Page 7

I will the thought away, throwing almost every color there is into my basket. Problem solved. I can figure out the rest later; I always do.

And then I smile, becausethis,this is my life. Colors, and feeling, and the complexities of life streaked and splattered and meticulously stroked onto a canvas, releasing whatever it is that needs releasing, freeing me for hours and hours on end.

I’ve been lucky enough to be successful at something I love. At something I can pour my heart and soul into. A place I can dump all of my demons.

No, not lucky. I’ve never believed in luck.

Except for maybe twenty minutes from now, when I’ve randomly decided to be mildly social for once and walk down to the coffee shop instead of opting for the drive-thru like I normally do; when I turn around after picking up my order of one venti mocha iced coffee and come face to face with the one person from my past I never expected to see again. Least of all in my busy, chaotic hometown of Seattle, Washington.

Because this can’t be anything but dumb luck, right?

To be not ten feet away from him after all of these years.

My fingers tighten their grip on my coffee, lest it fall to the ground in an overly dramatic fashion. Because nothing about this is all that dramatic, aside from the raging chaos going on inside my head. And the way my heart refuses to stop racing. And my hands to stop shaking.

Surely my eyes are playing tricks on me.

It isn’t him. It can’t be. This isn’t happening.

He looks up at me, and I squeeze my eyes closed. No.No, no, no. No way.There’s no way.

“Jess?”

Okay, there’s definitely a way.

Eight Before

“HEY, YOU.” GREYSONsat down beside me.

I’d been finishing up a drawing on the stairs outside of school, long after most people had already headed home for the day. I slid my pencil into my sketchbook and the book into my bag.

“Hey, Greyson.” I forced my lips into a half-smile, pushing away everything that made me feel so heavy.

He thought something over for a few seconds and then turned to me, casually resting his hand over my knee. I saycasually, because he didn’t seem to have a second thought about it, but me? His touch seared straight through my black jeans, branding me.MINE, MINE, MINE,I wanted it to say.

“So, tell me what you think about this,” he started confidently, squeezing my knee. “Lame, or totally badass pickup line?”

“O-kay,” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him as I tried not to smile. Whatwasit with him and making me smile? And how was I supposed to hear anything he was saying when his fingers had found the rip in my jeans at my knee? He was touching me, skin on skin, hand on leg, completely unaffected.

He cleared his throat, turning to me fully. “Are you a library book? Because I can’t stop checking you out.”

I shook my head, smiling. “Totally lame.”

“Was that an earthquake? Or you did you just rock my world?” he continued.

“That one is even worse.”

“You’re like a Sharpie, super fine.”

I scoffed in disapproval, even though that one was kind of funny. “No. No. Those are terrible!” I laughed, but the truth was, any one of those lines would’ve worked on me had he been seriously directing them my way. Because words, and his mouth, were a great match. It really didn’t matter what he was saying, they just looked so good coming out.

And then I realized that he’d actually gotten me to laugh, despite the exceptionally crappy mood I had been in. Had he done that on purpose? The look on his face told me I might’ve been right. Like he’d achieved some kind of goal in making me smile. God, he was perfect. Too perfect.

“Alright, give me your phone number and we can try to come up with a great pickup line together,” he said, completely serious even though there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Ha! Smooth.”

He bit his lip, holding his phone out to me.