Page 25

“Who is he?” Ender asks, not saying hello. His voice is rougher than it had been. As if maybe he’s tired? I can’t tell because I don’t know him all that well. I know the boy I met at the lake, but is that the same boy who causes fights at school as Arya tells me he does? I don’t know the answer.
“Who’s who?” I blink rapidly and stare up at the jeans my granny Edna got me for my birthday last year. The only pair I have that hasn’t been passed down from my sisters.
“This boy who asked you out.”
“Oh.” I giggle into the phone. “Uh, he’s a baseball player. Micah.”
There’s silence on the other line but I can hear his breathing. “What did you say?”
“To what?”
Ender sniffs and I hear noises, as if he shoving something into a bag. “Him asking you out,” he snaps, and I wonder if I’ve upset him.
“Oh, no. I said no.”
He blows out a breath that sounds like relief. “Good.”
“Why good?” I pry, hoping he gives me something to know I’m not alone in my feelings for him.
“Because you don’t need to be dating boys.” His tone holds a finality to it I hadn’t been expecting. “You’re too young.”
I’m too young? My face falls and I’m glad he can’t see it. “I suppose I am,” I reply with a hint of sadness I can’t keep from my tone. My cheeks are hot, my heart pounding so hard it’s shaking my words with it. “Too young for boys,” I finish.
“Everyone but me.” He laughs lightly into the phone and then sighs. “Do you miss me, Hads?”
I draw in a breath and smile. And tears sting my eyes. I don’t know why, but they do. “I miss you,” I admit. “I miss Arya too.”
“You miss me more though.”
“Maybe,” I tease.
“I wish you were here with me now,” he tells me. “Lying on my bed with me.”
“You’re on your bed?” My heart starts pounding again thinking of him on his bed. I think we’re more than friends but I’m too scared to ask him.
I hear fabric moving and it sounds like he’s getting under his sheets. “I am. Just got out of the shower. Where are you?”
“Hiding in my closet.” I giggle into my hand, trying to remain quiet. “I’m supposed to be in bed.”
The line goes quiet and I pull the phone away, thinking maybe he hung up.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” He hums into the phone. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard and goes straight to between my legs for reasons I don’t understand. “Thinking of you in a closet and wishing I was with you in there.”
I hide my face into my hand. “And do what?”
He laughs lightly but it sounds like a groan. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because. You don’t want to know.” His voice lowers. “It’s dirty.”
“I do too,” I argue, my tone louder than before.
“Shhh,” he urges, his words barely above a whisper. “If I was there, what would you do? Would you let me touch you?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t. I think back to the time I was locked in the janitors closet with Toby Thompson and he kept trying to touch my boob until I smacked him in the head with a mop and he told everyone in school I was a prude. “I wouldn’t hit you in the head with a mop if you tried to touch my boob.” Yep. I said that.