Out of Nowhere(32)

I pull him closer to me but then drop my arms. I’m so turned on I can barely breathe. Every inch of us is pressed together, from chests to feet, and I feel like if he doesn’t kiss me, I’ll stop breathing completely. He’d crush me against the wall and kiss me so hard it’d bruise. Pull me against him in a whirlwind of sensation that would go to my head like whiskey on an empty stomach, lighting me up and slowing me down and warming me through and through.

Instead, he’s talking again.

“Colin,” he says, his lips soft in front of my ear, “tell me.”

I want to hit him. Yell at him. He knows what I want—I can tell he does. The sound that comes out of my mouth is more groan than yell. Rafe pulls back, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my neck. His voice is almost mournful.

“Call me when you’re ready to tell me what I need to hear,” he says, his eyes on fire and his hands hot on my skin. And goddamn him, he kisses me gently on the cheek and brushes the spot with his thumb. Then, with a tight jaw, he turns his back and leaves.





Chapter 5





THE SECOND I step in the door, the kids are on me, Rafe trailing defeatedly behind them.

I texted Rafe last night to make sure we were still on for the workshop even though I hadn’t told him anything about… what he needed to hear. Though there was no way I was touching that one, I’d been picturing Ricky, black-tipped fingers tapping her skinny hips in anticipation of what she’d learn; Anders, maybe, like me, wanting the distraction that working on the car would provide. I’d wanted to see if DeShawn would be wearing all white again, and if Mikal’s brightly colored outfits always matched his lip gloss.

He wrote back almost immediately: Definitely. Looking forward to it, Colin. Just a warning, though—the kids have decided on your nickname & I don’t think you’re going to like it.

What is it?

I won’t steal their thunder. But there was dissent in the ranks.

Mysterious, I wrote back, and I found myself grinning.

“Twilight!” Carlos exclaims, like he’s trying it out. Immediately, the rest of the kids start talking at once, but I can’t make any of it out.

“Uh. What?” I look to Rafe for clarification, but he’s got his forehead in his hand, massaging his temples.

“Twilight,” Carlos says again, as if this means something.

“Your new nickname,” Rafe says through a tight smile. “Welcome.”

“Well, we couldn’t call you James,” Sammi or Tynesha says. I think it’s Sammi; she’s taller. “It’s a stupid nickname, ’cause, like, it’s an actual name.”

“Uh, who is James? What are we talking about?”

Mikal comes forward and takes my arm; I resist the urge to jerk out of his grasp, but he must feel me tense because he takes a step back. His T-shirt is purple with black splotches on it and it has a row of gold spikes on each shoulder. Tight jeans bag a little around his skinny thighs and threaten to fall off his hips. He hitches them up, then puts that hand on one hip and looks up at me.

“James is a character from Twilight. It’s a movie about—”

“It’s a book, Mikal,” Dorothy calls from across the room. “A stupid book,” she adds.

“Fine, dear,” Mikal says, rolling his eyes. “It’s a book about this vampire who falls in love with a human girl, and….” He shivers, hugging himself. “And they’re, like, made for each other because he can’t hear her thoughts.”

“Oh wait, is this that movie where the vampire dude sparkles?” The preview for it came on once a few years ago while we were all watching TV at Pop’s, and Sam admitted that Liza really liked it.

Rafe’s eyes meet mine over the kids’ heads and he smiles. It’s a strange, private smile, and it does something to my stomach.

“Omigod, you know it?! That’s totally a sign, you guys!” Mikal is practically swooning with excitement.

“So, wait, you think I look like that sparkly dude?”

“No, no.” Sammi—I’m pretty sure it’s Sammi—wrinkles her nose. “Not Edward; James. You look just like him.” She points to me. “Especially when you squint your eyes like that.” She looks to the group for confirmation and Mikal and Tynesha nod emphatically, staring at me. I try to stop doing whatever I’m doing with my face.

“Y’all’re nuts,” a voice says from the back. It’s one of the kids who came for the first time last week. I think her name is Mischa. She stands out in this group because she looks like she should be playing soccer in an orange juice commercial or something. She doesn’t dress interestingly like Mikal or DeShawn; she doesn’t have dyed hair or piercings or tattoos, like Ricky and Dorothy. Hell, even Gap Model looks… um, gay. At least, he does now that I know he is.