His mouth parts and I think he’s going to talk to me. That happens a lot, he opens his mouth or goes to take another step, then retreats with nothing. I want to talk to him so bad, but I’m terrified of the way he makes me feel, so I just walk away.
It’s not normal to be this invested in a person you haven’t even said one word to.
My heart misses a beat when he takes one last look—his face turned down, almost sad—over his shoulder before walking around the side of his house.
—
“Quinn?” Mom says.
I jolt as she places her hand on my arm. “What?”
“Are you okay?” Her face is full of amusement.
“Fine.”
“I think…I think he’s climbing up in the tree,” she says, straining to see between our houses now that we’re past his.
“Huh?”
“Archer. He’s in the tree.”
My and Sabi’s tree. I look up and see him on her branch, legs kicked out, leaning back against the trunk. My branch runs at a ninety-degree angle to his and just a smidge lower down.
“Go and talk to him.” She takes the pie from me. “I’ll deliver this.”
“But you wanted to walk.”
“I can still walk. You wanted to know what his story is, so go and find out. Looks like he could use a friend right now.”
I bite my lip as I weigh up my options. Walk around the neighborhood having the same conversation at every house from the sidewalk…or go and grill Mr. Happy.
“We’re all in this together, the whole street, remember? Go, Quinn,” she says with a laugh and a nudge.
“Okay. Tell me what the signs say today.”
“I will. Keep your distance up there.”
“I know, I know.”
“No touching,” she says with a wicked smile.
I give her a look close to the one I gave Dad when he accidentally broke my favorite Twilight coffee mug.
There is no danger of me touching him, even if there were no virus. I can’t even look at him without getting flustered.
He might tell me to get lost, but he has no right to. The tree is right in the middle of our properties and no one seems to know who it belongs to.
Can I really do this? I have to. There’s no choice. We can’t spend the rest of our lives here not talking but desperately wanting to.
Time to be brave, Quinn Reeve.
I walk over to the tree, reach up, grab the next branch, and push myself up. My heart flutters as I feel his eyes on me the whole time, waiting for me to get to the top. I shuffle back on the branch that’s about as wide as my waist and smile.
He doesn’t kick me out of the tree, so I figure he doesn’t mind company. I’m going to pretend that he wants me to come up here.
Wow, he’s even prettier this close.
He stares off into space, flicking a large coin between his fingers. I can’t see which one it is, but it’s not something I would have thought he’d own.
“Hi,” I say, licking my dry lips.
He blinks and slides the coin into his pocket, then pulls the little bud out of his ear. He watches me with curiosity. I can’t tell what he’s thinking because he has an awesome poker face.
“What are you listening to?” I ask.
Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to him!
He’s wearing a black Foo Fighters T-shirt. “Music,” he replies, sounding bored and inconvenienced.
All right, I totally believe that he was being rude when Mom first met him.
If that’s how we’re going to play it, fine. “You look like an Ariana fan to me.”
Except that he looks like he’s into angry, shouty music, and sacrificing kittens.
His eyebrow lifts. Ooh, we have a reaction.
“Ariana?”
Oh, the voice. Deep and a little rough like he’s woken up before he was ready. It’s my new favorite sound.
“I’m not here to judge. I like the Killers and Fall Out Boy myself.”
“What’s your name?” he asks, sitting up straight and removing the other bud. Did Mom not tell them my name? Or did he not listen?
Now I have his full attention and it half makes me want to run away and hide. Can you sweat from your eyeballs?
The sun shines on one side of his face and makes it look like he has chocolate highlights—same shade as me—in his black hair. I doubt he’s dyed it, though.
“I’m Quinn.”
“How old are you?” he asks.
The way he looks at me makes me squirm. “Seventeen. You?”
His mouth thins like he’s irritated at the thought of being questioned. I hold my ground. I’m not saying anything else until he does.
It’s a battle of wills, and I’m not going to lose.
Finally, his shoulders sink. “Seventeen.”
I win.
“I just turned seventeen,” I add. “My birthday was May fifth.”
“Eighteen in October.”
I don’t get to know when in October he turns eighteen, then.
“Do you think we’ll still be in lockdown for your birthday?” I ask.
“I couldn’t care less.”
I wave my hand. “Doesn’t matter if we are, I’ll throw you a tree party.”
His lip quirks, about to grin and give him up. The dude might act like everyone is a nuisance to him, but he’s enjoying our conversation as much as I am.
“A tree party?”
“Yes, with streamers and balloons and cake! I’ll sing. I was in glee club in middle school.”
There is no stopping this smile from coming. He shows pearly white teeth and shakes his head. “Glee club?”
“Uh-huh. It was fun for a year, but I didn’t want to do it in high school.”
“Because you would get your head flushed?”
I cross my arms, but I’m not at all offended. “Well, that’s not nice, is it? I wonder what clubs you have been in.” He opens his mouth, but I steamroll ahead. “No, let me guess. Now, I’m thinking you’ve never been in
