It’s a sound of lust, of air and fire, and Colin nearly loses himself: grasping, fingers digging. But instead, he pulls back, breaths choppy as he looks down at her.

“Okay, that was a good start.”

“A good start?” she says with a small laugh. “My mind is a giant sieve, but I’m pretty sure that was the best first kiss in the history of this town.”

He gently touches her elbow, carefully urging her to start walking again. The kiss was an enormous step in the right direction and still only a fraction of what he needed from her. Inside his chest, a rope coils tightly, fraying at the knots.

Colin’s cast came off two days ago, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so grateful to be able to wash dishes. He and Dane finished cleaning the kitchen, and Colin lingers around to keep Dot company. She’s been quiet tonight. No whistling while she cooks, no smacking them with the spatula. Just thoughtful, quiet Dot, and it weirds him out.

“Long day?” he asks. She shrugs. “You know how it is when a storm is on its way.”

“Your barometric knees acting up?”

She scowls at him over her shoulder. “Very funny, smart guy.” When she turns back to the sink, he can see her reflection as she looks out the wide window overlooking the back side of the quad. She looks worried. “It’s sort of like that,” she begins, searching for words. “Something feels off. I’m not sure what.”