“Pfft. I just got a key code,” Lennon says. “Dr. Viramontes said you’d know how to use the camera mount or jig or tripod, or whatever the hell it is you use—it’s supposed to be in the shed. We just have to lock everything up before we leave. And if we break anything, we’re in huge trouble. I’m talking beheadings. Or lawsuits. I’m not sure which would be worse.”
“Probably the lawsuit,” I say, looking around. “I’ve never been up here alone.”
“There’s a lunar eclipse tonight,” he says.
Huh. He’s right. There is. I remember now.
He gives me a soft smile. “I know it’s not as good as a meteor shower and the view isn’t as good as Condor Peak, but I did promise you I’d take you to see the stars. I’m making good on that.”
My breath hitches. I struggle for words, and after glancing around the rooftop dumbly, I blink up at Lennon. “I don’t know what to say. It’s one of the most thoughtful things anyone’s ever done for me.”
“I don’t know . . . I’d argue that rescuing you from an angry bear should get me a few points.”
I chuckle. “That’s true. But I let you win at poker and gave you most of my M&M’s stash. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
I suddenly realize what I’ve said.
He realizes it too.
Still holding my hand, he slings his other arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Are you?” I whisper.
“Yes, I am. Because I love you too.”
Goose bumps rush over my arms. “You do?”
“I’ve always loved you,” he murmurs. “And I probably always will. You’re my best friend, and you’re my family. The year I waited for you was the worst of my life, but it was worth every second. If I had to do it all over again just to hold you in my arms, I would.”
“Well, I would not,” I say, bleary-eyed. “Because I love you too, and I can’t stand to be apart from you for another minute. So stop jinxing it.”
“You love me,” he says, grinning stupidly. He dips his head lower, until his nose brushes mine.
“Of course I love you. You’re mine, and I can’t go back to being just friends. So if we have to sleep in the woods or fight with our families, then that’s just what we’re going to do. I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it.”
“Tell me again,” he says as he kisses my neck right below my ear.
Warmth rushes across my skin. “I can’t think straight when you do that.”
“I’ll stop, then.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Tell me again,” he repeats, kissing my jaw.
“You’re mine.”
“The other thing.”
“I love you.”
He pulls back to look at me, pursing his lips as he blows out a hard breath. Then his smile is monumental. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I’m going to need to hear it a lot. My ego is fragile.”
I laugh, pushing away a tear. “Your ego has never been fragile.”
“It is around you.”
I kiss him under his chin, and he shivers with pleasure. “I can’t think straight when you do that either.”
“Good. Let’s not think. It’s overrated.”
“I know we promised your mom that you’d be home at a decent hour, but that eclipse won’t be happening until midnight—”
“You did say there were no bodies in the back of your hearse.”
“It’s sooo body-free back there,” he assures me. “And it’s no tent in the middle of the forest, but it’s pretty private. There may even be a blanket and a pillow. You know I follow the Boy Scout motto. Be prepared.”
“It’s my favorite thing about you.”
“When we were in the tent, you said it was something else,” he murmurs, grinning as he pulls me closer.
“I was starving and scared and not in my right mind. I probably said a lot of things. You may have to remind me.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m in the mood to solve a mystery. What do you say? Want to do some detectiving with the boy you love?”
I do. I absolutely do.
29
“I’m telling you, the members of KISS mixed their own blood into the red ink used to print the first KISS comic book,” Sunny says. “Bet you a cupcake I’m right.”
It’s nearly dark outside, and I’m standing in Toys in the Attic next to Sunny, who is lording over a stack of boxes near the front window display. Her face is animated as she talks to us. “It was in the seventies, and one of the big publishers, Marvel or DC Comics, put out a KISS comic—you know, Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley in makeup, being superheroes, or whatever. And they used the band’s blood in the ink. I swear it’s true.”
Mac rolls her eyes. “Who starts these demented rumors?” she says in her Scottish lilt. “That is so not true. And it’s disgusting.”
My mom crosses her arms, nodding at Mac. “Can you imagine how many STDs those guys had? Who would want their tainted blood in a comic book?”
“Plenty of people, apparently, because it’s a fact,” Sunny insists. “Ask Lennon.”
I tug a belt loop on the back of his black jeans. He’s bent over, half of his body inside the back of the shop’s window display—a group of carved Halloween pumpkins and a black cauldron overflowing with condoms and bottles of massage gel instead of witch’s brew. Halloween was last night, so we’re swapping out the jack-o’-lanterns for a Thanksgiving cornucopia.
“Did you hear all that?” I ask.
He emerges from the window display, standing up to full height. “Sunny’s right. A nurse drew their blood, and they flew to New York and had pictures taken at Marvel’s printing plant, where they dumped vials of their blood into a vat of ink. A notary public witnessed and certified it.”
“Eww,” we all say in chorus.
Lennon shrugs. “KISS was always doing silly, shocking gimmicks like that to sell their merchandise.
